#but they’ve never talked about them like as far as we know never even spoken their name since they died

[sobecomesomethingelse]

maybe paige’s god’s name should be vaughan, since one could make the argument that vaughan was the seed of the wound tree

[avpdpossum]

can we talk more about avpd being a (proposed) schizospec disorder? because i almost never see that theory talked about but i wish it was. like…

avpd makes me censor my thoughts because i think someone might hear what i’m thinking and see what a horrible person i am on the inside or judge me for thinking embarrassing things.

avpd makes me so afraid of someone walking in on me doing something i Shouldn’t Be Doing that my brain twists background noise into the sounds of whispers and footsteps behind me.

avpd makes me so worried about people staring at me that in my peripheral vision, anyone near me looks like they’re already staring at me, and it’s only when i look at them directly that i realize they’ve been looking in a totally different direction the whole time.

avpd makes me so convinced of how much everyone must secretly hate me that i often start thinking everyone secretly wants to hurt me too, to the point where i’ve had panic attacks from a person walking too close behind me because i feel like they’re getting ready to attack me (when i haven’t had any kind of trauma that would create that fear), and the paranoia just serves to reinforce my need to avoid people.

avpd makes me lose my ability to speak or reduces it to nothing more than one word answers only when spoken to, turning the thoughts i wanted to express into a jumble that’s impossible to turn into words or just throwing them away completely and making my mind go blank, so i end up just staring at people silently or even acting like i don’t see them standing there at all (not on purpose but because my brain won’t let me engage with them).

avpd makes me look damn near emotionless around everyone but my safe person (and sometimes even around my safe person) because showing my emotions would be far too vulnerable for its liking, so it completely takes away my ability to express them.

and i could keep going! there are so many things i experience because of avpd that i’ve seen really closely reflected in the experiences of schizospec people. i don’t know how common these kinds of things are in avpd overall, but they’re a really prominent part of my experience with it, so when i found out that some research suggested it could be considered a schizospec disorder itself, that made so much sense to me! and i’d be so curious to see how many other avoidants have dealt with this stuff but haven’t talked about it because it’s never mentioned as being part of avpd.

[flowerxbunnie]

Hola! Soy Dora! —

okay wait no for real tho.. can you pretty please write a nasty lil big bad b bernard matty boy fic? like where he’s big daddy dom and he’s got an unspoken relationship with y/n? like they’ve not spoken the words, but they belong togetherrr 🎶 okay but for real.. that, and they have a night together where they’re just drinking and vibing with one another (just them) and it takes a turn 😈 and he’s being like all controlling and makes her ride his thigh while he touches himself to the sight, and then and then and then just rails her into oblivion? loooadddds of filthy speak because i am a slut for that right there! pretty please with a cherry on top? 🍒

Carnal

Matt x Fem reader

Warnings: pure FILTHY smut. Dom!Matt, daddy kink, deg/praise, thigh riding etc :)

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH SMUT OR ARE A MINOR

I throw back the last sip of my drink and hand my cup to Matt, the alcohol tasting like candy but burning just the same going down. I take the gummy worm off the rim and suck the sugar off, Matt’s eyes watching my every move closely. My skin is warm and my veins are filled with a buzzing feeling. He stacks the plastic cup on top of the others we’ve collected on the coffee table throughout the night, a chuckle escaping his lips as he counts them in his head.

“Damn, we gotta slow down soon.” He shakes his head slightly. “I’d like to not have a migraine tomorrow.”

“I’m feeling good, don’t know about you Matty boyyy..” I draw out, sitting back on the couch.

He sits back along with me and throws his arm over the back of the couch, turning his body slightly to face me. He has a half full cup in his other hand, his finger circling the rim slowly.

“Oh, I’m feeling good.” he smirks, bringing the cup to his lips and sipping as his eyes stay locked onto mine.

I can feel the slow and steady beat of the bass in my chest, his playlist playing quietly on the speaker on the table. We spend a while scrolling through my liked TikToks, cuddling and laughing together.

I find myself spending most of my Saturdays here in his living room, drinking and talking all night while Nick and Chris are away. My relationship with him is complicated. We’re definitely more than friends, but also less than lovers. I think we both have a problem with labels, feeling far more comfortable leaving things unspoken. I can’t help the thoughts that live in the back of my mind, like an itch I can’t scratch. A worry that maybe I’m not the only one he spends nights like this with. I know he’s my one and only, I can’t even fathom another man making me feel the way Matt does. Whether I’m in his car cracking up at his road rage or in his bed with the headboard thumping against the wall, I’m always filled with insane butterflies for this man.

But even though I’m sure of my feelings, he’s never outright spoken his. We’ve never had the conversation of if we want to date around or keep this situationship we have going on between us two. I feel selfish for wanting him all to myself, but he makes it hard not to.

“You good, baby?” He asks in his raspy voice, the nickname flowing off his tongue like honey and making my heart flutter. “You seem a little zoned out tonight.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, sitting up to grab another prefilled cup off the coffee table. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” He asks and brings his hand to the small of my back, his warm fingertips brushing beneath the hem of my shirt and sending shivers up my spine.

I just shake my head and give him a smile before throwing back a big gulp of my drink, melting against his touch as his hand inches higher up my spine. His rough fingertips run up and down slowly, my tense muscles going soft as he adds pressure.

“You know that’s not an answer, Y/n. Come on, talk to me.” He speaks sweetly as he sits his cup down.

His hand wraps around my waist and pulls me back down next to him on the couch, hooking his hand around my legs and bringing them up onto his lap. The look in his eyes is serious, even through the glaze the alcohol has brought on.

“I don’t know Matt,” I play with my fingers like I always do when I’m nervous. “I’m just having weird feelings tonight.”

His eyes soften like he already knows what I’m going to say. “Tell me, love.”

I sigh and let my back fall into the soft cushions. “I’m just scared.” I start, watching as the look on his face stays the same, unwavering. “I’m scared for the day you find someone else who you’re ready to make things official with. I’m scared that I’m not the only one you fix gummy worm drinks for.”

He chuckles and my heart drops, my suspicions feeling all the more real as he breaks out into a fit of laughter. His hand leaves my legs and comes up to rub his eyes, his head shaking from side to side. “That’s what you’re all worked up about?” He asks through giggles.

I nod and feel the tears threatening to spill over, my drunk emotions amplified insanely. He doesn’t even notice, he just keeps laughing and brings his hand to his chest as it heaves.

“I don’t see how it’s funny..” I speak softly, my voice cracking at the end, my cheeks heating up as my weakness becomes obvious.

He immediately stops laughing, his head snapping back to me and his eyes softening. He brings a hand to my cheek and moves his thumb back and forth, his eyes flicking back and forth between both of mine.

“Baby, I thought it was obvious.” He tilts his head slightly, his eyes scanning my face slowly.

“Do I need to call an Uber?” I croak, still sure that he’s about to tell me I’m dumb for thinking too deeply about the way he felt for me.

“What?” He says shocked, his eyes wide and his hand halting its movements on my face.

It’s like the realization flashes in his brain, he closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. He doesn’t say anything, just brings his hand back to my leg and traces it up to my thigh and gives it a squeeze. My body is reacting in a way I don’t know if I like, blood rushing to my heat between my legs despite the hurt I’m feeling.

But like Matt always does, he makes it all better. “You’re all I need, Y/n. All I want.” His hand trails higher, gripping and squeezing my skin along the way. “You know I’m not good at speaking my mind.”

My breath hitches as his fingers trace around the bottom of my shorts leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“But trust me,” he starts, his fingers dipping ever so slightly beneath the fabric, “I know that you’re it for me. Now stop worrying so much.”

His hand trails back down my leg, my thighs instinctively pressing together wishing for the friction I never got. He leans over and grabs my cup, handing it to me and sipping on his own. “Let’s finish these, hm?”

I grab the cup and down it quickly, squeezing my eyes shut at the burn. He chuckles and tilts his head back, his jawline sharp and defined in the ambient light of the lamps and candles. He sucks his teeth as he grabs my cup and stacks it into his, discarding them along with the rest.

“Take your shorts off.”

I’m taken aback, the conversation feels so unfinished but my head is swimming with thoughts of how his body would feel against my own. I still oblige, hooking my fingers into my waistband and slipping them down my legs, tossing them onto the coffee table. He gives me a slight smirk and grips onto my left ankle, lowering my foot onto the floor. He turns his body to fully face me and brings my right leg to the other side of him. My thighs open and my clothed core is exposed to him.

“You wore my favorite pair.” He coos, his thumb coming up to ghost over the fabric.

The smallest whimper leaves my mouth, my pussy aching for his touch. He moves up slowly, almost as if he’s memorizing the pattern in the lace, his thumb running up to the hemline and resting against my lower abdomen.

“Did you do that on purpose?” He questions, hooking his index finger into the elastic and pulling. “Did you know it would make daddy get all worked up?” He lets go and it snaps against me, a pulsing sting etched into my skin.

“N-no, not on purpose,” I lie, my heart speeding up at the dirty name. I knew damn well what I was getting myself into when I grabbed them out of my drawer.

“I don’t like when you lie, baby.” He moves his hand to my hip and gives it a squeeze. “Tell daddy the truth.” He begins slowly pulling my panties down, stopping when I don’t speak right away.

“I’m s-sorry daddy. I like the way you get so turned on when you see them.” I breathe out, a satisfied hum coming from my throat as he resumes pulling them down.

“That’s better.” He helps me maneuver out of them, bringing them to his face and placing a kiss against the fabric. “I think I’ll keep em’.” He smiles smugly as he slips them into his pocket.

He runs his hands up both of my thighs, his eyes raking up along with his movements. He brings his thumbs against my folds and spreads them open, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of my arousal.

“So wet already, baby.” His thumb rubs against my swollen clit once, my pussy clenching in response and a whine falling past my lips.

He bites his lip as he does it again, watching intently almost as if experimenting and seeing if he’ll get the same reaction. He does- my pussy clenches and tightens around nothing and my tender bud begins throbbing. He looks up at me with lust filled eyes.

“I love seeing your pussy beg for me. I’m barely doing anything and you’re already clenching up.”

He presses his thumb down suddenly with increased pressure but holds it still. I arch up and whine out, my heat aching for anything more than what he’s giving me. His free hand roams up my stomach and underneath my shirt, finding my bare breast and toying with my nipple. His thumb remains stagnant and still on my aching clit.

“P-please daddy. Please… more.” I whimper and rock my hips against his touch, moaning as I finally feel relief.

He pulls both hands away quickly, a disappointment filling his expression as he narrows his eyes.

“W-why? I need more.” I pout and reach out for his hands, only for them to be pulled away roughly.

“You wanna get off so bad, huh?” He sits back against the couch. “Do it yourself.”

I suck in a breath, taken aback at his harsh tone. I swallow thickly and bring my own hand down slowly to my heat, shaking slightly as he watches me intently. I begin rubbing slow circles onto my clit, speeding up because my body doesn’t react the same underneath my own touch. I bring my bottom lip between my teeth and close my eyes, trying to imagine it’s Matt’s fingers instead of mine, speeding up and bucking my hips up, desperate for any sort of relief. I keep going and even add a finger, curling it up inside my walls and hoping I’ll feel the euphoria soon.

But I don’t. I let my head fall back in frustration, removing my hands and giving up. I hear him laughing, taking enjoyment out of my struggle.

“Can’t get off without daddy, can you?” I look up as he begins unbuttoning his jeans, a visible bulge straining against the denim.

He pulls them down and keeps his boxers on, his erection still confined beneath the black fabric. He adjusts in his seat, leaning back and opening his legs wider.

“Come on baby. Use my thigh.” He pats his leg and motions his head for me to come over.

I sit up and try to control my shaky breath. Matt’s always been the dominant one, but it’s like something else has taken over, an almost devilish look in his eyes. I position myself onto him, my legs straddled around his right thigh and my pussy hovering above his skin. His hands run up to the hem of my shirt, pushing it up and pulling it over my head. His eyes become half lidded as he drinks in the sight of my exposed chest.

“What are you waiting for, princess? You were so eager a minute ago.” He rasps, his hands settling on my hips and lowering me down to make contact with his leg.

I suck in a breath at the sensation. My mind is buzzing from the alcohol and the arousal, I feel like I’m floating until I focus on the throbbing between my legs. I slowly rock back and forth once, my clit rubbing against his thigh with no resistance, my own arousal lubricating it perfectly. I swear I can see his cock jump beneath his boxers.

I let down all of the weight I’ve been subconsciously holding up off of him, the pressure sending a shockwave through my body as I begin grinding against him. I let out whimpers and moans as I circle my hips, crying out when he lifts his leg higher up to press against me.

“Such a naughty girl getting yourself off on my leg. So desperate that you’ll grind on anything I give you, hm?” He speaks lowly, bringing his arms up behind his head and watching my every move.

I bring my hands down to his chest and run them down until they settle on his abdomen to give myself some stability. My muscles are starting to tire but I keep going, rubbing and grinding against his thigh as my stomach begins to twist into knots. It’s like he knows I’m close to giving up, close to stalling. He begins to bounce his leg over and over, vibrations shooting through my body as his heel comes into contact with the floor roughly.

“F-feels so good, daddy..” I whine out, digging my nails into his shirt and twisting it, needing to do anything to release some of the pleasure flowing through my veins.

His eyes are glossy and dark as his hand comes into contact with his erection, palming it and tightening his grip repeatedly. I watch in awe as his veiny, slender hands work against himself. He pulls his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, groaning as he pumps himself. His tip is dripping with precum, swollen and pink with need. He swipes his thumb over his slit to gather it and brings it up to my mouth, rubbing the juice onto my tongue as he presses it into my mouth.

I gain a sudden burst of energy and arousal and begin grinding down against him with everything I can, inching myself closer and closer to release as I watch him jerk his cock underneath me. His free hand reaches up and grasps onto my breast, his large hand encompassing the tissue completely as he kneads the skin. His palm rubs against my taut nipple, sending waves of pleasure shooting through me.

“Come on baby, make a mess on daddy’s thigh,” he encourages, “I won’t get mad as long as you help me clean it up.”

I cry out in pleasure as the knots in my abdomen wind so tightly they snap, the pressure releasing and my thighs shaking as I come apart on his leg. I grind down and my pussy clenches and throbs as my juices leak out onto his skin, his thigh now slick with my release.

“Good girl, that’s it. Such a good job.” He coos and praises, bringing his hand up and stroking my hair as I catch my breath. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ve got a big mess to clean up.” He motions to the spot where we connect, a sheen of liquid across his skin.

He pushes my shoulders down to encourage me to my knees, and I oblige. I look up at him through my lashes, hesitantly licking a stripe across his leg and tasting myself on him. His hand grips around his cock again, pumping slowly as I kitten lick his thigh.

“Doing such a good job.” he croaks, a moan sneaking it way out.

I continue cleaning up my mess, lapping up all the evidence I had left behind. His motions around his dick become quicker as I pull back for a moment, a string of my arousal shining in the light between my tongue and the skin of his thigh.

His hand stops pumping and comes to lace into my hair, pulling me upwards. I lick up his leg, sitting higher on my knees and trace my tongue up to his base, flattening it all the way to his tip. I take it into my mouth just enough to wrap around his head, sucking lightly and batting my eyes.

“Hmm, don’t even have to be told what to do. Daddy’s precious girl.” He says sweetly while caressing my cheek.

