#and i thought the last two seasons of the show were self indulgent

[yourockthebeatofmyheart]

Wow the second psych movie was bad

[reidmania]

blackfish | spencer reid

summary; being in the early stages of your relationship, spencer has yet to hear your passionate rambles, until you watch a documentary together and the topic of animals in captivity comes up.

warnings; fluff, so much fluff fem!reader, early seasons spencer, marine biology major!reader, start of relationship things, talking about animal abuse, animals in captivity, talks about orca’s and the documentary blackfish (i know the time line is unrealistic use ur imagination please)

an; self indulgent as a marine biology major and someone very passionate about the fact animals should not be used as apart of a circus act. Very very short, and sweet.

Your legs were resting over Spencer’s, the heels of your feet pressing against the side of the couch arm, while his hands massaged the skin of your calf gently, the credits to the documentary you had spent the last hour and a half watching together rolling over the tv. His hands were gentle and hesitate in every one of the movements, a little shy.

“Did you like it?” He asked, turning his head to look at you, thumb pressing against a tender muscle in your calf, the sensation causing a soft sigh of relaxation throughout your body, which contradicted the annoyance that had been filling you as the film went on.

You hummed, unsure of how to answer the question. “It was interesting.” You mumbled out, your head rolling to press against the back of the couch cushions. He smiled slightly as his hands continued to work out the tension in your legs.

“Yeah?” He hummed out. You nodded, interesting was a safe way to describe your feelings on the documentary you had watched. It wasn’t that it was bad, it wasn’t at all. And you had been interested, the entire time. Just the more the details were revealed the sicker the feeling got in your stomach.

He shuffled slightly, “What are you thinking about?” He asked, his hands pausing their massaging movements to instead rub gently over the smoothness of your skin. Obviously he had noticed the slightly sour look on your face and the way your mind seemed elsewhere.

“How horrible the human species are.” You answered honestly although you were aware Spencer was already aware of this fact. He worked to stop all the horrible things the human species did everyday. He witnessed it firsthand.

“Annoyed?” He asked. You nodded.

You shuffled slightly, pulling your legs away from where they had been resting over his thighs to sit up a little straighter, tucking your knees underneath you as your hands came to rest on your thighs.

“I don’t understand how anyone can look at animals in aquariums or even animal’s in zoo’s and think that it’s just.. okay?” You huffed out, annoyance lacing your tone as you spoke, every word coming out just as disgusted as the last. “i mean— These are wild animals and people act so shocked when they act like wild animals. Like that poor orca had been put through hell since the age of two— ripped away from his family and everything he knew, starved, beat up by other orca’s all for what? A quick buck?” You huffed out in frustration.

Spencer hadn’t expected the ramble but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome, your voice was laced with so much passion and intent, every word that left your lips showed how deeply you had thought about this. He had hummed in response, not wanting to interrupt.

“Marine mammals — they are isolated more in captivity than they aren’t which is absolutely insane since every aspect of their being is based on their social and emotional connections— I mean they have a whole part of the brain that human’s don’t have thats dedicated to their emotional bonds. Which means they feel everything probably double the amount that we do” You continued in frustration as your arms came to wrap around your stomach, and irritated pout on your lips.

Spencer raised his eyebrow but nodded, you were right. “They don’t belong in captivity” He agreed simply, you nodded passionately in response to what he had said. He couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face as you rambled, because this had never happened before. Normally you were pretty quiet, not in a way that you were shy or awkward, you just didn’t ramble a lot, not like he did. This was a nice change and he couldn’t help the way his heart swarmed at the sight of you getting all worked up over something you felt passionately for. He would listen to everything you had to say, and a million times more.

“It’s— so gross. Like it genuinely makes me feel sick how they take these animals away from their families and then exploit them for money. Like dolphins — Teach them tricks and then act like it’s just an extension of their natural behaviours — it’s not. You know marine mammals in captivity die way earlier than marine mammals in their natural habitats? Especially Orca’s. Orca’s could live up to 100 or even more and they hardly make it to 30 in captivity.” You huffed out.

“I didn’t know that” He did.

“And Orca’s— Oh my gosh. Each family speaks in their own set of vocalisations, no two families will communicate the same way. They literally have their own languages. And— and people want to throw Orca’s from different pods together in a pool and call them a family? They can’t even communicate with each other, or understand each other at all!! You know that can lead to aggression between Orca’s? Nearly half of Orca’s deaths in captivity is because of a different whale being too aggressive—“ You paused when you finally realised you were rambling.

Your cheeks burnt at the realisation, meeting Spencer’s eyes which were filled with nothing but love and admiration only furthered the burning sensation in your cheeks. “Sorry.” You huffed out sheepishly. “I got a bit carried away” you let out a laugh.

He shook his head instantly, his hand reaching out to rest gently against your knee, “No. Don’t apologise. Keep talking, what were you going to say?” He asked, almost desperately begging you to continue on with your passionate ramble, continued to further discover this side of you.

“I-“ you started but your brain short circuited at the look in his eye, pleading, sweet, gentle, loving, admiring. How could he look at you like that and expect you to be able to form a coherent sentence — you could hardly form a coherent thought. “I- forgot.” You huffed out.

He smiled widely, “Whales being too aggressive which can lead to that frustration being taken out on other whales, especially if they feel challenged or uncomfortable.” He finished for you, making your smile widen.

“You’re so smart” you huffed the compliment as if he wasn’t told it so often. He didn’t mind, it always meant more coming from you.

“Go on, angel. What else do you have for me?”

[hippiepowrs]

one night lookin' pretty

eddie munson x fem!metalhead!reader

you and eddie hate school dances, but you decide to go to the prom this year--with someone who isn't eddie. eddie does not like that, but can't say anything.

a/n: this is my first longer fic so i hope you like it. prom season is coming up so this is kinda self indulgent (as if all my fics aren't). this one is for all my weird girls out there! title from one night in the city by dio btw. :)

warnings: hurt/comfort. angsty for a while but gets fluffy. swearing. a guy being a total asshole to reader. reader wears a dress. reader and eddie both self-described as 'freak.' eddie being a jealous and insecure idiot. both are oblivious as fuck. eddie is REALLY dorky. eddie's backstory and parents--i did not read that book so i don't care if it's canon. idiots in love in the end. pretty cliche but i don't care!

wc: 3.8k

It’s prom night, and Eddie is sitting alone on his couch. Without you. 

Usually, you guys skip every school event together in favor of watching a shitty movie and smoking half of his stock, but tonight was different. Someone asked you to the prom, and it wasn’t him. 

He’s been acting off for the past two weeks, you noticed. He’s been quiet and snappy, and has been opting to jack up the stereo instead of talk on your drives home. When you asked him what was wrong, he pushed you away. So, you left him alone about it. He made it clear he wanted his space.

He didn’t even want to show up to see you in your dress. You called him last night to see if he would come over–he told you he was sick. He wasn’t fully lying, though. The thought of you going to that stupid school dance with that stupid school boy made him nauseous. It didn’t make sense to him. How did you switch your views on the prom so fast? Months ago, the two of you laughed at the idea of going. Now, you were dressed up all pretty, just like all those popular girls you claimed to hate. He had to watch that sleazy ass car pull into to the trailer park, right up next to his. He’d never admit that he watched you step out of your trailer with that guy, and wished it was him. 

Being completely honest with yourself, your date isn’t even exactly your type. Todd isn’t some freak like you or your friends, but he isn’t a complete asshole either. He asked you in the hallway two weeks ago, and your instinct was to laugh at him. You laughed in his face, but he didn’t budge. He really wanted to take you to the prom, so you told him you’d go. It felt nice to be wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t some rock n’ roll dude like you’re into–it’s not like you’re marrying him. It’s just the prom. 

You and Todd arrive at the Hawkins High gym, hand in sweaty hand. Pushing the anxiety clawing at your throat back down, you give him a smile as you walk to get your photo taken together. The frilly, glittery background reminds you that this place isn’t for you. Again, you push that down. 

The music isn’t really your style, either, but everyone is having so much fun you feel the need to pretend. None of your friends are here, so you’re stuck. Maybe you should have pregamed, you think. Too late now. Todd pulls you onto the dance floor with a fervor you’ve never seen in him. You don’t understand how a person can have so much fun dancing to this shitty music. It’s a lot easier to get through when you pretend that Todd is Eddie, and you’re dancing to mixtapes in his room. You decide not to think about the implications of that right now. When the song ends, you offer to grab punch for the both of you. Maybe it’ll be spiked. 

As you make your way back to Todd, you see him chatting with a few of his friends, and from this distance you can just begin to hear them.

“So, when do I get my twenty bucks from each of you? She’s totally ruining my reputation right now.” He laughs, and your stomach churns.

“Okay, yeah, you proved us wrong. You got her here, you danced, you win.” His friend confirms the fear that’s been looming over you like a dark cloud since Todd first asked you out. 

“You at least better hold onto her long enough to get her home with you tonight, man!” Another friend cackles, and you think you’re going to vomit.

How were you stupid enough to think that he actually liked you?

God, you’re so gullible. 

At least there’s nothing to lose now, you think. Walking over to him, drinks in hand, you dump both of them on his head. They splash on his stupid hair and drench his stupid suit. The music keeps playing. A few people turn to look. The room doesn’t stop for you like some trashy romcom. Everyone just keeps going. 

Storming out to the parking lot, nothing can stop the burning tears from pouring down your face. You slump down against the brick wall, fabric of your dress sticking to the rough sidewalk. The warm spring air feels sticky on your cheeks. You wish you had stayed in with Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You need to call Eddie. Todd drove you here, so it’s either Eddie or walk, and these heels already hurt enough. Your body feels like dead weight as you drag yourself to the payphone on the wall, punching in the number that’s engraved into your heart. 

“Hey.” You greet, choked up. You’re trying to keep your composure. You know it won’t last long.

“…Hey. Havin’ fun with Mr. Popular?” There’s a bitterness to his tone. Usually he would’ve picked up on the fact that you were crying in a split second, but tonight he was too angry.

“Uhm, not really. Could you, uh,” you sniffle, blowing your thin cover, “pick me up? Like, now?”

You can almost hear his demeanor shift over the phone. A beat of silence passes.

“I’ll be right there.” He’s clearly still upset, because he hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. But his one-sided irritation can’t override the facts: he cares about you so much that he immediately hops in his van and starts speeding to the school, even faster than normal.

You sit back at the edge of the sidewalk, staring into the empty night over the parking lot. God, this is so cliché. Freak gets taken to prom as a joke; left crying outside. You know how pointless it is to cry over this guy. You don’t even care about him, to be honest. But it’s not really him you’re crying over. It’s the extensive disappointment you repeatedly put yourself through after expecting different results—it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about Eddie all night. 

As you begin to probe deeper into the ethical implications of falling in love with your best friend, said best friend whips into the parking lot, tires skidding as he pulls right up to you and parks. He drives just how he lives his life—with a sense of urgency and passion you don’t see in many. His van stops diagonally in the middle of the pickup lane, and he hops out of the driver’s side door, so worried he can’t be bothered to close it before sprinting to your side. 

For the past six minutes—which is Eddie’s new personal record on getting to the school from Forest Hills—his mind has been racing with every possibility of what could have happened to you tonight. Maybe Todd had another girl, or is just boring, or maybe you got totally Carrie’d and some assholes poured pig’s blood all over you. Not likely, but hey, you never know the determination of Hawkins’ resident assholes. At least if you got Carrie’d you’d look metal as fuck. That would be a good album cover. But that’s not the point. What he’s more worried about is the possibility that that dickwad touched you in any way. Just the thought is enough for him to completely light up—he got pretty close to breaking his steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it. 

“What happened?” He tries to act nonchalant, but that’s something he’s never been good at. 

Your head is held between your knees, looking down into nothingness. He’s staring daggers into the top of your head, and you can almost feel the fact that he wants to say ‘I told you so.’ Reluctantly, your wet eyes tilt upwards, the rest of your head following. 

“Let’s just talk in the van.” He sighs. 

You don’t budge. Your legs feel far too wobbly to imagine getting up right now. He has zero patience at the moment, it seems, as evidenced by the fact that he almost immediately picks you up bridal style and carries you directly to the passenger’s side of his van. He fumbles with the door handle for a second before setting you down gently in the seat. You watch him drag a frustrated hand over his face through the windshield as he walks back to his side, and although you know you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re worried that you did. 

The engine roars into life, turning your seat into a makeshift massage chair. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot as quickly as he pulled in, but with a little more focus. He doesn’t turn his music on, which is a bad sign. 

“It was a bet,” is all you can say, voice soft and defeated, “because, of fucking course it was.” You stare out the window, head tapping against the glass as he hits a pothole straight on.

“I told you that asshole was bad news.” His voice is laced with venom. He’s never been good at controlling his anger—especially when it has to do with you. 

You stay silent. Anything you say right now will probably just piss him off more. 

“Why do you—why do you always do this to yourself? You’re always finding these guys that just want to take you out to say they were able to take you out. They treat you like a fucking trophy.” He scoffs. 

You look at him again, tears still silently falling. Even if you wanted to say something to that, you can’t seem to find your voice. 

“I just don’t get it. You’re, like, totally perfect,” he coughs, gripping the wheel harder, “and these guys you find are total douches. You can do so much better.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone better around here,” you mumble while staring out the window, like some kid talking back to their parent for the first time. 

“That’s not my point!” His yell rings out against the hum of the engine, the dull drumming being the only sound left as he hangs a sharp right turn. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to find some guy that you throw your morals out the door.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you for a moment before looking back at the road. 

“I haven’t thrown my morals out the door.” You argue softly. 

“Yes, you have! We always said we’d never suck up to the bullshit they want us to do, that we’d never let them turn us normal, and here you are at the fucking prom.”

“Eddie, it’s prom! It’s not like I fucking stabbed my mother!”

“We’re supposed to be the freaks! We’re Hellfire! We piss people off! That’s our whole thing! You can’t just—fuck—just throw that out!” He groans angrily, pulling into Forest Hills, slowing down as you near the Munson trailer. 

“I’m not throwing it out.” You say, much more firmly. 

“You’re throwing me out!” There it goes, the root of the entire issue. He’s always been worried that you’ll find someone cooler, someone less abrasive, someone who will make you laugh and smile more than he can. Logically, he knows that would never happen, but he can’t help his fear. He throws the van into park and slams the door as he gets out. 

Eddie was eight when he met you. He’d been living with Wayne for a little over a year by the time you moved next door, but he was still struggling. His mother left him first, then his father. He missed his mom a lot, but his dad probably caused him more pain, knowing that he had the choice whether or not to stay, but Eddie wasn’t enough. Uncle Wayne was nicer to him than his father had ever been, but that can’t fix a broken kid. 

Then one day, you showed up in your ratty hand-me-downs, a year and a half younger than him. He thought that girls had cooties, but you were different. You didn’t giggle or try to hide your gaze like the other girls did when they made fun of him to each other. Instead, you walked right up to him and said hi. 

You were new, and you didn’t have the best clothes—he could tell you were probably going through something similar to him—so the kids at school kicked you to the curb. You were just as pretty as the other girls, he thought, if not prettier, as much as a seven-year-old can be. But that didn’t really seem to matter to them. Your lunchbox was plain, theirs had characters. 

When the two of you got to be in junior high at the same time, him in the eighth grade and you in sixth, he thought for sure that you would find new, more popular friends. It was incredibly shocking to him that you’d rather hang out with some dorky boy with an ugly buzz cut who’s two grades ahead of you than the other pretty girls, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

He’s lived with that fear constantly since then, always preparing himself to see you walking into school one day in some pastel sweater instead of your band shirts and battle vest. He knows you won’t, he knows you’re better than that, and he feels so guilty for always expecting the worst, but he can’t help it. 

