#damn we came such a far way in the past decade

[sfehvn]

home

Description: Astarion left twenty years earlier, after defeating the elder brain, in search of a cure for his vampiric condition. Tav has not been coping well. A/N: A little angsty, alcohol abuse and Tav being overly-sexual in hopes of feeling some comfort in Astarion's absence; if you aren't comfortable with that you may want to skip this one! Also eludes to Tav being a sorcerer elf, but nothing is explicitly stated. Enjoy! :) Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,438 Characters: Astarion x Tav

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  The gnawing sensation that remained deep-seated in your gut had all but dwindled. Nights filled with booze and meaningless sex did little to appease the hunger that twisted your insides viscerally. That damned vampire had only been in your life for but the slightest fraction. Somehow, he utterly rewired your brain's chemistry in such a minuscule time frame.

  “So that’s it then? You’re leaving after everything we’ve been through. Just like that?” The bitterness that dripped from every syllable was palpable as you spoke. An air of disgust and heartbreak hung between you and Astarion.

  He remained silent, the cogs of his mind turning while his face remained unreadable. “I will return for you, Tav. I swear it. I must do this alone.”

  The scene dissipates into the back of your otherwise empty mind. You had waited. Waited patiently for the return of your lover; spent years willfully ignorant to the fact that he had wholly left you. Two decades came and went before the realization sunk into the essence of your being. He was just gone. The many conquests that filled your bed were always reminiscent of him in at least one way, though you were never able to quench that desire. A white-haired man sits before you, telling fantastical stories, no doubt with the intention of bedding you. You would let him, of course. As he speaks, hands moving with a pristine emphasis of his tales, you can only discern the differences from your once-lover. His locks share the same silver hue but are much too short compared to Astarion’s. Soft tufts of curls are nowhere in sight; the stranger’s hair is pin-straight. The longer you listen to him speak, the more you coin him a prick. The ego wasn’t far from your lover’s, but it was without the redeeming charm you had grown to love.

  Despite all of this, you would still follow him to bed, or perhaps a latrine is more this man’s prerogative. Either way, you hoped you could squint your eyes just enough to forget the differences and see a glimpse of Astarion instead. 

  “Riveting as this conversation is,” You cut the stranger off, and your hand sits on his arm seductively. “I speculate we may get on better in private. Naked.” The pungent scent of alcohol is unmistakable. If it were a decent man before you, he may have chivalrously rejected your advances for fear of taking advantage. This was no decent man, though; he proves it by taking your hand in his and standing from the bar. You had been right about the latrine. He props you against the wall in the outhouse and has his wicked way with you. Your mind is numb as he pounds mindlessly into your mound. You squeeze your eyes shut, and try as you might, your lover is not present in the moment. Instead, you feel dirty, used, and ashamed. 

  You allow the man to finish, as it only took him a measly two minutes. You had counted. You didn’t bother faking your own orgasm. This one didn’t care. You adjusted your dress until its hem fell to your ankles. “When can I see you again?” He asks. You brush past him wordlessly. His shameless contention is not lost on you as a distasteful ‘bitch’ elicits from his mouth. You pay your tab and start your trek back home. 

  “Why, though? We’re a team! I told you I’d help you find a cure, Astarion. Please don’t leave me.” Painful tears sting at your eyes, once filled with so much sunshine and radiance. There had even been a touch of naivety to you at that time in your life.

  “I don’t want you to.” Astarion was sharp, pointed with his words. “You deserve a break. Months of leading a group of brain-wormed buffoons; you need it. It won’t take me long, and I will be back. I’ll always come back for you.” He reiterates.

  The possibility of death was not unfounded. The bitter truth was brutal to swallow but did not subdue your anger. If death were his fate, you could have saved him as you had many times before. It was entirely preventable if the case; he was just too stubborn to see it. Radiance of wealth exuded from your residence; nothing but the best for the hero of Baldur’s Gate. You scoffed. How trivial these things were when you did not have a soul to share it with. Your friends had all gone their separate ways, aside from Wyll and Karlach, who had come to find a happy union together among their time spent so closely in Avernus. Gale had forged a family with a lovely lady from Rivington and now had two children barely into adulthood, himself somewhat up there in age. Lae’Zel wasn’t the best at keeping in touch, but last you had heard, she was off kicking ass like always. Surprisingly, Shadowheart visited you as regularly as she could, but that was still seldom.

  All of your old traveling companions had gone on to do great things in their own ways. You were happy for them, you really were, but it’d be a lie if you didn’t admit there was some part of you that envied them. Envied the fulfillment they found within themselves, in the love they discovered in other people. All you had to show for yourself was a house too big for you alone to maintain and, admittedly, a bit of a drinking problem. You grumble as you fight to get the key into the lock of the front door, eager to wash the escapades from earlier off your body. 

  You slink into the tub's warm water, allowing the liquid to engulf you as you stare at the wall absently. What would you be today if Astarion was at your side? It was a question you had asked yourself a million times over. Probably not the calloused person you became. Not living off of any alcohol you could get your hands on, certainly. Recalling the abandonment made a lump rise in your throat, and you quickly choked it down. No, you would not spill another tear for the man who had left. You would not.

  You couldn’t.

  You stare at the nearly empty whiskey bottle across the room, but you are sure there is at least enough for a little glass left in it. You refrain from pulling out of the tub with the sole purpose of pouring that glass and instead scrub your body clean. Relief floods over you once you’ve successfully washed off the remnants of the stranger. His seed had stuck to your stomach like a paste when he pulled out, and the way it dried and tightened over your skin had made you want to vomit. You only exit the round tub once you’ve washed your hair. With your silk robe tied loosely around your body, chest exposed, you make a beeline for the whiskey glass that had been teasing you from across the room. A sigh of contempt leaves your mouth when a single drop drips out into your glass. You recap it and debate tossing it, but decide that will be a problem for future you. You take the candle that lit the washroom and shuffle into the hall, holding it far enough in front of you to provide adequate light through the long, dark corridor. The sound of creaking floorboards halts you in your tracks. The sound did not come from beneath your feet, but instead downstairs. Your ears strain in an attempt to make out any other noises. Another creak this time closer to the bottom of your stairs. 

  You blow out the candle and a quiet incantation for darkvision leaves your lips. There was no fear, whatever sorry bastard chose your home to break into would surely change their tune once they’re at the other end of one of your spells. Suddenly more alert and prepared for whoever emerged, you felt yourself sober as the adrenaline coursed your veins. As quickly as you’re able to make out a faint silhouette bounding up the stairs, another hymn leaves your lips. 

  “Ignis.” 

  A firebolt protrudes from the palm of your outstretched hand, bounding quicker for the stranger than they can respond. A searing sounds as it bores straight through the uninvited guest’s clothing, sizzling with now charred flesh. They groan in agony, the silhouette clutching at their injured chest. “You’re quite lucky I like a good chat, or you’d be dead already. Who are you and why are you in my home?” Your voice was unwavering and void of any emotion other than conviction. 

  “Well, I’d be lying if I say I’m surprised. I do suppose I set myself up for this one, darling. Always the sharp-shooter, you are.” The man attempts a laugh, but it’s lost under the pain in his voice. That voice.

  His voice.

  Forgotten under a sea of other voices, but you place his cadence immediately. You want to run to him, feel the way his arms fit so naturally around your body, let your lips fall upon his. Your first instincts are quickly replaced with anger. Betrayal. You wanted to hurl another firebolt at him; hells, a fireball would’ve been better but you bite it back. You were angry, but becoming homeless after burning your home down was not something you were prepared to deal with. With a small flick of your wrist, you light the sconces that line the hall and you’re met with the illuminated sight of Astarion. He looks not a day older from the last time you had seen him, dare you say he looked even better.

  There’s a tinge of color to his flesh, like he’d been kissed by the morning sun many days over. There was a pink hugh to his skin, reminiscent of fresh blood pumping from a beating heart. Your own skips a beat at the picture of him before you. He was alive. Alive alive. Gone are the ruby-red eyes you had grown to love, replaced with eyes as golden as fresh honey shimmering in the light. You chew the inside of your cheek in an attempt to fight back your tears. Your face remains unchanged despite the flurry of emotions assaulting your brain and heart. “Why are you in my home?” You repeat, as if you had no recollection of the man before you. 

  Astarion’s features reflect the hurt that he feels from your reaction but quickly he masks it. “Not exactly the welcome-home I was imagining, if I’m telling the truth. This is quite the place you’ve got. I’m pleasantly shocked at how well of a job you did decorating, dear. Though I will probably have to make a few adjustments-”

  “Twenty years.” You whisper incredulously, cutting Astarion from his rambling stupor.

  “I’m sorry?” 

  “Twenty years, Astarion!” You shout. You’re no longer able to hold back the floodgates in your eyes. They prick unforgivingly, threatening to pool over onto flushed cheeks. “Twenty years you were gone! And here you are, acting like nothing happened; acting like not a day has passed since we’ve last spoke!” You wipe the tears from your face, angrily laughing that your emotions had betrayed you so. “You don’t even know who I am anymore and you think for a second I’ll allow you in a position to hurt me again?” 

  Astarion is taken aback by the furious passion that laces your every word. The wound he had been nursing with his hand is abandoned as he attempts to step closer, but you take a swift step back. “It had to be done, Tav. The journey to get where I am today was an arduous one. One that I was not willing to ask you to take with me.”

  Your jaw clenches, and there’s no time to collect yourself before you respond. “You didn’t have to ask. I told you I would have followed you through the hells if it meant being with you.” You practically spit the words. 

  “I wouldn’t allow that.”

  “Gods, Astarion! Are you so dense that you don’t see it wasn’t your decision to make regarding what is best for me?” The venom is thick in your tone. “Maybe I would be some semblance of the same person you abandoned all those years ago if I had at least gotten to say goodbye. Perhaps if you had sent a letter I’d be a little more forthcoming with you right now.” 

  “It was not my intention to abandon you.” He quips back, but sees it was the wrong thing to say as the fire burns brighter behind your eyes. “Against my better judgement I guess that is what I did. Only because I couldn’t fathom saying goodbye to you. I-” He pauses for a beat. “I thought it may make things easier on you, too.”

  The laugh that leaves your mouth was a chortle, filled with malice and sarcasm. You grasped for anyway to hurt him in the way he hurt you, “Well you ruined me, Astarion.”

  “I did not, you look-”

  “Looks are deceiving. I would figure you know that by now. For example, just by looking at me you probably can’t tell I drank my weight in whiskey today. Or yesterday. Or the day before.” You purse your lips. “You probably can’t tell that I allowed a bastard of a man to open my legs and fuck me simply because he shared your hair color just earlier in the evening. Or that a tenday ago I fucked another man who’s laugh almost made me believe you were there. Only for a moment, of course.” There was shame in your words and you wanted to cry harder as you voiced all of the ways you had failed to care for yourself. The desire to make him feel what you felt was too great. You wanted him to hate you the way you had grown to despise him.

  His arms pulled you firmly against him, his head ducking to bury his face into your wet hair. You soften under his touch, allowing yourself to go limp as he holds you. Guilt eats at Astarion’s subconscious as you cry into his shirt. It didn’t matter if you tried to push him away. It didn’t matter what you had done to cope with his absence. He was home and he was going to prove to you that he was not going anywhere ever again. Everything he had gone through in the past twenty years, he had powered through with the thought of making it home.

  You were his home.

[thefanficmonster]

Piss off your parents pt.3 (finale)

PART 1

PART 2

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Drinking, Swearing

Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Time wasted can only be compensated with time well spent.

"You wasted us so much time."

Y/N's reply is so far from anything he could've expected, he nearly sprains his neck when his head snaps up. To find a small smile on her face, of all things.

"What?"

There's a note of deep-rooted anger in the laugh that deflates her lungs, "How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long have you felt that way?" She doubles down, her gaze now stiffened into a glare piercing right through him.

"Since we fucking met, ok?!" He'd be less nervous answering questions in front of the FBI. He doesn't know how the script flipped to her being the angry one but it's clear she's gonna let him have it. And he's gonna have to take it, he owes it to her.

"I can't fucking believe you." She shakes her head, shifting to back further away from him and lean her back against the cold mirror behind her. She'd rather hop off the counter and run off - that's what sober her would do, anyway. But, for one, her drunk alter ego is a lot more confrontational, and for two - she physically can't do that. Somewhere along the past ten minutes, Colby somehow ended up standing between her parted legs, blocking her the ability to run away without even meaning to. "You've kept me at arm's length for a whole fucking decade! Treating me like a child, a porcelain doll you feel obligated to look out for! You broke my heart so ignorantly by sleeping around with half the damn town and bragged to me about it! You pushed me into brainwashing myself in love with someone else, led me to believe he felt the same way and now you have the gull to say you were in love with me all along! Bullshit!"

Hellfire, she's showering him with utter hellfire. Each thing she listed got worse than the previous just when he expected it couldn't. It unlocked so many memories he made a vow to never again visit. That was such a low point in his life he didn't notice he had dragged one of his best friends into it as well. Well she's spelling it out for him right here, right now. Loud and fucking clear.