I hum around him and feel my cheeks heat up at the praise. I slowly take more and more of him into my mouth, his droopy eyes watching as I gag at the feeling of his head touching the back of my throat. He smiles in satisfaction, bucking his hips up to elicit the same response once more. My mouth fills with saliva and it drips out and down his length, providing the perfect lubrication for my hand to grip around what I can’t fit into my mouth. I twist my hand around him and his head falls back in pleasure. I bob my head up and down, taking his cock in and out of my mouth as groans fill the room around us.

His cheeks are rosy and his forehead slick with sweat, half from the alcohol warming his body and half from his arousal. He grabs onto his shirt and pulls it over his head, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing deliciously. He wipes the fabric against his forehead before he tosses it to the side, his eyes fixing back onto me with blown pupils.

Both of his hands come down to grip onto my jaw before he disconnects my mouth from his cock, pulling me up with a popping sound. “You’re gonna have to bend over for daddy. Need to feel that tight pussy around me.” His voice is low and commanding, almost rumbling through my chest.

He pulls his boxers the rest of the way down before he grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet as he stands up himself. He turns me around and guides me towards the arm of the couch, pushing me down until my chest is pressed into it.

“Arch up for me,” he instructs, his hands grasping my hips as he helps me get into position for him. “So good at listening to instructions.”

He keeps one hand on my hip to keep me in place as he lines himself up with my entrance, dipping in and out teasingly.

“P-please daddy, I need it.” I speak up, wiggling my ass back and forth in hopes he’ll be convinced.

“Need what, baby?” He taunts, running his tip through my dripping folds until he brushes against my throbbing clit.

“Need… n-need your cock inside of me.”

“Those are such naughty words to be coming out of your sweet little lips..” he chastises and pushes only his head into me. “Tell me more.”

My breath hitches as he gives me another inch, slowly pulling out once again. “F-fuck I… I wanna feel your hands all over me while you fuck me, daddy.”

His hands rub from my ass up to my back leaving a trail of warmth and goosebumps. “Like this? You like when daddy grabs all over you?” He questions, bringing his hands to my hair and making a makeshift ponytail.

I nod and bite my lip to contain my noises as he pulls my head back roughly, bringing his other hand down to smack my ass and rub out the sting. He pushes halfway in and stalls, but I can feel his cock throbbing between my walls.

“You want daddy all you yourself, hm?” He whispers as he releases his grip on my hair and moves his hands down my sides, tracing along my curves before settling on my ass.

“YES! … Y-yes, daddy, please. Wanna be all yours.” I squeal as he bottoms out, his tip brushing against my g-spot.

He starts pumping in and out, his hips slamming against my ass with the depth of his strokes. I reach around desperately, looking for anything I can grip onto. His hands reach down and grab mine, crossing them behind my back and gripping my wrists together with one hand. His other hand squeezes and massages my ass, smacking every now and again to give me small stings of delicious pain.

His thrusts are calculated and controlled as he pounds into me. Our pants fill the air as we inch closer to our climax together, his free hand roaming my body. It’s all slippery and sloppy and animalistic. Lewd, wet sounds echoing into the room and low grumbles escaping his throat.

I feel his dick stiffen to get impossibly hard, twitching and jerking inside of my heat. “F-fuck. Help me out baby.” He croaks as his strokes start to become sloppy.

He releases his grip on my wrist and grabs my hips as I begin meeting his thrusts halfway, throwing my body back against him. My name falls out of his lips over and over in a whisper as his fingers dig into my skin.

“S-so close..” I whine, my head swimming and my stomach clenched.

“Shh.. it’s okay baby. Give it to daddy.” He encourages.

That’s all it takes for me to unravel, my pussy throbbing around him as cries of pleasure sound into the room. He releases alongside me, his warm load spurting into me and filling me up as he continues fucking into me. We continue until we can’t anymore, and he pulls out with a wince.

He pulls my aching body up and spins me around, wrapping his arms around me and placing my head against him. His heart pounds against his chest, so hard I can almost feel it thumping against my ear. Our bodies are sticky and exhausted, but nothing is uncomfortable.

He places a kiss onto my hair, his hot breath fanning down over my shoulders. “Did that tell you what you needed to know?”

I only nod, unable to form words. He pulls back and hooks a finger under my chin to bring my gaze to meet his own. He looks at me intently and comes in to place a lingering, passionate kiss against my lips. When we disconnect he places his forehead against mine and whispers sweet nothings, his soft skin brushing against my still-swollen lips.

He gives me one more kiss. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

tag list: @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @lxvlysworld @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo

[ninyard]

"if you can't figure it out by now, then i don't have anything else to tell you."

This would be perfect for Andrew to say to Neil

“If you can’t figure it out by now, then I don’t have anything else to tell you,”

(aka an Andreil “what are we?” conversation.)

-

“Allison hasn’t stopped calling you my boyfriend since we got back from the cabins.” Neil was sat parallel to Andrew with his arms wrapped around his knees in a meagre attempt at keeping warm, next to Andrew’s outstretched legs. The air on the roof of the dorms was crisp with a fresh Spring breeze, the wind swirling debris in little whirls around them. “I haven’t told her to stop, but I will if it bothers you. ”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about for the last twenty minutes?” Andrew asked, a rhetorical air to the question he didn’t really want answered at all. The smoke that left his lips disappeared quickly in the wind, miraculous that his cigarette was still burning. He brought it back up to his lips and inhaled before turning to look at Neil. He didn’t say anything, and his bored gaze didn’t say much either.

“It’s Allison.” Neil settled for, as if it were explanation enough. He sat up straight to match Andrew’s eye-line. “It’ll catch on.”

Andrew regarded Neil for only a second longer before turning back towards the view in front. “She has never strayed far from being a tabloid princess. It’s nothing more than front page news to her.”

“I told you she was betting on us,” Neil said, but Andrew held up a finger to stop him. “What?”

“Their poor choices in gambling are not my business.” He said, stubbing out the finished cigarette next to him and flicking the butt over the edge. His hands found rest in his lap, interlaced into each other. “They chose a horse in a race and think that they’ve won. I don’t care.”

“Tell me to ask her to stop, then.” Neil looked away as well, arms crossed over his chest, close to asking Andrew to go inside. They could talk in their dorm, except for the fact that Kevin had surprisingly invited Matt over to discuss his playing strategy, and this was not the kind of conversation Neil wanted to have with company. They could speak in German; but he’d made a conscious effort to speak in English in front of his teammates since he promised not to keep secrets from them anymore. “Say the word and I’ll tell her, because I don’t care.”

“Evidently not.” Andrew said. “Why bring it up if you didn’t?”

“Well, does it?” Neil didn’t want to indulge in his desire to dodge his questions by changing the subject. “Bother you, I mean.”

“Irrelevant bullshit doesn’t bother me.” Andrew pedantically emphasised the word bother with quotation marks in the air. “You’re asking stupid questions.”

“Valid questions.” Neil corrected.

“Needless questions.”

Neil sighed and extended his legs. He had to brush the hair from out of his eyes to look over at Andrew, reminding himself that he needed a haircut. “I’ll tell her to stop, then.”

“That is not what I said.” Andrew brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

“So are you my boyfriend?” Neil wasn’t sure why he cared so much, or if he even cared at all, because he knew in truth he would never go out of his way to call Andrew his boyfriend anyway. But in some ways it felt important to understand what was really happening, and how exclusive was their nothing? In his own mind, never to be spoken aloud, did Andrew even believe that they were a thing?

Andrew looked at him, his gaze falling from the top of Neil’s head to the bottom of his chest and back up again. He tilted his head, and landed on Neil’s eyes. After a small inhale, he nodded forward, “No.”

Even expecting it, even knowing that was what he was always going to say, it still felt like a surprise punch to his stomach. That’s what Andrew had done to him, he’d turned him soft, he’d turned him into someone with an interest in normality. He’d turned him into someone who longed for a boyfriend and a life, a home, a future, even if his stomach twisted at the thought.

He pushed down the tiny feeling of disappointment that radiated through his gut, and smiled, “Okay.” Andrew didn’t look away, but he remained silent, and Neil filled the space with a question he knew he shouldn’t ask, but had to ask anyways, “So what are we?”

“You are living inside a movie.” Andrew didn’t laugh, but Neil was sure that the desire to was buried somewhere beneath his stoic expression. “Is that how far removed you’ve become in your freedom, that you think that is something you have to ask me?” He shuffled himself over so he was better facing Neil, and he glanced between his eyes. “We are nothing.”

“A truth?” Neil tested.

“Fuck off,” Andrew poked Neil’s chest hard enough to hurt. “That is the truth.”

“So I’ll tell Allison to stop.” Neil’s head bowed in an over exaggerated nod of understanding. “I’ll tell her that you are not my boyfriend, and you don’t want to be called that. I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I hope that is not supposed to be a threat.” Neil had hoped his response would be more telling, but Andrew continued with, “Would you like to be called my boyfriend?” His tone was less inquisitive than it was mocking, the slightest grimace in his face telling Neil that he hated even saying it.

“I don’t know.” Neil reached a hand out towards Andrew, pausing for a silent glance of approval from him before he placed it on his chest, playing with the strings of the black hoodie he wore. “I’m mostly tired of not knowing what I mean to you.” Andrew’s expression hardened into something resembling annoyance as he continued to speak. “I’m not asking you to call me your boyfriend, okay? I just want to know if you‘re going to meet another guy, and think it’s okay to get him off, because we’re not together.”

Andrew didn’t move to reciprocate the touch Neil had given him, but raised an eyebrow at the hypothetical. “It sounds like it would be a problem for you if I did.”

Neil matched his stare and coolness in his response, “And what if it is?”

“This is an entirely unproductive conversation to have,” Andrew rested a wrist on Neil’s shoulder and brushed a piece of hair back behind his neck. A small but meaningful gesture that perhaps was given in lieu of ensuring Neil that his example would never happen. “I will not give you the pleasure of reassurance. If you haven’t figured it out by now, then I don’t have anything else to tell you.”

“How can I figure it out, when you keep telling me it doesn’t exist?” Neil’s voice was low, and Andrew’s sigh meant he heard the gentleness in it. He heard the way Neil hadn’t meant to sound so pleading, the words leaving his lips in such a way that felt like a desperate whisper for answers. “I want to hear you say it.”

Andrew looked down at the hair by Neil’s neck. “You know that I won’t.”

“Then tell me that we’re not just fucking for fun.”

Andrew dropped his hand and pushed Neil off, seemingly thrown by his bluntness. His laugh was a single short breath, not a semblance of a smile or humour in it. He shook his head as he took a cigarette from the packet he’d pulled from his pocket. Once the cigarette was placed between his lips, he stopped with the lighter a few inches away from his face, pointing the fire starter at Neil. “Well, we’re certainly not fucking for love.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Neil watched as he struggled to ignite the lighter, hand cupped around the flame, the wind set on blowing it out. After the third unsuccessful try, Neil reached forward to help him shield it with both his hands, until three short puffs in from Andrew told him it was lit. Andrew leaned back and exhaled. He watched as Neil pulled his hands away.

“You want to know if I’m going to get bored of you, then.” He said through smoke. Andrew adjusted himself to tuck one of his legs beneath the other, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You want to know if I have feelings, is that it?”

Neil shrugged his shoulders and looked at his hands. “Maybe.”

Neil listened as Andrew let out another smoky exhale. He cleared his throat, and when Neil thought he might speak, he instead filled his lungs again. There was no need to flick off the ash as the wind did that job for him, but from instinct he did it anyway. He let out another humourless laugh, two short puffs following in order to keep the stick lit. Andrew was not looking at Neil as he lifted his eyes to watch him, Andrew’s hazel gaze fixed on something in the distance. Using the thumb and index finger of his free hand he wiped the sides of his lips, tensing his jaw like the words took it out of him just to say. “Fuck you for even asking.”

The tug in Neil’s chest was impossible to ignore. It felt wrong to hear Andrew’s voice wrapped around those words, words that separately read like an insult, yet meant something different to their original form when he uttered them. Like watching a fish out of water, like listening to a mime sing; to have these moments of vulnerability from Andrew were as beautiful as they were rare. He hadn’t intended to steer their conversation to the place where it had landed, and part of him felt guilty as he watched Andrew silently struggle through the side of himself he swore did not exist. The side of Andrew that kept itself buried six feet below, hidden from anyone who asked, except for Neil, who’d been digging a hole for months trying to find it.

“When you put a name to something it gives it permanency, yet an opportunity to end,” Andrew sat up and moved closer to Neil, finding his position with one knee in between his legs, sitting back on a spot on the lower half of Neil’s thigh. He threw the cigarette somewhere behind him as he settled. Taking Neil’s hair into his fists, he examined the look on his face with his lips slightly pursed. He considered his words and took one hand out of Neil’s hair to hold his chin up, making sure he was listening. “You label it however you wish. I will not. Do you understand?”

Neil nodded, afraid to speak, as if any words insufficient would cause Andrew to change his mind about where he rested his body weight. It was reassurance enough that he’d found his way there, and that he remained, comfortable by his own volition.

“And for the record, Abram,” Andrew leaned in close, wisps of his hair tickling Neil’s face, his breath hot as he left a gentle kiss on his jawline. Neil shut his eyes and breathed in the moment, hiding his fists in the pocket of Andrew’s hoodie. “To answer the question you so annoyingly want answered,” He left another kiss higher up on his jaw, brushing his lip against his ear lobe as he moved, slowly, so gently Neil was both afraid he would fall apart, or that he would be able to feel his quickly beating heart through his skin. The hand that had sat in his hair moved to cup the opposite side of his face, the other tucking Neil’s hair behind his ear and holding him by his neck. Neil couldn’t help but shiver as he whispered in his ear, “I will not be fucking anyone else, and I am not just fucking you for fun. Happy?”

Neil nodded as he turned into his lips, melting into the kiss that warmed him up as the wind persisted. His hands pulled out of the hoodie pocket, and he tapped Andrew’s neck for permission to hold him. When Andrew hummed with a barely there nod, he hooked his hands around the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

There were a million things Neil could label Andrew;

Terrifying but caring. Gentle while violent.

Beautiful, like something that deserved to be hung on a wall, yet so precious Neil wished nobody else could see.

Rough. Jagged.

Talented. Human.

Misunderstood, perhaps. Genuine, most of the time.

When he thought about Andrew, there were a million things he could identify him as before landing on Neil’s boyfriend.

He would not tell Allison to stop, nor correct Nicky when he joined in. He would not say it out loud, either, as if their nothing that is something was so sacred it couldn’t be uttered. It was a relief of course to know that Andrew was his, and though he felt embarrassment rush through his blood at the idea of it, he was certain that what they had both found in each other was glaringly rare and hauntingly perfect. He noticed how perfect they fit together in each others space, lips on lips, hands on skin, and wondered how he ever doubted this was it; that this was real.

He was sure that no one else could experience such a thing.

[tabithatwo]

i humbly request some of your jackienat thoughts at this time

I am humbly providing many many days after you asked!