You hop out of the passenger’s side of the van, holding up the skirt of your dress like some elegant princess. But instead of some grand, ornate staircase, you’re simply walking up the concrete steps of the Munson trailer and following Eddie, who’s storming inside. 

“Eddie.” You sound like a scolding mother, tears having dried up a few minutes ago, and you shut the door behind you. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” Your voice cracks with the weight of the question. 

Eyes widening, Eddie never realized quite how much his thoughts could affect you until right now. “I don’t,” he says softly. “You’re the best person I know.”

“You say that, but you always think I’m gonna leave you for someone else. You’re my best fucking friend. I’m not just gonna cut you off at the drop of a hat.”

“I- I know that,” he stammers out, a little shaken. 

“Do you?”

“Look, I,” he sighs, finally turning around, “I’m just scared. I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize how fucking lame I am, and you won’t want to deal with me and all my bullshit anymore.” 

“The world isn’t against you, Eddie.”

He opens his mouth to quip back something snarky, but he closes it as he thinks about your words again. 

“You hate yourself so much that it’s beginning to rub off on me, because I’m friends with you, and if I like you, you think that surely there’s something wrong with me, too.” 

He’s stunned into silence, your words stabbing him straight through the heart. 

“Can you at least tell me why you were being a dick for the past few weeks?” You switch the subject slightly with a sigh. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Because of Troy asking you to prom.”

“Todd.”

“Yeah, whatever. He was my problem.”

“Why were you mad at me for that, though?”

“I knew he was gonna hurt you.”

“You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just said he was an ass once and then pushed me away for two straight weeks.”

Standing in the middle of the dark trailer, Eddie is presented with two options: confess his lifelong, undying love for you, or don’t. He knows that the only good and honest explanation he can give you involves a love confession, and he hates lying to you. But one thing trumps the fact that he hates lying to you, and it’s that Eddie is a complete and utter pussy. 

Eddie is, and always has been, a pussy. In middle school, you acted as his bodyguard—self-appointed, and very passionate—which only made him get bullied worse. You didn’t care. You’d defend him until the end of time. You’d take a hundred tugs to your ponytail or face-plants in the lunchroom so that he wouldn’t have to. You weren’t very loud or talkative in school, until it came to defending Eddie. 

To Eddie, you’re this glowing beacon of light and hope in his life. Everything good comes from you. And if he confesses his feelings to you, and you don’t feel the same, that pillar comes crashing down. 

But…what if? What if you did feel the same? That’s stupid, he thinks. Clearly you don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to prom with another guy. And he’s sure you already know about his big, fat crush, and you’re choosing to act like you don’t notice.

“I’m sorry.” You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fingering riffs on the side of his thigh. 

“You always get so upset when I talk to guys. It’s not like there can be only one guy in my life.” 

“I know that, it’s just–” This is going to be the worst decision he’s ever made, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. “--I’m jealous, okay?”

“Obviously you’re fucking jealous, dickweed.” As you call him your favorite nickname, the intent behind his words reaches you, and your cheeks begin to heat up. “…Wait.”

“Have you seriously not picked up on this yet?” Eddie is genuinely surprised at your reaction. “You—you’re perfect, you know that? You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how you do it.” His voice is softer than normal. 

“Yeah, but—like, are you serious?” You ask. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve been, like, totally into you forever. I’m surprised Gareth or Jeff didn’t say anything to you.”

“They did a while ago, but I thought they were messing with me.” 

“Okay, I honestly can’t blame you for that.”

A moment passes in silence, and you think about how to respond. 

“You know, I didn’t really want to go with Todd.”

“What? Why did you then?”

“I hoped that you would ask me,” you admit, eyes drifting to your feet, “but it was kind of a stupid thing to expect.”

His jaw goes slack as he hears you speak. 

“I guess that I’ve just kinda had this pipe dream where we’d go to prom together, and I’d be able to dress up all pretty, and we could dance together.” You avoid his gaze, until you hear him scurrying down the hallway. 

He emerges back out with his stereo in one hand and a cassette in the other, scrambling to place it down on the kitchen table and shoving the tape inside. He immediately skips to the song he has in mind. The familiar sound of Tommy Lee’s piano starts from beside you, and before you can figure out what’s happening, he’s offering his hand to you. 

“May I have this dance?” 

A smile grows on your face. “God, you’re such a fucking dork.” Your insult doesn’t come without placing your hand in his. He’s bright red, and he’s never slow danced in his life. 

Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home is interrupted occasionally by the sound of feet stepping on feet and the subsequent ow!’s that follow, as well as the flustered giggling of two idiots in love. 

Eddie pulls you a little closer, his hands firmly planted on your waist. “You look really beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, “sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

He feels extremely underdressed compared to you, him in his favorite torn up pair of black jeans and an Exodus muscle tee, and you in your stunningly gorgeous dress, looking prettier than any princess he could ever imagine. 

“Thank you,” you mumble back, flustered, “you don’t look too—fuck!—too bad yourself, you know.” A playful giggle comes with your words, and a huge grin grows on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah?” He teases, looking right in your eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you giggle, staring right back. 

Leaning in, he lets out a nervous laugh before pressing his lips to yours. It’s not some magical explosion of energy that cures all your problems and fixes world hunger; but his lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like weed, gummy worms and a hint of shitty beer, and it feels right. 

You kiss him a few more times before the song ends, all quick and chaste but completely full of love. Pulling you along with him, not wanting to let go, he pauses the tape and the trailer goes quiet again. 

“Was I better at that than Troy?”

“Todd.”

“Point still stands, fuckface.”

Eddie drags you down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar ambiance warming you like a comforting blanket. Jumping onto the bed with a plop, the boy pats beside him invitingly.

“Can I change first?” You ask, ecstasy of the moment wearing off, allowing you to remember how itchy this damn dress is.

“‘Course. Your shirt is clean if you want it.” He calls it your shirt, but it was his at one point. The old Metallica tee used to be his favorite one, too, which meant it got a lot of wear and tear. But then you started wearing it at sleepovers, and it quickly became your shirt. Eddie didn’t like to wash it afterward because it smelled like you. He always felt like a creep for that.

Your hand tries its best to wrap around and pull the impossibly tiny zipper down, but it doesn’t want to budge. Eddie, watching you as intently as ever, quickly notices and jumps up to help you. His fingers move to your waist, soft and nimble, and gently undo the zipper for you. You let your dress fall to the ground, and he looks away, flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear before, but now it feels a lot more serious.

Quickly throwing on the hole-filled Metallica shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, both of you hop back into his bed. You’ve shared plenty of nights here before, but once again, now it feels different. You sense that it will become a common theme for your life in the near future. His hands snake back around your waist and pull you next to him, and you allow your head to rest against his chest.

“So… does this mean you’re, like, my girlfriend now, or what?” A goofy smirk is plastered across his face as he asks. 

You try to playfully shove him off of you, to no avail. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?” You’re trying so hard to act angry, but your giggles give you away.

“Yes, yes it does.” You seal it with a kiss. Then one on his cheek, and the other, and his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!

[hard-core-super-star]

make you mine this season [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x barton!reader

summary: a badly timed snowstorm leaves you unable to make it to the barton farm for christmas. thankfully, a certain archer shows up to keep you company.

warnings: none, i think? just really cheesy, holiday rom-com type of fluff [i say this as if i've watched any holiday rom-com besides happiest season and the holiday 😶]; kate's a dork [wow, what a shock]; idiots in love; past mentions of bishova; bad jokes?; snowstorm; cheesy gifts bc kate can't talk about her feelings

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: HI, EVERYONE, I'M ALIVE! and it wouldn't be a rubix fic if it WASN'T posted a little late 😅 i hope you all had a fantastic holiday season and that you'll accept this very cheesy Christmas fic <3 [and maybe that last line is very self-indulgent but that's none of your business, if you know you know]

* * * * * * *

You’re no stranger to loneliness but things were bordering on ridiculous. Not only have you spent the past two years ridiculously in love with a certain purple-loving archer, you’re also on the verge of spending Christmas by yourself thanks to the worst-timed snowstorm of all time.

And maybe the first part of your unfortunate situation is your fault but that doesn’t stop the waves of disappointment from crashing into you.

This year was supposed to be different. 

That’s what you had told yourself in an effort to convince yourself to tell the young archer about your feelings for her. It was a strategy that almost worked…until a certain blonde decided to accept Kate’s offer for drinks…which turned into a date…which turned into a second date…which turned into the longest four months of your life.

You could never be one to be mad at someone else’s happiness but that didn’t stop you from feeling absolutely defeated every time you saw them together. There was no one to blame except you for the brunette’s lack of knowledge about your feelings and that only made everything worse.

It was impossible to ignore the ache in your chest when your eyes met Kate’s or the heavy jealousy that clouded most of your interactions with her. Maybe if you had been less into your head about the whole thing, you would have realized the way the archer’s smile never seemed to reach her eyes. 

Eyes that followed you every time you walked away.

You never noticed the traces of darkness that clung to her usually radiant persona but you were the first person at her side when the break up happened. She offered little to no details besides an awkward joke about the relationship ending almost exactly where it started right at the Rockefeller tree.

It was messed up in a way that made Kate want to make as many jokes about it as possible which resulted in you laughing at things that definitely weren’t funny and were just sad. Not as sad as spending the holidays completely alone and hopelessly in love with your best friend, though.

You were sure the archer was already well on her way to your dad’s farm which leaves you completely unprepared when the door to your apartment swings open to reveal her. She almost drops the key in her hand the second she realizes you’re home.

“What’re you doing here?” You question, doing your best to pretend you don’t see the gift bags she tries to hide behind her back.

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head before she’s finally able to respond. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Clint’s?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on her face. No matter how many times you see it, it’s still as endearing as the first time. Back when she was just your dad’s protege and you hadn’t spent so many of your days learning the ins and outs of her complicated personality.

“Did the incoming snowstorm happen to slip your mind?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to go anyway,” she replies with a small shrug. 

“I’d rather not crash, Lila will never let me hear the end of it.”

Your words make her tilt her head to the side, the slightest hint of a pout on her face. “So…what, you’re just going to spend Christmas alone?”

“Yup. Kate, I’m not a kid anymore, nothing will happen if I spend one day by myself.”

“But it’s Christmas!” She exclaims, looking borderline offended that you’re so comfortable spending the holiday alone. 

“Is that why you’re breaking into my apartment?” You ask in a foolish attempt to stop yourself from asking her to spend the day with you. 

Just because she thought about you long enough to come drop off her, no doubt ridiculously expensive, gifts for you does not mean she wants to spend the holiday with you when she could easily spend it with anyone else.

The pink hue that overtakes her cheeks is a better gift than anything that could be inside the bags in her hand. “Well, uh…maybe…”  

She finally gathers enough courage to get rid of the distance between you with a bright, albeit nervous, smile on her face. You half-expect her to launch into some long ramble about why she just couldn’t stop herself from buying an insane amount of gifts for you this year but she doesn’t. 

For once in her life, Kate Bishop makes things easy for herself.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it to the farm on time so I was just going to drop these off for you…” She holds out the bag for you and you do your best to calm the rapid beating of your heart as you take it.

“Can I open it right now or will you get embarrassed?” 

“Both,” she replies through a chuckle. “I would leave but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Right, because I’m the one who gets lonely.”

“Shut up.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse to have broken through the archer’s defenses and right now, her cute reactions are beginning to feel like a curse. Although, that might just be your unrequited feelings talking.

A slightly awkward silence settles over both of you while you rifle through the overwhelming amount of purple tissue paper until you find your gift. You’re expecting another expensive necklace, maybe a bracelet this time, but what you’re met with is the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received…and probably the most thoughtful gift Kate has ever given.

What you end up pulling out of the bag is a leather journal with a beautiful engraving of yours and Kate’s initials. “Kate…is this-”

“Yeah, I, um…I couldn’t find a photo album that I liked so I sort of…made my own.”

You can’t stop yourself from flipping through the first couple of pages, caught somewhere between the euphoria of being given something so beautiful and the disappointment that comes with knowing it all only serves to fuel your love for the archer. 

Love you can’t express the way you want to.

Love that’s hidden between the pages of the journal you hold in your hands. 

You don’t notice and Kate isn’t really in a hurry to watch you read the series of rambles that make up her overdue confession so she lets the moment fade like she always has. It’s not like you can blame her for wanting to move on to something else, her lack of focus isn’t necessarily a secret, and you let yourself get carried away by her jokes and her stubborn need to make mac and cheese for you.

The archer manages to cook without setting your kitchen on fire and the two of you settle on your couch to watch the first cheesy Christmas movie you find. In all honesty…the movie is awful but the corny jokes make Kate laugh so you can’t find it in yourself to be too grumpy about the shitty writing.

Until the scene in front of you reminds you of the archer and her ex. You’re unable to hold back the jealousy-tinted snarkiness said reminder brings out of you. “I think Yelena watched this movie and then decided to be a dick just like the main character.”

Kate instantly turns toward you, staring at you with wide eyes that barely hide her amusement. “What?”

“What?” You feign confusion to avoid having to repeat yourself.

“You know what,” she replies with an eyeroll. “If I’m the one who got broken up with, why are you the one that’s still upset?”

“Because- wait, why are you not upset?”

Your uno-reverse of a response leaves Kate speechless for a few seconds and you prepare yourself for the series of jokes that will no doubt leave her mouth next. 

But Kate’s never been predictable.

“Because…she didn’t break my heart. She didn’t even own it in the first place.”

Her words spark the low flames of hope hidden in the depths of your heart. It feels impossible and if you were a believer, you might even say Santa’s on your side, helping to give you the one thing you’ve wished for more nights than you can count.

And yet you hesitate.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask, your voice so soft it borders on cautious.

“That I’m an idiot,” she replies with that same bright smile that made you fall for her so long ago. “And…I’d really like to kiss you.”

The world seems to slow down to a complete stop at that moment. 

You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself. Thankfully, you manage to kick yourself into action before the moment passes.

Kate’s awkwardness seems to disappear into thin air as she leans in toward you, meeting you halfway for the softest, sweetest, kiss you’ve ever had. And maybe nothing about it is perfect but it’s you and her and that’s all that matters for now.

[failing-to-write-again]

The sakamaki finds their self staring at their S/O baby/kids photos or maybe vice Vera, pick you’re favourite!

BABY PICTURES!!!

I'm picking both because I'm an indecisive lil'bitch, so this is part 1 with the Sakamakis seeing you as children. This took way longer than expected but I got bad writers block with Kanato, Laito, and Ayato in particular.

Part 2

TW: Some mildly degrading language, it comes with the DL terrotory, Laito calls reader a whore once.

Shu Sakamaki

Perhaps if you were less tired you would have heard the door creak open or felt the hallway's light hitting your eyes as he entered your room. While not requiring heat, it was a luxury Shu enjoyed indulging in it and you tended to give the best reactions to his cold fingers waking you.

This time though you looked exhausted, a long exam season having drained you more than he would have thought. Besides, it would be funniest if you had the energy to react well. So for now he was intent on joining you in dreamland. That was until his eyes strayed to your vanity where a book lay half open. A clearer look showed a small child grinning up at him, and the note "Sweet Pea's first contest" was scrawled on a slip of paper attached to the bottom left corner.

You were sat beside an older girl both in tutus your hair adorned with with a delicate tiara complimenting your light pink, glittery costume. It looked like you were matching the older girl who was dressed in the more traditional sugar plum fairy outfit. Flicking through the book it looked like you must still be a ballerina, he especially loved your first point shoe photo, you were beaming at yourself in a mirror while standing holding the bar.

The last photo was dated as being almost a year ago, you were stunning. On stage front and center leg held high being supported by your partner as you stared dainty upwards to the side, ironically you were also a sugar plum fairy. Except there was something much more ethereal compared to the first picture he saw, you must have been some prodigy to look this way. The spotlight had all of you glowing, the layers of tulle and jewels only accentuating your glow rather than causing it.