"And to think I was in love with you throughout all of that...fuck, I'm stupid..." She adds in a whisper, highly contrasting the rain of bullets she unleashed seconds prior. It was meant more for herself than him yet it was the final blow for him. His heart is officially down for the count.

"Was? Past tense?" Colby's eyes widen immediately. He didn't hear the words in his brain, they were as news to his ears as they were to hers. He doesn't know where the audacity came from. It's as if he's asking to get smacked. At this point, he'd prefer that to whatever venom she might spew at him. All well within her right.

To his luck, Y/N's gotten tired. Physically and emotionally. And she can't keep the grudge flame alive. Not with Colby at least. She can't help the soft spot on her heart for him. A spot so bruised and sore she can't believe it hasn't turned stiff as stone. It can't, not when her heart starts racing within his proximity every damn time. Not when a smile spreads across her face every time she looks at him. It hurts, yeah, but she doubts it'll ever go away.

"Like it fucking matters." She whispers, again with the same bitterness from earlier.

"Yes it fucking does, Y/N." It's like his brain has been shut off, all rationality has gone out the window. "You said I wasted us so much time. Don't waste more just because you're angry."

She's quick to bite back, "How can I not be? You deserve it, Colby!"

"I know that!" He might not be rational, bordering on desperate, but he's still self aware enough to see and admit to the error of his ways. But he'll be damned if he lets go of this last string of hope. He's clinging onto it like a twig in a flood. "I know I deserve it. But we don't. What we could be, that doesn't deserve more time down the drain, Y/N."

Sudden banging on the door startles them both, reminding them they're in a very peculiar location. A public bathroom. The ladies' bathroom on top of all.

"One second!" Contrasting the deer-in-headlights panic on Colby's face, Y/N takes it upon herself to handle the situation. The sound has scared him into backing away from her, giving her the required space to hop down. She turns to him, poking a finger to his chest, "Act normal. Nothing happened."

With that said, she leads the way out, unlocking the door and slipping out, giving the two girls waiting outside an apologetic smile. They return two knowing smirks when they see Colby emerge from the bathroom right behind her.

"Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to interrupt." The brunette slurs, winking at them both before following after her friend.

"You're good." Y/N replies politely, muttering after the door closed, "You helped."

The pang in Colby's chest cannot be put into words. Before he's had time to recalibrate, she's already gone, having made her way back into the party, disappearing into the crowd.

And just like that, he feels that last string of hope break.

* * * * *

"Hey, I'm so sorry about what I said earlier." Nate shakes the strands of hair away from his eyes so can properly look down at his semi-sober companion who's currently carrying him towards the elevator.

Y/N can't help but smile at him. It hurts like hell but at this point it's like the twentieth blow to the heart tonight. She's become used to it.

"It's ok, Nate. Thanks for being honest and not leading me on." She's aware she's thanking him for the bare minimum but that little conversation with Colby earlier proved to her she should be grateful for that even. Hey, he could've lied. He could've stringed her along, had his fun and then pulled the 'nothing serious' card.

But that's not Nate. He could never.

You thought Colby would never lie to you either. Now here we are

"No, that's not what I mean. I got scared, you know? Friend groups don't survive romance. But I don't care now that I think about it. We should give it a shot. It could be great. Fuck what they think." His words are slurred and his eyes are glazed over, but each syllable is drowning in sincerity. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that but she'd rather take it as complete nonsense right now.

"Nate, sweetie..." She readjusts the hold she has on her heels so she can grab hold of his hand, "I doubt you know what you're thinking right now. Let's talk in the morning, ok? Get some sleep, sober up, and then we'll figure it out. Sounds good?" She says gently, as if explaining to a three-year-old that Santa isn't real.

He gives her one of those smiles that were the initial reason she (thought she) fell for him, "Yeah." They stop at the door to his shared hotel room with Sam and Colby. Before she can reach for the doorknob, Nate turns to her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. She momentarily lets herself play along and leans into his touch, knowing how wrong it actually is. "You're the best, Y/N." Their faces, almost instinctively, inch closer and she doesn't do anything to stop it. Fuck all rationality. This night can't get much worse, how bad could a kiss shared between friends be?

She never gets to find out though because the door to the room is thrown open, forcing them apart in an instant. The person standing on the doorstep makes it ten time worse - because of-fucking-course it's Colby.

Y/N immediately starts regretting what almost just happened, semi-glad it didn't. She shouldn't have let it get that far. She's doing to Nate what she was thankful he didn't do to her - stringing him along. She can barely recognize herself - almost kissing one of her best friends while being completely in love with another.

"Oh, um....sorry. I wanted to come help carry Nate up but.....guess you got that covered." He speaks up, trying to cut the awkwardness him and Y/N are currently drowning in. Nate is none the wiser, waving off his friend's apology with a quick 'don't worry about it'. He gives one last squeeze to her hand before going inside, leaving the two staring at each other.

"Is Sam ok?" Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side to take a peek inside the room where she can see Sam's shoes at the foot of the bed. "That fall was pretty bad."

"Yeah, he's fine." Colby sighs heavily, looking over his shoulder at the blonde in question, "Should've stopped climbing on tables like he has nine lives long ago. This might be the lesson he needed."

"Hey!" She frowns at him, "Have some compassion!"

He chuckles, opening his mouth to respond when a sudden yell cuts him off.

"Y/N? That you? Come in!" It's Sam, his voice conveying the pain he's currently in.

She knows she should be heading back down to the front desk to grab her key and go to her own room. But she can't just leave her friend on 'read' in real life and at such a dire time.

So, despite her better judgement, she goes inside to find Nate already out like a light and Sam laying flat on his bed with an arm over his eyes.

"Hi Sammy. Partied a little too hard there, dude." Y/N smiles softly at him, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Sam removes his arm from his face, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, "Am I gonna die?"

Simultaneously both her and Colby snort out a laugh, sharing a look of mutual understanding and amusement before she returns her attention to the wounded soldier, "You won't. I promise. Just go to sleep." She replies reassuringly, readjusting the ice pack Colby had placed on his knee, causing him to hiss but still nod.

"Stay here for the night?" He asks, almost pleadingly. This interaction is a good insight on the siblingship they have. Colby and Nate have always been variables to her, but luckily she has Sam to be her constant.

"Where am I gonna sleep, Sam?" She asks lightheartedly, looking around the room at the two already occupied beds and the couch by the window.

"There." Sam points at said couch where Y/N can see some trademark Colby clothes splayed around. That's his little nook, clearly.

"And where's Colby gonna sleep?" She laughs, shooting Colby a soft look to find him already staring at her with the same gentleness she's always felt emanating from his eyes.

"The floor." Sam says with no hesitation, causing you both to laugh.

Colby is quick to flip him off, "Fuck you, man."

All he gets in response is a soft snore, alerting them that Sam too has drifted off. Probably for the best cause that scrape on his knee doesn't look pleasant.

And suddenly, they feel like they're alone. Sure, there are two other people present but a canon firing wouldn't be efficient in waking them up. So, they're practically alone.

Neither of them is happy about it.

"Really though, you should stay. What are you gonna do alone in your room?" Colby breaks the brief silence as he awkwardly struts across the room to subtly clean up the mess he's made on the couch.

Y/N shrugs, "Watch TV, drink some more, snack on something, pass out. The usual." She shrugs, carefully getting up so she doesn't nudge Sam out of his slumber.

"You can do all that here....with some company." He offers, cautious about every word that comes out of his mouth. "We don't have to talk about anything. Just raid the minibar and snack tray."

They should talk, they both know it. They're aware that they're at an age where they are considered adults. And adults talk about difficult shit even when they don't want to. They do what should be done.

Not Y/N and Colby, though.

They've cracked open a bottle of rosé and a bag of Cheetos and are currently sitting in silence. A comfortable one, for a change. They've quietly agreed to have this moment be outside the realm of everything else that occurred tonight. Like an island in a stormy sea. There will come a time when they'll have to talk about it, but most definitely not tonight.

Unless...

"Remember the first time we got drunk together?" She asks, watching the pink liquid splashing around in her glass.

Colby snorts at the memory, or whatever he can recall of it. "Barely."

"Yeah, same." She laughs, downing the rest of her wine, "I remember you disappearing for a good portion of the night. Sam and I found you bruised and bloodied hours later."

He joins her in the reminiscing, "That rose bush really did a number on me."

She takes a moment to look him in the eyes. She stays quiet, analyzing him in a way that heats up his skin as though her gaze were a physical force, "You didn't actually fall in a rose bush, did you?"

Ah, there's another lie. A small one in comparison to the first but still a lie. And since it's a night of confessions..."Remember Austin?"

He just unlocked a forgotten part of her brain, "Oh shit yeah! Whatever happened to that guy?"

A dry chuckle rattles his chest, his hand coming up to rub his face, "Well, in short, he liked you a little too much for my liking. So he found out what happens when I'm jealous and drunk."

Y/N can't help but smile. She's a simple girl, of course she finds it hot. But she'll be damned if she lets him notice. She quickly masks it with a joke, "Oh my God, you killed him!"

He laughs, shaking his head before leaning towards her a bit as if he's about to spill some government secrets, "Full disclosure, between you and me..." His eyebrows lift, waiting for her to nod a vow of silence before continuing, "I got my ass kicked."

She busts out laughing, undermining all concern for her two sleeping friends, "I'm not surprised." She teases him, reaching for the bottle for a refill.

Colby doesn't let that happen though. He quickly snatches the bottle, keeping it out of her reach, "Excuse you?!"

"You can't be salty after admitting it yourself." For caution purposes, she sets down the glass before getting up on her knees, extending her arm in a futile attempt at retrieving the stolen item. To her dismay, he just stretches his arm further, making it that much harder. "Oh, fuck you..." she mutters, hovering herself over his lap precariously, putting them in a pretty compromising position.

Colby kicks it into high gear, freeing his hand by setting the bottle down so he can sit her in his lap with a slight tug, earning him a small gasp from her. She settles into him just perfectly, like this is far from the first time they've found each other in such predicament.

Their faces are inches apart. His hands are on her sides, hers are on his shoulders. The proximity is more intoxicating than the alcohol they've consumed throughout the night. They are high on each other and are just now realizing it. Or just now admitting it.

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about it." She whispers, afraid of breaking the thin veil of tranquility currently surrounding them.

"We're not talking about it." His tone mimics hers as though he's afraid he'll scare her off. His grip on her is gentle but firm. It'll physically hurt if he tries to force himself to let go of her.

Luckily he doesn't have to because, before either of them know it, their lips collide.

The innocence of the kiss is brief and gone within seconds. Hands start roaming, breaths are shared, lines are crossed. And, technically, they aren't talking about it. But still, plenty is being said. A decade of pent up emotion is coming to fruition. It's nothing short of passionate, desperate almost.

Right on-brand for them.

* * * * *

"Hi."

"Hi."

They're fully clothed, cuddled up on the couch and alone in the room. Not all lines were crossed last night of fear they might regret it in the morning. However, if their smiles are anything to go by, nothing is being regretted.

Neither of them attempts to move from their comfortable little bubble. Neither of them cares that Nate and Sam probably witnessed this sight when they woke up. Neither of them tries checking the time. It's their way of trying to make the moment last longer into infinity.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Colby breaks the silence, threading his fingers through her hair.

Her ear is directly over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm she finds so much comfort in, "Just that I can't even lie right. I tell my mom one lie and it ends up becoming true."

Laughter vibrates throughout his chest, sending waves through her body as well, "Is this you asking me out?"

"Do you want it to be?" Y/N shrugs, tilting her head to look up at him.

He smirks down at her, "So much for rebelling, huh?"

"Shut up."

Knowing he won't do so on his own, she tends to the matter herself by pressing her lips to his, effectively shutting him up.

Tagging: @benbarnesprettygurl @beanredacted @m1tsk1l0v3er

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 2 of 13

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Suggestions of sexual assault

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

“Welcome back, Ladies!” Alastor was in the hotel lobby as soon as the doors opened. “How did your ill-fated endeavor go?” 

“Bad.” Vaggie answered, not wanting to talk about any of it. The less people that knew her angelic origin story, the better in her mind. 

“Alastor?” Charlie tried to find the similarities between the man in the picture she had spent most of the trip home looking at and the one standing before her. 

“Whatever can I do for you?” He was in front of her in a heartbeat, leaning into her space slightly, hands planted on his cane as was his way.

“I think maybe I have something for you?” Charlie held out the silver pocket watch. 

“Angelic steel?” He asked as he stepped closer, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. “As a pocket watch? What a silly trinket to bring back. Pocket watches were a thing of the past long before my day.”