Jackienat in canon: god I’ve talked about them at length before but there two as individuals are my little sweetie snookums lovebug angels (I love all the yellowjackets but god god god I love them); they are the two girls who I believe are the most invested in the team as a whole. I think they would’ve been amazing co-captains side note (not me suddenly considering writing a short little au something about them being captains together GOD). I think that it’s been said very well by many people, but they are so tethered. They want what’s best for all the girls, they love hard, and they do NOT get that energy in return enough. I don’t really understand why people come to the conclusion that they hated each other. I DEFINITELY don’t get why people come to the conclusion that they hated each other PRE crash, because there’s nothing negative show between them when we DO see other girls be bitchy to Nat and make fun of Jackie’s earnestness, but it’s never these two against each other. Nat is very vocally anti freeze her out, everyone knows innately that Jackie would be without even asking. I’ve spoken about their fight at length before, so without getting too far into that I will just say I think the way it escalates and gets so emotional and personal is very very telling. I don’t think they’ve fought before, Nat is clearly more emotional than when the other girls are cruel to her which I think means she didn’t expect it from Jackie, Nat hits back with a threat/fights back instead of brushing it off like she usually does. I think it’s fucking tragic that they fought and never got to reconcile, because they both are the type to hold guilt and sadness over that shit. Them teaming up at doomcoming against the crazy, the way Jackie would’ve lived if Nat were home for her and Shauna’s fight, the eulogy Nat gives Jackie when she takes her bones to the plane. They are just tragic and beautiful and we’re robbed of the chance to be truly close friends, because I really do think that’s the trajectory they were on.

Jackienat platonically: oh GOD do I love them. I can’t wait to explore their dynamic in we practice resurrection every night. I talked a lot about how I think they’d be close above but I also heavily hc that jackienat and shaunalottie each made out at least one party in high school respectively. They are so special to me. Sweet girls with huge hearts and very curated protective exteriors beloved beloved beloved.

Jackienat romantically: I love it so much. I am a jackieshauna and lottienat at heart (clearly lmao) but I LOVE them as a stop on the way to those endgames. I think they’d be surprisingly soft and sweet as a pairing and I think that they’d be able to help each other through the ummmm tougher times of shauna and lottie’s less than ideal behaviors lol. (I LOVE BOTH SHAUNA AND LOTTIE DEEPLY but they have some very rough tendencies that would be hard as their partner and I think some commitment issues/stumbling blocks to get to a healthy (healthy for yj) relationship status, just objectively lmao). Jackienat is hot and fun and kind and loving and the type of young dyke relationship that leads to really close lifelong friendship no one can ever change my mind on that <3 they should kiss <3

[elkian]

Oh yeah since it’s Homestuck Day here’s a post I’ve been sitting on for a bit.

Davesprite’s tragedy is even deeper than is immediately obvious.

The scale, time-wise, of the base game - the Alpha Timeline - is something of a joke. It pokes fun, I think, at the concept of Webcomic Time - that an event taking place over dozens of pages over the course of months is, in-canon, only taking place across a day or two.

But Davesprite. Oh, Davesprite.

Dave-the-sprite came from a timeline 4 months (chrono) past Day 1. He’d been hopping enough for it to come out to maybe 1 year for him. He’s very lanky in the animation, and when Rose’s dreamself merges with her Alpha self, the sprites are very slightly different sizes. Future Mutie is visibly older.

But then The Alpha Timeline? The Course Of The Game?

One. Day.

What an absolute whiplash, you guys. He’s been grinding and prepping and mentally readying himself and fucking grieving for his pretty much only friends for nearly a year. Remember how Dragon Ball Z had the Hyper time chamber and it was mentioned that it’s hard to use alone? Because being in there on your lonesome, that’s tough. That’s Dave. He had Rose, who was also grieving and having her own crises that he may or may not have been equipped to help her through at all, and he’s doing all this.

And in like, maybe 12 hours, it’s suddenly all over.

And then he finds out it’s gonna be another three years, but hey, this time he has Jade and John, the people he missed so desperately that he was willing to give up being The Real Dave, a real human, for.

And to them? He’s an extra.

He’s Bonus Dave. He’s Davesprite. He’s Basically Dave, (almost) As Good As The Real Thing!

Like, it’s very hard for me to articulate, but the way that both of them refer to him during the course of their cruise is... dehumanizing, in differing ways.

John calls him Dave, because He’s Basically Dave. (This is after John asked him to let The Real Dave in on their convo, recall). He doesn’t need to be treated any different, because he’s indistinguishable from The Real Dave, Pretty Much!

Jade isn’t as bad - possibly her stint as+fusion with Jadesprite helped - but the way Grimbark Jade loses her temper with Dave post-jump is... telling. She blames a boy she hasn’t spoken with in 3 years for something that a person who is not actually him did.

And he just! Fucking gets forgotten! I know Davepeta feels like an asspull to many readers, but honestly, it’s probably the best thing to happen to Davesprite since his John bit it. Like, was he the one from John’s timeline, or did he not die when the rebooted planet blew up or what? I’ve never understood that.

At least as Davepeta they have multiple people who are genuinely glad to be around them. At least Equius cares about one half and AR doesn’t not-care about the other and they’ve basically got a bestie in Arquiusprite! Getting fused with a reanimated alien catgirl in an alternate timeline(????) was probably the best thing to happen to Dave for a long, long time.

And I’m not even done!

Let’s talk Terezi.

Once we get through Act 5 and the trolls connect with the humans, we get a whole Fairy Godtroll situation that’s kinda cute. John gets Karkat and Vriska in his ear, Jade gets Tavros and Feferi and Kanaya and Karkat (Jade gets a lot of new people, doesn’t she?), Rose still has her Kanaya convos.

And Dave.

Gets.

Terezi.

They’re a great duo, very fun to watch - even with Vriska and Terezi’s weird rivalry shenanigans getting tangled up in it from time to time. As far as he knows, she’s just a bit of an internet weirdo who’s fun enough to hang out with.

As far as Alpha Dave knows, that is.

Davesprite came back, remember, to fix the timeline after Terezi got his John killed. Dave comes back, and argues with his John - that’s the first thing he gets to say to his best friend, one of his only friends, after a year of grieving in a dead, lonely session with only Rose for company. If he loses the fight, John dies.

After some effort, he gets his dumbass (beloved) pal to stop doing the stupid thing, then gives up his humanity (his existence as a core player, his role, his autonomy) and jumps into the sprite. Calsprite was a void of dead-eyed laughter and horror, so he wants to give the kids the best shot they can get, and having a non-cagey sprite on their side is a huge boost.

And Dave, Alpha Dave?

He ignores this.

He takes Terezi’s advice, over and over. Davesprite gives him the medallion, and we never see it used (we never see any sprite medallion used, as far as I can recall). Davesprite has to actively contact his player (his luckier, prime, Alpha self) and make him accept help, like guarding his body in his sleep. Meanwhile, Alpha Dave is getting codec support from the person who killed John, precipitating Davesprite’s entire existence in the narrative.

With the way the comic is structured, it’s really easy to blip over this, but this is what’s happening. Davesprite’s POV must be a goddamn horror movie, complete with futile shouting at the protagonists to stop going into the scary tunnels and following the advice of people who are blatantly out to hurt them. No fucking wonder he eventually fucked off the find Bro, who despite being an abusive piece of shit (did Davesprite ever get the chance to work that one out for himself?), is at least a constant. He’s the sole tie to the life this Dave left behind. Damn. And Dave doesn’t even come looking for him after he “dies”! If Davesprite didn’t vandalize that poster, would Alpha Dave have even known he was alive?

....fuck, is that why he keeps pasting orange text onto things? And provoking John into anger? Is he just doing his damnedest to keep from being trivialized and forgotten?

In the story, in the grand scheme of things, Davesprite is key to keep John from getting killed, and past that?

He has no purpose.

There’s no point to his existence.

His player seeks neither his advice nor his protection. His friends consider him part of the game they’re playing, rather than (an iteration of) their friend. The trolls mock him by doing nothing he can stop or really argue against. His rage has nowhere to go, so he has no rage.

No wonder he chases after Bro. No wonder he chills with Jadesprite. No wonder, no wonder. What a mess. What a disaster. He spends three years on the damn ship and as soon as the groups meet up, Jade begins projecting the time he spent with her on a guy she hasn’t seen since she was 13! And Alpha Dave just says “well, he’s bird me” and accepts this, except when he might get blamed for something he didn’t actually do!

God.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

I think part of the problem I have (and this may be an unpopular opinion) is all the hopes and opinions and ideas people (fans) have about the new season. And I don’t just mean things like the “mustache = obvious gay Eddie” that’s happening. But thoughts on Bobby, his and Athena’s living situation, Gerrard as captain, let alone Buck, Eddie, and others.

I know a lot of spec is just for fun, but some people take it quite serious. And I know I’m newer to this fandom but sometimes I read serious takes and go “….but that would never actually happen?! I know many of us don’t trust Tim and the writers but realistically that would never be a storyline on a tv show.…that’s a fanfic.”

So I can’t blame you for your pessimism or want to avoid spec. I hope we don’t get a lot of bts stuff either too, because I feel like fans will be trying to (over)analyze everything to figure things out. Only to likely be disappointed because I don’t trust these writers to write/do anything half as creative, original or logical as fans come up with. Expectation is the enemy and I’m afraid a lot of fans have theirs set too high for this season already

anon i have disgraced you by leaving this burried in the inbox and i feel awful 😭😭

i think fandom in general (and i mean any fandom not just 9-1-1) have this tendency to blur the line between cautious optimism/spec and actually convincing themselves of something happening…

i think a lot of people (and if you are one of these people this is NOT a dig at you) still want to have faith that the writers are actually going somewhere with the story, and they do so by speculating and putting actual thought into what the overarching storyline could be but unfortunately after 6 seasons of waiting, i’m getting tired of the whole thing being dragged out.

it’s no longer a will they/won’t they between the characters for me because multiple times they’ve reached the point where they don’t need anymore of that build; the only will they/won’t they is in terms of the writing team actually going somewhere rather than continuing to bait us

i have no issue with spec/theorizing (i may not wanna see it but i just filter out the spec tags) but my issue lies with some of the more popular buddie blogs having this whole “i can sense that buddie is happening” and then treating people who are validly apprehensive towards getting our hopes up like we’re brainless idiots who don’t know what we’re talking about

even though we literally went through the same thing of buddieblr being like “s7 is our year i can FEEL it there is no way they aren’t going canon”….. just for them to not go canon bc the writers (yet again) changed their minds last minute when they got an early renewal and realized “oh- we don’t actually have to commit anymore, we can just keep baiting snd dragging them along— and they technically can’t call it queerbaiting anymore bc buck’s bi now!”

like everything surrounding this season has been screaming to me (NOT anything from oliver and ryan— ive spoken before about how i think they are where we’re at in terms of being strung along by the writers every season) that we are just being baited again.

and as far as the over-analyzing, i’ve seen so many people saying things like “omg oliver and ryan posting candids/photos and tagging each other buddie is obviously happening”……. as if oliver and ryan aren’t friends…. like i fear the two of them posting eacg other doesn’t really mean much if anything when they’ve done that throughout their friendship.

and just because there are some deranged people on the internet spewing hate about them being friends doesn’t mean that their posting is a sign of anything either other than the fact that they’re probably blocking the lunatics and posting each other anyway…. it’s not some gotcha to anyone in the fandom, it’s not a sign that buddie is coming, it’s two castmates being friends, and doing things that friends do all the time

overall, like i said, i have no problem with people (other than myself) engaging in spec and at this point the people who are getting their hopes up will only have themselves to blame if we’re let down again… my issue mainly lies with some of the bigger blogs being dicks to people raising valid concerns over the new season and not trusting the writers when the writers haven’t done anything to earn that trust; in fact having only done things to the detriment of that trust.

anyway, sorry for the super delayed and super long response, anon 😭😭 i’ve been neglecting my ask box lately in lieu of a spike in temu stans sending me hate yet again but i was just scrolling through and noticed this one and wanted to make a response!

[made-ofmemories]

Also on AO3

Click click click. It’s driving her insane, the rhythmic clicking of a Rubik's cube being turned over and over again. Robin has had to listen to it all morning. She’s standing by the cash register sorting through a pile of returns and Steve is sitting on the floor behind her, legs stretched out in front of him twisting the Rubik's cube around and around. She doesn’t think he’s even trying to solve it.

“Keith’s going to tear us both a new one if he finds you sitting on your ass, you know?” She says over her shoulder with mild disinterest. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t care about what Keith has to say, but they’re on their last strike and she really doesn’t want to go through the hassle of job hunting again. 

“Keith’s not here and we haven’t had a customer in hours.” It’s barely more than a mutter followed by the thump of Steve’s head against the shelf he’s propped up against.

She sighs and turns to face him, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter. He’s right it has been an exceptionally slow day, but there’s something else going on he’s just not telling her what. He was quiet on the way to work and he’s barely spoken a word since they got here, he just sits there frowning at that damn Rubik's cube.

“Alright.” She tries to sound stern, but it just comes out concerned, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“ Steve .” She moves to sit opposite him when he doesn’t respond, nudging his leg with her foot to get his attention. “Talk to me.”

“Eddie asked me out,” He blurts it out in such a rush she’s not sure she’s hearing correctly at first. “On a date.”

“Oh.” 

She isn’t exactly surprised, Eddie has been flirting with Steve for weeks and every time Steve doesn’t shut it down he just gets bolder. Steve would have let him down gently, she’s sure of that. But Eddie is more sensitive than people realize under all that bravado and the last thing she wants is for him to get hurt, for either of them to get hurt. She should have done something about it, talked to Eddie, and stopped it before it got this far, but it never felt like her place to interfere.

“I’m sure it’ll be ok. He’ll understand, he-”

“I said yes.”

“ Oh .”

“Yeah, oh. ”

“And you want to?” She keeps her words slow and careful. “Go on this date I mean.” He nods, looks down at the Rubik's cube in his hands for a moment then back at her. 

“I don’t think I’m gay, Robs.” He’s quiet when he speaks, lacking his usual confidence.

“Ok.” There’s a pause, but Robin doesn’t interrupt, just waits patiently until he’s ready to continue.

“I still like girls, it’s just…” He frowns, runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a frustrated groan as if he can’t quite find the words, “I think I like boys too. When I’m with Eddie I feel the same way I feel when I have a crush on a girl, and I don’t think Eddie is the first. I think I’ve felt it before with others, other men I mean, but I’ve always been too scared to admit it.”

“So you like both?” She asks, hoping she’s been following along correctly. He nods again.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

“Oh absolutely.” She shuffles across the distance between them so they’re side by side and takes one of his hands into hers, their fingers intertwined. “I’ve always thought you were a weirdo, dingus. But not because of that.” It earns her a smile and he lets his head drop onto her shoulder.

“I really like him.” He sounds all dreamy and lovestruck and she has to bite her tongue to resist the urge to tease him for it, he just makes it too easy sometimes. 

“I’m glad you told me.” 

“I wanted to tell you earlier,” He admits, “But I didn’t know how, I was still figuring it all out myself I think.”

“Does that mean you’re going to put that damn Rubik's cube down now.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “No more Rubik's cube.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else and she doesn’t want to push more than she already has so she holds onto his hand a little tighter and embraces the companionable silence they’ve fallen into. The sound of the door opening comes a few minutes later and she shrugs the shoulder Steve is leaning on, not entirely sure if he’s even still awake. She doubts he got much sleep last night.

“Your turn,” She tells him and he gets up without argument.

“Hi! Welcome to-” He starts in his usual overly peppy customer service tone before he cuts himself off, “Oh- Hi Keith!” 

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters under her breath, scrambling to her feet as quickly as possible. She grabs a tape on her way up so it at least looks like she was down there searching for something and gives Keith the brightest smile she can muster. 