You also had a photo with a young girl after the show, a change in generations perhaps? But, you didn't look as happy. There was the arm of a man in the frame slightly, wearing some robe similar to Yui's dad. Flicking between the first and last photo there was a clear difference between your smile reaching your eyes. You looked so hollow compared to your younger self.

The noise of you stirring slightly and turning over is what brings him back to reality, looking at you now it would be a lie to say he ever saw you smile the way you do in these photos, a beaming toothy grin in an expression he could only call personified sunshine. Now, none of that was visible. What little joy was left in that photo of you and the child had been eradicated. You were paler, and more gaunt due to constant blood draining. You had bags heavy under your eyes and knots in your hair. Punctures littered your neck, painful angry marks unhealed and just left there to further your pain.

He never asked about your hobbies or life before the manor, he knew very little about your past what he had seen while at your least intruding to try minimize the harm his brother, no he was causing. He didn't like this feeling, a rolling unsettling feeling in his stomach. He couldn't look at you as he slunk away.

Reiji Sakamaki

"Seriously, must you be so rude to delay all of our journey home."

Pushing open the doors to the school library he met the sight of your head against a book out cold. Walking closer it was clear you had been studying for some time, a mixture of notes and books laid around you. Tutting, Reiji brushed some pencil shavings away noticing the golden chain wrapped around your fingers a small heart nestled in your palm.

Turning it over it fell open to reveal two halves, one empty the other revealing a young girl in the lap of two people, their heads were out of the frame. Picking up the locket to more closely examine it, the girl was holding a teddy bear with a big red bow matching the red dress she was in.

"They took that picture before they sent me off to the church"

"What?"

Turning his head back to face her, she had sat up and wiped her eyes. Resting her head in her hand and looking at his hand with some far away look in her eyes.

"The church that supplies your sacrifices, cults are always going to exist but yours is less popular than you know. So they trick people or offer to buy their children flat out. Some of the girls had seen their parents trying to get them back, tricked into believing the church was a boarding school. I'm not sure what mine believed, I never saw them again. I don't have any other pictures of them."

"You don't believe in the Church? Yui seems rather devoted still, I know how you humans work and-"

"Yui was raised in the Church by a leading priest who at least pretended to love her, I was shipped off and locked in a building raised to be killed. If you want to view the world as one dimensional, I'd like to remind you that it goes both ways. So I know you vampires are so incapable of managing yourselves you lose all decorum when blood is involved and have seemingly failed to learn how to wipe your mouth." She was sneering, evidently it was harder to hold her tongue freshly woken up. All he could focus on was the swirling pain in your eyes, it was the closest he'd ever seen her get to tears, it took him aback.

The silence seemed to only further solidify your upset, shaking your head and grabbing the locket and your bag before walking out of the library. Reiji hung back for a moment, almost reflective before turning back to the table. The notes were insightful, she had interacted with the material rather than the girls in the school that begged him for help. He had to wonder if perhaps he was using a less than adequate sample population...

Walking out to return to the limo he had to begin considering appropriate response to this outburst.

Ayato Sakamaki

"Yo, you better hurry up Ore-sama waits for no-one!"

"I'm showering, you're the one that came into my room." Scowling the red head dropped down onto your bed only to feel something poking him. Lifting the mattress revealed a flat tin box you had hidden suspiciously. Nosey as he is, he immediately opened the box to be faced with a collection of different photos. Some were of you in some school uniform with some friends, you look around 13 in some of them. Other, newer, photos have you in some brick building with those other girls, as well as some of the previous brides, some wore crosses similar to Yui's but you weren't. You were sat on a window ledge a small cupcake in your lap with those other brides living here, your eyes had that same hollow look you get when he insults you. The worse one though was a picture of you as a toddler, sat on a woman's lap with a tiny paper hat on your head. You were grinning in front of a cake lit up with 3 candles.

How dare you. Being so happy and hiding these expressions from him but showing them to other people. As this is crossing his mind he hears the door creaking open as you enter still drying your hair before freezing.

"How did you get that." You were trembling, eyes fixed on the box still in his lap.

"How dare you hide things for Ore-sama! You are mine nobody else's you have to give me everything. And this," He held up the box, shaking it to punctuate his words. "This is proof you are hiding things from yours truly!"

Tossing the box into the fire in a fit of rage, watching you cry as you try to save some of the photos. He eventually pulled you away, drinking you near faint and watching as you stumble trying to run away when he let you go. Watching as the flames slowly cause the photos to curl in on your small round face while you wait to blow out your candles. As well as listening as you sobbed just outside the door.

Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato had demanded to see what was in your suitcase the moment you had passed the doors into this hellhole. Thankfully Reiji had insisted that it was improper and due to his short attention span the purple haired menace had mostly forgotten. As weeks passed it had completely slipped your mind as you were far too preoccupied trying not to die. While walking through the halls of the manor back to your room after school your mind drifted to Kanato's bizarre behavior.

Kanato, for some reason, followed you around more than the other girls here, you were unsure how to feel about him all in all. He had moments where he was incredibly sweet and nice only to change in an instance with no predictability into screaming, violent rages. He was bad news, with no motivation or willingness to try change or improve you had to live in constant tension over what mood he'd be in. No better example came to mind that what you faced upon opening your door.

Kanato sat at the foot of your bed, your suitcase open and a scattered collection of pictures of you around them. Your heart was in your throat, unable to see his face to know how to act or run. Your hands were clammy, those photos were important to you and while you wouldn't mind showing people Kanato was ultimately a risk, he could rip them up or hurt you for having them.

"Hey, you were a cute child strawberry." Kanato was half facing you now, focusing on the picture in his hand you in a princess bouncy castle at your cousin's 5th birthday. You loved that one, you had dressed up as Rapunzel, you had a lilac tea dress on and your mother had bought fake hair to braid in with yours to extend its length. Gently stepping closer you explained this to Kanato, and about her being your favorite as a child.

"You can sit closer, I want you to tell me more." He didn't sound angry, rare for when he made demands. and you want it to stay that way. Sitting closer he also shifts to have his right knee brushing your leg as he sat crossed legged. He had his arm holding himself up behind you. Sitting in that pose, if it weren't for the clothes, he looks like a normal teenager.

He kept you there for over an hour it felt good to get to talk about your life before being a sacrifice. It was the longest you had ever seen him lucid. You eventually nod off, vaguely comprehending fingers slowly running through your hair and a blanket being draped around you.

Laito Sakamaki

Laito strikes a balance between crazy and insane that while still very much not sane, he's better at hiding it. For the past few months while here you've seen him slowly tailor his behavior to somewhat better suit you. While still a complete perv, once he realized his attempts at flirting didn't work he changed tactics, a few times, until there was this uneasy understanding between you both. You weren't friends or anything but his worst behaviors were saved for when he was hungry for the most part, other than that he was mostly just an annoyance. An annoyance currently not letting you take your time with the Sunday crossword. "8 across is isthmi, strip of land connecting two large areas separated by a body of water."

"I knew that."

"Is that why you took so long to write it down?" I could only glare as he sat there one hand holding up his head on the opposite end of the sofa. Chewing my cheek to stop a sly remark I twirled my pen before filling in the answer. It's been a few days since he's drank, too many smart remarks could have bad results.

Between answering hints that I was taking too long to figure out, Laito was playing with the other pages of the newspaper, folding them into aeroplanes to send across the room. Fiddling with one of his most recent planes absentmindedly, he began to speak.

"The real question is why do you do these crosswords when you're so bad at them." He was grinning as he looked up to see my reaction. However, unlike my normal remarks my face must've fallen because he looked incredibly confused.

"Oh? Strike a nerve little whore?~" He was all but purring, reveling in getting under my skin so effectively. All I could do in response is shake my head turning back to try focus on the crossword. About a minute of silence passed of pretending to focus on the page. Suddenly feeling breath near the back of my ear I flinch turning to see him hovering above me, arm on the headrest behind me and his other on the armrest caging me in. Panicking my breathing picked up as I tried to ensure as much distance between me and him as possible.

"Pictures," he mumbled. "The answer is pictures 4 down, you're not that bad...what are you thinking." He was staring straight at me, seeing straight through me. He reached back to his pocket before placing a familiar photo in front of me, the old crease down the center where I folded it in half to fit in my old uniform. It was a photo from the dormitories, I was 5 working on a crossword page torn from the paper while the older girls in the room were reading the paper and the younger ones played.

"I found it when going through your stuff to see what could be returned to you, can't have cellphones or anything useful for escape. Only to find this, some of those other girls are in the photo and just like every Sunday you ripped out the crossword page. Why?"

I didn't like this Laito, when he was just as sharp as his older brother's and not as easy to placate as the other two triplets. This Laito, who has now left me to share things I would've much rather keep private.

"Nowadays, the Church operates as a boarding school to draw in brides. You get there and you are cut off from the outside world, they tell us the girls run away when they're sent here. They wouldn't give us any real information, too many heretics in the world." Picking at the frayed edges of my hoodie's arm, I took a deep breath before continuing on. "I told the matron I liked crosswords, she did the weekly Sudoku, so since I was young I knew she thought I wouldn't break any rules. I would tear out the crossword page to do while the older girls read the paper to collect any news on disappearances and just on the greater world in general. I would return the paper and say I tore out the crossword to keep to see how my timing improved. Now it's just a habit that paper will never say anything about us or anything that can help right."

I saw him sit back out of the corner of my eye. Readying myself to be bitten or mocked I kept looking down.

"You still stick your tongue out when you focus, its cute."

Before I could even look up he was gone.

Subaru Sakamaki

Out of all the Sakamaki brothers, Subaru was by far the safest. His anger was predictable and mostly posed a risk to furniture over you, even his bites were gentle and so long as he didn't rush off he would seal the wound with what you had dubbed 'nasty healing spit'. So when he unofficial began acting as your bodyguard you didn't complain, or even acknowledge it out of fear he would stop and leave you to the bats.

The new routine was by far the most peaceful you had experienced in some time. You ate your breakfast on your balcony watching the sunset before the white haired shadow took his place brooding nearby. This 'morning' was no different, you set eating your breakfast as you looked through a small pile of photos that the computer club had salvaged from the remnants of your phone. As the sky faded from orange, to purple, to the dark blue of summer nights and stars began to appear in the sky you sat back, eying the door waiting for his appearance.

Your door opened, his figure being somewhat visible through the sheer curtains as he yawned. Once he pulled the curtain back to step outside he scowled seeing you waiting, but when did he not? He silently placed himself leaning against the door frame while you remained seated.

"You can sit closer you know. I don't bite, promise!" Grinning up at Subaru while his scowl worsened.

"You aren't going to last long if you have that attitude stupid."

"I thought we had an agreement, most liars don't call themselves liars."

"I'm a vampire, you shouldn't be so careless if you value your life."

Sighing and turning back to your pictures, you both continued to sit in silence. It took 5 minutes for Subaru to give in and move closer. You were still going through the photos not acknowledging his movement. If there's anything you've learnt it's that if you ever point out Subaru's behavior he runs away, ironic for such a fearsome creature. After he had some time to work up the courage he pointed to one in your hand.

"Who's that?"

The photo was of you wearing some roller skates at a roller disco party, you were 7 or 8. Your wrists covered in sparkly wrist bands and plasters covering your knees and palms from how much you had slipped practicing to avoid embarrassment.

"It's me at one of my friend's birthday party, About a year after this I first got sent to this boarding school linked to the Church. After a few years I was cut off from everyone and sent here. That was the last time I saw her actually, she moved away."

The albino nodded in understanding before once again entering into a lapse of silence. He kept looking back to that photo while you organized the rest of the pile, wrapping the photos in a piece of paper to prevent any sun or dust damage. Standing back up and collecting your belongings you looked to him expectantly. However, he just continued to stare off into the distance.

Weighing up your options and how much you currently valued your life, you leaned down to tap his shoulder. Aside from a minor jolt he seemed more receptive to you. Passing over the photo you were smiling.

"I don't want to look at this it makes me sad, but it seemed to catch your attention to here."

[itsabea]

March x sad Reader

Description: March tries his best to comfort you after you have a particularly busy day and end up exhausted

Warnings: not proof read, hinting at depression(reader), slight angst, swearing,

this is purely self indulgent- but then again, almost all of my is-

You had been so busy today, exceedingly more so than usual. First of all, it was raining, which you didn't mind because it meant your crops were already watered - but things only got more hectic and busy from there on on out..

You collected, put away, sold, and replanted your crops, then went to go fishing for a salmon for Jo's Request that you had accepted about a month ago.. Only to realise about an hour an a half in that it was currently Summer. Now with much less of your energy, you went to the general store to buy some more seeds and a few fruit trees, which left you with a total of 5 Tesserae as a result.

After going back to your farm and planting the saplings and seeds, you realised that it was only two more days until the end of the season. And so, you went back to fishing to try and catch the rest of the Summer fish you need for the Museum. Admittedly, most of that time was spent walking to and from the ponds to the beach, as that's where the rest of the fish you needed were found.

Once it hit 5:30, you realised that it wasn't just the third to last day of the season.. It was also a Friday. Sighing and slumping your head back, you defeatedly headed home to get ready for your weekly visit to the Inn. Hauling the bag full fish with you on your back, you got back to your farm and placed the not so important ones in your shipping bin, only to realise that you needed one more pond fish to finish that collection.... And it only showed up in the rain..

You were tired. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy your new life in Mistria; helping out the town and it's people. Or that today was bad; you had many content and joy filled moments between it all. But you were tired. So, so, tired..

Right now, nothing was more appealing than curling up in your bed, and crying.

So that's what you did. You put away your items, got showered and dressed into your pyjamas, and you laid down in your bed and cried out the remainder of what little was left of your energy.

You didn't even end up falling asleep afterwards like you usually did when crying in your bed.. Which upset you much more than you realised it would.

I mean.. Why get up just to do it all again tomorrow? The next day would likely end up being longer than today as well.. Not that today wasn't enjoyable- But it wasn't as enjoyable as others... People need you around town though, they always tell you that- You're not that important - the townsfolk don't rely on you to live....

You curled up in on yourself more, lying on your side as the tears began to flow down your cheeks again. It felt hopeless. Everything felt like it wasn't worth it anymore. And you continued to cry in your home until a knock sounded on your door.

At first, you thought you had misheard and simply sighed out a sob. But after a much firmer knock, you realised that it wasn't just you hearing things. Tiredly getting up, you assumed it was Adaline or Eiland, popping by to inform you about a new job that needed to be done around town. Or maybe Celine or Hayden needing some sugar or something?

Either way, you knew all four options were kind enough to excuse your tired, red eyes and pyjama clad form, so you didn't bother trying to make yourself the slightest bit presentable before opening the door. Which was a big mistake on your part, because March was the one that stood in your doorframe, looking down at you with a frown you could barley see through your slightly blurred vision.

"Why are you here?" March said suddenly, looking too the side as you rubbed at your eyes to try and clear them up. "Uhm- I live here?" You responded, no energy left to think up or question his presence on your farm.

After a huff and an exaggerated eyeroll, March rephrased went on to rephrase his question. "No- Why aren't you-" But he cut his words short when he watched your head bob forward like a sleepy child. "What, did you get tired from playing in the dirt all day? I can't believe you-" "Fuck you." You said back, one last tear rolling down your cheek as whatever energy you had that was keeping you standing left you.

In that same instant, you felt a falling sensation as your vision went black. You were tired.

Every so often you'd end up seeing glimpses of your home, but it was somehow moving? Your doorframe.. Black.. Your ceiling... Black... Your ceiling light.... Black.... More ceiling..... Black.....

Every time you saw black, you felt relieved and slightly less tired, especially compared to when you could see your home. And then, a warm sensation surrounded you, like you were being wrapped in a big hug that left you yearning for more.