“It was given to me. A woman, she asked me to give it to you. At least, I think you’re who it’s for. Maybe there’s another Alastor? Or one who isn’t dead yet. Or one that already had their soul destroyed. Or-”

Alastor bounced the watch in his hand a few times, enjoying the weight of a well made pocket watch in the palm of his hand. Wristwatches had indeed replaced the pocket by in his time on earth. Still, they had an elegance he had favored in life that few knew about. 

They made handy trinkets to fiddle with. In life, he’d run his thumb over the faceplate of the watch his wife had gotten him while he stalked his victims… or while he sat through pointless meetings. 

She had gotten it for him as a gift early in their marriage, upon discovering his rather modest personal collection. It’s weight lived in his pocket during those few short months they had spent together. In the time after her death however, he had wore the faceplate smooth, running his thumb over it again and again as he went about his daily life. 

Alastor froze as he opened the watch. A face he had spent what felt like eternity trying to forget looked up at him.

He had hoped that was where she was. He had feared she had already perished in hell, having been damned for one wrong thought or some childhood action like so many of the weakest sinners in the realm. 

Static jumbled his voice, radio filter going heavy, “Where did you get this?” 

“A woman, she gave it to me.” A shiver ran up Charlie’s spine as Alastor clicked closed the watch and slipped it in his pocket, moving without a trace of the dangerous flair of power he had displayed. “Do you- is she-”

“My wife.” He confirmed. Though they had been separated in death, he wouldn’t deny her. He had spent decades trying and failing to forget her, but he would never deny her outright. 

“You had a wife?” Angel was too shocked to add any quips to his question. Alastor having a wife ment that surely, at some point he had an interest in more than just himself. “Does that mean that you do-”

“I advise you to speak carefully,” Words came nearly lost in static as shadows deepened, lights dimmed and Alastor’s back twisted and his neck turned far more than should have been possible so Angel was faced with his terrifying face. 

“What is she like?” Charlie was eager to settle the mood and learn more of the woman who she had only gotten to meet for a fleeting moment.

“She was sweet as honey. A woman truly deserving of Heaven.”

“How’ed she end up with a fella like you?” Angel stuck his neck out to ask the question on everyone’s mind, not having enough sense of self preservation to keep his mouth shut after the first warning. 

“I was far from deserving of her,” Alastor felt like such didn’t need saying. “We had family connections pushing us together. Is she well?” 

Charlie hesitated, her mind replaying the way Adam manhandled the wisp of a woman. 

“She’s in Heaven.” Vaggie answered, as if that was an answer. 

Alastor accepted it with a nod, “I thank you for bringing me her trinket.” 

“She said to tell you that she loved you,” Charlie blurted out. “No, that’s not exactly it. She would always love you, that was it. I didn’t have a chance to talk to her but she said she would wait forever for you.”

The wide toothed smile on Alastor’s face closed, pulling tight, “She shouldn’t.”

“You can try for redemption.” Charlie felt renewed hope for him. He had someone to be redeemed for!

“No, thank you.” Alastor’s smile grew again, cut wide by his sharp teeth. “I am hardly the man she knew. I thank you again, for the trinket, and carrying my Isabel’s message. Good Night.”

~~~~~<3

Adam was in a rage as he threw her against the wall. Isabel wished for nothing more than to die. If this was heaven, she didn’t want to be here. 

“What were you talking about!”

“I just wanted to find him.” She whimpered in the face of Adam’s rage. He was held up as the perfect man, the first man. If he was placed next to the man she loved though, he couldn’t even live up to his shadow. 

“He’s a disgusting Sinner!” Adam grabbed her again. “Why do you hold out for him? You could have me, the original dick.”

“You’ll never be half the man he was!” 

Adam threw her on the floor and loomed over her. “Take what I am willing to give you,” His hand grasped her ankle and pulled her toward him as she tried to get away. “And I will make you forget him.” 

“You’re as much a sinner as anyone in hell!” She kicked at him, “This is no Heaven. This is but a beautiful blasphemous lie. This is Hell!” 

~~~~~<3

Alastor sat in Rosie’s parlor, teacup of rich warm blood swirling as he was lost in his thoughts. Across from him sat his dearest friend in Hell. Her territory was a refuge for him, somewhere without cameras and where those who would spread idle gossip about him were not eager to wander inside.

“Alastor Dear, As glad as I am to see your face, what troubles you?” 

Rosie had been sitting in silence, watching him. She waited patiently for him to open up before her soft prodding, though she wouldn’t dare push or pry. Maintaining a friendship with her often chaotic fellow Overlord took some delicacy and respect for his many boundaries and walls.

“My wife,” Alastor’s smile was subdued yet ever present even as the weight of his punishment in hell crashed over him once again. 

It was a weight he had long ago gotten used to. He had learned to thrive under but when he was forced to remember this part of his living life, it was a stone around his neck that threatened to try to drown him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would let it.

He needed to once again cast aside the stone. She was where she belonged and he would never be with her again. So what if she waited for him? So what if she still loved him? She didn’t know the sins he carried. He needed to throw her memory aside, once again, and leave the past in the past. 

There was nothing that could be done to change anything. 

She sat back in her chair, back perfectly straight and empty eyes wide. Sure, she had been privy to the fact that at one time, he had been married but most gave up such ownership over their spouse after a few decades, referring to them as former, ex or late.

It was easy to assume due to his apparent lack of romantic or sexual drive that he had mentally divorced himself from the relationship long ago, shed the shackles that societal expectations bound him with in his life. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about his preferences or desires, it wouldn’t be proper, but she had a way of knowing these things. 

Or at least, she had thought she did.

The idea that taking a wife had been anything more meaningful to him than the socially expected and proper thing to do hadn’t crossed even her mind. All things exist in a spectrum, she supposed, and matters of the heart were rarely anything less than complex. 

Alastor placed a open pocket watch on the table between them after she was all but certain that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter further, “She’s in Heaven.” 

“How did you get this?” She asked, picking the silver watch, gleaming in a way things in hell rarely did, and examining the picture inside. 

It was hand sketched and ever so detailed. Crafting the image clearly took a significant amount of time. Someone had slaved over the artwork inside for a great many hours to produce something that had near photo results. 

“Is this-?” 

“My Darling and I, the day we wed.” Alastor confirmed. “She had always been a talented artist, though I’d say her skills have progressed significantly in the decades since she left my side.” 

“It’s very good,” Rosie said, “You made a lovely couple.” 

“Our Darling Princess delivered it when she returned from Heaven,” Alastor took a long pull from his teacup. “A gift from Isabel.”

“I’m so sorry, Alastor.” She slid the watch back toward him, not sure what the proper thing to say to him in that moment was. 

“No need, my dear friend.” He absently responded as he pocketed the watch, sparing a moment to run his thumb over the faceplate hiding the picture inside. “No need. She is where she belongs, as am I.” 

“Yet it weighs on you,” Rosie pointed out, “You long for her?”

“Perhaps.” Alastor wasn’t fond of the questioning but thankfully, Rosie did so with tact and respect. It was something lacking from the hotel residents who struggled to picture him caring for anyone, let alone as a husband. “She is safe, as she should be.”

“It’s a relief then?” Rosie asked, plucking a lady finger from the plate between them. “To know she didn’t parish in an extermination?” 

It hadn’t occurred to her that he had been looking for, hunting for anything more than the powerful demons he killed as he arose to power. Perhaps there had been a bit of something else driving the events of those days. Now wasn’t the time to ask however.

“To know that she is where she belongs,” Alastor countered.

“Which isn’t with you?” Rosie delicately tried to untangle the complexities of her dear friend. 

“Which is somewhere safe,” Alastor corrected. “You know just as well as I, Hell chews up and spits out those who are not savage enough to earn respect and take power.” 

~~~~~<3

Sulfur stung her nose as the portal to Hell opened. This was her chance, she had humored Adam though it had made her skin crawl to get to this moment. Adam wasn’t an intelligent man but still, it wasn’t easy to allow him to believe that she was finally willing to entertain his advances, his hands on her. 

It was too much to hope for that he would know anything about her husband but he was her ticket to where he was. It was common knowledge that Adam took his warrior angles between Heaven and Hell in order to protect the gates. 

There’s no way she could convince Adam to take her with him. Manipulation wasn’t her strength in the slightest. Just pretending to accept Adams advances was challenging enough. 

It wasn’t for nothing at least. It had gotten her here, standing at the front of the select crowd who would see off Adam and his warriors to the mighty battle as the citizens of Hell once again rose up to try and overtake the gates. This was a war only a select few knew about and being one of those few took work. 

Golden sparks kicked to life in the air in front of the army. Sparks grew, swirling to life into a large portal from what had started as a pinprick. Adam offered her a cocky grin that she did not return before he lead the first wave of his army though.

This was her chance, Isabel knew. It was now or never. If she let this chance pass by, she wouldn’t get another. 

Counting, Isabel prepared herself to do something she knew she could never come back from. 

One. Looking in the distance she saw her Mother-in-law nod her blessing. How she had managed to get that close, Isabel would never be able to ask her. Everything she had learned, everything she had feared, everything she had experienced in Heaven, she had shared with her dear Alastor’s mother. If anyone knew how much being separated from him was torture to her, it would be his mother. 

Two. She fluttered out her wings, tensing muscles and ruffling feathers. To pull this off she needed every feather in place. She needed every muscle to propel her forward before anyone could stop her. Hopefully at least. 

Three. One last deep breath of the cleanest air she would ever breathe as the hot sulphuric air wafted into heaven from the open portal. Just a few more rows of the army were left. 

 Now. She ran, long dress clutched in one fist as she hiked the hemline up to her knees, wishing she had worn the dip hemline she had favored instead of the ankle long hemline Adam liked. She had to manage without getting caught. She had to make it through and out of reach of the angels while she fell. 

One powerful beat after the other allowed her to pick up speed as she ran forward, going as fast as her legs would carry her. Then she was going faster, feet grazing the stone floors as she shot forward into the stream of deadly angel warriors.

Fingers grazed the feathers of her wings in a startled attempt to stop her as she shot away from the army. For a moment, she was disorientated. 

They were supposed to be high above hell, defending the gates from one of the frequent uprisings. She had planned to fall, hoping to miss the battle and fall fairly safely.

Instead, the portal all but threw her out into the battle near the grounds of Hell. This wasn’t right but Isabel had no time to get her feet under her. The air burned her lungs as she gulped  air as her wings beat with all the strength she could manage. 

Dodging out from the army, a black tentacle nearly knocked her out of the air. She had to get away from here, where ever here was before she could do anything else. Flying from rooftop to rooftop, she did everything she could to try and put distance between her and the battle without drawing attention to herself.

Once the fighting was over, she would look for him. First she had to find somewhere safer to wait out the violent fighting taking place around the large building. Surely, everyone would be paying attention to the battle and one lone angel wouldn’t draw too much attention, right?

~~~~~<3

TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

I woke up this morning and saw I had a message in my inbox on AO3, presumably about by new fic, and was excited to see the feedback.

When I read what they wrote it was a small comment that said "stop using sudowrite".

Had no idea what that even means, so I had to look it up and found out it's some form of a writing AI.

Absolutely fuming.

I want to make something abundantly clear right now:

I have not been hand writing and editing all of my own stories, hundreds of pages worth of personally hand written or hand typed content for the past 16 years, only to get accused of using any form of lazy ass writing AI now.

This is what I love to do. For fun.

I put in a lot of unpaid time, creativity and energy into my writing and editing. The only thing I ask for in return is participation from the fandoms I love, be it via thoughtful feedback or valid criticisms.

But this is neither of those things. This is just an outright, baseless lie against the art that I have worked so hard to make myself, and I won't be undermined or discredited.

There's anger, and then there's whatever space I am occupying well past it right now.

It's infuriating to pour hours of my love, thought and creativity into original content only to have someone come out of nowhere and try to tell me I've been having an AI do it, especially 16 years deep.

Bitch please.

I also found out that app came out in 2020 . . . As I mentioned, I published my first K/S story in 2008 as Ruby JW on the K/S archives, and my first fanfic on fanfic.net was published in 2007 as luigi_is_stellar.

I invite anyone to peruse my decades-long collection of independent content that I have single-handedly accomplished well before such an app even existed, then come back to me and try to tell me that what I do here isn't authentic.

I don't usually get spicy, but when it comes to the art I spend hours writing and drawing independently with my own blood sweat and tears, yeah. I'm going to get spicy.

I do far too much unpaid work out of passion and love for this fandom to have such a serious accusation flung my way out of nowhere.

It's the first time in my 16 years of writing for this fandom that I've ever been accused of plagiarism, and you best trust and believe that I don't take that accusation lightly. I work too damn hard to let someone discredit the work I do personally in such a baseless manner.

Anyway, that was discouraging AF. I am boggled to learn that AI writing is even a thing, no less someone coming out of the woodwork to try to accuse me of using it 16 years into story publishing when I literally teach academic honesty and writing ethics in my line of paid work as an English professional.

Genuinely: Do you know who you're talking to?