“We are so screwed,” Steve whispers through gritted teeth as they watch Keith making his way toward them.

“I heard the coffee shop across the street was hiring?” She offers in a similarly hushed tone. She’s only partially joking. 

[themarsmaiden]

Accolade

Yuri x Gn!Reader

alternate universe

Summary: [Name] and Yuri have known each other since they were kids. Always competing, and now they prepare for their final year in high school. For their colleges of choice, the science fair, and in love.

Case Study 3: Apology

October: A month passed by procrastinating

It’s been about 3 weeks since Yuri’s birthday, and [Name] hasn’t heard anything from him at all. No emails about the project, no rude comments passed in class, nothing.

Of course, they saw him everyday, yet it was as though he didn’t see them.

This should be a dream come true, as if Isami Yuri just ceased to exist, and yet, it wasn’t. They were extremely, extremely, off put by this.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop staring?” Asked Rui, waving around a fry he had been eating.

It was lunch time, and [Name] had been watching Yuri from a distance. “‘Somebody’s gonna get the wrong idea’ I know! But I can’t help it.” They sink into the plush couch seat they had been fortunate enough to get. “It’s been far too quiet for the past 3 weeks, I kind of almost feel bad.”

As Rui was about to speak, a pair of two walked over. “What seems to be the matter, [Name]?” The voice would usually make them jump and adjust themself, but they found the couch moping far too important to make themself presentable for Luca. “They’re finally going through a breakup arc with their little boyfriend.” Rui jokes.

Luca takes this seriously and chooses to take a seat next to [Name], “I’m sorry to hear, I didn’t know you were in a relationship.” This comment does motivates them to sit up. “I don’t have a boyfriend! I never had except for a little bit in eighth grade. Rui’s just joking.”

“Oh, then who are you talking about?” Luca turns his attention back to Rui. His blond haired friend Kaito does the same, taking a seat next to the man being questioned. “Yuri. They’ve been obsessed with each other since the first grade spelling bee and now he’s not even looking at them.”

[Name] scoffs, “You make it sound like I’m in love with him, I hate Isami Yuri.” They cross their arms, “Then it’s a good thing you two haven’t spoken, right? I mean I would love it if Romeo just left me alone.” Kaito comments.

“It should be, but…” They trail off, trying to find the right words to describe their feelings. “But?” Luca asks. “But I feel like I genuinely did something hurtful, and I feel bad for it.” They cry, burying their face in their hands. They groan and take their hands off their face, “Why is this so difficult! Usually I just call him an evil creation of tartarus or hell or something else ghoulish but!”

All three guys stay quiet to let [Name] rant, all of their eyes glued to the student. “But I saw his house, and his lack of friends, and how he quivered underneath my gaze. It’s… humanizing. Don’t get me wrong I still think no man like that can be one hundred percent human, but it’s humanizing.”

Luca laughs lightly, “Perhaps it’s because he is human. There are many I don’t like, but they all have their reasons because we are human.” He smiles at them which makes them feel better, and they feel their cheeks warm up just the slightest. “Yeah, you’re right Luca.”

Rui stares deadpanned at [Name], “I’ve been saying this haven’t I? Haku’s been saying this too, what’s different when he says it my love?” He fakes being hurt, which [Name] responds to silently with a knowing glare. “You should apologize.” Luca says smiling, “That will make you feel better.”

[Name] stares at him confused, “I did already. When it happened.” He shakes his head, “No, genuinely.” They ignore how he just assumed that it wasn’t genuine, and agreed like the suck up they were for him. “I should, thank you Luca.” He nods, “Of course.”

There’s a short amount of silence before Kaito speaks up, “Can we go now, I hate being the third wheel especially with someone as pretty as [Name].” He complains to Luca. The boy being questioned turns to his friend and nods, “Sure, let’s go Kaito.”

No comment was made on the ‘third wheel’ thing Kaito said as they left, which left [Name] blushing just the slightest. Their joy was only momentary, as Rui’s unpleased look snaps them out of it.

“What?” They ask him. “Nothing.” Silence befell upon them for a moment, despite saying nothing Rui continues, “It’s just a little disappointing to see you folding so fast. If I had known all it takes to get you to do something was for it to have come out of Luca’s mouth I would’ve started asking him to tell you these things.”

He sighs dramatically, placing his head in the palm of his hand, “How do you plan on apologizing anyways?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s been another week and they still have no viable answer for Rui’s question. How did they plan on apologizing?

Of course they could always flake on Luca, but they knew they couldn’t. That would basically be telling him that they couldn’t own up to their own mistakes! And they had to make sure he knew that they could do that, that they could be nice to their enemies. (Even enemies like Yuri.)

Yet that was so challenging. The happenings of Yuri’s birthday were hard to even relive, how could they own up to it?

They realized this was something even an elementary schooler could do.

They set the thought aside, this wasn’t important right now. There was plenty of time to apologize to Yuri, what there wasn’t time for was the science fair.

It was two months away, less technically, as the projects were due December first.

They hadn’t begun work on it yet and this thought was weighing on them more than the thought of apologizing to Yuri.

This was a lie. They had been thinking about Yuri more, which is why they haven’t even started on the project.

Typically they would’ve already started but their thoughts weighed so heavily for the past month that nothing else permeated except for maybe Luca a few times.

And recently, what they have dubbed “Case Study: Apology” has been locked in their brain as well. They turned over in their bed, forcing themselves out of it.

They would start on the science fair right now. No more Yuri, no more apologies, just work and study.

They opened up their notebook and read what they had written:

Stem Cell Research

A different organ?

Frankenstein irl?

X-Ray machine <<<

Their eyes met the last option, an x-ray machine. Sure it had been done before but, with enough work they could make an improved version that could greatly impact the medical fields.

If successful they also planned on making this machine accessible to the masses so people don’t have to go into debt for using one at the doctors.

It was a grand idea but they knew it could be done.

They had ordered everything they needed in August, before Yuri’s party, and it has all been sitting untouched since.

They picked themself up and walked to their makeshift lab, it was actually their garage but neither their mothers nor Haku particularly minded.

And thus they began work on this year's science fair project.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s been a month. It’s been over a month actually. It’s been over a month since Yuri’s birthday, and [Name] still hasn’t apologized. It was Halloween, the one day a year they allowed off for education.

The plan for today was to go trick or treating with Edward, Rui, and Lyca. Everyone agreed out loud that they were going for Lyca, but silently they all knew that they all wanted to get candy and show off their costumes.

They all stood outside of the boys' shared house. Lyca was dressed as a werewolf, Rui was a slightly slutty grim reaper and Edward was a vampire.

“Vere arthe ve going.” Edward spoke, but his poor attempt to do a fake vampire accent coupled with the plastic fake teeth he wore gave him a massive lisp. “Edward, take those out.” Rui shook his head in motherly disappointment. He spit them out much to his dismay.

“Now say that again.” Rui crossed his arms, still looking disappointed in his friend. “Where are we going?” He asked, smiling.

“I was thinking just around the neighborhood by the school for a bit. Somewhere where the neighbors won’t see, but not too far so we can get you home fast if we need.”

Edward nods attentively, giving his signature smile, “Then let’s head off!”

They headed off by car. (There’s only so much you can do with a chronically ill eighteen year old and a seventeen year old who gets skittish under the light of the full moon.)

They arrived in a semi familiar neighborhood, lined with modern houses and one gothic house plotted straight in the middle.

“Rui, why did we drive to this neighborhood?” [Name] looked out the window towards the large black and gray house.

“Because my dear, my love, my sugar you need to grow up and apologize already.” He looked over at them, his hands resting on the steering wheel. His words caused them to sink into the car seat. “Now get out of the car and trick or treat!” He shoos them off, the other 3 getting out of the car. “And [Name], apologize to Yuri! I’m going to go find parking somewhere.” Rui said through the window before driving off.

“Ugh I can’t do this!!!” Complained [Name]. Lyca smiled at them, “Yes you can [Name]! I believe in you!!” The boy encouraged them. To which Edward nods, “Yes. Why, how about you go do it now? Get it done like ripping off a band aid, and then enjoy sweet and tantalizing candy! Why? We could even feed it to each other like birds do.”

“You know what, I think I will do it. But only because you said something weird and I don’t want to be associated with you anymore.” [Name] looked at him with joking disgust and walked off towards Yuri’s house. They could hear Edwards' laughter in the distance.

They ring the doorbell at Yuri’s door once they arrive. After a few moments of painful, anxious, waiting Yuri opens the door. His eyes visibly widened in surprise, his expression showed how caught off guard he was. “Elizabeth? I mean-” He awkwardly coughs into his hand, “[Name].”

Yuri’s initial words called attention to their costume, which, in their opinion, was a very accurate depiction of Elizabeth Lavenza from Frankenstein. His costume coincidentally matched, he was Victor Frankenstein, though [Name] was too shocked by the fact that he actually dressed up to think about the fact that they were matching.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his surprise still apparent. “To apologize to you.” Their words caused his eyebrows to furrow, “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were right.”

“What?” They met his eyes, which burned with some sort of anger and pain. “”You were right, I am all those things, but it doesn’t hurt me all that very much. If that is what it takes to be a genius, then I will be a monster.” He goes to close his door but [Name] stops him by grabbing the doorknob and overpowering him.

“No, No No! I was wrong. I mean well, you do have your flaws but you’re a person too.” They fight for control of the door. “You’re not supposed to agree with yourself when apologizing.” Yuri argues. “I’m trying ok! What I said was mean, and it really has been weighing on me! I started my science fair project late because of it!” The struggle for the door suddenly stops and [name} goes flying straight through his front door.

“You started late because you felt bad?” Yuri was clearly blind to the fact that they now stood a few inches from each other inside his house, as he made no effort to push them out.. “Yes, I really mean it! So accept my apology and let’s just get back to working on the stupid project Dante gave us. We’re already a month behind.”

“Well I suppose I could. If you really did start late then that would infer that you truly mean it when you felt bad, and I quite enjoy that.”

[Name] wasn’t going to look further into what exactly he meant by that, choosing to take this victory. They were about to leave when Yuri called out to them. “Your costume reminds me, you left your copy of Mary Shelly’s frankenstein here.”

They shake their head, “No it’s yours.” Yuri looks at them confused, “I do not have a copy of Frankenstien, I already returned it to the library months ago.”

“No no no, it was for you. For your birthday?”

Yuri seemingly short circuits at their words, but quickly attempts to cover it up. “I see, you can go now.”

They nod, “thank you Yuri, for accepting my apology.” They pause as they leave, “But don’t get this mixed up as defeat! I still hate you!”

From outside his door they could hear a faint ‘as do I you.’ from Yuri. Once out of his sight they let go a sigh of relief that they were unaware they had been holding in.

It seems Case Study: Apology, was the first case to actually get closed. They celebrated this fact with Edward, Rui and Lyca later as they all indulged in candy and spooky movies.

Tons of things were to come, mostly the science fair, but it wasn’t the time to worry about that, it was the time to relax and celebrate.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

A/N: :3 Yuri’s bday!! Chapters may be slower now bcs we have a permanent sub for a month who actually is trying to teach lol srry :’)

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Masterdoc

[noodyl-blasstal]

Tale as Old as Time

It's @taznovembercelebration day 26! Look how far we've come! Today's prompt was "familiar" and I also used an AU generator (you'll never guess what I got...)

Read below or on Ao3, missed yesterday? Catch up here.

--

“Did you see that next door’s open?” Taako asks, cool, calm, motives impenetrable.

“Raven Tattoo?”

“Yeah.” He’s nonchalant, inarguably casual.

“So you met hotboy then?” Lup asks.

Fuck.

It’s fine, Taako doesn’t have to admit anything, Lup doesn’t have a warrant. “Who?”

“Tattoo goth next door?”

“I’m not sure.

“You don’t know if you met the man who owns the shop you just told me was open?”

“Nope.” Says Taako, liar supreme.

“He’s your type, is all I’m saying.”

He is. But that is precisely none of Lup’s business so Taako keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s a tale as old as time, you know.” Lup says as she wraps the brown paper around her spray. “Tattoo artist, florist, can I make it any more obvious?” She winds twine to keep it in place.

“Ah yes, the ancient tattoo shop florist love stories which echo through the ages, they’ve got at least four Disney films with it as a central premise I’m sure. Do you remember the one where the handsome florist’s sister is a complete dingus?”

Taako barely dodges out of the way of the stem cut offs that Lup lobs at him. Thankfully he’s had years of training.

“Fuck off, goofus. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No.” Taako says, quickly.

“Uh huh.”

Flawless lie.

“So what was he like?” Lup asks.

Double fuck.

It’s not fair that she’s using her twin powers for evil.

“Taako wouldn’t know.”

“You realise our shop is 90% windows?” Lup picks out some more roses for the ‘November, remember!… to tell them you love them (with flowers)’ promotion. The make-the-worst-promotion-name-and-people-will-tell-their-friends-about-it approach has been working well so far.

“I have eyes, Lulu.”

“Well so do I, genius, so cha’girl saw you look out the window, wait until goth boy was on the move, rush out to pretend to run into him and follow him back into his shop.”

Triple fuck.

Taako was so sure she was busy with the flowers, he didn’t expect to be observed taking actions. That was cheating, probably.

“Taako learned from the best.” The best defence is a good offence and Taako is going down swinging.

“Things with Barry aren’t the same!”

“It’s very interesting, Lup, that you should bring him up. Who said anything about Barry? Taako certainly didn’t mention Barry, which means that when you think of the spurious accusations levelled at Taako about flirting you think about Bluejeans. Interesting, very interesting, considering you’re just friends.”

“We are friends”

“Uh huh.”

Taako dodges another trimmed stem. Maybe if he aggravated Lup less he wouldn’t have to sweep as often.

“Not just friends, though, are you? You wanna ride the denim train into the sunset!”

“I can’t believe you just said those words with your actual face.”

Taako can’t either, frankly.

“Denim what now?” Barry asks, looking excited.

They need a bell for the door right now. They need one yesterday.

“Nothing!” Says Lup, high and panicked.

“Ooooh, say no more.” Barry winks dramatically.

Oh good, they’re going to have to make him some kind of denim train for Candlenights.

“Taako’s got the hots for tattoo boy next door!” Lup says, throwing Taako so hard under the bus that he didn’t even have time to yank her under with him.

“Classic love story, bud. Tattoo, flower shop, you know how it goes.”

“That’s not a thing and Taako’s not interested in hot goth boy! Now stop talking about it!”

“Hello.” Says Kravitz from the entrance.

They’re getting four bells for the fucking door. Taako’s going to invent time travel and go back and put them all on and never ever ever complain about how loud and annoying they are.

“Hi.” Taako says, casually. Throws up a quick prayer to Istus that maybe, just maybe, Kravitz didn’t hear him. Because Taako is interested, Taako is very interested.

“I was just bringing you a pack of the stickers you liked, I printed some extras.” He’s definitely frostier than he was 30 minutes ago. “Anyway, I’d better be going.”

“No!” Say Taako and Lup in tandem.

Kravitz looks alarmed, and Lup’s doing the wide eyes which mean she’s all out of ideas having tried precisely nothing. Taako needs a reason for Kravitz to stay and he needs a good one.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo.” Taako says desperately.

Kravitz raises an eyebrow but doesn’t smile. He’s so hot, even when he’s pouty. He’s also got a laugh like honey and didn’t act weird when Taako mentioned that he enjoys fishing - usually everyone’s shocked and they get to do the ‘wow, what a left field hobby’ chat. Kravitz had definitely been interested before so Taako needs to fix this right now. If he gets a tattoo then Kravitz has to interact with him, how long can they take? 10 minutes is probably enough to explain.