When you reopened your eyes, you found yourself tucked into bed. The blankets were up to your ears as you laid on your side, about to roll over when you finally noticed the red head of hair resting on top of the blankets in front of you. Humming out, with a slight groaned mumbled, you went to speak up but were promptly cut off.

"Shup up and go back to sleep." March said, lifting his head from its resting position to look at you with stern, yet soft eyes. Feeling your tiredness envelope you, you closed your eyes but felt the cogs in your brain ticking. Why was March here? What was he doing? And why were you in your bed- You suddenly remembered falling into March in your doorway, and him carrying you to your bed before tucking you in.

You felt bad for cursing at him now, but you were also much more confused about why he was even at your farm in the first place. "March-" You started, only for said male to cut you off. "Shoosh. I said, 'go back to sleep'." He retorted, and if your eyes weren't still closed, you had a feeling that he'd glare at you again.

You didn't end up going back to sleep, but you did have a very calm conversation with March as you continued to rest with your eyes closed.

"I'm sorry." March said, being the first to speak after he told you to sleep for the second time. "Why-" "Shut up, you're supposed to be asleep." March said, cutting you off as moment of silence followed before he ended up answering your question. "I know I can be.. A rude asshole - a lot of the time.." March admitted as you felt him start to play with the top of the blanket slightly.

You didn't dare make a single sound as he continued to talk, telling you about how everyone at the Inn was starting to wonder where you were, and how Reina came to the conclusion that you might be over worked.. "-Then Olric offered to check up on you and-" March paused before continuing, having now moved his arm back down from the hem of the blanket as he ceased his delicate fiddling. "And.. And I told him I'd go instead."

The fact you were now frowning didn't go unnoticed by March, who must've been watching you to make sure you didn't open your eyes again. "I know, I know.. I don't why either.... You just-.... You made everyone worried.." March said, trailing off as he went silent again.

After feeling the blankets shift slightly beside you, you peaked your eye open to see March was doing, only to get told off again after seeing March's head resting on his arm directly in front of you. "Sleep." He said, but you had already closed your eye when you saw his eyes intently watching yours.

Your face ran hot with heat from the proximity, which was apparently very visible to March. "Fuck- Please don't tell me you have a damn fever.." He grumbled out, using the back of his free hand to touch your forehead as he continued to complain. "If you went diving and didn't fucking keep warm I'm taking you to Valen." March half threatened, prompting you to frown as he retracted his hand from your forehead.

"Your shipping bin smells like fish." He clarified before you felt him move against the blankets again. This time you felt weight remove itself from beside you, which had you shooting your eyes open with a desperation for company. March looked at you blankly from where he still sat on the floor beside your bed, leaning back on his arms as you watched him open his mouth to tell you off again.

"I'm sleeping..!" You said quickly, hearing a huff emit from the red head in front of your once more closed eyes.

"So.." March started after seconds more of silence. "Why weren't you at the Inn?" He asked, making an exhausted sigh leave you before you spoke. "Tired." You said, waiting for a moment before elaborating on your day. "Tended to crops.. Fed animals... Fished for a stupid non-existent Summer salmon.... Spent all my money on crops.... Planted them.... Went fishing again, but for the Museum.... Died inside.... No energy.... Cried in bed.." You said, starting to tear up again when March spoke up.

"I know it goes against what I always say to you.. But you do a lot around here- Too fucking much to be honest.. And I-" March paused for the umpteenth time that night as you pried your eyes open and looked at him.

He was sitting in the exact same position as when you last opened your eyes, only now he had his head turned from you. Yet, his eyes keep their sights on you, and this time he didn't have the heart to tell you off. March ended up breaking contact with your eyes, his face reddening slightly as he spoke.

"You're enough- More than enough.. You're honestly too much but- Sigh...." March quickly darted his eyes to, and away from you before he continued. "You're a lot. You're so much.. You mean so much- To literally everyone." He said, making another, single tear fall down your face. But this time you had just enough energy.

"Thank you.. March." You managed out, smiling as a few more tears fell down and onto the pillow beneath you.

March wasn't sure what had you crying this time, unsure on whether he did good or bad with his words. But he was by your side once more the moment he watched those tears form into droplets in the corners of your eyes. With a sigh of relief, March relaxed after seeing the slight smile on your face, only to watch it fall the next second as a soft snore left you.

Finally.. You were asleep.

[kueble]

I Just Need You By My Side, Cause I'm Warmer in the Winter With You

Another very self-indulgent Christmas fic.

Teen. Warnings: Mentions of torture. 5,600 words.

Ghost/Soap

---

“Shouldn’t you be packing up?” Ghost asks him from where he leans against his doorway. Soap shrugs and sets down the pencil in his hand. He’s been sketching for about an hour now, trying to wind down at the end of a hectic day. Everyone on base is giddy at the thought of going home for the holidays, and the energy is almost overwhelming..

“Sorry, but you’ll have to get used to my ugly mug around here. I know you’re one of the only ones here most Christmases, but I don’t have anywhere else to be this year,” he explains, hoping years of interrogation techniques pay off and Ghost doesn’t call him on the lie. Though it’s partially true, since there’s nowhere he’d rather be then in the barracks with him.

“Don’t you usually have a big family celebration? Remember you rambling about nieces and nephews and being forced into midnight mass by your mother,” Ghost asks, eyes narrowing behind the black balaclava he’s chosen to wear today.

“Glad to know you actually listen to me when I shoot my mouth off,” he laughs out.

“Never miss a word, Johnny,” Ghost tells him evenly.

“So any other year, yeah I'd be home, but things are out of sorts this year with my sisters traveling to their husband’s families, and me Ma and Pa planned a little trip of their own,” he says. Sure, the little trip was right down the road to his brother’s house where everyone would be gathered like every other year, but no need for Ghost to know that.

Last year it was excruciating to leave Ghost on the tarmac, saying goodbyes as everyone else went home to their families. He doesn’t know much, but it’s clear Ghost no longer has anyone waiting for him back at home. They’d all joked about him haunting the base, probably maskless with the skeleton crew left behind and any other puns they could come up with. Still, there was a bleakness in Ghost’s eyes that he never wanted to see again.

Thankfully he’s never been able to hide his feelings from his parents, especially his mother, and she didn’t even bat an eye when he told her his plans. She’d said something cheesy about the magic of the season bringing them closer together, which he’d quickly scoffed off. He wasn’t doing this with any ulterior motives in place. It was a simple fact that his best friend shouldn’t be alone over the long holiday break they were lucky enough to get two years in a row.

If he happens to be completely ass over tits in love with him, he’s smart enough to keep it to himself.

“Guess it could be nice to have some company, even yours,” Ghost teases with a snort. Soap rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking still.

“Do you cook anything for it or rely on the mess hall for Christmas dinner?” he asks, already planning how to make things nicer for him. They may be stuck on a mostly empty base, but there’s no reason why he can’t make it as comfortable as possible.

“Sometimes I make a pot of soup for the week, but nothing special for the day itself. Tend to keep to myself,” he says softly. And that just won’t do.

“Happy to help sample anything you cook, but since I burn water, I’ll order us something nice from town. It shouldn’t be too late for a small catering order. You like lasagna?” he asks, already thinking of the perfect little Italian place near here.

“Wouldn’t say no to it, but there’s no need to get fancy over me,” Ghost mumbles. It only makes Soap more determined to bring a little Christmas magic into his life this year.

“I’ll take care of dinner and you just bring the good company,” he says to settle it. He’ll place an order first thing in the morning, already planning to buy way more food than they need. Ghost deserves to be spoiled, and leftovers are a rare commodity around here.

“Not sure I’ll contribute much in that regard, but yeah, I can show up,” he agrees.

“No one else I’d rather spend the day with. Honestly,” Soap admits, but Ghost just huffs at him.

“Piss off, Johnny,” he says with a laugh. Before he can figure out a response, the man is already gone. It may just be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he’s damned sure going to make sure Ghost knows how much Soap likes being around him, especially now. Likes, not loves, because he has a feeling that’s something he’ll take to his grave. Being around him will just have to do for now.

—

The poster fell off the wall for the three thousandth time, and Soap barely managed to keep himself in check. Price would have his head if he blew up the base, but it’s getting more and more likely. It’s a stupid thing, really, just a fake Christmas tree by a fireplace, but he bought it to cheer up their rec room. He grumbles under his breath, reciting every swear he knows and probably inventing some new ones along the way.

“Problems, Sergeant?” Ghost asks from his spot on the couch. There’s a hint of laughter on the edges of his voice, and Soap spins around to glare at him.

“There is in fact,” he spits out before taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. No use in pissing off the man he’s trying to decorate for. “These walls are apparently covered in fifty some years of filth, and I can’t get the damn tape to stick. Seriously, it’s like teflon and I’m actually afraid to think about what could be coating this wall right now.”

“This that important to you?” Ghost asks, head tilted like he’s studying him.

“Aye,” Soap sighs out. “Just wanted to brighten up the room a bit. We can’t have a real tree, and I’ve been banned from open flames on base, but I thought this stupid fucking poster might work. Wanna sneak off base and burn it with me? Might raise my spirits.”

“How about I fix it instead,” Ghost says, standing up to stomp over to the wall.

“You’re more than welcome to try, but not even sure duct tape will hold the damn thing at this point,” he says, scowling at the wall. Seriously, he was going to beg Price to get the room deep cleaned as soon as he was back on base. Can’t be safe.

Ghost shrugs before bumping him out of the way with his hip. He holds the poster with one hand and reaches into the back of his jeans with the other. The knife he pulls out is on the small side, but it does the job when he stabs it through the poster and into the wall. Nodding proudly, he slides another knife out of his sleeve and buries it in the other top corner. The final blade is tucked in his boot, and he takes a few steps back before flinging it at the wall.

It lands perfectly in the bottom center of the poster, and Soap chubs up in his sweats at the display of skill.

“Guess that works, too,” he murmurs, actively avoiding Ghost’s gaze. No need to show off how fucking gone on him he is, and he knows there’s hearts in his eyes right now. He’s bound to be suspicious just based on how desperate Soap is to make things perfect, to give him a better Christmas than year past, and he should try better to keep his feelings hidden. Not looking to get his heart broken over the holidays.

“Anything for you, Johnny,” Ghost tells him as he strides back to the couch and picks up his book again. Soap can feel his cheeks heating up and blurts out some half-assed excuse before making a tactful retreat.

—

He debates waiting until morning, but Soap is too curious about the package in his hands to wait that long. His box of gifts from his family arrived today, but he didn’t bother unpacking it until after dinner. Everything was neatly labeled - or scribbled by his nieces and nephews - with his name except for one.

To Ghost, From Ma MacTavish. Open Immediately.

Not one to disobey his mother, Soap raps on Ghost’s door and hopes this isn’t something too embarrassing. Lord knows his entire family is annoying enough already over his little crush, and he doesn’t need his mother stepping in to help him. There’s a rustling from behind the door before it’s swung open by a brooding Ghost. Anyone else might not see how moody he is, but Soap can tell just by studying his eyes.

“What do ya need?” he asks, voice cracking from disuse.

“Got a special delivery for you and instructions for you to open it right away,” Soap informs him, holding up the package like the peace offering that it is. Ghost eyes it suspiciously but steps aside and lets him into the room. While he’d love a chance to look around, Soap keeps his focus on Ghost out of respect for his privacy. He knows just letting him into the room was a big step for the other man.

“Your mum sent this?” Ghost asks as he takes the parcel from him. Soap nods and smiles warmly as Ghost’s eyes widen. “Better not keep her waiting then,” Ghost mutters before sitting on the edge of his bed. The package looks huge, even in his large hands, and Soap really wonders what it could be.

He tears the paper at the seams, carefully working a finger down the edge of it. It’s gentle in a way that hints of Christmases past and perhaps being yelled at to keep the wrapping for next year. Soap’s grandma used to do that and iron out each crease to save money.

When Ghost finally removes the paper, soap breathes a sigh of relief at seeing the present isn’t anything to worry about. Trust his mother to try and take care of someone she’s never met. Ghost holds up the blanket, blinking slowly at it. Soap supposes he isn’t used to getting many gifts, especially not something handmade. The blanket itself is a mix of blank and white granny squares, no doubt crocheted with love by his mother. Everyone in their house has at least one of these piled at the foot of their bed, and his heart warms at the thought of Ghost having one on his.

“She made it?” he asks in a whisper, and Soap wants to cry about it. There’s no reason a gift should put him in such a state of awe, and he vows right then and there to spoil him as much as he’s allowed to under the guise of friendship.

“You’re looking at a Ma MacTavish special right there. Everyone in the family has one, and it looks like she thinks highly of you,” he confirms.

“Never even met me.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve entertained her with a tale of two of the man who saved my life so many times. Besides, how else do you think she’d know the perfect color scheme for an emo bastard like yourself,” He says in an attempt to lighten the mood. The corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkle up, and he knows there’s a smile beneath the mask.

“You’ll have to thank her for me. No, wait! I’ll get a thank you note together for the next time you send mail home. That alright?” he asks almost timidly, which isn’t an emotion Soap’s sure he’s ever shown before.

“She’ll love that. Sorry to barge in on you so late at night, but I’m glad I did. Should probably be heading to bed, though,” Johnny says with a pout. Dreams of being asked to stay, to tuck himself against Ghost under that very blanket flash through his mind and he has to get out of here quickly before he shows his hand.

“Me too. Night, Johnny,” Ghost says, and he understands it for the dismissal that it is. The last thing he sees as he ducks out the door is Ghost spreading the blanket across the top of his bed and smoothing it out. He’ll have to send his mother a thank you note as well.

—

There is absolutely no reason for them to be in Soap’s room instead of the rec room, but he wasn’t about to say no when Ghost suggested it. Currently they are sitting on his bed - which is way too small for two grown ass men - with their backs against the wall and his laptop propped on top of their thighs. Ghost is a constant warm presence at his side, and he’s pretty sure he would be completely lost if he hadn’t seen this movie so many times.

They each have a glass of their preferred poison in hand, and Ghost has his mask tucked up over his nose while he purses his lips at the screen in front of them. He is so fucking stunning with the light from the laptop highlighting the planes of his face, and Soap would be weak in the knees were he standing. Not that Soap is abusing his trust just to watch him more than the movie. Absolutely not. Still, the sight of Simon’s sharp jawline is a rare one and he can’t seem to stop staring. He longs to scrap his teeth over the scar that curves around it and has to hold himself back from scooting even closer to him.

“I don’t get it,” Ghost says, breaking him out of his dangerous thoughts.

“How so?” he asks, eyes already turned back to the screen to see what part of the movie they’ve reached. Nearly done at this point, but the silly plot has been a fun distraction. They don’t often get downtime, time totally free of responsibilities, and he hopes he can go without this once everything is back to normal.

“This just seems so improbable. His family forgot to bring him to the airport and they don’t have a single family friend they can call in the meantime? The police are actively searching for these two assholes and yet a child is the only one who manages to take them down? Gotta admit some of these traps are pretty awesome, though,” Ghost rambles out.

“One, I can’t believe you’ve made it this far in life without watching this. Two, this film is a masterpiece because it makes you suspend reality. Three, I’m pretty sure this is why I ended up in demolitions anyway. Do you know how many things I blew up after seeing this? I thought my Pa was going to murder me just as an example for my brothers and sisters. One time I rigged a frying pan to hit my brother in the face and it broke his fucking nose,” Soap says, unable to hold in his laughter. “Pretty sure he was about to pack me off and make me Nan deal with me, but my Ma couldn’t let her baby go.”

“You’re a real piece of work, Johnny,” Ghost tells him softly. He brings his glass up to his mouth, and Soap watches him swallow slowly, desperately trying to remind himself how they’re friends and nothing more. “Glad it brought you to me, though.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, heart pounding in his chest.