A bit of background on me:

I come from a not-so-wealthy family who could not afford to pay to put me through school -- I paid for that all on my own. I had to earn my University English degree, one of four University degrees I hold on my own work and pay alone, without so much as a tutoring session or handout from home.

Not once would I have jeopardized everything I worked so hard and paid for out of my own pocket as a poor ass uni student working two jobs and doing night classes just to phone it in plagiarizing, not on one ounce of my work.

That was all me.

I've handwritten 3 MLA essays in under three hour exams BACK TO BACK, immediately followed by back-to-back Biology exams & a final lab where I ALSO had to write multiple essays and switch from MLA to APA mode within the span of 6 hours.

Those were all bound in handwritten yellow booklets well before we ever had Google Docs, Grammarly, formatting suggestions, or even regularly brought/had access to laptops in UNI. I did my work by hand.

I earned my degrees in English and Biology AT THE SAME TIME before I even turned 24. I earned a double major handwriting my own work papers like my life depended on it, and you actually think I'm about to phone it in now?

Step to me like that again, young blood. I ain't the one.😂

Anyway, I digress.

Ya girl ain't here to fight BC y'all know I tend to be very easygoing, full of humour, and I love to joke around in the fandom. I'm pretty wide open to opposing opinions or even criticisms. But this is unfounded slander, and I won't be taking that on the chin.

When it comes to my work, I take that very seriously, and I don't play around. My late father once told me that "The work you do and the degrees you earn are yours and yours alone, they can never take that education from you." I live by that sentiment, and have done so by putting forth honest work.

Be it paid or unpaid work, it's my work. Periodt.

It is an unfathomably disheartening and insulting message to receive as someone who writes all their own stuff themselves, draws all their own fanart themselves, does their own photo edits themselves, edits their writing themselves, and has never even used so much as a single outside beta reader/editor for my work. Not once. The art, the writing, the editing -- It's all me.

Bottom line:

Say you do or don't like my work, that's cash money and we good, whether it's your cup of tea or not.

Butt know that it is my work.

I will not put all of this free time, effort and love into my work only to be accused of lazily ripping the content that I have spent hours writing and personally editing from somewhere else.

And on that note, consider my PSA rant ended.

[the-desilittle-bird]

AN- Cause I love a good Angst and this song makes me feel the most sweetest of pain.

Requests are always open and well appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Without Him

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary- Years went by and you come face to face with him again...

(Italics is Past Memories and Bold + Italics is Lyrics)

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenxshelby, @instabul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01, @literishdegree99, @watercolorskyy, @Lady-Juliettes, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @nats-whore

Warnings- Very angsty and arranged marriages

GIF Credits to @samantadeca-blog

Zindagi Le Ke Aayehe Hai Beete Din Ki Kitaab

Ghere Hain Ab Humein Yaadein Be-Hisab

Standing at the entrance of Maegor's Keep with his family, Daemon's mind wandered into the alley of nostalgia, reminiscing upon the bittersweet memories of their shared love. All before everything shattered right in their hands.

And now, standing there, he could feel the memories reeling in his mind, reflecting deep into his eyes as he felt the love and the ache of heartbreak from years ago.

Blinking back his feelings away, he felt his heart stop as his amethyst eyes looked upon her magnificent form, mature with years of experience in the foreign lands of Essos alongside her husband. Her two children following her, a spiting image of their mother.

Laughter echoed in his head, a perfect symphony of his and her. Soft moans and whimpers; accompanying his grunts as the nights of their passion together resurfaced.

Daevon, her eldest son, was originally his. He knew that, and so did she. But no one else needed to know of it; not that it is necessary until no one suspected anything.

Bin Poochhe Mile Mujhe Kitne Sare Jawab

Chaha Tha Kya, Paya Hai Kya, Humne Dekhiye

Dil Mein Magar Jalte Rahe, Chaahat Ke Diye

Daemon was young and unaware as he came from Dragonstone, only to be made aware of his sister's wedding to a man who didn't deserve her. No one deserved her; no one but him. But sitting there as Viserys lectured a stoic him and crying (Y/N), he felt the tinge of guilt simmer in him.

"You disgrace me, Daemon! And you had no right to defile our sister but here we are! She is to be married, and you shall remain as far away as physically possible."

Daemon didn't want it; the lecture. He only wanted answers; answer to his many questions: Why can't he marry her? Why is he not compatible enough for her? Who knows her better than him? Who is better for her than him?

But it seemed that he didn't need to ask them as Viserys continued his rambling. "She is far better than you; too pure for your damned soul. You are just a man made ugly by the darkness which lurks in your heart. A darkness I intend on keeping away from (Y/N)!"

In a fortnight, she was married, right in front of his eyes with a grim expression while her husband placed a kiss over her plump and full lips, painted bright rosy. The tears in her eyes gone unnoticed by all but him.

It had been a bit less than a decade since it; since he witnessed that foreign lord pry your legs open, since your sweet, sinful moans turned into small whimpers of pain.

It was cruel; how Viserys thought it right to have the council witness the union being consummated. It was cruel how he had made Daemon watch her clinging onto the pristine white sheets to find a way to cope with the pain.

And even then, he loved her; more than anything or anyone in the world.

Kya Kahoon Duniyaa Ne Kiya, Mujh Se Kaisa Bair

Hukm Tha..? Main Jiyun Lekin Tere Baghair

Her eyes found his in only a matter of seconds, and all which was left unspoken between them were proclaimed, wordlessly yet the tears in them spoke volumes for them.

It was wrong, what happened with them. And especially what happened to (Y/N). Adultery in Westeros committed by a woman meant death but their kind brother let her live... upon one condition.

That order?

Stay away from Daemon; without him.

As if it wasn't death in itself, the swift stab of her eldest brother's words twisting in her hear; only to evoke tears which would never fall.

Love caused them the pain they never wished to experience. To live with a love unrequited; being so close and yet so far. Like the sky and sea. Together but never meeting. A sad tragedy left unsung.

Tere Liye Hum Hain Jiye, Har Aansoo Piye

Tere Liyeh Hum Hain Jiye, Honthon Ko Siye

Dil Mein Magar Jalte Rahe, Chahat Ke Diye

Tere Liye, Tere Liye

She came and she left, like a gust of wind. A strong wind which created havoc in his life and left. And what remained behind was only a letter, addressed to him; sealed in the coal of their house, the three-headed dragon.

"Years ago, he told me that I shall not cry for your sake. That I shall drink down the tears and smile. For sake, I shall keep my lips shut tight, never uttering a word which is nor expected of me. But Dae, the fire of your love still blazes bright in my heart. And it belongs to you and only you.

Perhaps not in this life but in the next. I shall be yours. Body. Mind. Soul."

It was the last thing he heard of her; before the news of her passing came. And the sound of crack was loud, as his heart shattered and crumbled into a zillion pieces.

Without him; she lived and left.

Without him...

[timefospookies]

so. fnaf x bsd anyone?

“A reopened case, huh?”

As Dazai spun around on his chair, scanning the pictures in his hand, Atsushi glanced at the files laid before him.

“And so far out of town!”

“The woman who hired us paid a very hefty amount of money for us to go take a look,” Kunikida stated as he flipped through his own documents. “It’s a missing persons case, from over a decade ago. Children. The victims were presumed dead, though their bodies were never found.”

“And neither was their killer, I take it?”

Kunikida nodded grimly as Dazai puffed out a sigh. The poet offered the documents to his partner and he took it gingerly.

“It’ll be our job to find out who did it, then” the bandaged man said.

“This is terrible,” Atsushi muttered, horrified.

“Tell me about it,”

Dazai tapped on the table as he half heartedly read through each paper, expressionless. His protégé, on the other hand, looked visibly disturbed, and could feel the sweat soaking through his dress shirt. He shakily reached for a glass of water on his desk to swallow down his dread. Suddenly, with an exaggerated groan, Dazai hopped off his seat and whined as he stretched.

“Well, I suppose we should pack and get going then!” 

“Right,” said the poet, as he absentmindedly scratched his lip, “Pack for about a week or so, and we’ll meet at the station tomorrow morning. Be sure to do your research,”

Then he added, much more sourly,

“That means you, Dazai.”

The bandaged man perked up, eyes wide in indignation.

“Huhh? Homework?” he protested, “You’re not a teacher anymore, you know!”

“Shut it!” Kunikida said through gritted teeth, stiffer than usual, "This case is particular because it hasn’t been touched for years. So be sure to prepare properly if you plan to be of use, damn it!”

Dazai pouted but seized to press the matter further, opting to pick up the files on Atsushi’s desk instead. He tapped on the young man’s head with the folder, snapping him out of his absentminded spiral.

“Hey, Atsushi, you free? We could study together,” the man grinned.

“Ah! Yes, of course…”

And so, while Kunikida dedicated himself to his own independent research, Atsushi stumbled after Dazai as they headed down to Uzumaki Café. ---

“Keep an eye out for when we exit the plane,” Kunikida said, “Our client should be waiting to take us to the scene.”

The other two men nodded. Their client, Atsushi recalled, was Kira Breed-Wrisley, an American immigrant who came to settle in Japan with her daughter, Charlotte.

“What a curious choice,” Dazai muttered, back at the café.

Atsushi glanced up from the documents they’d gathered and cocked his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, Atsushi, you sweet oblivious soul,”

The boy arched an eyebrow almost involuntarily.

“Think,” his mentor cooed, leaning in, “why would she decide to move all the way from the US to Japan, of all places? Business women weren’t a very welcome sight here back in the 80s, you know? Hell, they still aren’t now… but Dr. Yosano can tell you all about that feminist stuff,”

“S-Sure,”

That’s right. The scene they were sent to investigate…it had been a restaurant co-owned by Breed-Wrisley herself. A family pizza place with friendly animal mascots that wowed the public with their fun-inviting nature. Well, that and the fact that their entertainers were highly complex robots, for the time anyway. 

Atsushi took a second to arrange his thoughts.

“Well, Japan has been known to be very technologically advanced in the past…” he mused, “So, maybe Mrs. Breed-Wrisley moved here so she could create better robots with the best materials available?”

Dazai hummed, satisfied. He plopped back down on his seat.

“Very good,” he said.

From what they found, though, she hadn’t originally intended for her creations to be made for a restaurant.

Dazai read off a news article,

“Upon being interviewed, Mr. Cawthon claimed he ‘saw great genius and value in her work’ and ‘suggested it must be brought to light, so after tossing around some ideas, [they] decided on a family diner’.”

He slid the paper towards Atsushi.

“How charming!” he said, “Englishmen, am I right?”

William Cawthon, also an immigrant, was in charge of the finances of the business, while Breed-Wrisley focused more on the entertainment and management. He was a rather plain man, and single father of two boys. He also has been missing for the last 16 years or so. 

When the three detectives got off the plane their search for their client began. Kunikida tried to reach her with his phone, but didn’t have much luck with the connection. Dazai, on the other hand, would run off every chance he got to snoop around the airport stores, leaving Atsushi in charge of both his and his mentor’s luggage. And babysitting duty. 

“Mr. Dazai, please could we move along? I’ve already lost sight of Mr. Kunikida,” he urged.

He tried to grab hold of the man’s arm, but he was slippery with his movements. 

“Atsushi, look! A survival handbook! Do you think if I reverse engineer it, I could find some new method-”

“Dazai!”

Upon hearing that call, Atsushi wearily looked over his shoulder at Kunikida, who approached them at a dangerously rapid speed. The man zipped past him and gripped his partner’s shoulder with little trouble, shaking the book out of his hands.

“You idiot, what the hell is your problem?!” he yelled, “You can’t go running off! Need I remind you that we’re on a serious case?!”

“Ah, Kunikida, I was planning on buying that…” 

“Enough! We don’t have time to slack off! Now get your luggage and act like a grown-up for once!”

“Having a child-like spirit is quite good for you, you know?” Dazai announced, “If you don’t allow yourself to relax every once in a while, you’ll get chronic conditions at an early age,”

Kunikida twitched with sudden interest, taken aback.

“S-Seriously?”

Dazai nodded slowly and wisely as he gestured at the man’s pocket. 

Oh boy…, Atsushi thought as Kunikida reached for his notebook and began to write it down. Dazai watched over his shoulder with a smirk, when the realization hit his partner.

“W-Wait, why you!”

A swift and hard hit to the head left the bandaged man writhing in pain on the floor.

“Agh! What was that for?! I wasn’t lying!” “You can’t fool me, you little-”

As their squabbling went on, Atsushi felt uncomfortably aware of the amount of people staring at them and began to fear their client might be somewhere in that crowd. He looked at his watch and began to squirm. Had they agreed on a meeting time? Or place? Kunikida didn’t mention either. Could he have forgotten? Could the client have forgotten?

“Um, hey…you guys?” he stammered.

“What?!” Kunikida snapped, holding Dazai limp under his chokehold.

Atsushi swallowed hard as he gingerly pointed over his shoulder. 

“Sh-Shouldn’t we, y…y’know,”

The poet didn’t have time to answer as his phone began to ring. He was immediately on his feet as he tossed Dazai to the side, now completely composed and focused on the call.