“You are?” Asks Kravitz at the same time as Lup and Barry.

“Yep.” Taako’s dripping confidence. This is great, it’s fine. He can just get a tattoo from a place he’s not familiar with because he thinks the guy doing it is hot. What’s a little stabbing among hopefully-soon-to-be-more-than-friends?

“Right.” Kravitz sounds worryingly unconvinced.

“What’re you going to get, bud?” Says Barry, choosing violence and genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, Koko, what’re you thinking of putting on your body forever and ever? I’m sure you’ve thought this through carefully.”

“Mongoose.” Taako doesn’t even flinch, he’s a master of his craft. They want to play? He can play. He’s a professional, baby, he’s sliding down the floor piano on his knees while everyone claps.

“Oh.” Kravitz sounds slightly more positive than he did a few moments ago.

“You wanna talk through ideas at some point, kemosabe?” Taako may as well clear this up sooner rather than later.

“I thought you weren’t interested.” Kravitz says pointedly. Okay, so he definitely heard, and maybe the huffiness hadn’t entirely faded. Taako might have to work slightly harder at this.

“I’m very, very interested.” Taako looks hard at Kravitz and hopes he understands.

“I’ve got a bit of time now. My next appointment isn’t for a few hours.” Kravitz is trying his best to sound like he doesn’t care, Taako can tell, but there’s a note of hope in there under the surface. If he just sifts through the dirt he can see that they’re on the same page. Kravitz had better not just be excited about the possibility of getting a new client. Hopefully Taako wasn’t going to have to resort to getting the tattoo on his ass in the hope that giving Kravitz an eyeful would encourage forgiveness.

“Go ahead, I’ve got this.” Lup nods at Taako.

“I can help Lup out if there’s anything urgent here, bud.” Barry adds. Setting a definitely-just-friendly hand on Lup’s arm and smiling goopily at her.

They were gross and Taako hated them.

“Okay, lead the way handsome.” Taako tugs off his apron and gloves and rounds the counter, swipes one of the rose bouquets as he goes.

“Handsome, is it?” Kravitz asks quietly, holding the door open for Taako.

“Very, very handsome, in Taako’s expert opinion.” Flattery could also be the truth.

“But handsome isn’t something you’re interested in?”

“Handsome is something Taako is very interested in. What he is not interested in, is his sister being all up in his business. Look!” Taako grabs Kravitz by the shoulders, before he can even register that Kravitz is leaning down, eyes closing, he’s spun him to face the windows of the flower shop.

“See!” Taako points at Lup and Barry, pressed against the window and panickedly trying and failing to look like they’re doing anything else but spying.

“Uh… er… yes. Yeah. There they are.”

“So if we could continue that kiss somewhere that isn’t visible to them I’d like that, I’d like that very much.”

Kravitz grabs Taako’s hand and tugs him into his shop. “We’re in luck, I know a place.”

--

I hope you enjoyed! Wanna read some more? Find tomorrow's prompt here.

[catofthecanals289]

Baku drabble!😲 something I've not read? Let me innnnm

nooo you know it you know it (i hadto open it to find out what it is lmao) it's the 1988 trade fic inspired drabble

Daniel can still feel the impact in his neck, even now, hours later on the chartered flight straight to Austria.

He hadn’t seen it coming, and really that’s his fault, but goddamn it, Max moving under braking, doing that to Daniel of all the people on the grid-

Daniel hates him a little bit. A lot maybe.

They race hard, they always have and this thing between them, it was never supposed to change that and Daniel never wanted it to, but they are teammates. Fucking teammates. Daniel doesn’t think he’s been this mad at Max since Hungary last year since Max fucking took him out and Daniel was left standing at the side of the track asking if it really was who he think it was.

The ‘yes’ coming over the radio killed him then, just like the closed off expression on Max’s face kills him now.

He wonders if Max braced for the impact, if he saw it coming, took the risk, calculated but not calculated enough. Because Max would never on purpose ruin his own race. He’d never on purpose ruin Daniel’s, fuck. But he did ruin it and now they’ve been ordered to leave Baku and face Marko and god knows who else, who will yell at them, like they don’t know they fucked up.

Well, at least Daniel knows. Max is being fucking Max, stoic expression on his face, head held high.

“I’m not taking the blame for this,” Daniel tells him, buckling his seatbelt just as the flight attendant told them to a moment ago. Max never took his off in the first place. 

Jaw set tightly, Max stares back at him.

“You crashed into me,” he says, the cabin shaking around them as the plane starts to descend.

“You moved under braking,” Daniel shoots back, rising in volume through the increased noise of the plane.

“It was a late defensive move,” Max counters, because of course. Of fucking course. Daniel wants to put his fucking fist through a wall.

“It’s the same shit with you every time, you fucking-” Daniel can’t fucking stand looking at him, stomach lurching as the cabin shakes harder, before wheels finally touch ground, making the ache in his neck even worse. “Fuck you,” he hisses once the noise has died down a little the plane level with the ground now, rolling over the runway. “Fuck you, Max.”

Back in Hungary Max had offered Daniel a beer. A beer and a talk and Daniel had been furious then, but this thing between them, it had still been new, still tentative and he’d figured that maybe this was going to be it, that he couldn’t stand it after all, falling in love with another driver, his teammate of all people, but Max had smiled at him, all cautious but hopeful and Daniel hadn’t turned his back. He’d walked eyes wide open towards Max and those budding feelings between them and here they are now. A year later in Austria and Max looks at him like he’s sick of all of this.

“No, fuck you, Daniel,” he says, voice raspy but even. “It’s not my fault you can’t separate on and off track shit.”

“This is about nothing except the shit you pulled on fucking track, Max, are you kidding me?” Daniel yanks open his seatbelt, throwing his backpack over his shoulder before Max has even reached for the buckle of his. “We could have gotten podium. Together. We could have-”

“You crashed into me,” Max snaps and finally, finally there’s a crack on his face, anger and hurt flashing through his eyes.

Daniel knows he shouldn’t want that, shouldn’t welcome in, not when Max is who he fucking loves, but at least now he’s not alone in his fucking pit of emotions.

“Gentlemen,” Christian interrupts them before Daniel can throw anything back at Max. He’s not happy with them, of course not, and now, with no media around to capture it on camera, he’s letting it show, nothing friendly in his expression. He’s been on the phone a lot in Baku, then on his computer once they were in the air, he hasn’t really spoken to Daniel directly yet, and as far as Daniel is aware, not to Max either.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel says, running a hand over his face. “We’re coming. Cab straight to-”

“The offices, yes,” Christian says, and not much more.

It’s a tense ride. They sit as far away from each other as possible, which is exactly what Daniel wants right now.

He can’t stand the thought of touching Max right now. He’s going to. They’ll fuck it out probably tomorrow at the latest, but fuck, right now Daniel is pissed and the least Max could do is apologize instead of fucking insinuating that Daniel ran into him because he couldn’t control himself over the dumb fight they had at the hotel on Saturday. Max had been hurt yes, and Daniel angry, but it hadn’t been world ending, it hadn’t been fucking much of anything.

They’ve been doing this for a year. They’ve been fucking and racing and fucking loving each other for a goddamn year, and it’s not fair of Max to just throw Daniel being upset about Max not even wanting to tell his sister about them, in Daniel’s face when he was the one who moved under braking.

The blue carpet muffles the sounds of their steps as they walk the corridor in silence. Daniel walks in front, Jenny from legal next to him. She joined them by the entrance without a word, just an off expression on her face that had left Daniel pause for a second, but then she’d offered a tight smile and Daniel had just gone with that, deciding on fueling his anger instead with the annoyed noise Max made at Daniel stopping.

Then he hears Christian say “This is you, Max,” behind him though, and he can’t help stopping again, turning in confusion.

Behind him Max is looking just as caught off guard, eyes dating from Christian to Daniel and back.

“Here,” Christian says, opening a door that-

An uneasy feeling rising in his stomach, Daniel opens his mouth.

Inside the office, there’s Max’s dad waiting. And Helmut Marko.

“What-” He starts, but Jenny touches his arm, that weird look back on her face.

“Your meeting is just down the hall,” she says, voice low. “Mr. Newey and Mr. Beavis are already waiting for you.”

“Wh- My agent?” Daniel’s mind is racing, eyes finding Max’s again within a heartbeat.

Max looks just as shell-shocked.

“Are we not having the meeting together?” he asks, the th more of a t, blue eyes wide.

“Go on, Max,” Christian says, and he doesn’t sound exactly impatient, but something about the tone in his voice-

Daniel has to shove his hands into his pockets, the itch to reach out for Max almost overwhelming for a moment. Max is looking at him, at his dad, at Horner, then Daniel again, and Daniel can see the wheels turning just like they are in his head. It’s not going to be a pretty meeting, that’s for sure, but they already knew that. But whatever it is, they can figure it out after –together. When Daniel’s anger isn’t burning quite so bright anymore and Max has managed to shake some of his stubbornness.

“See you after,” he says, making himself keep his tone cool before turning his back, letting Jenny lead him further and further down the corridor until they reach a room, where Glenn and Adrian are indeed waiting for him.

Jenny and Christian both step into the room with him. She closes the door quietly while Christian goes to sit at the desk.

Daniel swallows. For a moment the silence is deafening.

“Well, Howdy,” Daniel says, putting on a smile.

It’s not met in kind.

“Daniel, why don’t you sit down,” Glenn says after a moment of thick, awkward nothing hanging between them.

“Yeah, okay.” Daniel nods, keeping the smile on his face a she pulls the chair opposite of Christian back and letting himself drop there.

Glenn and Jenny keep standing.

The uneasy feeling still in his stomach, Daniel lets his gaze dart from one person to the other, raising his eyebrows at Glenn in question, but getting nothing in return yet again.

“Sooo,” he says eventually, shifting a little in his seat, thrumming his fingers against the edge of the desk. “I’m assuming you want to talk about-”

-Baku, he means to say.

The word is right there on the tip of his tongue, but before he can speak it, there’s a folder placed on the tabletop in front of him.

“-this?” he fills in instead, voice maybe rising half an octave. He glances over at Glenn again, but Glenn doesn’t offer him more than a tight nod, a silent ‘go ahead’. Christian doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Daniel murmurs to himself, flipping the brown paperback open. Inside there are photos. Nine of them. Glossy high resolution print outs.

The first is enough to make Daniel feel sick, more than he did the entire time he was on the plane or the cab, or- Or the fucking car. After crashing. After-

“What is this?” he hears himself saying, eyes still glued to the photos.

“I think it’s fairly obvious, Ricciardo,” Christian says, voice dry.

And it is.

There’s no mistaking what any of the photographs show.

It’s Dnaiel, in all of them. Daniel and Max.

The first set of three, it’s- It’s not so bad. Which is a crazy fucking thought to think, and Daniel would absolutely, classify them as bad, if he hadn’t seen the others ones already. At least in this one, they are dressed. At least in this one, they are just kissing. Just. Fuck.

Daniel remembers the day. It’d been in Bahrain, after both of them DNFed. They’d been so frustrated and Daniel had herded Max into his driver’s room and that’s where they are, where Daniel has his arms wrapped around Max, whispering into his ear in one picture, and that’s fine, that’d be deniable, but in the next he’s kissing Max, hand on his jaw, Max’s hands clutching his waist, it’s-

It’s them. It’s obviously them, and it’s not a fucking kiss on the cheek, not a joke like peck on the lips. It’s a kiss.

A kiss that meant to comfort and did, but now Daniel is forced to look at it through the eyes of people who weren’t there, who don’t know, who just see what had made Daniel so hesitant to give in to his desire for Max in the first place.

“How did you get those?” he asks, palms clam with cold sweat.

What he means is how were those taken, because he doesn’t- No one else was in the room. It’s a fucking handful of square meters, it’s not-

But he could be asking the same question about the second series of pictures, that are so much more damning, so much more private.

They are from Shanghai, this year. After Daniel got first. After Daniel got drunk enough and horny enough to want to fuck Max in a club bathroom. So he had. He’d bent Max over right there, over some sink. And he’d- They’d locked the door. Daniel fucking remembers, but- He’s looking at the pictures now. At his own naked ass, clenched fucking mid thrust and Max’s face on the wash table, head tilted to the side, mouth open in moaning and-

And you can’t actually see it that well. It’s too dark, too grainy ,the lighting a nightmare, but it’s Max. It’s definitely Max getting fucked, and it’s definitely Daniel doing the fucking, it’s not-

It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad.

Daniel doesn’t know from when the last set is. This season, probably, in some nondescript hotel room. It’s taken through a window, through a cap in the curtains that might as well be ten kilometers wide for what it shows.

No one should get to see what Max looks like with his lips wrapped around Daniel’s dick. With spit dripping from his lip when he has pulled off, when he nuzzles into Daniel’s hand cupping his cheek.

Max’s face is right there. It’s him. No doubt. And just as indisputably, it’s Daniel’s hard dick that he’s been sucking, Daniel’s thigh tattoos like a fucking neon sign. Not that it matters. There’s no denying this. No way to talk them out of this.

“We bought those this morning,” Jenny says, voice a little bit thread while Christian stays silent, grey eyes boring into Daniel. “Be- Before they could get published.”

Blinking for a moment, lips pressed together, he nods.

“Published where?”

“Uhm, the tabloids,” she answers after a moment. “And the internet.”

“Do you want to know how much money we had to pay those weasels for the rights?” Christian cuts in before Daniel can even begin to think about what to say next, his pulse rushing in his ears. “Do you know how much you’ve cost us, Daniel?”

“I’m-” Daniel starts, licking his lips, his neck prickling with embarrassment. “-very sorry. For this, Christian. For- This is not-” He shuffles the pictures together awkwardly, putting them back in the folder. It’s futile, he knows. Everyone in this room and probably more people have seen them at this point but- “-These were private moments? And I apologize that they were- Well-” He gestures vaguely, unable to find the right word. “Max and I- We-”

“Max and you?” Christian cuts him off, then again, louder, “Max and you?” He slams his hand on the table, making Daniel jump a little, and Jenny behind him let out a strangled breath. He’s never, not once heard Christian raise his voice like this. “This is a racing team. A Formula 1 racing team. And we sign a rookie. A kid. We put him on a team with you. Tell you to watch out for him. Help us mold him. Be a mentor to him. And this is what you do? Fucking hell, Daniel.”

The laugh that escapes Daniel is more shock than anything else, the smile his lips stretch into only reflex.

“I- Christian-”

“Daniel, don’t,” Glenn cuts in, placating hand gesture and all when Daniel’s eyes dart towards him. “Just- Just listen.”

“To what?” Daniel can’t help but blurt out, a crazy giggle stuck in his throat. “I’m-”

“-someone who just had to fuck a kid eight years his junior,” Christian cuts in. “You couldn’t beat him where it mattered so you dominate him like this? Did that make you feel like a man?”

“That’s not-” Daniel stares at Christian, heart beating in his throat, anger rising along the shock and confusion inside of him. “C’mon. That’s not what it was fucking was with Max. And not what it is, we-”

“You what, Daniel?” Glenn says, from the side, shaking his head when Daniel looks at him. “Jesus Christ, I mean- Your teammate.”

“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. Sick,” Christian says –spits, really.