But then they fall into an easy silence, and he’s forced to turn back to the movie. They both finish their drinks as the plot winds down, and he’s about to offer another when Ghost grabs his wrist to stop him from standing up. He looks down, worried that he’s overstepped somehow, and the tightness in Ghost’s clenched jaw startles him.

“We’ve had a good week, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly.

“Loved every second of it,” Soap blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Might not love this so much,” Ghost says with a sigh. “I’ve…I’ve never been this close with anyone, barely even shared this with Price, but I’d like to give you some sort of explanation for why I keep to myself at Christmas. If you’ll listen, that is.”

“Ghost, I will always be here, no matter what you want to tell me. Thank you for trusting me so much, but are you sure you want to do this while we’re drinking?” he has to ask, needs to be sure his friend won’t regret this come morning.

“You think I just keep bourbon and scotch on hand? That’s kinda the reason why I brought it with me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now, but I needed a little courage to do it. Just, just don’t say anything until I’m done, ok? If you do I might not be able to finish,” he warns him, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sensing how important this is, Soap sets both their glasses on his bedside table and closes the laptop. His desk lamp is on, so they’re not totally in the dark. He knows rumors of Ghost’s past, has heard a bunch of shit about his time in captivity, but every scrap of information is dear to him. He longs to know the man beside him better than he knows himself. He leans back against the wall and angles his body towards Ghost before saying, “Course. I got you.”

“When I was little, the only person I cared about was my mum. She kept me safe, kept my dad and brother away from me the best she could. I know now that my brother was only doing what he could to avoid my dad’s rage, but it still hurt back then. I won’t lie, I had a real shitty childhood and ran into the service as soon as I could. After that, things started improving. I came back home, kicked my sorry excuse for a father out of the house, and got my brother off of drugs. Hell, I stood beside him as he married the love of his life, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything, but the memories threaten to crush me sometimes.”

He trails off and palms the back of his head, chewing at his lower lip. Soap stays silent, unwilling to break his promise even though Ghost looked on the verge of falling apart. They sit there for a long moment while he regroups and continues his story. Soap longs to reach out, to offer some sort of physical comfort, but he knows better than to act on it. Simon doesn’t enjoy being touched on a good day, and he’d absolutely hate it while letting himself be this vulnerable.

“Things were going well until I got betrayed and snagged by Roba. Fuck, Johnny,” he breaks off, swallowing thickly before pressing his fingers to his mouth. “It was bad. I won’t go into details, but you can only be tortured for so long before you start to doubt yourself, start to go mad instead of trying to fight it. I have no fucking clue how I managed to survive after being left for dead, but I eventually made it back home.”

Ghost shifts his legs, twitching as he picks at the fabric of his sweats. He takes a few deep breaths and stares ahead at the wall, shoulders tense as he continues. “They died on Christmas, and it was all my fault. Roba still had his hooks in me, and couldn't let me go since I escaped with my life. One more betrayal led me back to my mum’s house that only hours before had been full of celebration and Christmas cheer. When I got there, the whole house was up in flames. The fire was so hot, but I had to save them. Only it was too late, because they were lying dead near the doorway. They even put a bullet through the forehead of my nephew. He was so small, so fragile, and I couldn’t even save him.”

He falls quiet, and it seems like he’s finished. Soap knew it was bad, but wasn’t expecting something so tragic. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just lays a hand on Ghost’s shoulder and squeeze it gently, deciding to risk the touch at this point. It seems to shatter something inside of him and he slumps over to lean on Soap’s shoulder.

“The men involved?” he asks quietly.

“Killed them all. Didn’t bring back my family, though. So yeah, Christmas fucking sucks, but at least I’m not alone this year. Didn’t know it would be easier with you here, but you always manage to help me stay calm. Should have expected it,” he says. His voice is tinged with exhaustion, and Soap knows he’s worn himself out.

“Thank you for trusting me with this. I, it’s, well it’s fucked up that you had to experience that. I know nothing I say can help make it much better, and I’m honestly not sure how you managed to get through it, but I’m grateful you did. I can’t imagine being here without you,” Soap says after a long moment. He knew Ghost has a shitty past, had heard about him digging himself out of his own grave, but this is a whole new level of horrible. If it happened to him, he can’t say he would still be here to talk about it.

“Price helped a lot. Pushed me through it and then kept me around,” Ghost says, turning to stare at the wall. Soap isn’t sure what he can offer at this point, but he has the feeling Ghost might not want to be alone after unloading all of this.

“Stay with me?” he asks, watching as Ghost’s shoulders rise up. He still isn’t looking at him, so he keeps talking. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I can’t imagine wanting to be by myself after such an intense conversation. Would feel bad if I let you go back to your room, really.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually sleep with the mask on,” Ghost says with a chuckle. And ok, he can work with that.

“So let me freshen up and get myself ready for bed. You can go after me, and I’ll just sleep on my side. I can keep my eyes shut, give you your privacy,” he suggests. Ghost finally turns to look at him, and there’s a telltale hint of red around his eyes. If Soap was still religious, he’d offer up a prayer that the other man agrees. He clearly needs comforting tonight.

“Yeah, ok,” Ghost mumbles. “Gonna change into my sleep stuff, though. I’ll get ready in my room and be back in a few.”

He practically leaps out of the bed, and Soap hopes he holds true to his word. He goes through his nightly routine on autopilot, not even aware of it until he’s crawling into his bed. He leaves the side of the covers up and turns onto his side to face the wall. It’s only just catching up to him that he invited Ghost into his bed, but tonight isn’t about him. He’d be offering the same closeness to Gaz if he shared something as horrific as Ghost just did.

If anything, this only proves how amazingly strong Ghost is. He had to reinvent himself twice, the second time with no one to support him. They’ve all seen and done some really horrendous things in the name of queen and country, but he can’t fathom coming home to find the burning bodies of his family at his feet.

He’s yanked out of his spiraling thoughts by the sound of the door opening and shutting. The clunk of Ghost setting down his boots seems impossibly loud in the silence, and he holds his breath waiting for Ghost to come to bed. He hears the muffled sound of Ghost removing his mask and setting it on the bedside table and fights the urge to turn around and look at his gorgeous face. He’s here as a friend tonight, and his feelings don’t matter right now.

The bed dips behind him, and the covers shift as Ghost settles in behind him. There’s an awkward few seconds where they both shuffle around trying to figure out how two large men can fit in such a small bed, but then Ghost sighs and rolls onto his side to frame Soap from behind. He slings an arm across Soap’s hips and presses his nose against the nape of Soap’s neck. The last thing he hears as he drifts off is a soft, “Thank you, Johnny.”

—

Unsurprisingly, Ghost is gone when he wakes up. The bed is still warm, though, so he knows he spent the whole night. He wishes he could have woken him up with a Merry Christmas, but understands his need for time to himself. Chris, last night had been a lot. Hopefully he can still provide a little holiday cheer tonight, but even if they eat in silence he’ll have a great time. Every second spent at Ghost’s side is a better gift than anything he could ever fine underneath the tree.

He spends the morning in the gym, working out his frustrations. Life wasn’t fair, but it has been exceedingly rotten towards Ghost. He knows there isn’t anything he can do to change his past, but he’ll damn sure be here for his future. It feels like they crossed a line last night, but he’s not sure which one. Nothing romantic happened, but he feels closer to Ghost than anyone before. He’s willing to bet Ghost hasn’t opened up this much to many people, probably just Price, and he’s ashamed at how giddy that makes him feel.

They might not ever be together, but they’ll always be solid.

After lunch and a long, self-indulgent shower it’s easy to keep himself busy by running through last minute preparations. They hadn’t said anything about exchanging gifts, but Soap kept finding the perfect things for him.He knows Ghost will love the aged bourbon, even though it hurt his Scottish heart to buy it. There’s also a new knife that came highly recommended by their armorer and a deck of cards with holographic skulls on them. Wrapping was never his strong suit, but he managed to slap some paper onto his gifts. Sure, it looked like they were wrapped by a small child, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

He just finishes heating up the catering he picked up the day before and is about to text Ghost to hurry up and join him when his phone goes off. It’s an incoming FaceTime from his mother, and he decides there’s plenty of time to take it before Ghost swings by. He’s been missing his family all day, but they promised to call at some point.

“Ma! Happy Christmas!” he shouts, laughing as his entire family tries to crowd into the camera view.

“You’ll each get a turn, back off,” his mother says, already throwing elbows at his siblings and their kids. His dad stands next to her, silent as always but with a huge smile on his face. He lifts his glass in cheers, and Johnny waves back in response.

“We’re about to eat dinner, but It’s good to see you all. Make sure everyone gets hugs from me, even though I’m not with you this year. And pass out my presents! Make sure the kids know how much Uncle John spoils them. I want photographic evidence!” he says, laughing as one of his nieces tries to jump into the view again. His dad picks her up and wanders off, no doubt about to bribe her into behaving with cookies.

“I hope staying away is worth it,” his mother says, but she doesn’t look mad, just nosy. She’s been on him for months to bring his boy home, no matter how much he tells her they aren’t dating. Ghost is one hundred percent his boy, though, even if he hasn’t realized it yet.

“It’s worth every second away from you all,” he answers honestly, “I’ll be home as soon as we get more downtime, but you know why I have to be here. Thanks for understanding.”

“Anything for my baby,” his mom says, snorting when he scowls at her.

“You ever going to stop calling me that?” he asks, knowing full well she never will. He isn’t mad, not really, just likes to give her grief about it.

“If you didn’t want to be my baby, you’d have been born higher up the chain,” she tells him with a smirk.

“We can argue about it later. Let me get dinner on the table and then we’ll chat again later, yeah? We can pass around the phone so all the kids can show me everything they got,” he suggests, and his mom nods in response.

“Go feed your boy,” she tells him and ends the call before he can quip back at her.

“Not my boy,” he mumbles to the empty room.

But then someone clears their throat from behind him, and his heart sinks into his chest. Fuck. He spins around with a fake smile on his face to find Ghost standing there with his arms crossed.

“I’m assuming you heard all of that?” he asks with a grimace.

“You lied about your family not being together,” Ghost says, though he knows it’s a question.

“Aye, I did. And I don’t feel bad about it. I couldn’t leave you here alone again. Like it or not, I’m here for you,” he says with a sharp nod. He’s already gearing for a fight, ready to be stubborn as hell about it, but what Ghost says next throws him off his game.

“Because I’m your boy,” he asks, and Johnny can hear the fucking smirk in his voice. He has a plain balaclava on today, which is as dressed down as Ghost seems to get.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to let that one go? We can forget about it,” he offers quietly. Because who is he to keep dreaming, right? He’s been dropping hints for at least a year now, and Ghost hasn’t taken the bait. He teeter-totters between thinking the man returns his feelings to thinking he barely tolerates him. Regardless, he meant what he said and he’ll be standing by his side as long as Ghost lets him.

“And if I don’t want to forget it? What if I wanted to be your boy? Though I’d prefer man, if we’re being honest here,” Ghost says, and he freezes while his brain catches up.

“You fucking with me?” he asks, just because he needs to know, needs to be sure before he makes a fool of himself. Well, more of a fool than he already has.

“No, but we could fool around later if dinner goes well,” Ghost tells him, laughing as he reaches up and pulls the mask off. He tosses it onto the table, barely missing the salad bowl.

And fuck, he’s a bonnie lad. Soap can’t even speak, just stands there staring at him, eyes trailing over every exposed inch of his face, committing it to memory in case this is the last time he sees it for a while. “You’re stunning,” he whispers in awe. Then he has the pleasure of watching Ghost’s face darken, the apples of his cheeks turning pink and making the freckles dotting them stand out even more.

“Shut up,” he murmurs before stepping closer. “But yeah, I’m all in if you want this too. Want me. I’m sick of wasting time. Maybe next year we can be with your family instead of me keeping you stuck on base.”

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life,” he says truthfully. “And I’d rather be stuck here every single year if you prefer it. But you heard my Ma. She wants you home with me.”

“Let’s make sure we make it to next Christmas, then,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of worry in his tone.

“Never letting go of you now,” Soap warns him with a laugh. Ghost chuckles and moves in so close the toes of their boots touch.

“Hard to let go if you haven’t even touched me yet,” he points out. And fuck if his smirk isn’t as lovely as Soap had imagined. It’s crooked, a scar bisecting the left side, but it’s perfect to him.

“Better fix that. Can I kiss you, Ghost?” he asks softly.

“Simon. Call me Simon when we’re alone,” he says breathily, and Soap knows how out of his comfort zone he is right now.

“Simon, can I kiss you? Please?” he asks and Simon just nods at him.

And so he does. He cups Simon’s cheeks, brushing a thumb across the constellation of freckles there, and leans in to press their mouths together. It seems almost anticlimactic after all their flirting, but the feel of Simon’s chapped lips against his is one of the best things he’s ever experienced. He can almost feel the tension leave both their bodies as they melt into each other. He keeps things light, pulls back before thinking better and darting back for another quick kiss.

Kissing Simon isn’t a burst of fireworks, but it’s like coming home which is even more perfect.

“Would now be a good time to tell you I’m really fucking in love with you?” he asks teasingly.

“Only if I can say the same,” Simon says, chuckling as he palms the back of Johnny’s head and drags him into another kiss.

And if they stand there kissing in the middle of the rundown rec room, lost in each other long after their dinner has gone cold, it’s no one's business but their own.

[224bbaker]

An update and a thank you from 224B Baker Street!

Hello again, detectives!

While the crowdfund for season 2 of Fawx & Stallion technically wrapped up a few days ago, we thought it would be good to take a day or two to regroup, take a nap, and think of a few words to express our thanks. This being May 4th, the day in 1891 that Sherlock Holmes fell to his (alleged) death at Reichenbach Falls, it seemed strangely fitting to say a few words about the story of the detectives across the street and slightly to the left on the day Holmes ever so temporarily bowed out of his own story.

Last Monday, we crossed 100% of our goal. And on Thursday, we ended our campaign with 104% of our goal. We are beyond honored and completely grateful to everyone who donated, shared, sent along encouraging words, recommended, baked, drew, wrote, all of it, in support of us bringing more of this show into the world.

Everyone working to create this show has made art at some point that feels like it went out into the void--something they felt deeply, sacrificed for, put small, weird, jagged, still-beating parts of themselves into day after day, and then never knew if the thing those parts of themselves funneled into actually reached another human. Much less another human who saw themselves in it. We've been quite honest about the fact that our characters are very much an exploration of that feeling, of wanting to be seen, wanting the things we've done to be seen, to matter to someone.

We could write a million words, fifty seasons of audio drama, and never truly be able to put into words how grateful we are to you for reaching back to the art we create and telling it "I see this. I felt it. I love it. I want more."

Creating art is so hard. Most things are hard, but art is Hard, especially as the world and the algorithm and the AI and the Content creeps in and shuts off means of doing the personal, weird, silly, risky little things with any sort of official funding. It's why we funded season one ourselves, because we thought it was worth it. It means more than the world to know you thought so too.

And now, with all of that self-indulgence done: a practical update on NEXT STEPS!

MAY 2024:

We'll spend this next month prepping crowdfund rewards--writing thank you notes, getting extra supplies of stickers (they were VERY popular), etc! We expect those rewards to go out mid-Summer. The annotated Scandal in Bohemia will go out to our $30+ donors later this month via email. Also, if you pledged at $250 or up (THANK YOU again), we will be reaching out to secure details of your perks (start thinking of what mystery you'd like us to solve!). If you are expecting an email and do not receive one by the end of the month, please check your spam folder and if nothing is there, reach out to us via IGG!