“Mrs. Breed-Wrisley,” he said. “Yes, we have arrived. I apologize for not contacting you earlier, we haven’t been able to reach you. Yes. Of course. We’ll be right there, please excuse us.”

As he snapped his phone shut, he looked Atsushi in the eye.

“Let’s go,” ---

“Again, I am so sorry for not planning this out earlier. I’m…not very good with organization,”

They found themselves at the airport café sitting before their client. 

“It’s not a problem, madam,” Kunikida assured her, “We’re here now,”

So this was Kira Breed-Wrisley, the genius robotics engineer. With how much Kunikida insisted they be on guard around her, the woman who sat before them wasn’t at all like what Atsushi had expected. She was so small she looked almost ill, and though she must’ve only been in her early 50s, her braided hair had nearly completely grayed. It was hard to hear her over the airport chatter because of how softly she spoke- each sentence she uttered was accompanied by gentle gestures of her bruised, scraped hands (Atsushi wondered how they'd gotten to that state). He knew it had been years, so of course her physical state wasn’t going to mirror her past actions, but still, if he didn’t already know about it, Atsushi could’ve never guessed she’d just been released from a fifteen year aggravated assault sentence. The only traces he could see in her that could’ve hinted at it was that though she smiled and chuckled during their polite chatter, behind her glasses sat a pair of dull, dark eyes- devoid of light, like they’d seen too much.  

“I can’t thank you enough for coming all the way out here,” she said quietly, “I apologize in advance for every inconvenience.”

“Please, you’re doing us a favor,” Dazai cooed, “It’s always nice to visit new places! So much to see and learn…surely you know a few places?”

He flashed a charming smile and Kunikida eyed his partner as a warning. No flirting with the clients. Or else. Dazai sighed off the telepathic threat and sat back on his chair.

“Harikēn isn’t too eventful I’m afraid,” she replied, “But I do hope you enjoy your stay. The housing offer still stands, if you ever wish to change your mind,”

Kunikida stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“We appreciate the offer, but we wouldn’t want to burden you,”

“You’re too kind,” she whispered with a bow of her head.

She sat up straight and observed the three for a moment. Was she analyzing them? Her eyes seemed so sad.

“I realize I haven’t formally introduced myself to your partners,” she said suddenly, “Though you probably already know all about me. Either way, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,”

Atsushi chimed in with a start.

“Right! I’m Atsushi Nakajima. Nice to meet you!”

“Osamu Dazai, at your service,”

“Mr. Nakajima, Mr. Dazai,” she repeated, “Thank you both. Shall we go?”

“Right,” 

---

They followed the small woman to her equally small car and on the ride to the location, she gave them a little run down of the case (though they wouldn’t dare interrupt her to remind her that they already knew all the details). 

“It was over the span of two weeks,” she recalled, her voice nearly a whisper, “I remember it so clearly…when the news of the first child going missing broke. How the restaurant slowly emptied out...how all those parents cried after the search was called off,”

She shook her head, trying to avoid reliving it all again.

“I never thought...” her grip on the wheel tightened, “No- I never wanted for things to turn out this way. I can’t… I just can’t let this case go until those children are brought to justice.”

Then she let out a grim, loathing sort of snort.

“I’m partly responsible for their misfortune, afterall.”

Kunikida was silent. He sat so tense in his seat that Atsushi could feel that pressure on his own limbs, and Dazai, who had his nose buried in his new survival handbook, seemed lost in thought. 

“It must’ve been terrible,” Atsushi lamented, “Having lost your daughter yourself, I can’t imagine just how…”

“Atsushi.” 

A whisper. Dazai glanced up at him, expressionless, and subtly shook his head in disapproval.

“No, no, it’s okay,” the woman said, and she gave him a saddened smile through the mirror, “Thank you,” 

Then she fell deathly, like she’d left the present entirely. ---

“I should mention that I’ve hired a night guard for the week,” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley called over her shoulder nonchalantly.

As the detectives slid off the small car, the woman fiddled with her keys at the entrance of the rundown restaurant. The afternoon sun served as a spotlight for the display. The windows were scratched and the walls graffitied. Whatever remained of the signs that would’ve spelled out the name of the place instead communicated gibberish. Nature had overtaken the lot, as sprouts of grass peeked through the cracks on the concrete and vines climbed up the grayed walls. 

“And why would that be?” Kunikida asked, vaguely irked at the sudden news but attempting to stay polite.   

The woman didn’t answer as she swung open the gates and soon the glass door. Dazai was the first to set foot inside and though the intense smell of mold on the crusty carpet spoke the truth of how long this place had been abandoned, the place itself…looked frozen in time. The tables were arranged in neat lines, with colorful (though faded) tablecloths. Confetti and glitter stuck to the old checkered floor, with attractive promises of delicious treats decorating the walls. Alongside these, drawings were scattered about the place, painting the happiness of a birthday, of children surrounded by friends and soft animals sharing slices of pizza. Stars hung from the ceiling and arcade machines called for their next player. The curtain of the main stage shone a vibrant velvet and the smaller side stage sparkled purple. Atsushi, though he’d never lived something like this, could almost feel himself in the moment, the smell of freshly made food cuddling the air, the laughter, the lights. But the joy that this place once contained was now stuck to the corners of each wall, caught in the cobwebs, rotting away with time. 

“You said you just hired a security guard?” Dazai reminded her, as the rest allowed themselves to roam the place.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said, “I thought it would help make sure nothing is moved, or stolen”

Who’d wanna rob a place like this?, Atsushi thought. Though it’s nice, there’s nothing of much value here, unless you’d want to sell the mushrooms growing from the carpet…Although, the arcade machines could have a lot of money in them. Not to mention the things themselves are probably worth a fortune.

He hummed, deep in thought.

“This restaurant featured robot mascots, is that right?” Kunikida asked.

“That’s right,”

“Where might they…be?”

Kunikida trailed off as he spotted Dazai, who found himself entranced by a big golden button at the side of the main stage.

“Dazai…” the man growled. 

Dazai straightened up and put his hand to his chest.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything, honest,” he lied.

Mrs. Breed-Wrisley chuckled quietly.

“It’s alright, go ahead,” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. With an excited push of the button, the curtains of the stage suddenly drew back, as music boomed from the speakers and the performers hidden behind sprung to life. Dazai let out an amused laugh as he stepped back to admire the spectacle, resting his arm on Kunikida’s shoulder. A blue bunny waved its hand in front of its guitar in sync to the song, along with a bear with the top hat, whose mouth moved up and down to make it look as if it were singing. On the other side of the stage, a duck of sorts showed off its cupcake, and moved its torso from side to side when suddenly the side stage swung open, and a fox slid out, waving its hook enthusiastically. 

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley whispered.

“Yeah!” Atsushi said

But she didn’t seem to hear. Was she talking to herself? When he looked at her it seemed like her gaze was glued to the stage. What was that on her face? Her head tilted to the side and a fond smile plastered on her face. Her eyes shone with the lights. Ah. Infatuation. That’s what it was. The red guitar the bunny held suddenly clicked. It sounded metallic, or almost like a lighter being turned on. Before they knew it, a boom escaped the guitar, causing Atsushi to yelp in surprise. A crackle of light shook the room, as the music slurred and they were all suddenly drowned in darkness. 

“Ah,” the woman chuckled, “They’re a little rusty, I’m sorry about that…”

Atsushi composed himself and joined his coworkers’ sides.

“Their glory days are long gone,” she said.

---

“Atsushiiiiii! Get over hereeeee!”

“Hold on!”

As the boy dried off from his shower and slipped on his sleeping wear, he hurried to exit the bathroom to attend to his mentor’s calls. They had settled in a hotel for the rest of the week. That’s how long they had to solve the case.

“A-A week?!” Kunikida cried.

“I ask that you understand,” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley sighed apologetically, “Lately, I”ve been having trouble keeping the wrecking companies away from this place and…well…”

“We can do it in a week!” Dazai assured her, and Kunikida looked at him with wide-eyed desperation. “You can count on us!”

Now the two detectives laid on their respective futons, each in their own little world. Kunikida muttered to himself as he looked over every word of every document in every file, scribbling his thoughts and theories into his notebook. Dazai, meanwhile, was humming to himself, laying belly down on the futon and kicking his legs while he too scribbled on his own book. His new survival book. 

“Ah! Atsushi, check it out!”

The man waved him over and Atsushi reluctantly approached. He looked down at the page, where Dazai had drawn right over the words into the empty space of the page.

“Wh-Why couldn’t you have drawn it smaller so it would fit on the empty part?” Atsushi grimaced.

“And let my creativity be restricted like that? I could never!”

Atsushi sat down beside him and the man then promptly pointed at his doodles.

“I drew my favorite!” 

He tapped on the drawing of the pirate fox they had seen earlier on the stage. It wasn’t a horrible drawing, funnily enough. A bit on the abstract side, but recognizable enough. The rest of his scribbles consisted of the fox doing several things, such as eating pizza, or being a pirate. There was a doodle of the fox’s stomach hatch, but Atsushi didn’t dare ask why he’d drawn that. 

“Which robot did you like?” Dazai asked.

“You sound like a child,” Kunikida said, still not looking up from his notes. “And, the term, you’ll find, is animatronic. Not robot,”

“Oh, what’s the difference? Isn’t that just the cooler name for it?”

Kunikida snapped upright just to glare at him, but he held the vile poison on his tongue for some other time. As the man shook his head and tried to focus again, Dazai turned his attention back to Atsushi. 

“Well?”

“Ah…eh…”  he thought about it, “I thought the duck was cute,”

“I think it’s a chicken,” Kunikida muttered.

“It looks like a duck,” Dazai countered.

“But it’s a chicken,”

“But it doesn’t look like one,”

Kunikida glared again.

“Must you make an argument out of everything?!”

“Fine, fine, here I’ll make it so we both win,”

Dazai took to his book, the sound of his pen scratching the paper filling the room. Atsushi tried to look over his shoulder, curiosity taking over. Upon finishing and revising it, he proudly revealed his drawing to his partner. It looked like some sort of duck-hen hybrid with the same bib the robot wore and a cupcake on its wing.

“See? It’s a chuck! Or a dicken? Or…”

Kunikida’s mouth dropped to the floor, completely horrified.

“Did you just draw on the book?!”

The bandaged man blinked.

“Oh. Yeah?”

The other stammered. 

“Why would you do that?!”

“I didn’t have any paper,” he stated matter-of-factly

Kunikida’s face transitioned through several different emotions at once.

“Wh-wha-you! You don’t draw on books!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s! It’s!” the man couldn’t find his words in his bewilderment, “Because it’s practically a crime!”

“Says who?”

“S-Says everyone?!”

The man was less angry and more just. Genuinely confused. And much to Atsushi’s relief, the interaction didn’t lead to a one sided boxing match as his two seniors chattered on about nonsensical nothings. Atsushi felt his chest grow warm as he relished in this strange comfort. It was the first time he’d ever gone on an overnight mission with anyone. To go on one with these two almost would seem like a train wreck, but in this moment he felt grateful to be there. Maybe this was what a sleepover would feel like? The boy barely noticed himself dozing off as he leaned on Dazai’s side and shut his eyes. With a content sigh, he thought:

Tomorrow is another day.

[ohnono1]

Tales of the Empire Experience

…….. I don’t know where to start.

Firstly SPOILERS! (Obviously), I’ll start with the first three episodes. Holy cow, General freaking Grievous. Damn was it incredible to see him once more. He was very menacing. Along with the battle droids. I actually felt scared for Morgan when she was coming under fire from the blasters. She looked so scared. During that time, the only remaining people of her species are her, Mother Talzen, Ventress, and Merrin. The other two episodes I couldn’t care less. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. Especially seeing Thrawn once again. But that’s not what I came to talk about. I’m here for a certain Mirialan.

Barriss Offee is the biggest reason why I watched this show. The last time we saw our beloved Jedi was when she committed a terrible crime against the Jedi Order. Her fate remaining unknown for the past DECADE! And now… let’s just say… Hallelujah. At first, I was incredibly nervous and disappointed that Barriss became an Inquisitor as shown in the trailers. And I grew more nervous when Vader was there. I was scared that he’ll finish her off. Not only that but commit terrible atrocities for the Empire. Now after seeing her story, thank god.

It was sad to see her kill her friend. Though it was because she had no other choice. It was either live or die. But other than that, she was still a freaking angel with the darkness of the Empire. The second episode was beautiful… and sad. As Lyn became aggressive against the townspeople, Barriss calmly asked a child about the whereabouts of the Jedi. If I was in the kid’s shoe, I would definitely say something to her. I wouldn’t say shit to Lyn. Just as the man said, “People are judge by their actions.” Or something like that. Lyn showed aggression while Barriss showed compassion. It melted my heart when the kid ran to Barriss and hugged her for protection. It was makes me happy and wonder how other similar situations played out with Barriss. Then her duel with one of the Jedi. She was able to calm down the duel and get the Jedi to surrender… until Lyn attacked. Then how easily Barriss dealt with Lyn afterwards. I literally squealed like a child when Barriss turned back into the light. Though short, it was incredible.