Making Daniel flinch, almost.

“Max was- He’s 21. In those pictures,” Daniel says, voice shaking the slightest bit as he taps his fingers on the closed folder.

He was nineteen, the first time something happened between them. Twenty when they decided to call it by name finally. But none of the people in the room need to know that.

“We did nothing wrong,” he adds, swallowing around the lump in his throat when no one says anything. “We-”

“You’re right,” Christian interrupts, sitting back in his chair, gaze just as steely and piercing as before. “You didn’t violate any rules. Didn’t breech your contract. So. It’s all roses and daisies, is it?”

“It’s-” Daniel hesitates, again he looks over at Glenn, but Glenn’s expression is unreadable. He’s Daniel’s fucking agent, He’s supposed to represent Daniel, defend him, help him, anything. But all he does is give a tiny headshake.

“As far as we are concerned,” Jenny suddenly cuts in, voice steadier now, if still shaky. “There is only one option. This cannot happen again.”

Daniel nods.

It can’t. He agrees. Having these pictures taken, almost sold to the press, it’s-

“It’d be a nightmare for the organization, if this came out,” Jenny goes on, and it’s Glenn’s turn to nod.

“And for you, Daniel,” he says. “This thing with Max, it’s a horrendous look for you.”

“I don’t-” Daniel starts, licking his dry lips again. “We aren’t planning on –coming out. It’s not an- An issue. These pictures, they-” They aren’t even pictures that Max and Daniel were stupid enough to take. They didn’t get hacked. They just- “We’ll be more careful,” he says, splaying his fingers on his thighs. “No stuff in any clubs. Or in the paddock. We’ll-”

“You’ll stop, that’s what you’ll do,” Christian cuts him off, voice loud enough to make Daniel flinch this time. “You will not touch that boy again. That’s the choice you have, if you want to continue racing for Red Bull.”

Again Daniel laughs. It’s not funny, none of this is fucking funny. Hs heart is racing, his mouth is dry. He wants- He wants fucking Max. Wants to be able to look at him, to talk to him, to just-

They are together. They are a team. They are- them. Today sucked. Baku sucked, and Daniel was so fucking angry but all of that is gone now.

“Why did you separate us for this?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder, mind racing.

Max is a few doors down. With his father. And Helmut Marko. He’s-

His father.

“Did you show those to Jos?” he asks, panic rising in his throat. “Christian, Max’s father, you know how he is. This would be-”

Terribly fucking bad. To say the least. God, there’s a reason why Max had always blocked completely on Daniel bringing up any kind of coming out to parents, even if it was just Daniel’s own family.

I’m not going to do that, he’d always said, categorically. He can’t know. He can’t ever know.

“Daniel, focus on this now, please,” Christian cuts him off. “Max is being taken care off. He’s getting the same choice as you. We separated you so neither of you would feel pressured by the other’s presence and could speak freely.”

“I- What choice, what-” Daniel lets out a hollow laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yes, this can’t fucking happen again, but you can’t- You can’t force Max and I to break up, that’s not-”

“We don’t care what you call it, but if both of you want to stay with the team, then we need to minimize the risk of exposure, of this becoming a true PR debacle,” Christian says. “It’s either that, or we come to an agreement to mutually terminate the contract of either you or Max, and what the two of you do then- Well that’s no longer Red Bull’s problem.”

“You want to- You can’t. They can’t do that, right?” Daniel asks, twisting around to look at Glenn, disbelief like an iron fist around his throat, choking him. “That’s got to be fucking illegal. Terminating our contracts-”

“It’d be a mutual agreement,” Jenny says. “That gives certain liberties, it’s-”

“Why would I agree to-” Daniel shakes his head, feeling sick. “Max wouldn’t either. No, what the fuck, what-”

“The third option you have,” Christian cuts in yet again, voice so fucking clam, it’s making Daniel’s stomach turn. “-is coming out.” Daniel blinks. “That way we control the narrative, can give the right angle. It’s not ideally, and not what the organization would prefer, but- It is an option you have.” He pauses looking at Daniel. “Of course that is not an easy path to choose or walk down, so I want you to think about this long and hard, Daniel. The optics of this are terrible for you either way.”

There’s a beat of silence, only the faint sound of the AC filling the room. That and the sound of Daniel’s own heartbeat. They must hear it too, he thinks distantly, it’s beating so loud, so fast.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t-

He can’t make this choice. Not without Max. Coming out would be- If it was just Daniel, he’d choose that. It’d suck and he’d hate it, having his private life exposed to the public not because he chose to but because some sick fuck somehow got pictures, but it’s Max. And Max wouldn’t even tell his sister about being gay, about loving Daniel, it’s-

“What Max chooses,” he hears himself say, voice sounding so weak and foreign, he almost doesn’t recognize it as his own. “What he wants. We’ll do that. If he wants us to –stop. Then we will. If he- If he wants to race for a different team, then- Yeah. Okay. we- I’ll come out too, if he- If that’s- Fuck. What Max chooses, okay?”

Christian looks at him for a long moment, then at Jenny, at Glenn. Again, it’s silence, deafening, suffocating silence. Then:

“Alright,” Christian says, getting to his feet. “We’ll get back to you then. Thank you, Daniel.”

A moment later, Daniel is alone, Jenny having pulled the door closed behind herself.

He drops his face in his hands. Breathes in, breathes out, chokes back a sob.

“Fuck,” he says, out loud, to himself. To no one. “Fuck.”

The clock on the wall reads 7 pm.

By 10 pm, there’s a multipage contract laid out on the desk in front of Daniel, the dotted line staring back at him, unyielding.

“Renault?” he asks faintly, voice barely fucking there.

“They’ve agreed to bump one of their drivers for you. Take you on midseason,” Glenn says, voice soft, gentle almost.

Daniel stares at him blankly. “Max, chose- He- This?”

“Max wants to stay with Red Bull,” Christian says form where he’s leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed. “He believes that between the two of you, he’d be more of an asset to the organization. That and that he’d profit more from what we are developing for the coming seasons.”

Heart in his throat, Daniel looks at him, the pen heavy in his hand. “He said that?”

“You are past your prime,” Christian says and-

“He said that?” Daniel chokes out, hand fucking trembling.

“He keeps beating you on track, Daniel, everyone can see it. Max too. He’s just being smart.”

“He’s-” Daniel puts down the pen, picks it back up, puts it down again. The dotted line is still there. The pen rolls towards Christian. “Can I- Can I talk to him? Please?”

Again quiet for a moment, Christian raises his eyebrows. Then: “He already left.”

Daniel presses his lips together, shaking his head. “When?”

This time Christian doesn’t pause, doesn’t give Daniel any time to brace himself.

“Three hours ago,” he says, and pushes the pen back towards Daniel.

Fingers numb, Daniel picks it up.

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 15

Cw: death, trauma, rage issues, mentions of cannibalism

Heaven Lavey belongs to @call-sign-shark ,Nina to @peakyswritings

@justrainandcoffee @emotionalcadaver

There were always rumors that the lands up north had people no longer subject to Panem, as there are rumors of South America existing beyond the ocean that covered Central America and what used to be southern Mexico.

Those who went looking never came back. The last she heard, Dalton, a man who used to work with Cousin Andres had left and so far, no body had been found.

“What do you mean?” Eva asked quietly fearing they’d still be overheard.

“13 and Panem made a treaty that 13 would fuck off and Panem would let them be as long as they never made contact. Our friends have been working with them to end all this.” He explained, just as quietly as she had spoken. “There’s a network that helps you evade peacekeepers and the like from 11 to 12 and then leading you to 13s first watchtowers.”

So, Lyme knew of it through Aveline, or Chaff and Seeder? Haymitch was somehow involved as the only victor of 12 by the looks of it too.

And now they did.

“We could leave, take Laurie and run.” He takes her face in his hands and begs her to run away with him.

“We’ll talk about this at home, I don’t trust this place.” Eva hides her no well enough for him to fool him. False hope was better than no hope at all.

Maybe they could run away if Heavensbee doesn’t find his symbol before Laurie’s 12th birthday, or if things become harsher for them, but right now isn’t the time.

Even when it will destroy Jack to lose his niece.

“For now, I need you to be strong for Gina’s sake. She’s terrified, Lyme told me about last night’s nightmare and how scared she is.” The woman pulled him closer until he was resting his sweaty head against her, and she could calm him down enough to pretend he’s not broken.

“I don’t know if I can, every time I see her, I know she’ll come back in a coffin. I killed her, if I hadn’t---” he’s too weighed down by the what ifs that Jack can’t even feign strength.

“Shh, I know, Jack, for Gina’s, for me and Laurie, don’t let them know they’ve won.” Eva soothed him as best as she could.

It was no wonder Abilene and the victor before her got so bad, how can you live past this? How can you live when your child is dead?

A freak summer storm stops them from having another pool party on the last day of training, but they have a party with foods and snacks teenagers like in the game room no one uses in this hotel instead. For a moment they are kids, tomorrow they’ll try and hope to charm the Capitol as to why they deserve to live and the day after these kids die at each other’s hands.

Eva shows up with Matty and their kids and try their best to ignore Gina’s death stares at her. She knows her as the woman who murdered her dad whom she had never truly met. She may die never knowing that Eva is her aunt, Jack has no idea how to even tell her.

Jack has done his best to be strong for her, to give her the false hope that she may actually survive this. The blonde tween had beamed at him when the trainers praised her for her agility and skill.

“I don’t know if I’m going to tell her; I can’t send her off like that.” He admits as they sit against the wall while the kids watch some funny movie that’s all the rage in the capitol right now.

“Then don’t, I won’t make you do it.” She whispers as she gave his hand a good squeeze.

“I love you.” He says, turning to look at her thinking no one can see or hear them and even worse kisses her sweetly as if he might never see her again.

“So, its true then? You’ve been fucking this bitch like she didn’t kill my dad!” Gina makes her presence known with a shout and begins throwing anything she can get her hands on at them, at him.

Gina’s shouting loud enough to startle the avox setting out her night clothes.

“They talked about it at school and I told them you would never do that, that you loved my dad too much to fuck her and have a baby with her!” the betrayal has his niece crying and screaming as her image of Jack is shattered by the truth.

“I planned on telling you, once it was safe to do so, Gee. Shit is more complicated than you think.” The mentor still barely knows how to explain it to a child.

As much as Gina thinks she is grown, she is still a fucking twelve-year-old girl.

“She killed your brother, my dad, and you decided to get together with her even if its fucking illegal!” she grows shrill and loud unaware every second of this is being recorded.

“Once you are inside that arena, you have no choice, kid. Even those of us who volunteer.” He would love to tell her everything and hope she could change her mind, but he cannot. “Every victor here has met the victor that took their loved one. I killed two kids she grew up with, Brutus and Wiress had killed her brothers.

Most of us learn to forgive them and even befriend them. If you survive your games, you’ll know what I mean.”

“Did you have to name him Laurie?” Gina asks, having heard some of what he said. She never would understand it entirely because she is going to die this weekend. Something that he hates himself for.

“No, but we wanted to. I’ll never see him beyond pictures, at least I know he is mine and that his name is what I wanted to name my son.” Jack lies through his teeth to a girl already dead.

There is an axe at the cornucopia.

It is a dense foggy forest at the foot of a snowcapped mountain and while everyone has a reason to fear for their tributes, no one has their own flesh and blood in there.

Jack is glued to the screen, digging his nails on the back of the chair he’s sitting backwards on as he mutters as if Gina could hear him. Gina had done exactly as he had trained her to do and with the career pack with her had survived the bloodbath.

Marius and the rest of the careers do their best to protect her, getting her safe and armed with the hunting knife meant to tempt Titus from 6. Titus was too fond of meat, always hungry and prone to biting other tributes and even trainers. Had trained with a hunting knife and had promised to carve out his enemies’ hearts and even Caeser in his urine-colored hair wasn’t sure how to spin that.

His mentor had whispered of a cannibalism charge that led to him being reaped. Said poverty was so bad in their district that it was not unheard of for someone to eat another human being.

The Gamemakers had given him a 10 in hopes of getting the careers to kill him faster.

Jack knows the game is over when Heaven Lavey comes away with the bloody axe and proceeds to hunt the weaker ones hiding about the woods that same night.

Marius had had the hots for her, like Laurie once had for Eva because Jack had made the mistake of saying the girl from 10 was 10 and asked if he agreed with Jack’s assertion. Jack had to warn the boy several times that the hot chick from 7 was there to kill him not take his virginity.

Eva’s kids had hidden well, worked together to get a handful of things and hid in a tree for the night. Chel was good at climbing, the cacao trees could be up to 40 feet tall or so she had said in her interview last night. Andy had a tree house high up a mesquite, and while not as adept didn’t fare too badly as Eva had feared.

Gina has yet to kill someone, the most she did was maim the girl from 6 that one of Cashmere’s kids finished off. But she was safe as long as the career pack didn’t break off. By herself she was as likely to survive as Alfie and Nina’s kids.

“I’ll stay with you until its over.” Eva moves a chair close to him after having reminded Nina from 9 to keep herself hydrated because she’s in the same shape as Jack.

Eva’s a healer, always taking care of everyone. It’s something he loves about her.

But Jack doesn’t know he’ll ever recover when Gina dies because he was too chickenshit to take them and run.

Gina is killed in the second day. She’d spotted a shock of white hair by the lake and tried to drown her thinking her easy prey.

It was morning when Jack is made to watch as Heaven Lavey buries her hatchet into his niece’s head.

Jack doesn’t come too until he is sitting in a room he destroyed with his bare hands. He is bleeding and hurt and crying like he’s never cried before sitting in the rubble of his room.

“I killed her. I killed her. I killed her!”

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Greensleeves Chapter Ten: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Wordcount: 4.5k Warnings: Canon-typical violence

The party has bought entrance to the goblin camp, but find themselves unable to complete their mission. Something greater is at work

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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The goblin camp is in sight. The party had permitted themselves a short break to regroup and try to establish a plan. While Lae’zel and Astarion are in favour of going in blades shining, Gale makes a solid argument for diplomacy allowing for a quicker and more precise extraction of the druid Halsin. Wyll, however, warns that they shouldn’t over-plan and Xaph and Shadowheart have to agree. The stab-happy Astarion and Lae’zel are outvoted, and she starts complaining about their reluctance to go to the gith creche until she’s assured that it’s their next priority once they know the tiefling refugees will be safe. There’s an outpost before the camp proper, guarded by goblins and a pair of worgs as well as a scout up high on cragged rocks that Astarion points out to the others. Xaph has been shuttled to the front of the group again, rather unexpectedly. There’s nothing to track.

“A war drum,” Lae’zel points to the thing, “One of those can summon warriors far and wide. Should we fight, we must destroy it.”

“Lookit, Klaw! Supper’s here!” They’ve been noticed. Xaph draws nearer and nearer until the worg starts to growl. Absentmindedly, she holds her fingers out to let her smell them. She won’t attack until ordered. The goblin who had spoken, bringing everyone else’s attention to the party, looks up at Xaph. Is that admiration in his eye, that she’s not scared of the worg? If it is, it’s replaced quickly with disgust. “Unless you’ve got another reason to be here, feck-shite.” The worg’s tongue, hot but not rough, licks up the arm of Xaph’s leather armour,

“Good coat on this animal. Healthy shine,” she remarks, sliding a hand up the creature’s head to reach that place between its ears she knows would make its tail thump if it was sitting on the ground, “From the nordiland worgata family?”