We are also in the process or pre-production currently! This season will have a cast of roughly 22 voice actors, so we're taking the full month to get our recording plan. We'll also spend the month refining scripts, doing rehearsals, working with our composer on some original pieces (perhaps some violin) and giving our fantastic sound designer, Sarah, time to do the prep work she needs, and laying the groundwork for what is looking to be a very full summer of production! We look forward to updating you as the season progresses!

Again, thank you. Thank you. This second season is, aptly, a bit of an inverse of our first season. It's about the weight of expectation. How to operate in the world when you go from unknown to known. Invisible to spectacular. Alone to loved. It's also about a murder at a theme park but that's a bit less relevant to the emotional core of what I'm driving at here. But actually, fuck it, I guess it's still relevant, because we've always been excited about the weighty and the silly all the same.

So again, and not for the last time: #ForAmbrosius

-Lauren, Ian, and the whole Fawx & Stallion Team

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

Too Soft to be a Pirate

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Chapter 5 of a series.

Summary: Following the events of season 1 episode 5 of Our Flag Means Death. The reader gets injured during the raid and Izzy tends to their wounds.

Warnings: Lots of cursing, general pirate raid injuries, and descriptions of a fractured wrist. (I don't think it's too bad, but just in case)

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Chapter 5: The Best Revenge is Dressing Well 

Izzy found himself grappling with a crew of seemingly inept fucks aboard the Revenge. Day after day, they lazed about the ship, showing a remarkable aversion to anything resembling work. The situation proved infuriating for Izzy, but he could tolerate Bonnet’s crew if it meant he would one day captain the Queen Anne’s Revenge. 

Blackbeard spent most of his time with the self-proclaimed “Gentleman Pirate”, a mere ponce in Izzy’s eyes. Blackbeard was imparting the ways of the pirate life to the aspiring captain. Izzy couldn’t help but anticipate the day when Blackbeard would burn that little twat’s face off. 

Izzy paced the main deck, his steps measured and purposeful as he observed the assorted members of Bonnet’s crew. Blackbeard planned for a raid on a merchant vessel later in the afternoon and the buzz of anticipation filled the air. The atmosphere onboard hinted at a sense of calm before the storm, as most of the crew indulged in a leisurely morning, preparing for the impending fight. 

Guided by the melody of a lute and an enchanting voice, Izzy traced the source of the sound. Each step up the wooden stairs toward the quarter deck carried him closer to the origin of the music that had captured his senses. He spotted you seated cross-legged on the poop deck, your gaze fixed upward at Frenchie as he skillfully strummed the lute. Your voice blended effortlessly with his playing, and you seemed at peace and completely absorbed in the music. 

A surge of jealousy gripped Izzy as he witnessed the unfolding scene before him. Swiftly suppressing the emotion, he turned away, retreating back to the main deck, no longer willing to witness the connection between you and Frenchie. Since the night you two shared a kiss, you had deliberately kept your distance from Izzy. He sensed your embarrassment about the shared moment, and a part of him felt a sense of relief that you were steering clear of him. Izzy understood the importance of staying focused on the plan and, more specifically, on Edward. 

Your request for sword lessons from Izzy had stopped, a fact that he couldn’t help but notice. Ivan had seamlessly stepped into the role of your instructor. Izzy observed you honing your knife skills under Jim’s guidance. Credit where it was due, Izzy couldn’t deny that Jim was the only competent pirate aboard this ship. 

Your magnetic presence naturally drew Bonnet’s crew toward you, seeking your company, and, much to Izzy’s annoyance, receiving your warm smiles. You spent the last few days hiding away in the kitchen helping Roach with meals. Your whispered conversations with Lucius didn’t escape Izzy’s keen eyes. It grated on him to witness these interactions. You, above all, shouldn’t be forming attachments to these idiots, as you were well aware that this arrangement was temporary. 

Izzy observed Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet emerging from the captain’s quarters, exchanging grins. A grimace crept across Izzy’s face as he witnessed the scene. Though he understood it was a strategic move, he couldn’t fathom why Blackbeard would willingly spend any time with that man. 

“What’s it looking like, Iz?” Blackbeard asked, disrupting Izzy’s train of thought. 

“We’re approaching a medium-sized merchant vessel, cap’n, and it appears to have a distinct lack of cannons” Izzy replied with stoic composure. 

“Agh, that’s great news, Izzy!” Blackbeard exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement as he grasped Stede’s shoulder. “Your first real raid, mate,” Blackbeard added, directing his words to Stede with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“Ah, indeed,” Stede replied with a goofy grin, attempting to conceal the fear behind his eyes. “I’m quite looking forward to it.” 

Izzy rolled his eyes at the exchange and proceeded to rally the crew for the impending raid. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

The sound of gunfire echoed through the air as chaos unfurled around you. Blackbeard’s crew, a group of seasoned pirates, fought fiercely, and you navigated well enough to keep yourself alive. While you had made improvements through the lessons imparted by Izzy and Ivan, the truth remained that you were still a far cry from being an expert with a blade. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you currently lacked the energy for a fight. The idea of being curled up in your hammock with one of Stede Bonnet’s books held far more appeal. The recent emotional turmoil with Izzy had taken a toll on your mind, leaving you feeling drained. Engaging in mundane tasks, like helping Roach in the kitchen or handling menial ship duties, felt far more manageable. The realization of your exhaustion only truly set in when you found yourself in the middle of the raid. 

Your attention snapped back into focus as Fang ruthlessly smashed a man’s head against some wooden crates. The brutality of the scene shook you, briefly waking you from your mental fatigue. Your focus was swiftly redirected to a man engulfed in flames, leaping off the boat - a spectacle orchestrated by Ivan. 

Suddenly, the wind was knocked from your stomach as a body collided with you, forcing you to crumple onto the ground. The impact sent your sword flying from your right hand, and instinctively, you reached out with the other, desperately attempting to break your fall. A sharp pain emanated from your left wrist upon hitting the ground. Standing above you, a man brandished his sword, the blade menacingly aimed toward your chest. 

You closed your eyes, bracing for the inevitable strike, but instead the air filled with commotion around you. Opening your eyes, you witnessed Izzy delivering a resounding punch to the man’s face. The first mate called out to Fang, and in the blink of an eye, the assailant who had knocked you down was being hurtled across the deck, soaring over the heads of Lucius and Stede. Swiftly sitting up, you maneuvered against the ship’s wall, finding refuge, while Izzy positioned himself in front of you, brandishing his sword in a protective stance. 

As the fight gradually ended, the rest of the crew corralled the survivors of the raid. You rose to your feet, cautiously retrieving your sword while hiding your injured wrist behind your back. When Izzy turned to face you, the simmering anger in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“That was fucking sloppy,” Izzy hissed at you. “I shouldn't have to worry about you getting gutted during a simple raid. Next time, you’ll be watching with the rest of the twattys who aren’t fit to be pirates.” 

You fixed your gaze on Izzy, choosing not to offer a response. 

“Fuck off. Go help with the looting”, he grumbled, acknowledging your silence. 

Swiftly, you made your way to join Frenchie, eager to escape further scolding from Izzy. Deep down, you recognized the truth in his words; your focus should have been sharper during the fight. The persistent dull pain radiating from your wrist served as a reminder of that. You opted to keep the injury to yourself. You would rather endure the pain in silence, hoping it would subside with time, than face any additional reasons for reprimand. 

You and Frenchie sifted through the boxes in search of anything valuable. Mindful of your injured left hand, you relied solely on your right, keeping the hurt arm cradled close to your stomach. Having collected everything you deemed valuable, you and Frenchie made your way back to the Revenge. 

As the day progressed, you found yourself seated below deck with Lucius and Pete, chatting about mundane topics. Suddenly, Frenchie made his entrance, adorned in a fine black suit and cradling his lute. 

“Frenchie!” you exclaimed, “You clean up well!” 

“Why, thank you,” Frenchie responded with a theatrical bow. “I’m planning to wear it to a fancy party the captains want to attend.” 

“What kind of party?” Black Pete inquired, his curiosity tinged with a hint of fear of missing out on something fun. 

“Eh, just one with a bunch of hoity-toity people,” Frenchie responded, his tone less than impressed. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” Black Pete replied. 

“I wonder if there’s going to be dancing,” Lucius mused playfully, lifting his eyebrows. “Ugh, I miss dancing.” 

Frenchie sat down next to you on a crate and began playing a slow, melodic tune on his lute, a common occurrence aboard the ship. The music prompted Lucius to rise from his seat, extending his hand toward you with raised eyebrows. 

“My wrist is still hurting from the raid this morning,” you responded, politely declining Lucius’ request. Suddenly, a mischievous thought crossed your mind, and you gave Lucius a sly smile.

During your time on The Revenge, Lucius had become quite talkative with you. You suspected it was because, among the crew, you were one of the less intimidating pirates. In the last few days, he had been openly expressing his crush on Black Pete to you. Now, you made a decision that you were going to help him out. 

“I bet Black Pete would make a pretty good dance partner,” you said, casting a glance toward him. “Even if he hasn’t danced before, he picks things up way faster than anyone I’ve ever met.” 

“I haven’t danced before,” Black Pete responded hesitantly, before regaining his normal confidence. “But you’re right. I am an exceptionally fast learner.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m also an exceptional teacher,” Lucius responded flirtatiously, placing his hands on Black Pete’s shoulders. 

As you watched Lucius and Black Pete dance you couldn’t help but notice a subtle spark igniting between the two. After a while, you and Frenchie made your way back to the deck, as he prepared to depart from the party, leaving Lucius and Black Pete alone to their own devices. 

As you ascended to the deck, you noticed Blackbeard and Izzy engaged in conversation on the Quarterdeck. Their discussion seemed intense, with the low rumble of their voices carrying over the sounds of the ship. Abruptly, Izzy stomped off, his expression etched with the familiar anger that seemed to cling to him like a shadow. 

Soon after Izzy’s departure, you found yourself in the vacant spot next t0 Blackbeard on the Quarterdeck. Edward was in a beautiful purple suit, adorned with two bows neatly tied into his beard. His typically wild and flowing hair was not fashioned into a tidy bun at the back of his head. 

“Izzy said I look like a ponce,” Blackbeard huffed, a touch of vulnerability in his tone. “Do I look ponce?” he asked, turning to you with genuine concern in his eyes. 

“You look handsome,” you replied with a warm smile, reaching up to gently straighten one of the bows in his beard. It struck you that this was the first time you had ever seen your captain look nervous. It made sense; this was uncharted territory for him. “Stede will look out for you,” you assured Blackbeard, offering a reassuring nod. 

Blackbeard acknowledged your words with a coy smile. 

The party set off to the celebration, and life on the ship resumed its normal course. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Izzy Hands seethed with fury as he found himself left alone with Bonnet’s useless crew while Blackbeard attended some pointless party. At least there was a small victory in the fact that he was having Lucius scrape all the barnacles off the ship. Izzy’s satisfaction deepened at the thought that Lucius was finally facing the consequences for lying around doing fuck-all day after day. The punishment was fitting, and long overdue. 

“How’s our barnacle project coming?” Izzy sneered, his gaze scanning over the edge of the ship, expecting to find Lucius. 

A wave of surprise and frustration washed over Izzy as he spotted you sitting on the bench, scraping barnacles instead of Lucius. He noticed your face tightening in response to the sound of his voice, but you continued your work, seeming determined to stay focused despite his interruption. 

“I’m gonna kill that twat,” Izzy snapped, frustration boiling over. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, his tone sharp and accusing. 

“Scraping barnacles, sir,” you responded in a flat tone, maintaining a stoic demeanor despite the tension in the air. 

Izzy rolled his eyes before continuing, “Where are Fang and Lucius?” he inquired, a hint of impatience coloring his tone. 

“They mentioned having something important to do, so I offered to finish scraping the barnacles,” you said with nonchalant shrug. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Izzy demanded.

Izzy noticed you pause your barnacle-scraping, it seemed like you were taking a moment to genuinely consider his question. “It’s probably because I’m a chronic people-pleaser. I know you wanted this done, and I’m just trying to keep the peace,” you replied, your words carrying a touch of honesty. 

Izzy started pulling the bench back up towards the deck until you were face to face with him. “You’d just blindly do something, because someone asked you to?” Izzy asked condescendingly. 

“Most likely,” you responded with a shrug. 

“What if I asked you to jump off the crow’s nest? Would you do that?” Izzy inquired his tone carrying a note of exhaustion. 

“I would probably do anything you asked me to, Izzy, because I don’t like when you’re pissed at me,” you responded, avoiding direct eye contact as you looked off to the side. 

“You would die,” Izzy responded flatly. 

“Well if that turned out to be the case, at least you wouldn’t be able to yell at me,” you

 replied, pursing your lips together, a hint of bitterness lacing your words. 

Izzy observed you carefully standing up off the stool and onto the deck, his gaze unwavering. 

“Well, that twat owes you an apology for making you do his work,” Izzy stated with a gruff tone, trying to return to the situation at hand. 

“That’s not really necessary because I’m not upset. I offered to do it,” you replied quietly. 

Izzy rolled his eyes once more, expressing his exhaustion with the situation. Frustrated that Lucius had taken advantage of your kindness, he moved to grab your wrist to lead you in search of Fang and Lucius. However, a sharp hiss escaping your mouth caught his attention. Concern furrowed his brow, and he immediately released your arm, his eyes scanning your face as you attempted to hide a wince. 

“Let me see your wrist,” Izzy demanded in a gentle tone, a surge of concern coursing through him. 

You lifted up your arm, and Izzy carefully examined your wrist. As he moved your sleeve back, the sight that met his eyes confirmed his suspicions. The area around the wrist showed signs of distress – visible swelling, a blooming bruise coloring the skin, and a subtle misalignment that hinted at a potential fracture. Tender to the touch, your wince as he inspected it spoke volumes about the pain you were experiencing. 

Izzy looked up towards your eyes, and the fear he saw there softened his expression. “This was from the raid this morning?” Izzy asked, although he already knew the answer. 

You nodded slowly in confirmation. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he pressed. 

“I didn’t want to bother anyone. I just hoped it would get better,” you responded, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your words. 

“Go wait for me in my cabin. We’re going to get that sorted. I just need to find those two lazy idiots first,” Izzy said softly, a mixture of concern and determination in his voice. 

As he watched you walk away, gently cradling your left wrist against your chest, a wave of guilt washed over Izzy. He should have made sure that you weren’t injured after the raid. When he saw that man rushing into you, a surge of rage had flung him into protection mode. After the fight, he directed that rage toward you, but now, seeing you hurt, he realized he was really just angry at himself for allowing you to be in that position in the first place. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on Izzy’s shoulders as he set off to find Fang and Lucius, a resolve burning in his eyes to make things right with you. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Entering Izzy’s room, you cast a curious glance around, hoping to glean any more insight into the man who had been occupying your thoughts for the last year. As expected, Izzy’s room was simple and functional- a reflection of his practical nature. A bed, a desk, a chair, and a chest constituted the entirety of his furnishings. 

Standing awkwardly for a while, you felt a sense of unwelcome intrusion in his personal space before finally opting to sit on his chair. Time seemed to stretch on as you waited for Izzy, and your anxiety began to grow. This was the first time you would be alone with Izzy since the kiss, and a sense of uncertainty lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure how to act around him anymore. 

Eventually, Izzy stomped into his room, his frustration clear as he ranted to himself about Lucius. Once Izzy’s eyes met yours, his demeanor softened, and concern once again painted itself across his face. Setting down a bowl filled with a liquid that carried the distinct scent of vinegar, he retrieved bandages from the chest in his room.

“Sit on my bed. I’m going to use the chair,” he commanded softly, the concern in his voice blending with a touch of authority. 

You followed his command, swiftly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, mirroring the night you two shared a kiss. The rapid beat provided a welcome distraction from the pain throbbing in your wrist. 

Izzy gently reached for your non-injured hand, his fingers delicately tracing along the bones of your wrist. A flush crept onto your face at his touch, though you hoped he wouldn’t notice the subtle reaction. His weathered and calloused fingers possessed a surprising gentleness as they moved across your arm. 