Ok… now comes the last episode. Now redeemed, Barriss is now a healer(As the people called her). I melted once more when I saw how older Barriss had become. And this is still during the reign of the Empire. She looked like a grandma, sort of. But then, trouble struck. When the black figure came out of the snow storm, I was frightened at the thought that it could be Vader. But here it was Lyn. Calming me down a little. Then came the duel with her and Barriss. Now how the turned tables. Now she was using the same method the Grand Inquisitor used on Barriss on Lyn, only not using the dark side. I’m happy that Barriss tries to ease the situation and tries to get Lyn back to the light. Then came the last 4 minutes. As Lyn aggressively tried to find a way, she stabbed Barriss on her side or stomach. My heart literally sank when I saw this. I had a feeling this would happen, but it still struck me hard. I slowly began crying. I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to live her life. But it also showed that Barriss didn’t even lay a hand on Lyn as she slowly broke her. It shows how far Barriss had come. Still, when I saw Barriss’ eyes closed, I thought that was it. Then Lyn promising that she’ll find them a way out. Walking out of the cave as the screen blackens.

Though it saddens me that Barriss might have died. It still relieves me that we finally got to see her Redemption. Long had we been begging for her to come back to the light, and we finally did it… but at a cost. I hope Lyn can save her. I really want to see her do more.

Before I end this off, here’s a little hope for Barriss. She was stabbed in her side or stomach. Plus, this is Disney Star Wars. Lightsaber damage do jackshit. Examples:

Finn after his back was slashed by Kylo Ren’s Saber. Next scene/movie he was fine.

Kylo being impaled by Rey in the stomach. Rey healed him afterwards.

Reva being stabbed twice by Anakin. Once as a kid and as an adult. Plus, she had no reach for medical attention. Yet somehow survived and became an Inquisitor and somehow getting to Tatooine.

Grand Inquisitor stabbed by Reva. Came back fine after Vader toyed with her and stabbing her.

Sabine stabbed by Shin. Same spot on her side and lived. Though she was immediately taken to the medical center.

Here’s an extra one: Fennc shot in the stomach and left for dead in the DESERT for gods how long. Then taken by Boba to someone who fixes her and now back from the dead or coma I don’t know.

Yeah… after listing these, I’m confident to say that Barriss will be ok. Other than that, we finally got what we wanted, Barriss’ Redemption. And I can finally rest.

Thanks for listening to my TedTalk. As the saying goes, May the 4th be with you. Always.

[anotherclassicpretence]

Another Star Wars: Rebels appreciation post incoming under the cut.

One thing about Rebels that people who scoff at it don't get is how it builds. The story-of-the-week format of S1 ultimately builds into a galaxy-spanning 6-episode arc that unites the themes of the past 4 seasons and is just so damn intense in the best way. It'd give you whiplash if you switched from S1 to S4. And yet it never devalues the silliness of the first season! The scope of the show takes us with it on a journey of how Rebels are created, how the characters' own perception of a Rebellion is formalised and evolves over time. And yes, that means seeing them embrace the darkness and difficult choices that come with a growing network whose goal far outstrips its resources. And yet, it comes together all the same- cell by cell, we see how the Spectres recruit and bring together people who join the Rebellion. At the end, as Kanan says, all paths come together- the subtle philosophy of the Force no longer remains separate from the battle on the ground. You need to see Ezra's entire growth to fully appreciate the staggering amount of effort that came into those final episodes.

I won't compare it to The Clone Wars, because that show had a certain constraint with respect to its characters and ending that Rebels didn't, but it does maintain a linearity of tone throughout- gathering darkness on a galaxy-wide scale. That is the story it tells, and it suits the format. But Rebels is about the slightest glimmer of hope shining through a darkness that descended over a decade ago, that seemed impenetrable; a glimmer that through its faith and courage slowly grew into a flame from which the phoenix of light could once again rise (yes, the phoenix was deliberate XD). Please give it a chance- besides, S1 literally is as much fun as you'll let it be.

As for it being childish, it honestly isn't. Not even the first few episodes. The theme of compromise, sacrifice, and forced passivity is there throughout. Just because it isn't present in the dialogue, doesn't mean it's absent. The terror of a slow occupation of Lothal, with the casual appropriation of land and evicting of citizens, is in fact a focus right from the start. And later, we have the central question of "what does being a Rebel really mean" becoming a central part of the show, and we get perspectives ranging from Saw's direct, unscrupulous view of it as a war, to Mon Mothma's cautious, conservative approach that wants to secure the long-term victory at the expense of short-term interests- and we see the Spectres, exposed to both of these, realise that neither is good enough on its own. They find their own answer, but it's not shown as the answer. It is simply that they played the role they were given as well as they could, while somehow maintaining their subjective moral compasses.

I don't even know why I made this post, just... please don't hate on this show without watching it. It introduces so many cool and thought-provoking concepts and its characters have so much heart! <3 (Obligatory "Hera Syndulla is the best- even her archrival agrees" addendum here). The different planets we see, from Mandalore to Geonosis, and of course the villains!! Thrawn is one of the most characters ever in SWR, and the wisely limited apprearance of Vader shows him as terrifying and darkly strategic as ever.

Also a major strength of it, for me, is that apart from a few glaring instances, it's avoided the "telling instead of showing" trap. Quite a bit is left for the audience to infer. You can watch it in any mood, honestly, and you'll have fun. Except the last few ones, uhhh you'll see what I mean.

[lazaruspiss]

DC Pride 2022

wee! i don't remember liking this one as much, but we'll see.

the foreword is very sweet, i'm endeared by it. The first story though... not so much.

"Pride's been a party for decades" - Jon Kent

Gay marriage in the United States was legalized in 2015. This story came out only 7 years after same-sex couples were legally recognized nationwide. We have also been actively dealing with anti-lgbtq legislation for a while now. It's some head in the sand bullshit.

I have strong and complicated feelings about this story. First off, I wonder how much say authors get in which character they're in charge of? Could they just not find any queer writers who knew who Jon was? This is probably the worst story I've ever seen from Devin Grayson, it's just so weirdly and blatantly tone deaf. I saw some people critique her portrayal of Damian on a racial basis when this first came out, but honestly I think it could be chalked up to that he was raised by assassins, I don't think it's an immediate racism-red flag if he's characterized a little too violently. He also very quickly shifts gears to telling Jon his dad would be proud of him, and caring about him in his own Damian way. I'm more hung up on how it's... Some of these stories are lighthearted and don't touch on oppression, but this story actively dismisses the idea of oppression. It almost feels sarcastic, a part of me yells that it's mocking Jon's shallow worldview, but that doesn't really make sense. It's weird. Damian is written off as strange and paranoid, and Jon is meant to be the main character, but it's Damian's perspective that I'm able to most relate to it through. This is also just a weird story for Devin Grayson to be writing. She thrives the most in angst/tragedy/drama, not... whatever that was.

Second of all, I can never get past Jon/Jay. Jay seems to be a queer asian character that was introduced by, as far as I'm aware, a white cishet author, and was introduced through a three page school shooting which was used solely as a plot device to make Jon look #badass. Every time Jay comes up, all I can think about is Tom Taylor's hack work and that damn school shooter introduction. Congrats to anyone who can get over that, but I cannot.

i'm too unfamiliar with the characters to properly enjoy it, but i do love the recognition for the absolute gayness that is wrestling.

i do have a soft spot for the queer stories that touch on the complexity of parent-child relationships. hawke's not really hostile but incredibly uncomfortable relationship with ollie hits a specific nerve. a few of the stories in '21 were like that too, where they build onto some specific yet relatable struggles that children and their parents run into. the letter, the metaphors, everything about this one is so sweet. another tear-jerker for me tbh. seeing damian and hawke interact at the end is so cute, and i do kinda wish that the gang from lazarus island could've stuck around and been damian's "ensemble cast" so to speak. ah well. they'll have a groupchat in my heart.

not to be a downer again, but the stories that reference the very real struggles that queer people still face really serve to make the first story feel worse and worse. anyways, god i love alysia. yeah i don't have anything interesting to say, this comic was more action focused which isn't my strong suit, but it's a fun read.

it's nice to see a light-hearted meeting the family scene every once in a while. i'd say this story does a better job than the last one of making me feel for jackson, and gives a bit about his backstory. i don't know how it lines up with the rest of his comics, but it stands alone nicely. it also ventures into feelings of displacement, home, family. i like it.

are noir wlw a thing now. they should be a thing. i think as far as stories that're in direct reference to a different series go, this one manages to not be too confusing when going in blind. the cannibalism could very well be a metaphor, and the story touches on what is pretty specifically a biphobia thing, which is all pretty interesting. im also a sucker for "monochromatic comic gains color at the very end to portray a change for the better" ngl.

they act like ray shunned his bf but like. he gently blocked a kiss and whispered that he didn't want to in front of the team. i get that the message is about internalized shame and all that, but what they call "freak out" i call "gently setting a boundary".

simple, to the point, made me tear up. again.

tim story :/ i like him i swear, he's just been so boring recently. it's simple fluff. there's just none of the insanity or weirdness that made me like tim and bernard in the first place is all.

i absolutely adore the art in this one. are they play fighting to figure out who gets to top? it sounds like they're play fight to see who gets to top. harlivy canon prey roleplay and/or CNC kink? very cute end, if not a bit corny. we now know they're top4top.

both jesse's stories end up feeling more "flash" than "pride", but they're still fun. also holy shit earth-11 dami and jon are SO cute what the hell??? dami w the buns and the sleeveless top and the belt, jon w the headband and the ripped leggings under her shorts, ohhh im so in love. fem klarion is also super cute. i wasnt expecting the masc donnaraven but ill take it.

you know that thing in shows where the single tear rolls down? yeah. it's a must read, really. devastating and healing all the same.

[cmkren]

The Arishok and His Hero.

;Da2 Arishok x Fem!HoF

The Arishok and the HoF once had an intimate but complicated relationship from when he was a Sten. Tensions are rising in Kirkwall, and his mind subconsciously drifts to a simpler time. A time with her.

Unfortunately for him, there’s one thing he’s forgotten.

a/n: erm, whats up !! I remember struggling writing this because I always though the arishok had like … long hair. so when i figured out he didn’t i just made it a plot point to make things sadder. I am genuinely so sad we don’t get to romance sten in dao argh

also erm sorry got my lore wrong LMAO pretend this is an au where dao sten gets the arishok role immediately after returning

“Well looky you. You aged like fine wine, huh, Sten? Or— I suppose it’s the Arishok now.”

She snarked, a grin on her face but it seemed there was something else behind it. Something deeper, more complex than just two companions reuniting after a long time. That’s all they were, and had been to the outside world. Companions. They didn’t notice the looks, the gentle touches, the desire when one passed the other. Back in the day, that was. Now look at them. Having withered slightly with age.

Mishka had streaks of gray in her hair, though still looking relatively young. Not to mention the barrage of scars on her body— more than when the Arishok knew her. When he had still just been Sten. He changed the most between the two, after all. He was now the leader of the Qunari militia. His hair double the length it was back then, some graying too of course. Wrinkles finally showing up more, more apparent. Long, beautiful horns that Sten lacked back then. Horns she wanted to grab.

“The Hero of Ferelden came to visit. How delightful.” He spoke dryly, making the elf snort and cross her arms. She looked more Dalish now, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Perhaps just a little amused, considering how she used to curse the Dalish as if they were Darkspawn themselves. Perhaps she made some amends with her past and moved on. That would be a first for Mishka. If she had many of those left. The Arishok certainly never expected to see her again, after their departure from one another. Especially after the final fight. Yet here she was.

He sat atop his throne, in the Qunari compound that they had to make due to the misfortune of being stuck in Kirkwall of all cities. Due to his mistake. The stress and tension that’d been building over the last few years, it felt like a pot was going to soon boil over. Being far from Val Pollen didn’t help either— because that meant no Tamassarans. So maybe… that’s why he didn’t call for the Stens around him to apprehend her as she sauntered towards the throne.

His stony stare digging holes into her, watching the familiar movement coming from a woman he used to hold quite close to his chest. Literally and figuratively. The Sten didn’t turn their heads. Maybe it was because he didn’t say anything, or it could have been another reason. He didn’t care. His eyes were only on her. The damned arrogant elf.

The Hero of Ferelden. Small enough for him to tower over, but not fragile that she’d shatter as soon as he put his hand on her waist and squeezed. Definitely not fragile, as she’s shown him dozens of times. That was just when she was starting to hone her skills too, he could only imagine what a decade of hard work and training could do for her. She who sat so languidly in his lap, calloused hand reaching up to caress his face. It made him jolt. That wasn’t the surprising bit. The surprising bit was the way he then keened, and leaned into her touch.