“How’d you know?” the goblin asks, “Dumb as a rock, but world-class at tearin’ out the throats of wee ones, she is. Rest of her litter’s inside, in the pens,” Worg pens. What other animals are in there? A bear, perhaps. “Beautiful beasts.”

“I’ve never seen a pack up close,” Xaph admits, “Always wanted to. They have an unfortunate reputation, these beasts.” No, she’s not a smooth talker or a good liar but she can talk about animals for days, “Battle-tested, I assume, to be trusted to guard the gates?”

“‘Course. Ripped out three bellies on our last raid alone. Be a shame if you came all this way without havin’ a look…” the trainer says. Diplomacy. Bonding over animals. This is working, “But I can’t let you pass just like that. Celebratin’ a raid we are,” he pats the worg’s side, “This one’s first outing. You’ll have to wear our war colours.” He indicates a particularly stinky pile of worg dung that sits at his feet. That’s the catch.

“Any designs in mind?” Xaph asks mildly, and the goblin cackles.

“Whatever calls to you.”

“Whatever calls to me…” Xaph acts as though she’s deliberating over the choice when really she’s trying to wrangle her worm. Images are easier than words, and she pushes an image of her scooping up a fistful of the dung and flinging it in the goblin’s face into her companion’s minds. Her tail curls up to her handaxe secure in the loop of her pack.

“Oh, yes, Xaph, darling,” Astarion smiles, “We must join the celebrations.” That’s approval if ever she’s heard it. She follows through with her projection and even as the goblin howls curses and the other sentries beat their shields with the pommels of their swords, Xaph passes her axe from her tail to her hand and buries it in the worg’s ribcage. She whispers a goodbye to the animal, a would-be-blessing. The beast is too surprised by the betrayal to keep Xaph from knocking her over and dragging the axe to her hind legs before pulling it out. Chaos has broken out around her. With guttural warcries, Lae’zel has plunged into the heat of the battle, finally allowed to draw blood. Astarion, ever the bright-eye, sends a bolt of flame into the rickety frame of a wooden structure that collapses on top of one goblin and brings the two who had been standing on top of the structure tumbling to the ground. None of the three of them move again after that. Gale-

An arrow catches Xaph’s side, just under her arm, and the force makes her twist and fall off the worg’s body. They’d forgotten about the archer on the rocks. Shadowheart changes directions and slides onto her knees at Xaph’s side, slamming her shield between them and another arrow as it sails towards them. 

“Come on. Up you get.” Shadowheart says, mumbling a healing word as she hauls Xaph upright. Warmth rushes through the tiefling, not only from the healing but from the affection Shadowheart is showing. She warms even more so when the cleric sends a scorching bolt of yellow light at the scout and he falls from the rock, burning. A second worg, smaller than the first, is barrelling towards them. Xaph nocks an arrow, breathes, and speaks a single word. Laqueum. When she hits the creature, thorny vines sprout directly from the shaft of the arrow and ensnare it, bringing it to the ground. The rush of magic is even more relieving than that of healing. She’d been worried that she wouldn’t be able to perform any spells. She wasn’t exactly a wizard before the nautiloid, her grasp on the Weave shaky, but she’d felt the loss as keenly as a sting. It feels the same as it had when she’d first fired an arrow again. Magic. Gale. He’d frozen last time. Surprised, or inexperienced. 

Turns out, he’s not difficult to find. Wyll races away from him in hopes of intercepting a goblin’s path to the war drum, and pulls Xaph’s eye to the wizard. She holds the image of the trapped worg in her mind and darts towards her friend but…but…he claps his hands together, and as he separates them the sound reverberates until it’s something far deeper. A clap of thunder. Detono. A wave of air kicks up dust and knocks a handful of goblins over before they’re close enough to hit him. Astarion weaves between them once they’ve fallen, stabbing with wild abandon, and Gale’s attention is turned elsewhere. This is the Wizard of Waterdeep, cradling a miniature storm in his hands as easily as he breathes. Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers, delivering well-practiced flippant lines as eldritch-red energy cracks goblin bones. Xaph is the Sunset Ranger, her arrows finding home in eyes and ears and hearts before her targets even know she’s there. Lae’zel ploughs through opponents like a scythe through grass, Shadowheart picks up the pieces with bright yellow flames and Astarion darts between the warlock and the wizard to make their kills a little bit bloodier.

Still panting for breath and some of them spattered with blood a few minutes later, the party advance on the goblin camp. A trio of drunken guards had been easy to take out after the battle at the gates, and now bottles of wine clink in Astarion’s pack and Gale holds a locket Xaph had found.

“So much for diplomacy.” Lae’zel comments.

“We can’t say we didn’t try to be civilized about it,” Gale says, “They were the ones who…well-”

“Wanted Xaph to smear shit on her face.” Wyll finishes the sentence for him

“I’m not quite that feral,” Xaph assures them, “Pity, though. They were well cared for animals.”

All that stands between them and the goblin camp now is a bridge, spiked barricades leaving a zig-zag path. The party pauses momentarily, sharing looks. They’re ready. They think. Xaph steps foot on the stone bridge and falls. Her skull vibrates, and she swears she can hear her tadpole squeaking with joy. Is this it? Are tentacles about to burst forth from her jaw? Pain blooms in her kneecaps as she hits the bridge, and her tail pinches as someone behind her lands on it, but the greatest pain of all is in her head. She brings her hands to her temples, to her ears, to her horns, pressing in and in and in to try and relieve the pain, to squeeze the tadpole out, anything. Judging by that pinch in her tail, the groans and screams behind her, her companions are experiencing a similar pain. Xaph can’t stop the screech that’s building in her throat. Maybe if she’s loud enough it will stop. Maybe if she’s loud enough she won’t feel it any more.

Hear my voice. Obey my command.

***

They are not ready. The Absolute has spoken to them. The strange box in Shadowheart’s possession that Xaph had entirely forgotten about had…protected them? All bravado has shrunk to simply courage, and that is not enough. Camp is set up, hidden among some trees. Just a short rest, they say. Just a little break. But the sun is beginning to set. Xaph snaps the fire into existence when hunger starts to rumble in her stomach. She sits with her knees pulled to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her eyes are pinned to Gale’s fingers. It’s calming, to watch someone who looks like he knows what he’s doing. They’re perpendicular to one another, Gale’s legs behind Xaph’s back as she faces the fire.

“I really don't,” his voice is almost startling, almost. People haven’t been talking much, “Know what I’m doing, that is.” Xaph lifts her head up and frowns at him. Gale taps the side of his head with the butt of the knife he’s using and gives her that wry smile, she recognises it from their first night at camp.

“The wee one.” She whispers, repeating his words from that exact conversation, and his smile warms. It rivals the fire, the way it burns itself into Xaph’s memory.

“Oh, I know my way around a carrot alright, but this?” he gestures towards the glow of light that indicates the goblin camp. “Out of the frying pan into the fire, so to speak.”

“You’re not used to combat, are you?” Xaph asks, letting her chin touch her knees again. It occurs to her a moment later that this is a rude question to ask, but he doesn’t seem to take it as such,

“Not my forte, as you might have noticed.” Gale says sheepishly.

“You did well today. Thunderwave is an impressive spell in the right hands.” She says the word and her eyes jump from his face to his wrists. Those strangely purple veins.

“I’m out of practice.” He protests.

“Not many goblin camps to ransack in Waterdeep.” Xaph reminds him. Hair falls in his face and he blows a puff of air upwards to try and get it out of the way but when that fails he uses the back of his hand to push the stray strands back. 

“Well, I-”

“Take the compliment, wizard,” Xaph cuts in. He has a habit of doing that. Deflecting positive words. Sometimes Shadowheart will take them for her own when he bounces them away. Xaph rocks forward onto her knees and reaches out to tuck another errant piece of hair behind his ear. She’s careful to curl her fingers and use her knuckles rather than risk catching his skin with her nails. His skin is warm against hers. His eyes are doing that honeypot thing. Honey, spiced by the flames reflected in his pupils. “You did good.” She holds his gaze. She needs him to know she means it. His face crumples just a little bit, but she misinterprets it and pulls back and it’s effort to not lean into the absence of her hand. “Does it hurt?”

“It always hurts.” He tells her. It’s true. The pain is always there, usually wrapped around his ribs and his vertebrae and it often pushes in on his knees. Today its focus is on his shoulders and it doesn’t matter how often he rolls them and stretches his arms. The arcane hunger is still there. The sending stone Xaph had given him is buried at the bottom of his pack, in his tent, far enough away that he can’t be tempted by it. He can’t accept it, but he hasn’t got the conviction to give it back to her. Every time he casts a spell, bile rises in his throat and his lungs burn. Xaph’s concern brings cool comfort. A little.

“Did that locket help?” Xaph asks, her fingers leaving him to go to the chain around her own neck. It’s the locket Arabella’s mother had given her. It’s what allowed her to cast dancing lights, and he knows that if she was so quick to give up her mother’s ring she would give him this too without question. Gale pulls the necklace she’d given him earlier from his pocket. It’s still intact. “Hells, Gale, why haven’t you used it?” She wants to push the metal into his collarbone, where that tattoo forms a target, but she doesn’t. That would be crossing a line, surely, a line she doesn’t have permission to approach. He holds her gaze, but Xaph doesn’t back down.

“It won’t be pleasant to watch.” He tells her. Xaph doesn’t move, except to take the carrot and knife from his hand. She slices into the vegetable without looking at it, trying to instil a sense of normalcy and prevent the others from wandering over and whining about food. Gale lifts the silver chain until the crescent moon locket dangles in between them. He pulls it to his chest. To where his heart sits. As Xaph watches, his entire body reacts to the magic within the metal. What Xaph had thought was a tattoo, that circle with the spindly lines that reach up his neck and over his jaw, they shine. Bright violet, almost white. His back arches and his jaw clenches and the grimace on his face pulls the skin of his throat taut. His name falls from Xaph’s lips and she has to resist the urge to reach out and hold him in some way, any way. This is painful, that much is clear. That bright violet light lifts from the circle drawn in his skin and purple energy pulsates around him, a miniature cyclone that encloses him and Xaph. In the next moment, the purple stuff is pulled back into his body. And he breathes. Eyes closed. Still tensed. Xaph’s hand falls to his knee, the closest part of him, and the point of contact is enough to bring him back to earth. His hand is still pressed to his chest, rubbing the flat of his breastbone.

“Gale?”

“It’s working,” he tells her, “The magic is like a lullaby that sings to sleep the demon inside. A metaphorical demon, I hasten to point out,” he says quickly, “Unlike in your…unfortunate case. But I’m afraid it’s no less dangerous - and no less bound to wake up again to continue its ravages,” he hasn’t quite managed to slip back into his regular eloquent cadence, and his breathing is still heavy, “Such is the nature of all monsters.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling…better.” Xaph is hesitant to use that word.

“On the plus side, my tower in Waterdeep has never been so free of clutter.”

“Let me rephrase,” Xaph proposes, “I’m glad you’re letting me help you. Admitting yourself to aid is bravery in itself.” Gale’s glad that she looks down at her own hands because the warmth of her words hits him directly in the face and he knows he’s a terrible blush. She’s unendingly kind to him, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such softness from this woman. It’s the same softness she shows beasts three times her size. All of them strays, as Astarion had said. 

“I know I ask a lot from you with few answers in return, but in time all will be told. I promise.” Promise? He can’t promise that. She deserves truth, but not that much truth. He can’t promise her this. It’s too much. She’s cupped her hands and brought them to her mouth, whispering words in a language he doesn’t understand. Magic blooms between her fingers, he can feel it, the thing in his chest lurching towards it even though it’s just been fed. The worm squirms in response, and he can sense hers moving in tandem. Still connected. The words are clearer in his mind, though he still doesn’t recognise them. Dearc fearrad. Yellow-green magic coats the tieflings hands. Chartreuse. Tendrils of it push out from between her fingers and form thin fern-like leaves, bringing light notes of fennel to the air. Matha súbh. Druidic magic, surely. Druidic language. Fás slán measan. When she opens her hands, they’re full of glowing golden berries. Gale opens his hands below hers to catch what she drops. 

“Eat. They’ll help.” He obeys. It’s shaped like a raspberry, but it tastes nothing like one. It tastes like her, he realises. Or at least, it tastes like how she smells beneath sweat and mud and blood. Ginger. Saffron. Cherries, right at the end. A single strand of her magic buries itself in his chest and catches on his every breath, a string of green light arcing across the orb. The burning ache in his shoulders is cooled, just a little, and he can straighten his back without as much complaint as before. Goodberries. He’d read about these. A transmutation, taking threads of the Weave and sewing them into reality. To heal, to help. He eats another because he doesn’t know what to say, and because of a twinge in his chest behind where his hand still sits that has nothing to do with his condition. “I know we haven’t known each other long, Mr of Waterdeep, but you are my friend. You have kept my secret, and I keep yours. I care about you too much to watch you stumble around in pain. ” Friend. She cannot get further attached than that. She can’t. This is an adrenaline-allyship, fated by the worms in their heads and coincidence. Nothing more. Nothing good comes from trying to further a connection made through adventuring. A good shag, maybe, but now is not the time to think of baser wants over needs. He is her friend. She can’t keep looking at him, watching him eat. Xaph moves to put the other berries in a nearby bowl, but they go flying when Astarion plonks himself down next to her and bumps her elbow. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, with not an ounce of an apology in his voice. Before Xaph is forced to crawl around in the dirt to pick up her treasures, Gale waves a hand that lifts each and every one of them through the air and into the bowl. Astarion either doesn’t see this or doesn’t care, because he cuts directly to the chase, “Darling, Wyll’s bleeding and someone needs to take care of it before I do.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Xaph sighs, pushing up onto her feet. When she bends over to pick up her alchemy pouch, then the bowl, the open sides of her shirt fall forward to show the slight curve of her stomach and the red band of her small clothes bound around her chest. A mostly healed scratch sits on the side of her ribcage where she’d been hit earlier today. Once she’s collected her supplies she whisks off in the direction of Wyll’s tent. She taps a pole with her foot as a way of knocking on the door, then ducks inside. The tell-tale orange of her dancing lights makes the green fabric of the tent glow from within more than the oil lamp Wyll had set up. Gale pushes a third berry into his mouth and looks at Astarion, who’s looking at him as though he knows something and doesn’t like it.

“What?” the wizard asks, cherry aftertaste on his tongue.

“Don’t act so naive,” Astarion drawls. He reaches out as though to pluck dust from the shoulder seam of Gale’s robe, “I can hear it, you know, the way your heart goes pitter-patter-pit,” slender fingers tap dance on Gale’s shoulder, “Every time she calls you a good boy.”

“Excuse me?” Astarion is always forward, but this is shockingly so, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying-”

“Oh, yes, you do-” Yes, he does.

“She’s never said that.”

“No, not in those exact words, but that’s what it feels like she’s saying, isn’t it?” There’s stolen wine clutched in his hand. Is he drunk? Can vampires even get drunk? No, he’s not, Gale’s making excuses for him. Astarion pushes his whole weight onto Gale’s shoulder - bringing back the pain Xaph had just smoothed away - and stretches himself up to his full height, “Just bed her already, friend. If only to make her realise she has better options.”