Izzy paused, his gaze lifting to meet yours. “I need to feel your injured wrist now to compare the positioning of the bones. It’ll help me see what the damage is,” he explained, his voice carrying a gentle but resolute undertone. “It’s going to fucking hurt.” he warned you. 

You nodded in understanding as Izzy carefully lifted your injured wrist. The pain that surged through your arm was excruciating, evident in the wince that danced across your features. You could see a mirror expression of discomfort on Izzy’s face, the idea that his touch was causing you pain weighing heavily on him. His fingers continued their methodical exploration, seeking to understand the extent of your injury. 

A wave of dizziness washed over you, and the thud of your heart echoed loudly in your ears. The room blurred momentarily as if reality itself was swaying, and you gripped the edge of the bed, attempting to anchor yourself amidst the disorienting feeling. Suddenly, a gentle hand on your face snapped you back to reality. 

“Little mouse,” Izzy whispered, lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. “You need to breathe.” 

Following Izzy’s instruction, you took slow, deliberate breaths, the world gradually coming back into plain view. The concern in Izzy’s eyes remained, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in this moment of vulnerability. 

“You have a simple fracture. I need to set it and bandage it. Then you should be okay, as long as you refrain from being knocked over,” Izzy explained. Izzy grabbed your uninjured hand, gently placing it on his knee with a stern expression. “I don’t need you passing out on me, so when it hurts, you can squeeze my knee. And don’t stop breathing again,” he instructed. 

Izzy efficiently set your wrist back into place, and you seized the opportunity to squeeze his knee tightly as the pain reached its boiling point. The intensity gradually subsided as Izzy skillfully maneuvered your bone into the correct position. Izzy proceeded to dip the bandages into the liquid he had brought with him, tightly starting to wrap them around your injured wrist. 

A silence settled in as Izzy worked diligently on wrapping your wrist. Feeling a tinge of discomfort, you decided to look away, diverting your gaze to anything else in the room, attempting to avoid the intimacy of the situation. Suddenly, a sensation of being watched prompted you to turn, and you found Izzy peering up at you. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning,” Izzy stated matter-of-factly. “You still fight better than most of the twats on this ship.” The admission held a rare sincerity. 

“You were right though. I was distracted,” you responded gently, a slight frown gracing your features. You noticed Izzy staring at you a little longer, but you looked back down feeling too vulnerable. 

Izzy placed his hand on your shoulder, beginning to speak again. “Okay. New rules. Number one: you are no longer going to offer to do anyone’s chores for them, especially with a fractured wrist.” The firmness in his voice conveyed a sense of protective authority. 

“Number two,” he continued, “If you ever get hurt again, you will come to me immediately. Even if you get a single splinter, I expect to fucking hear about it.” 

You nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Izzy,” you said, giving his knee one last squeeze and offering a soft smile. 

“Now, fuck off,” Izzy said, his tone a stark contrast to the morning’s sternness. There was a hint of endearment in his tone. 

You took Izzy’s command seriously and did indeed fuck off, finding Lucius engaged in conversation with Black Pete and Fang on the deck. 

“Lucius, what have you been doing today?” you asked curiously, joining them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Izzy that angry.” 

“I drew Fang naked,” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “Listen, that angry little sexually repressed man just needs to get laid. Otherwise, I feel like he’s going to pop.” 

Lucius looked at you before continuing, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Unlucky for him, only someone crazy would be attracted to that." 

You looked over to Fang and noticed his guilty expression. "Fang, you didn't," you whined. 

"Oh yes. Fang spilled your dirty little secret," Lucius giggled. "I do think you're crazy for liking that man, but we all have a type, I guess." Lucius finished, winking at Black Pete. 

You weren't really upset with Fang. You knew most people would notice eventually with how obvious your feelings showed. You looked down at your wrapped wrist, pondering Lucius's statement. You didn't think you were crazy at all. As a matter of fact, you thought it was crazy that the rest of the crew didn't see Izzy the way you did. He was rough on the outside, but deep down, he was one of the kindest people you had ever met.

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy

{Next Chapter}

[whats-she-gonna-post-next]

Me again

Zombiewood, any season idm :3

Hi, hey, how are you. I'm so sorry this took so long! I had so much fun doing it, but my god, I had trouble getting started for some reason. Their dynamic is a personal favorite of mine, so my fear of fucking that up probably played a factor in that. But regardless, I did finish, and I'm actually really happy with it. I hope you like it. 835 Limited Life Zombiewood. I will admit I was self-indulgent in the martyn exposition at the start. I hope that's ok! Also I will fully admit to sprinking in some Mean Gils that could be read romantically if wanted, I am obsessed with the interconnected web that is the life series polycule.

-

Martyn stared across the water to where he could make out the Clocker’s tower just beyond the lightly swaying sugarcane and bamboo that made up their makeshift walls. When they swayed just right, Martyn could just make out the shocks of bright orange that stabbed him ever so slightly in the chest each time.

Things between him and Cleo were… weird… after Double Life. Maybe not weird, but strained? Tense, perhaps? Martyn didn’t know what to feel about it. Before Double Life it wasn’t as if he disliked Cleo, they were undoubtably stunning, and the confidence and bloodlust only every added to the appeal, but during Double Life it had been racked up to one hundred. He had thought that maybe it was the shared life that had send him into the tailspin when Cleo had declared that she and Scott were choosing each other and rejected him and Pearl - after all, as the first two games had show, Martyn was already somewhat obsessive and single minded in his loyalties when he got invested, a man doesn’t just swear loyalty to a king and start a red winter for him to be anything but loyal and single minded, but this devotion had seemed beyond even that.

There was anger, of course, and a hurt that he’d buried under said anger, and a passion that burned far brighter than anything else. The last few days, when he’d actually gotten to work with Cleo, spend time around her without open hostility, was the first time he’d felt he could truly breath.

And then they’d died.

And suddenly Martyn didn’t know how to act around her, not when those feelings hadn’t gone away even slightly.

He watched through the swaying vegetation as bright cyan joined the bright orange and finally, he turned himself away. Even with Scott being his partner this game, he couldn’t stop the instinctual fear in his chest when the two of them were together. If anything, being partners with Scott made it worse, as if they’d take both of them away from him again, as if he had any right to think about Cleo like that still, any right to worry about Scott like that.

He spent some time busying himself with meaningless tasks around the island, tending to the cows and chickens, organizing chests that he wasn’t sure Scott wouldn’t just rearrange when he got back.

"Martyn, are you here?" Speaking of, Scott's voice carried across their little island with ease, the musical quality that had been budding since the server lore took effect growing stronger each day. Martyn made his way out from the storage area to meet with Scott.

"Yeah, I'm right-" He froze. Standing just beyond the door was Cleo, the neon 80s jumpsuit jaxpositioned against the grey green of their skin and the bright orange of her hair in a way that should have been atrocious, but somehow worked. She gave him a smirk that should have been overconfident, but was instead perfectly in place on her face - he knew that whatever she had planned would be knocked out of the park with their skill.

"Hello Martyn," her voice was just as he remembered it, it flowed over him as easy as waves, his mind short circuited slightly.

"H- hi- hello- hey- uh-" He stammered, trying to get his thoughts in order. Martyn had been steeling himself against every interaction he'd yet to have with Cleo, he'd been extra vigilant to minimize running into her unexpectedly, even if it was a possibility every time he stepped off his and Scott's island. He had not expected this. "What's- what's up Cleo?"

"See!" Scott exclaims, and Martyn flinches some, having forgotten that Scott was there for a moment, "This is what I was telling you about! Now, I'm going to go and bug TIES, or see what the Bad Boys are up too, or something! You two! Sort this out!"

And then he was gone, diving gracefully off the edge of the island and quickly making his way to shore.

Martyn swallowed, turning his attention back to Cleo, who had made their way closer while he wasn't paying attention. Gone was the self confident smirk, replaced instead with a contemplative look as she searched his face.

Slowly, her hand came up to cup his jaw, a soft look coming to her eyes.

"Oh Martyn."

Before he has time to even try to disact her tone, she pulls him to his chest. He goes easy, ear pressed to the odd hollow quietness in their chest that lacked a heartbeat, something that had become a comfort in its constant. Martyn began to shake. Not quite crying, but his body trembled all over in their hold, falling apart and knitting together all at once.

They'd talk later, about Double Life and the soulbond, about them, what they were how they worked. But that would be later. For now, he settled into the hug and let himself exist, just for a few moments.

[sazzujazzu]

Hello, as the days count down and the Bad Batch finale draws closer, may I show to the fine folks of tumblr my first Star Wars OC in 20 years, created thanks to this show? 😃

Too bad, I'm showing them anyway 😊 somberly chilling while listening to their bestie talk.

Please excuse the poor background (I got lazy) and half-finished Tech (I got sad)

there's, uh, a big mess of words under the image because I wanted to put into words the importance this show has for me, and I am bad at doing so.

I want to get some thoughts off my chest, because I have no one in my day-to-day life who cares about the animated Star Wars shows, and especially the Bad Batch. (well, other than my mom, but I don't want to bore her with my rambling too much. she already banned star wars from me once, i won't let that happen again lol)

I can't stop thinking how much I don't want Bad Batch to end.

This show has been so dear to me. I can't remember the last time I've loved something this much.

Before the second season started, I had an artistic block that had lasted way too long. Anything I drew or wrote, mostly turned out a horrible mess after staring at a blank page for hours and hours, if I ever managed to create anything at all. For someone who tends to draw whenever their hands aren't otherwise busy (aka all the damn time), such a block weighed down on my mental health.

Well, then season two happened, and full-on gave me back my love for Star Wars, a love that had somewhat gone out over the last few years. Then, Plan 99 happened, and broke me because again my favorite character "died" (I'm in team Tech lives until I draw my last breath or until proven correct. That chocolate-eyed cutie-pie is alive nothing will convince me otherwise). Pretty much after finishing the episode and staring at a wall for another 30 minutes, I said "nope" and began writing.

I wrote for hours. I believe it's been well over a decade since I last wrote fanfiction, but here I was, creating a Star Wars oc, something I'd last done as a ten-year-old. And now, roughly a year later, I think I've written over a hundred pages of (very self-indulgent) fanfiction with the Batch, and with my oc that I've come to love.

And drawing, oh boy, have I been drawing!

(... Sure, I've mostly been drawing Tech, over and over again, to a point I once actually considered lying and saying "yeah that's my boyfriend haha!" to a man at my job last summer, when asked who it was that I was drawing for maybe fifth day in a row 😂 likely would've been a more acceptable excuse for someone my age. But, I mean... I just really love drawing him, not only because he is my favorite character of maybe all time, but because he is just so fun to draw! And most of all, at least I draw again!)

And it is all thanks to this wonderful show about a bunch of defective and effective copy-paste boys and their sister.

It's probably something many say, but I've always felt like a bit of an outsider. I've felt like I have no place; when I was a kid, my interests were very different from the other kids of [gender assigned at birth], and trying to play with them while inserting my own interests into the games, often didn't go so well. I was... kind of an odd child (although now, older and questionably wiser, knowing that I might actually be autistic, many things make more sense now. me kind of discovering this about myself is also partially thanks to Bad Batch)

Also, growing up trans/non-binary, while not even knowing what that is or having a word for it, didn't really do much to help with the feeling of "I'm different and an outsider because of it". Perhaps it was one more reason I fell in love with Clone Force 99, because I could see some of myself in them. Being different from the "regs".

I love this show, and these fictional people have become my family, and I am not ready to say goodbye to them.

Alright, weird pile of thoughts over. In case someone read all this, uh... thanks 😊

[ofsmokenandgold]

The good, the bad and the (not so) ugly.

So, just watched the finale of Land of Women and man did they leave it on a cliffhanger, poor Kevin.

So we have dead Kevin, Fred (hopefully) off to Argentina, Montse pregnant (Amat looking like someone dropped a building on him) and Amat and Gala got their kiss (or several) and can I just say, damn, that man kisses convincingly.

Anyway, some thoughts.

The good - obviously Gala convinces Edna to buy 100,000 bottles of the wine and thereby gets the Co-op out of the financial hole that it is in.

Julia and Mariona make up and Julia decides to stay in La Muga.

Kate tells her dad to fuck off and also decides to stay.

Fred goes off to South America (presumably the ship sailed before he realized that Gala and Amat had jacked his safe).

And, as I had guessed from last week's "we need to talk" moment between Montse and Amat, Montse is pregnant. I definitely have mixed feelings about taking their story in this direction. What I did like was that Montse was the one who got to lay out the terms of their relationship - they were just having fun, they were careful (obviously not careful enough) and they had talked about their relationship a lot. So she seems to be expecting support from him - "there's a third person involved now" - but not necessarily expecting their relationship to change. I don't think there's any question about whether she's going to keep the baby - they keep showing pictures of Amat with a child that's no longer in his life, so he's going to be enthusiastic about that part, after he gets over the shock. So having a pregnant FWB relationship complicates his life but doesn't necessarily preclude him having a relationship with Gala.

And that's clearly the direction they are headed after that kiss. And yes, this has always been the end game - their chemistry is fantastic and the goal all along has clearly been to get them into a relationship - that's always the goal when you put two attractive people in a show and have them strike sparks off each other for six episodes.

What I have an issue with is the unnecessary element of competition that the show runners introduced into the show.

And I still don't get it. This show was touted as women uplifting each other and yet, the show runners felt the need to introduce a character who is not in the book just so that Gala has someone to compete with for Amat (and win).

Why? I don't get it.

Worse yet, they took a frankly gorgeous actress and created hair, makeup, wardrobe and behavior choices to make her plain, masculine and practical, just to set her against the gorgeous, glamorous Gala.

It feels very, very self-indulgent of Eva Longoria (as one of the show runners) to make her own character shine by deliberately down-playing the attractiveness of another female character that is set up as her rival - all so she can win the man.

And they are walking a very fine line here between enhancing the drama and making Amat an absolute shite for pursuing Gala within days of his marathon sex session with Montse (does anyone else think that Gala might have been exaggerating just a little about her disturbed night - seriously, he's in his 40's - most men that age can't go all night). Hopefully, he was at least going to talk to Montse before going any further with Gala - but that wasn't clear.

I think I'm just going to be perpetually confused as to the intentions of the show runners here. And it's a good reminder that showrunners are not often good at critical analysis and don't necessarily think through the consequences of their decisions . Even when they have a vision for a show, they don't necessarily see how other decisions can undermine that message once you apply a critical perspective.

I still loved the show and I'll watch it over and over again - despite his tendency to think with his dick, Amat is a very, very attractive character.

And the show clearly needs another season - although it's not clear that Apple+ is going to give them one, and even if they do, getting everyone back together in Spain might be a little tricky.

As for anything, else, well that's why we have fanfiction. Watch this space.

ETA: And to bear out Rule 34 - there is now porn of it (well at least a little smut) .

[buttherainbowhasabeard]

Unpopular Opinion: David Tennant Should Never Have Returned To Doctor Who

When a teary eyed David Tennant as The Doctor uttered the words “I don’t want to go” in his 2010 generation scene, it was a heartbreaking moment for fans. Saying goodbye to such a universally loved incarnation would be hard, but this was Doctor Who. Change was inevitable, and often, exciting.

So when the BBC announced that Tennant would be returning to the iconic role 15 years on, as part of a series of 60th anniversary specials, I was sceptical. 

It looked like I was the only one though, as the internet erupted with anticipation and jubilation. I, however, thought the 14th Doctor reveal was a huge distraction that disrespected both the outgoing and the incoming actors.

Don’t get me wrong, Tennant is one of my favourite modern Doctor’s. His mid 2000s run as the 10th Doctor was funny, frightening, heartfelt and unforgettable. He had some of the best companions and villains, and some of the smartest and most compelling stories. But all good things come to an end, and now his emotional first exit felt a bit hollow. 