He took in her features. The gnarly burn mark that forever scarred the left side of her face, and travelling to her shoulder. A mark he took upon himself those years ago to heal until she no longer flinched and hissed when he traced his finger over the coarse skin.

Lips that whispered the filthiest things to him. That would spread into a grin when she finally started figuring out how to read him. How to tell what would rile him up and what would absolutely piss him off.

Her hand travelled higher until it tangled itself in his hair, her other hand on his chest. Eyes flitted half closed, looking up at him through long lashes. He who only leaned further down, hardly letting her be the one chasing after him. Instead, he was the one chasing after her. Her touch. Her words.

Her lips parted, putting on display the sharp points she called her teeth. Whenever she raked those across his skin, it felt like a dagger gliding along his body. Little daggers she had in her mouth. “You, Sten,” she breathed out, breath hot against own mouth. His lips parted just the slightest, as if he expected something. Anything.

“Are a useless fucking tool.”

Then there it was. Her hands fell limp. Her head knocked against his own, and the lively body that once sat perched on his lap became limp like a rag doll. The stench of death and charred flesh, the stench of something earthy and dank, the smell of Darkspawn blood.

The top of Fort Drakon. The Archdemon’s corpse on the ground. Next to it, the Hero of Ferelden. She was Grey Warden, to die killing the Archdemon was her purpose. He knew better than anyone— anyone that to stop her from fulfilling that purpose would have made him a hypocrite. So who was he, the man who followed the Qun to the T, who was he to deny her that privilege of purpose he devoted and spoke of? That’s why, while everyone rushed to her side to help fight the Archdemon, he stayed away. He wasn’t there when she drew her last breath. When she fulfilled her purpose.

What of his purpose?

As he stared at the Asala she returned to him. The weapon he killed for when he found out it was missing. For the first time in a while, after that fight. Her death. He questioned it. He questioned it all. The Qun. His life. His faiths. His purpose.

Suddenly, she appeared before him. The Archdemon looming from behind, its breath puffing out smoke with every breath it took. The sky a bewitching and venomous purple, Mishka’s lifeless eyes stared into his. “Tal-Vashoth. Your faith wavered. Your people should have thrown you out,” a storm brew above, “just like you did to me.”

A flash and a bang.

Then nothing.

When vision came to him once again, he was staring up at his tent. Surrounded by handmade, quality cushions all for the Arishok. His bed roll a mess, no doubt from him tossing and turning. His body slightly damp from sweat, as he pushed himself up and off the ground. Locks of hair falling in front of him, as he breathed in and out.

She was dead. She has been for ten years. That had been a figment of his imagination. Unbeknownst to him, it was the guilt that had been building up for a decade. Guess it finally spilled over during this time of high stress. He kneeled, quickly dressing himself and making himself look presentable. Anything to take his mind off of… that.

“Arishok. The diplomat from the Viscount has finally arrived.” Spoke a Sten outside his tent. The Arishok only grunted, right. He had visitors today. More to add to his migraine, he supposed. He slinked out of his tent, eyes squinting just the slightest as the sunlight hit his vision. His head throbbed. He could feel it, still feel her touch. The way she pulled on his hair, so close to the protruding horns adorned with gold bands.

“You know, you’d look absolutely dashing with long hair. I’ve always loved that look on men. Especially you.”

Spoken to him, by her during a drunken night. Oghren convinced her to drink with him, and that made her ten times the more honest than she usually was. Which was honestly a feat. There was certainly more to that memory, but he’d rather leave it untouched. The Arishok looked back to his tent. He supposed a change in his appearance wasn’t criminal.

•••

“What should I say, hm? Fenris, you know a bit of Qun right? C’mon, give me some phrases!”

“I’m afraid learning them right here right now when we’ve already entered the compound would be a bit of poor taste, Hawke. Should have asked me before we came.”

“D’awh, s’okay Hawke! Sure elfy there will gladly aid you in translating some of our delightful conversation topics of the day.”

“Careful— The elf might just end up with us gutted. You know how he is.”

Four pairs of eyes landed on him when he finally walked out. A blonde mage, a white haired elf, a dwarf with a cross bow, and a human. A human with..

“Speak. Now.” His voice came out as a rumble, perhaps with a little more animosity than needed. Yet he could not help it. He sliced off his hair moments before coming out so he wouldn’t have to have a constant reminder of that woman— and here another one was. With similar hair colour and skin, not to mention facial markings as well. And an arrogant little smirk on her face.

Even in death she found ways to piss him off.

[weixuldo]

Enigma// Ch 10

Anakin X Reader

(A/N: hiii guys, back from the depths of nothingness lolll, it’s been so busy here and i’m genuinely sorry for the late updates, but i appreciate all of u sm for sticking with me and my story !! love all of u)

A glimpse into the past

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of alcholism, cursing, ptsd, mental health issues, military typical violence, injury depiction

_________________________________________

“I figured I should let you know what happened, cause If I don’t I know your crafty ass will find out some way or another” he said as he learned back on the couch.

You knitted your brows together and just looked at him, what was he talking about?

He examined your expression and noticed your confusion. For a split second you saw his face falter, before he looked back into your eyes.

“It was around a decade ago, Ben and I were stationed overseas. We were loading up one of our helicopters with our squad”

Oh.

He was telling you what happened to him.

“ I was fuckin’ around and looking for this stupid pocket watch I thought I dropped, when all of a sudden I heard something drop on the ground diagonally to me. Turns out it was a bomb.” he lamented as he sipped on his beer.

You sat quietly, not knowing if you should respond or not.

He let out a half-laugh, half-huff of air, “The bastards who threw the grenade were pretty off with their timing ‘cause most of us were already onboard”. 

“Once I noticed what it was I yelled back to the guys and started running… obviously, I’m no track star cause I got blown up.”

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek before continuing. 

“Only me and this other guy ended up getting hit. I gave the guys still on the ground enough notice to get far enough away that the explosion wouldn’t reach them.”

“Anakin… That’s terrible. I’m so sorry” you responded, not knowing what to say.

He shrugged, “It is what it is, just though i’d rather tell you myself than you finding out some other way”

“You really didn’t have to, I would have respected your privacy” 

“Ehh, I also felt like telling you so you would have a better scope of what's wrong with me if I need help sometime” he said, not making eye contact with you.

“Why would you want me to help? I know you're a lot closer with Ben and Ahsoka” you asked.

He finished his beer with a big gulp and placed the empty bottle on the end table next to him. 

“I’ve had issues with drinking in the past-” he watched as your eyes darted to the bottle beside him.

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m all good now”.

“They assumed I was drinking because of the accident and the pain and ever since I came back from rehab a couple of years ago they are still weary of me drinking… I know they really just want the best for me, but it still pisses me off when they look so judgmental”.

He paused to clear his throat and straighten his back.

“So I can’t call them if something happens when I’ve been drinking cause they’ll probably try to have an intervention or some shit. Next thing, they’d admit me to rehab again and I really don’t need to go there”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go back?” You asked before you could filter your thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure. I don’t need alcohol to function and plus the reason I started drinking in the first place isn’t as relevant nowadays” he retorted.

“If I may ask, if it wasn’t from the accident, why did you start drinking?”.

He shook his head with a small smile before looking at you.

“My Fiance. Well, ex-fiance now, I guess.”

He had been engaged before?

“I had been with her for almost nine years when my accident happened. We were highschool sweethearts and I asked her to marry me before I went overseas. She was all I thought about over there, the other guys would go out and have fun with the locals, but I always stayed true to her. I was head over fuckin’ heels for her.” he exhaled a defeated laugh before taking a deep breath.

“When I was finally brought back home she visited me in the hospital… I can still remember her face as she entered my room.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, you could tell this was hard for him.

“She stuck with me for the first few months, I really thought we were gonna make it… What a fuckin’ dumbass” he scolded himself.

“She seemed more distant when I started physio and got started with my prosthetics, but what I think really did her in was the consultation with my doctor about future endeavors…”

You were invested in his story and patiently listened. He turned to face you and made an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“God, why am I telling you all of this?”

“If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have t-” you began.

“I’m fine, I just don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you”

“Anyways, My injuries were quite extensive… Obviously” he motioned towards himself.

“The doctor informed us of some of the changes that would be present in my life. I would have chronic respiratory issues from some of the shrapnel that lodged into my chest, I’d have to learn how to use the new prosthetics, and I’d need 24/7 care for the first few years. But the cherry on the top was when the doctor let us know I wouldn’t be able to have kids”.

Not what you expected.

“Yeah, I know, out of everything…that. Yeah, she was really big on having a family and I guess she was against adoption. But when she heard I wouldn’t be able to give her a child, it was over. I could tell she had checked out of the relationship.”

“Anakin, that’s- I’m so, so sorry” you offered.

“Yeah, that really messed me up… I mean I loved her and we both knew it wasn’t my fault… But I understand, she never asked for any of that… It was just too much for her. I really was a burden” he sadly explained.

Your heart hurt for him, how could he blame himself… You understood it was probably a really hard adjustment for her, but at the same time you couldn’t understand; if you truly loved someone, you wouldn’t leave that easily.

“I just wish she would have talked to me about her decision instead of just leaving. I mean I get you don’t want to be seen as the girl who left her crippled fiance in the middle of his recovery, but I think I deserved an actual conversation.” 

You could see his eyes getting glassy before shook his head and looked at you.

“And you know, I don’t wish ill upon her at all. But it does hurt a little seeing her living her dream.” 

“What does she do now?” you asked

“Funny actually, the reason I drank so much after she left was because as much as I wanted to just forget her, I couldn't escape hearing or seeing her.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Shortly after she left, she campaigned for a seat in the senate and I saw her ads and commercials everywhere. Everyone was rooting for her too, so I couldn’t grieve in peace. I guess it was selfish of me, but I couldn’t handle seeing her that much, so I turned to alcohol to help me forget”.

“Did she get the position?”

“Yeah, Senator Padme Amidala” he said somberly.

Your eyes widened as you made the connections, “Wait, she’s the one who passed the bill to give disabled veterans more funds to help them transition back to civilian life.. But that would have been after the accident?”

“Yeah, I guess she felt kind of guilty for leaving without a word, so at least I got better quality prosthetics, but that didn’t really help my broken heart.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you shifted towards him, instinctively you placed a hand on his hand and looked into his blue eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Anakin”

He looked at you with a surprised expression before his gaze drifted down to your hand on his. A small trace of blush creeped onto his face before he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, now you know,” he shrugged.

You studied his expression, he couldn’t stop staring at you… Did you have something on your face?

Before you could back away to check, he gently placed his lips onto yours. This kiss was like no other he had given you before, it was tender, it was meaningful. 

You often found yourself worrying that most of your interactions with Anakin were purely fueled by lust and attraction, but this one…

You melted into it and placed your hands gently on his cheeks before pulling away. His eyes were glassy and he was flushed, he was so vulnerable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Nothing”

“Ok” 

You laid back into the couch and pulled him so that his head was on your chest. You stroked his hair as he nuzzled into you. Maybe later he would be peeved you did that, but you knew he needed it right now…so did you. 

After holding him for a moment he broke the silence, 

“Ya, know… I didn’t think anyone had the capacity to care about me anymore after my accident… I refused to believe anyone could show me compassion outside of plain pity…”

 You shifted to face him and rested him against the couch before you gazed deeply into his watery eyes.

“You’re the first person in a long time… that treated me like a normal human. You approached me that night without an insensitive comment, without pity….you just talked to me…” he trailed off as the tears began to fall.

“Oh, Anakin” you sighed as you drew him into a comforting embrace and brushed his hair. He shook as he sobbed into your chest. 

‘I-i’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didnt m-mean to ..’

“Shh, its ok. It’s alright, Ani”

He leaned up and tried to catch his breath but you could tell he was struggling. Remembering his inhaler, you quickly left the couch to grab it from the night stand. Once you returned, you administered the pump to him and he slowly began to come down. 

“Don’t ever be sorry for your feelings.. I’m here for you” you whispered into his ear as he leaned against you.

He exhaled a small “thank you” before you helped lay him down; he was exhausted.

You grabbed a blanket from the other room and lifted his legs onto the couch for him. Once you covered him you took a scrap of paper and left him a note.

As you left his apartment, you felt an odd sensation weighing on your heart.

Were you falling for him?

***

a/n: so yeaaaa he’s opening up!! not saying he still won’t b a dick haha, buuut there will def b some more tender moments:) also srry again for the late updates im in my college bio class and it’s actually so challenging

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana

[fizzycherrycola]

Alfred & Matt, Stargazing

It’s a clear summer night, perfect for spotting stars. Two brothers bond, sharing science and admiring the universe. I wrote this ages ago for @hwsnabroszine​ and now I can finally share it. Please enjoy!

A Girl Called Hubble

“What’s going to happen to her?” Matthew inquires.

Alfred glances up from his personal telescope, a flashlight highlighting his golden features in the midnight dark. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“The Hubble telescope. Is she...?”