***

Wyll and Lae’zel are on first watch, but the air isn’t cold enough to chill Xaph into her tent so she stays with them for a short while. They’ve hidden themselves in a copse of maple trees, which have proven to be common in this part of the world. Seeds twirl down around them on occasion, like shooting stars. Eleasis is drawing to a close. It won’t be warm enough to sleep outside for much longer. Xaph ensures Wyll’s arm is securely bandaged and will be kept clean until the cleric rises in the morning. Lae’zel stares up at the moon - if they didn’t know better they’d say she was misty-eyed - and shares her ambitions of becoming kith’rak, of battling among the stars, in the Astral Plane. Her voice is less grating now Xaph knows it, her heavy consonants mingling with the rustle of the trees and pausing for Wyll’s gentle requests for translation of gith words. Xaph is slowly drawn into sleep. A smile burns behind her eyelids.

She dreams. She hasn’t dreamt since the tadpole had taken her. It’s one of those dreams that tricks her into thinking she’s waking up, but her surroundings are entirely different. She lies on hard rock, blue grass brushing at her nose. White pinpricks in an endless lavender void above her, blocked by a face. Not Astarion’s, as had happened the other night. Another tiefling. Perhaps the most beautiful woman Xaph has ever seen. Her forehead is high and clear, and thick braids of hair are piled on her head in tiers. Her horns twist straight up, wrapped in silver ornamentation. Her eyes glow blue. She is familiar, and yet totally alien.

“I came just in time. You are transforming.” That voice. Xaph knows that voice, knows the way it echoes through space. This voice had spoken to her on the nautiloid. Xaph finds that she can move, that she’s in control of her body, and lifts herself onto her elbows and scoots backwards. She’s too close. Xaph can’t speak. She can form words but no sound comes out. “I saved you before.”

Before Xaph can even try to ask when, she’s falling. Falling from the nautiloid, but the wind doesn’t roar, her clothes don’t sting when they whip against her skin. She can’t smell anything. A scream builds in her throat again as she tumbles towards the beach…but she stops. Suspended upside down a few feet above the sand, the sky reverting back to that strange cool-toned void. The woman walks towards her, upright, and draws level with Xaph.

“And I’m here to save you again.”

Hadn’t Xaph wondered why the fall didn’t kill her? Hadn’t she been surprised by her lack of injuries? Can this be true, or something conjured by her mind to explain the phenomenon? Surely it can’t be divine interference - the gods wouldn’t touch her but to smite her - and it’s unlikely a devil would interfere with another’s investment or put on so pretty a show. The image of the beach recedes, the world turned until Xaph is the right way up. She sees a stone bench, wooden latticework with trailing ivy and unknown purple flowers.

“You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I’m around. I’ll protect you,” the woman stands. Offers Xaph a hand. It’s just a dream, there’s no reason not to accept it. Her grip is strong, the metal of her gauntlet should bite into Xaph’s skin but it doesn’t, “We haven’t much time, so listen closely,” she strolls casually towards the edge of the rock they stand on, indigo tail swaying. Xaph twists to look behind her and finds her environment has changed from a peaceful garden to something more like a temple. When she follows the mystery tiefling she sees little more than the same lavender colour, interspersed with bright spots, as far as the eye can strain, “There is great potential within you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it. Nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you but for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.” With a wide sweep of her arm, the rocks obscuring Xaph’s view clear. She has very few words to describe what she is shown. Another mass of rock, huge, that takes a bit of imagination to see the skull shape it forms. It is broken into shards, the empty gaps covered by turquoise and yellow energy. Shields. Flaming projections of people fly around it as the panes of energy pulse. “A fight for the fate of Faerun. A fight we are losing. For now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential.” There’s a moment’s pause. “I have to go. The enemy is closing in. I will be back.

Xaph wakes, really wakes, in camp. She’s lying on her stomach, her nose tucked into the crook of her elbow. She can smell the soil, her sweat, the leftover smoke of the fire. There’s a blanket over her shoulders. Thick, dark grey with crimson stitching around the edge. Wyll’s. He’s lying down. Lae’zel is curled in a ball next to him. Xaph crawls to them more than walks, leaving the blanket behind, needing to make sure they are asleep and not dead. No one is on watch. She grips Wyll’s shoulder and shakes him.

“Wyll. Wyll.” She didn’t know she’d miss her own voice so much. The warlock rolls over with a deep frown and hunched shoulders, but he wakes easily enough.

“Xaph? What happened?” his voice carries none of the signs of sleep. He hadn’t been out long, “We were…then…We were just talking, and then I was…dreaming.”

“Dreaming? Wyll, what did you dream?”

“I haven’t dreamed since our little cruise,” Wyll tells her. His frown remains, though out of confusion rather than irritation at being woken up, “I saw a man. A tiefling. He said he saved me, from the nautiloid.”

“That’s what mine said too.”

“What?”

“I had a dream. About a tiefling. Who said she’d saved my life before-”

“-and he would save me again. If we…”

“If we…” “If we open ourselves to further ghaik infection,” Lae’zel’s voice startles them both, Xaph’s tail whipping to the side. The githyanki is a light sleeper, it seems. That tracks, “It is a projection put forth by the tadpole. I have never heard of such a thing…but it must be. It must be.”

[ephemerensis]

To You; February // Bakugou Katsuki x GN! Reader

ya new character 4 me ik,, anyways this is formatted as a love? letter/ monologue from katsuki 2 u! no pronouns or physical descriptions just… a lot of rambling. pretend ur birthday is the day after valentines pls </3 u can argue that it’s out of character but i disagree 🤨☝️ not proofread as always xoxo love yall

—

Something about February has always invoked in me a sense of docility.

It doesn’t make sense.

I have coined myself as an embodiment of passion and rage and discontent. It's against my nature to feel so calm.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say something stupid, like the love of the season settles onto me. I have sought none and I seek none. I’ve never had the desire. Love isn’t real; at least not the way it’s made out to be.

They make it seem so trivial. As if to be with someone defines it. I see in them, the fear of being alone and the fight for having someone over intertwining with someone. It’s almost melancholic. It’s completely idiotic. I reject every suitor in my path.

I don’t care for public displays of affection. I never have. Only morons need to parade around something so vulnerable like it’s a show. I care even less for sweet nothings. There are so few words that ever carry meaning anymore. How could a person be in love without ever presenting everything they are to the other? They mean nothing when they claim that my eyes are the most dazzling they’ve ever seen. Or maybe those idiots do mean it, everything glimmers if you squint. They see it without seeing me. If it were real, it would be too raw to be spoken. It would be whispered like a prayer. To salvage it from being stolen, or worse, remade and copied and sold until everyone has it. It becomes nothing.

At the very least, if I’m going to vocalize the most susceptible, intimate parts of me it should rivet through your soul and be yours alone.

Yet paradoxically, Valentine’s is my favorite holiday. I find myself more tolerant. Sometimes I’m even happy for them, because despite the intentions and deceit and falsehoods and inflations of avoiding a fear— at the very least they have succeeded. I find myself happy. Maybe it is something stupid. I’ve never had nor wanted another person, but I once had a soul shattering inkling of you.

Of course, we weren’t together then. We were never together. But we were never friends. Stuck somewhere on the cusp of both and yet impossibly far away from either. And somehow still, in that platonic complacency you managed to breathe an innate sense of comfort into me. It’s like my persona was unfired clay, I crumble to you. Your words meant nothing, but when you called me dumb I couldn’t have been more irrevocably enamored. I found myself content. Like a moment of clarity in the midst of noise. Especially, on a day I so often found to be profane. But I can hardly justify my favoritism through the confines of contentment alone. It’s too ordinary.

That’s not to degrade contentedness. It’s a peace I spend my longer days pining for. Above joy, it is ecstasy to know the permanent renderings of contentment.

But I would be lying to say it’s the only reason. Really, it's something more technical. The day after, forever and inevitably, was always your birthday. When you first told me, I said it was unfortunate. Who would want to celebrate with you when the world was too caught up in the whims of chocolate coated affections. But you said you didn’t care, validation never meant so much to you. That congealed loneliness I so often expected you to feel doesn’t exist. I know that now. As if anyone else ever mattered in our lives, yours and mine.

It was then I began waiting for Valentine’s Day. I looked forward to it. There was a time when I even pined for it to end, because it was a permanent, promised excuse to talk to you. We spoke so often but every sentence we’d exchanged always entranced me. You still do. But February especially was always yours.

It became my favorite holiday to justify all that. Then it became less about you. Half because I was never vocal about my feelings, and half because I grew too fond of platonic complacency. Until I did believe it was my favorite. It’s true now— although I’m not sure it was ever really a lie. I think somewhere in my mind I equated the two.

For the first time in years, I almost forgot your birthday. If you didn’t text me the day prior, I might’ve. But that contentment you stirred in me perpetually rolls in with the month, with or without your presence. It is yours. I don’t believe in love, but I can’t deny I do love you. You have bewitched my soul. That calm, content forever. A promise of nothing. We were never meant to be together, and I love you.

—

likes and reshares appreciated !

[jackinalex]

Hi there! I really like your writing, you write plots that suck people in very well. I have a question though, and please take this as genuine curiosity because that really is what it is. What are your thoughts on the, hmmm let's say ethics, of writing fanfiction about real people? Ive found myself drawn to the dynamics of relationships for both real and fictional pairings, but when it's real, there is always something that kind of twinges at me. I've seen interviews where sometimes the subjects get uncomfortable knowing people write about them, and I could see how I might feel wierd about it if it were me. But on the flip side, the stories are of course fiction. You seem very involved in this side of the fandom, and I would be very interested to know your thoughts.

Putting this under a cut bc it’s so long lol.

Thank you for the compliments! You made my morning. To answer your question, I think that rpf is a complex and nuanced topic, but what it really boils down to is the subjects' feelings. I’ve written rpf in some capacity for going on thirteen years and will use each of those fandoms as examples to express the nuances of the topic.

When I was 14-16, I wrote WWE fanfiction. The difference between wresting rpf and say, bandom rpf, is that WWE for the most part is fictional and the wrestlers portray some sort of character, even if they go by their real names, therefore it is similar to writing about a tv show or movie (though some people include their real lives and real families). I’ve heard a few wrestlers say that fan fiction is a little weird, but the ones I wrote about never said it made them especially uncomfortable. In fact, Torrie Wilson (my queen), has even tweeted about Jorrie, which is the ship of her and John Cena, which was my first rpf ship I ever wrote about.

When I was 16-18, I wrote YouTube rpf, first about Pewdiepie and Cryaotic (I know, yikes), and those two (especially Cry, and I know, yikes again) spoke at length about how they didn’t mind fan fiction at all. They even read some as content for their channels. I then wrote about Ian and Anthony from Smosh, who also read fan fiction (MANY) times for their different channels. They even read part one of my fics on their channel at one point. Sometimes Ian and Anthony did seem a bit uncomfortable with the fanfiction, but it was more that they didn’t want to read the fics themselves and less that the fics existed. They’ve spoken at length about how they’re happy for people to express themselves in any way, even if it’s through fan fiction about them.

Finally, we have ages 19-now. I’ve written about Jalex for the longest period of my life (nearly ten years, which is nuts). It’s interesting because they’ve made hundreds of jokes about fucking each other for years, made references to fics and how they want people to keep writing them, and Jack even had a Jalex shirt for his JAGK line. Then, around 2012, interviewers started pushing them to talk about it far too much to the point where it made them uncomfortable. So I don’t think it was the fics themselves, but rather being asked about them and being put on the spot.

I say all of this to say that I think rpf is okay if you do the following:

Find out if the subject has explicitly stated that they do not want to be included in fic.

DO NOT send the fics to anyone you’ve written about (unless they’ve asked for them, for some reason). Also, do not mention fics or shipping to these people (unless, again, they’ve asked you to).

I think that people have the right to not want to be written about, but as you said, it is purely fiction. Also, when people have large platforms and have lots of fans, there are “fan” things that kind of just happen, not just fics, but also fanart, fan edits, speculation, gossip, etc. It’s part of the fame. The love and admiration people hold for their favorite celebrities has to go somewhere and that’s often through fanwork.

I hope this somewhat answers your question! I can only speak from my own experience, but this is the conclusion I’ve come to after years of rpf. If you’re interested in participating, we’d love to have you! Our fandom is small, but loyal and tight-knit. Much love!

[alicentflorent]

it’s interesting how the only person to show remorse after the altercation is alicent. don’t get me wrong i like rhaenyra, but we don’t hear about her feeling bad for implying she wants aemond tortured nor does viserys seem to regret insinuating that he would cut out his own children’s tongues meanwhile alicent very clearly felt guilty for the way she behaved and that she harmed rhaenyra. if the show wants me to root for team black they are doing a poor job because ever other character is more sympathetic than they are in my opinion.

I never thought of it like that but you’re right. Alicent was in the wrong trying to cut out a little boys eye and accidentally injuring Rhaenyra in her rage but she obviously felt genuine remorse even though her father praised her for it and framed it as some great thing she did (and we know she craves her fathers love and approval).

Viserys made me sick when he said he would cut out the tongues of anyone who doubted the legitimacy of his grandchildren. I get wanting to defend his family but he said it in response to his YOUNG CHILDREN calling them bastards in a typical child argument way and it should of been clear to him that they heard rumours growing up and wouldn’t understand that calling another child a bastard would be treason. He only cares about Rhaenyra and her children not the kids he made Alicent birth for him and it shows. He didn’t show any concern over what happened to aegon, he only got angry. Those poor kids never experienced love from their own father.

Rhaenyra has been one of my favourites in this show and I know she is supposed to get more harsh and ruthless but insisting that a child, let alone her own brother, should be tortured to find out where he overheard a true rumour about her children’s parentage is still gross. Like you said, she doesn’t feel remorseful about this from what we see. She also doesn’t seem to feel bad that her son has permanently mutilated and blinded another child in one eye. Even if it is in self defense it is not good that the fight escalated to that point. You’d think she would have spoken to Luke about it, Luke seems like a good boy and could be traumatised by the fact that he caused an injury that severe. Given how we’ve seen Rhaenyra be a good mother you’d think she would also talk to her boys, who by the way are still grieving Harwin, not to let violence escalate that far or talk to them about maybe practicing self defence that won’t cause severe injury.

Anyways this is going off topic but although I thought the knife scene was well written and showed us spilled truth tea on who the adult caharacters really are. I was ultimately disappointed in the way Nyra was written in this episode overall. I felt like a lot of her character revolves around her relationship with demon here. From talking about how he left her alone and she needed him with her (she had other people who loved her and was strong and capable in her own right) and I mean you could argue that this is to show how the relationship isn’t healthy and young Rhaenyra has been groomed into an unhealthy attachment but the scene was written as romantic and followed with a sex scene (which went on the same time their kids were sneaking out and getting into a pretty dangerous fight) and then after the events of that night her next priority is figuring out a way to marry demon and create some true targaryen legitimate heirs. She is okay with faking Laenors death and marrying daemon right after without considering how it will impact all four kids and how faking laenors death means the boys will lose another father a couple of weeks after they lost Harwin and be re-traumatised. Even if they’ve been told he is alive they’d be feeling so betrayed by both parents for doing such a thing. Demon is gonna be her downfall, he has a hold on her and brings out her worse and I hope the show doesn’t try to #powercouple them.

I agree about team black and I’m hoping that the reason we don’t find them rootable is because we aren’t supposed to. I like and hate certain members of both teams but I think they’re both bad and I am hoping the show makes both teams morally grey instead of going with the whole good guys vs bad guys because this is an asoiaf story not a marvel movie.