His return really took the shine off Jodie Whittaker’s finale. Yes, her years as the 13th Doctor were responsible for some of the worst Doctor Who storylines in recent memory. But this was hardly her fault, and instead of enjoying her last moments as The Doctor and reflecting on the good bits (the first female Doctor in the show’s history), fans were shouting at their screens for her to hurry up and regenerate so their favourite could return. It was almost like the show was doing a reset and hoping we’d forget about her.

It also meant that the now 15th Doctor (Ncuti Gawta, the first gay, black Doctor in the show’s history) had to wait a little longer to make his debut, which seemed on-the-nose too. 

The BBC were making it crystal clear who they thought their most popular Doctor was. Tennant has had more screen time than any other modern era Doctor, and now he’s the only one still alive and kicking post regeneration across all eras. Haven’t they ever heard of 'jumping the shark' or having too much of a good thing?!

He had four consecutive seasons from 2005-2008, with a fake regeneration at the end of Series 4 that saw him get cloned and live happily ever after with Rose Tyler on parallel earth. From 2008-2010 he travelled sans companion in a series of specials, before reluctantly regenerating into Matt Smith. In 2013, he made an appearance alongside Smith in the 50th anniversary special.

And now in 2023, he’s done three extra episodes alongside Catherine Tate reprising her role as his much loved Series 4 companion Donna Noble. These specials ended with him bi-generating (one Tennant Doctor, one Gatwa Doctor - don’t ask!) and continuing on as The Doctor, complete with his own TARDIS. He will, he says, stay put on earth to let Gatwa go off and have his own adventures. How generous of him! 

Firstly, Tennant’s latest run didn’t feel like a 60th anniversary either. Instead it felt like a very late follow up and conclusion (or even an alternative ending) to Series 4, so the opportunity to include other cameos and celebrate the show’s rich history was lost.

In ‘The Star Beast’, the monstrous Meep really just provided a reason for The Doctor to see Donna again. In ‘Wild Blue Yonder’, The Doctor and Donna fought creepy doppelgängers of themselves (again, talk about self-indulgent!), and in ‘The Giggle’, Neil Patrick Harris’ promising Celestial Toymaker did little more than put on a funny accent and do a funny dance.

Sure, it had some fun and heartfelt moments. I'm glad the DoctorDonna Human-Time Lord metacrisis has been resolved. The Doctor's tender moments with Donna were nice. His two redheaded companions (Donna and Mel) holding his hands as he "regenerated" was touching. Even Tennant and Gatwa's interactions were surprisingly sweet. However, the whole jaunt just felt like an excuse to reunite Tennant and Tate and capitalise on their lingering popularity. Which leads me to my second point… 

No other actor has been able to continue on as The Doctor, so the fact that this is the first exception to the rule shows that the studio is very obviously playing favourites. They are keeping Tennant’s sprightly sneaker wearing, pin stripe suited spaceman up their sleeves to roll out whenever they please. If the ratings plummet, they can bring Tennant back. If the fans want it, they can bring Tennant back. If Tennant wants it, they can bring Tennant back. Does anyone else smell a spin-off?

Thirdly, I don’t buy the idea that The Doctor can be - and wants to be - domesticated at all. Despite everyone telling him that he needs to stop and slow down, he has never once done so. In every incarnation, he/she is an energetic, chaotic and forever on-the-go entity that can’t stand waiting or having to sit idly by.

So, all of a sudden we're expected to believe that he’s going to stay with Donna and her family and just hang out on earth like a regular human? I doubt it. He even said it himself to Rose in Season 2, when trying to justify why he can’t settle down. "You can spend the rest of your life with me. But I can't spend the rest of mine with you." If bi-generation had have happened to Peter Capaldi’s 12th Doctor, I might have accepted it better because he said he wanted to rest. It would’ve made more sense there.

And lastly, but probably most importantly, everyone loves a bit of nostalgia, but bringing beloved characters back from the dead to get ratings up again isn’t a good enough reason. In reality, it just reeks of lazy writing or a lack of creativity, and in turn, a lack of closure. The whole point and poignancy of a show like Doctor Who is that The Doctor must change and move on, as we, the audience, have to move on.

When someone plays The Doctor, they do it for a limited time but they leave a lasting legacy. Having Tennant on standby undermines that. I want the writers to invest in their new actors and have faith in their new adventures instead of having earlier models waiting in the wings.

So for me, the best thing about these three specials and the finale wasn’t that Tennant didn't have to say goodbye this time. It was that Gatwa finally got to say hello...

[paperclipninja]

1941 thoughts

Just finished re-watching ep 4, after getting side-tracked by the opening sequence last night that led me to this post about the significance of the music Bentley plays for Aziraphale, and I tell you, nothing can convince me that we're not going to get a third part to the 1941 story in season 3. NOTHING.

The 1941 sequence in season 1 gave us the beautiful moment with the books being saved, Crowley walking on actual fire (pretty much) for Aziraphale and was part of a series of flashbacks showing that Crowley shows up for Aziraphale time and time again. Lovely, heart feeling many things here (as is a certain angel it seems).

The 1941 minisode in season 2 is an immediate continuation of the scene from season 1, with grateful Aziraphale insisting there must be something he can do to repay Crowley *fans self*, we discover that hell caught on to Aziraphale and Crowley's alliance at this time and Aziraphale steps in to help Crowley out of a pickle with angry Mrs. H. But that's not all.

We hear Aziraphale call Crowley his friend, twice. First, when trying to placate Mrs. H by offering to fill in for the magic show 'on behalf of my...good friend here' and then back at the bookshop, after Crowley thanks Aziraphale for getting him off the hook, 'no need to thank me, that's what...friends are for'. This is a significant insight imo, Aziraphale almost catches himself on both occasions but rather than stopping himself, he allows the follow through without correction.

We also get the unwavering indulgence and support of Crowley for Aziraphale's magic show; from the practice and Crowley pre-game inspo speech in the bookshop, suggesting a bigger act, 'isn't there somewhere we can buy tricks?', to the amazing bullet catch. I know the bullet catch scene has been discussed a lot and I'm not going add any new insight there, so as has been confirmed and observed, this is the ultimate display of trust between the angel and demon (I mean, as we find out, if Aziraphale tells Crowley to 'trust me', he does!), showing us yet another aspect of their deepening relationship.

Cue the dressing room with the coupliest couple who ever didn't couple, a radiant Aziraphale interrupted by Furfur, whose attempt at a gotcha moment is thwarted by banana-fish-gorilla-shoelace-with-a-dash-of-nutmeg (Aziraphale getting Crowley out of a pickle yet again) and we find ourselves watching the two drinking wine over candlelight and toasting to shades of grey. Ok ok ok.

Both the bullet catch and the photo swap-out happened while the miracle blocker was on. Which means that both Crowley and Aziraphale were put in positions to protect the other using only themselves, their own skill and thinking. The throw back to season 1 paintball and knowing Crowley is not a fan of guns, and repeatedly seeing that Aziraphale isn't great at magic, simply emphasises how big a deal both those instances of stepping up for each other actually are. But they also show something else I think.

They demonstrate that Aziraphale and Crowley's ability to perform 'miracles' is attributed to more than them being an angel and demon with special powers. There is a role that will plays for each when required, perhaps the influence of their time with humanity, but also the power of connection. I was going to say love, and perhaps it is love too, but the connection Aziraphale and Crowley have to one another means that they want to ensure the other is safe, will take a risk and bet on themselves in a time of need because they trust each other and don't want to let the other down. Also something to consider when thinking about why their 'tiny half miracle' to hide Gabriel was so powerful (that's a whole different post though). So what's my point here?

The minisode ends with our two faves very relaxed and enjoying one another's company, but also knowing that the trust there is absolute and reciprocated when it matters. There was a bit of a revelation for Aziraphale at the end of the season 1 sequence, they're now very in sync and on the same page it seems at the end of the season 2 scene, but it still feels like there's another piece. There are so many references to 1941 and when you view the season 1 and season 2 1941 parts right after one another, they read as a self contained developing story.

But you know what stories have? A beginning, middle and end. Right now, it feels like we've only seen two of those. And I will remain on this hill until proven otherwise, because as the lyrics of 'Moonlight Serenade' (the tune playing in the Bentley at the opening of ep 4) say:

Let us stray till break of day in love's valley of dreams. Just you and I, a summer sky, a heavenly breeze kissin' the trees.

And there's still a whole night before daybreak, just saying.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Kryptonite” Dick Grayson x Reader

(A/N: Okay, so it’s not a Jonathan Crane insert reader. Surprise?! ANYWAY, so here’s the thing: this summer I was watching Batman the series, the original from the 1960s AND finally went through the first season of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Gosh darn. Then I remembered this song from my youth. So this is a purely self-indulgent insert reader, silly songfic for my birthday. :D Warnings: None. Word Count: 1,092 words)

“There’s nothing good on,” you complained as you switched through the radio stations. For the third time. “I’d rather hear the weather at this point.”

“You can use your phone.” Dick suggested from behind the wheel.

The two of you were driving from a couple of errand stops. There wasn’t much else you had planned afterward. Wayne Manor was the next destination.

“I don’t want to blast the speakers though,” you looked to your friend, “we sing loud.”

“True.” A smile brightened his already happy features.

Slumping in the seat, you crossed your arms. “Too bad it’s too early for karaoke.”

“Says who?”

“The signs outside the buildings….and it’s the wrong day.”

He huffed.

“Oh well.”

“No, wait. Hold on,” Dick said, “we have a karaoke machine back home. I don’t know when it was used last. We can ask Alfred where it is. If we still have it.”

“Oooohh,” your hands hit a beat on your thighs in excitement. “I don’t care if I embarrass myself in front of Alfred. We’re doing this thing.”

“What’s embarrassing about singing?”

“Uh…,” you peered over to him. “Always with the big questions, aren’t you?”

. . .

Taking a short water break, you and Dick scrolled through more song options. There were more than the two of you anticipated. No complaints though. You two were having a blast.

“Oh. Oh. Hold on,” you barely held in a laugh. “I got it.”

Moving over, Dick let you scroll manually.

Going to songs starting with the letter ‘k’ was your next brilliant idea of the day. Something a little nostalgic.

An excited gasp came from beside you.

“Thoughts?” You asked.

“Let me grab my hoodie.” Dick said quickly and sped out of the room.

“…okay.” You smiled into the glass as you took another sip of water.

It was days like that when you found being good friends with Dick Grayson was full of surprises. Fun surprises, like spontaneous trips to an arcade. Odd surprises, such as Dick’s sometimes random excuses for needing to leave, not being able to show up, and peculiar shaped bruises. Not all surprises were good by default. That was a given.

What isn’t a surprise is him having that hoodie, you thought.

At the sound of running approaching, you prepared yourself for the personification of joy to return. Putting down the glass of water was all you needed to do.

“I’m back.”

“Welcome back,” you said and grabbed one of the microphones.

“And I’m super excited,” Dick bounded over to stand beside you. He picked up the other microphone and offered you a dimpled grin. The vibrant blue of his hoodie highlighted his eyes. His Superman hoodie with the hero’s symbol on the back, to be more precise. A perfect choice.

You selected the song and the music filled the room.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Alfred was elsewhere in the manor.

The two of you were already bobbing to the beat before the lyrics popped up.

Dick took the lead with the first verse.

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind. “I left my body laying somewhere in the sands of time. “But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon. “I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah.” Dick sang and started tapping his foot. “I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon. “After all I knew it had to be something to do with you,” you sang, “I really don’t mind what happens now and then “As long as you’ll be my friend in the end.”

You both pointed at one another and sang.

“If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman? “If I’m alive and well, will you be there holding my hand?”

Dick grabbed your outstretched hand.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might. “Kryptonite.”

Releasing your hand, Dick started a little dance that mainly looked like a weird sign for a moving train. He stopped.

“You called me strong, you called me weak, “But still your secrets I will keep.” He pointed for your turn.

“You took for granted all the times I never let you down. “You stumbled in and bumped your head. “If not for me then you would be dead. “I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.” You did a quick set of air drums before you sang together.

“If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman? “If I’m alive and well, will you be there holding my hand? “I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might. “Kryptonite.”

The two of you stood there bobbing your heads along. Feeling the song of all its memories it brought back.

You gestured for Dick to sing next.

Taking a step forward, Dick brought the mic to his lips. His voice was soft.

“If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman? “If I’m alive and well, will you be there holding my hand? “I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might. “Kryptonite.” He fell to his knees, “YEEAAH!”

Singing louder, you joined him singing.

“If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman? “If I’m alive and well, will you be there holding my hand? “I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might. “Kryptonite.”

You both did another round of air drums.

“Whoa whoa whooaa. “Whoa whoa whooaa. “Whoa whoa whooaa.”

The song faded out to a close and the two of you cheered.

Who said you couldn’t be both the performer and the audience? Probably someone. But it wasn’t going to be either of you.

“Ah,” you laughed. “The way you just,” you gestured to the floor, “on your knees. Yes. Mini concert.”

Beaming, Dick did a little bow.

“I thought birds were dying,” said a voice behind you.

Standing in the doorway was Jason Todd. Arms crossed and mildly amused.

“The only thing dying is the respect for your elders, son,” you quipped back.

“We’re not old,” Dick whispered.

Snorting, Jason turned to leave with a short wave.

“You don’t think we’re old, do you?” Dick asked, shoulders slumped.

“Nah.”

His shoulders relaxed to their regular position.

“But we do age finer than wine,” you added. “We’re vintage.”

Dick checked his watch. “Hey, vintage. You want to go with me and pick up Duke?”

“I’m going to embarrass him, aren’t I?”

He shook his head, “Why would you embarrass him?”

“Again with the big questions.”

~~~

(Reblog for a Part 2?

“Kryptonite” by 3 Doors down.

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[raemanzu]

I'm late at this but @ladyyatexel tagged me for a getting to know you game a while back.

Last Song: I think the last song I listened to voluntarily was an Enya song but I can't remember which one now! Cal and I were looking for less-typical holiday music because the usual fare is just not for us. My head has had a constant loop of various songs in it as usual though. Earlier this morning it was a bunch of Weird Al and related strangeness including old WTNV quotes I haven't thought about in ages. Not sure what my subconscious was up to. Suspicious.

Currently Watching: We started watching that new firefighter anime which is pretty good, but the last show we actually watched was a few episodes of Go Rush. It's so weird! Also streaming-without-paying the new Kenshin series because we love Kenshin.

Current Obsession: Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal is going strong which is really wild considering it's already been like 3 years since we first watched it. It's because we adopted some of the characters as our personal blorbos and are RPing with them… so many little stories we've played out already and this latest one has been developing for over a year o_o

I can't think of anything else that really qualifies as an obsession in my life lately… I'm very much enjoying learning more about native plants in my area and of course I take too many pictures of my cats and also this is the first time we had enough space and motivation to decorate seasonally so that's kind of awesome. Right now I'm just trying to survive online grad school and not let it impact my work performance too much or drive me mad. I really wanted to do NaNoWriMo this year to work on my fantasy novel but after two days I realized I would be seriously threatening my own mental health if I stuck to it so I gave it up for this year.

university has never been particularly good for my creative bandwidth, so I'm trying to give myself permission to not be particularly productive until I graduate, but it's still sad because I have stories to tell. I do. I just don't always have the energy or brainpower to tell them the way they deserve to be told.

Ah I don't wanna end on a low note so I should give the caveat that really I've been sustained by the Zexal rps Cal and I do, it's the first time in a while I've allowed myself to be super self indulgent in making ridiculous OCs and it's so much fun, I love our little barian monster babies so much. I need to draw them more.

@tearlessrain @squireofgeekdom @kixidust