“Oh.” There’s a touch of sadness in Alfred’s tone, which trickles into the soft symphony of crickets, cicadas, and other rural evening sounds. Looking away, he resumes fiddling with the dials on his viewfinder. “I mean, she’s not being decommissioned yet. I think NASA has some plans for joint missions with Webb, so that’ll add a few more years to her life. Eventually though, maybe in a decade, they’ll make an announcement. Most likely... she’ll be set on a course to collide with the atmosphere and burn up.”

Matthew blinks. That seems... harsh, even if Hubble is just a machine.  

He rolls the chunky flashlight around in his hands, an industrial strength thing that Alfred keeps in his pickup truck for emergencies and stargazing nights like this. Its synthetic light cuts through the natural darkness, tracing the outline of fluttering moths and the wild grasses stomped flat by Alfred’s tires. Matthew tilts it to better illuminate his brother’s work and nibbles his bottom lip.

“How come?” Matthew eventually asks.

Alfred hums. “Well, she’s past her expiry date. You've got to remember, some of Hubble’s machinery was built back in the 80’s. If something important fails, like her guidance system, she could become another hunk of space debris, zooming uncontrollably around the Earth. And that’s a huge risk for space flights, satellites, and the ISS. It’s sad, but I mean... it has to happen.”  

He goes quiet for a moment, but not for long. Never for long. In an instant, he turns to Matthew with a big grin on his face, his eyes shining brilliantly behind his glasses. “Hey, want to hear something cool?”

Matthew sighs, but can’t help smiling. “Sure.”

“Did you know that even a tiny screw bolt travelling at 4 miles a second is strong enough to punch through a tank? There’s no atmosphere in outer space to slow it down, so it can just keep going faster and faster. Pretty wild, huh?”

“Yeah. You mention that, like, every single time we talk about space.”

“Wait, really? Damn. I guess I should start throwing some different facts your way! Have I told you about black holes and event horizons?”

“Yup.”

“How about neutron stars? Oh! Or quasars?”

“Uh-huh.”

“...the Goldilocks Zone? You know, there are actually a bunch of habitable planets in the TRAPPIST-1 system. And it’s only 40 lightyears away from Earth!”

“You bring that up literally every time you have a new theory about aliens.”

Alfred tuts. “Well... shit.”

Matthew's smile turns sheepish. “Sorry.”

“S’all good.” Alfred taps open his phone, double-checking his night sky tracking app, mouth twisted into the same, familiar pout from his childhood.

The warm summer breeze overtakes their talk, rustling Canada’s hair and t-shirt. From his seat in the truck bed, surrounded by threadbare blankets and pillows, he swings his feet. Humid air drags up the faint scent of dried corn husks, hay, and whatever else was once grown in this long-abandoned farm field. The sky is gorgeous tonight; barely a cloud to be seen, it glitters with starlight and far-flung galaxies. Alfred picked a good night for skywatching.

Originally, they came out here for a special reason, bringing along Alfred’s private, civilian-use telescope. It is massive, about the size of England’s old armchair, but mobile with its tripod, and probably the most expensive on the amateur astronomy market. They parked Alfred’s truck in the middle of the field, set up his device, and saw it: just a speck in the giant magnifying lens, insignificant against the stars, but it was there. The new James Webb space telescope. A cosmic daffodil with goldenrod mirrors spread wide. A novel machine that will help humanity see and understand the universe.

They stared at it for minutes, then an hour, as Alfred geeked out, listing its many capabilities and functions. But then, after he finally ran out of things to say, after they glimpsed Jupiter and Mars, Sagittarius and Ursa Major, Alfred suggested they stick around a while more to view Hubble when she, too, crosses the night sky.

Despite the heat, Matthew drags a cotton blanket over his shoulders. “That James Webb telescope is going to show us some amazing things.”

“It sure is,” Alfred mutters.

“...Although, I’m a little sad that Hubble is running out of time. She took some amazing photos, too. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Alfred pauses before giving Matthew a look. “...C’mon dude, you don’t have to make me feel better.” Matthew shrugs. Alfred turns to the sky, the expanse, voice going quiet. “She’s just a piece of equipment. I don’t get all upset over every Ford F-150 that ends up in the scrap yard.”

Matthew picks at a loose thread on his blanket, unconvinced. Having known his brother for centuries, it’s easy to tell when Alfred is being disingenuous. He was morose when the Opportunity rover went dark. Distant, after learning that in 2025, no one will be able to contact Voyager 1. And when he eventually realised that Curiosity sings Happy Birthday to itself, every year, all alone on Mars... well.  

“I think Hubble is a lot more special than a pickup truck.”  

“Meh.”

“Stinky gas-guzzlers.”

Alfred’s lips twitch and Matthew knows he’s on the right track. “Hey, don’t shit-talk my trucks.”

“And more expensive, too. By, like, a few BILLION dollars.”

Alfred’s expression cracks and he chuckles. “Sure, okay. You’ve got me there.”  

A weight lifts in Matthew’s chest and his restless legs swing higher, sneaker laces tapping his heels to the tune of his heart.

Then, Alfred checks his phone once more. He suddenly lights up. Ducking down to look through the scope’s eyepiece, he shouts with joy. “Hey! She’s here! Come on, come over here and see.”  

Matthew’s eyes go wide. He shimmies, sliding off the truck bed and tossing his blanket aside. Hopping over to Alfred, who steps aside, he peeks through the scope, glasses clinking against the viewfinder. And there she is, in all her tin-can glory.  

Surrounded by the dark sea of space, Hubble looks so very small, even with the aid of Alfred’s chunky telescope. Her solar panels are extended like squarish wings, helping her soar high above the world. One of the many machines floating through outer space that fuels imaginations and wins affection, satisfying the universal thirst for knowledge with each photo and landmark discovery.

Grass crunches as Alfred shuffles his feet. He doesn’t launch into a lesson on astrophotography or detail the known nebulae. He says nothing, silence stretching far beyond the atmosphere. Then, murmuring: “She might have been expensive, but she was worth it. She was worth every single penny.”

Matthew rights himself and peers at Alfred’s silhouette. The faint glow of the Milky Way, a great band of lustrous cloud, stretches behind him. Matthew doesn’t raise the flashlight to catch his brother’s expression. He doesn’t need to.

“I’m sorry, Al.”

A dark arm comes up to knead the back of Alfred’s neck. Quietly, he sighs.  

“...Thanks. I’ll be okay. She’s still around for a while longer.”  

The night rolls on, the stars turn overhead, and soon, Hubble is out of sight. Sailing across the sky, lenses facing the distant heavens, dutifully, she will record all she can. Until her instruments expire and her circuits give out, she will inspire Alfred, Matthew, and the entire human world.

End / Fin

~~~

Author’s Notes

I had to fudge a few things, scientifically, in order to make this fic work. Because of its orbiting pattern, Hubble is best seen between the 28th parallel north and the 28th parallel south. So, if you live near the equator, you can easily see Hubble with a telescope. Being further north or south of those latitudes makes spotting it trickier. Despite this, I decided to put Alfred and Matt in a corn field, rather than on a beach at the southern tip of Florida. I preferred the vibe, since corn fields are often connected to outer space in American stories (see: 2014’s Interstellar and multiple films featuring aliens.)

The JWST is also hard to spot. For starters, it’s very, very far away. If you’re able to spot it, it’ll just look like a dot, even with the aid of a telescope. Depending on which way the mirrors are facing, it's visible when it catches the Sun’s rays, or it’s completely black when tilted away. And unlike Hubble, it doesn’t orbit Earth. It orbits the Sun. So, the math involved in spotting it is... way harder than what I can manage on my own. Let’s just pretend that Alfred is a god-king at astronomy and knows exactly when and where to point his telescope to view the JWST.

Being an amateur astronomy nerd, I loved writing this fic. However, I tried not to weigh things down with too much technical jargon. If you're interested in learning more about space (and some of the things mentioned in this story, like neutron stars and black holes), please check out ‘SciShow Space’ on Youtube, or visit NASA’s official website. ❤

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Stars Around My Scars

Chapter 1 - All Eyes On Me (Read on Ao3)

“Why me?” Magnus asked at last.

“Because,” Raphael said, his voice thin and drawn. “Ragnor, and every other warlock I’ve called have decided that this situation is exactly your type.”

Magnus frowned. “How many warlocks did you call before me? Actually, wait, don’t answer that. What do you mean this situation is my type?”

“Shadowhunter,” Raphael said, and it all clicked into place.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but I don’t-“

“Black hair, blue eyes,” Raphael went on as if he hadn’t heard Magnus. “Lost cause who needs saving. Death wish? Definitely. Come here as soon as you can.”

I don’t involve myself with Shadowhunters anymore, Magnus had wanted to say, but it didn’t matter. Raphael had already cut the call.

Magnus sighed and dropped his phone to the side, locking eyes with Chairman Meow who'd been sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, watching him with his beady green cat eyes ever since Raphael called him two minutes ago.

“I guess I’ll be going off to the Hotel Dumort, then,” Magnus said.

Chairman meowed.

All Magnus was told about this situation was “a violation of the Accords” and “we need you here NOW”. Oh, and that apparently the perpetrator was a Shadowhunter. Raphael had said he was ‘Magnus’s type’ - as if Magnus would seduce a Shadowhunter into leaving the Downworld alone.

Besides, if a Shadowhunter was wrecking havoc at the Hotel Dumort, Magnus doubted he could be seduced by a warlock anyways.

But when he portalled into the foyer of the Hotel Dumort, there was no havoc. There was only silence.

“Raphael!” Magnus called out. Faint echoes of his own voice reached his ears, followed immediately by a voice from right behind him.

“There you are.”

Magnus jumped and whirled around, calming down when he saw it was just Raphael.

“Damn you vampires and your silent footsteps,” Magnus cursed silently. Raphael didn't grace him with a reply.

“He’s in there,” Raphael cocked his head in the direction of what Magnus recognised to be the ballroom. Well, the former ballroom. No balls had been held in there for the past few decades, atleast not to Magnus’s knowledge.

“What’s the problem?” Magnus asked. “Because there doesn’t seem to be one.”

"Walk and talk," Raphael grumbled, gesturing at Magnus to follow him as he turned on his heel and headed into the ballroom.

"He came in here a while ago," Raphael said. "And has been goading the clan into sucking his blood."

"What?" Magnus knitted his eyebrows. "Why would he-"

"I don't know," Raphael almost growled, clearly agitated at the situation. "I've kept the clan at bay so far but I can't hold them for long. The Shadowhunter entered the Hotel at his own will, technically we are at liberty to do with him as we please, but-"

"He's a Shadowhunter," Magnus murmured. He had entered the ballroom now, and throes of Vampires parted at the sight of him and Raphael, giving way to the middle of the room. "If he dies here, the rest of them will come down on you."

"Precisely," Raphael said, his voice clipped. "Stop him."

Magnus stepped ahead of Raphael, making his way through the vampires as quickly as he could. The last of the crowd gave way, and then Magnus saw the Shadowhunter for the first time.

He was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, head bowed, a pale finger tracing something in the dirt lined floor. If Raphael hadn't told Magnus he was a Shadowhunter, Magnus would've thought he was a mundane - he was certainly dressed like one, in a gray sweater too large for him and similarly oversized jeans.

The boy must've heard Magnus’s footsteps, for he raised his head, cold blue eyes cutting across Magnus’s gaze.

Something about that gaze troubled Magnus. There was something hollow in there, almost dead.

There was also something familiar about him.

"Is that…?" Magnus murmured.

"Maryse Lightwood's brat?" said Raphael, who had by now caught up to Magnus. "Yes."

Another piece clicked into place.

"Well, then there's definitely something shady going on," Magnus whispered to him.

"What are you talking about?"

Magnus whirled, looking once again at the Shadowhunter.

"If you're talking about me," he said, "You might as well say it to my face."

Magnus briefly locked eyes with Raphael, and then stepped forward.

"What do you want, Shadowhunter?" He asked, loud and firm.

The Shadowhunter was silent a moment, then he tilted his head, the way Chairman did sometimes when he assessed a stranger, and said, "I want to die."

Magnus was stumped.

He blinked, once, then twice, and quickly recovering from his stupor he asked, "Why?"

"It's none of your business," The Shadowhunter said hurriedly. "I don't see how any of this is your business, in fact. I want to die, and I know vampires love Nephilim blood. I get what I want, and they get what they want."

"Except for the part where they turn you into a vampire instead of keeping you dead," Magnus pointed out. "Or mommy and daddy come after all of us for murdering their baby boy. They're notoriously famous for that."

"I wouldn’t mind that. Becoming a vampire," The Shadowhunter said, to Magnus’s surprise. "And as for the other thing…" Something shuttered close in his eyes. "You won't have to worry about my family coming down on you. You won't have to worry about any Shadowhunter coming down on you, in fact."

The boy raised his hands, palms facing himself, and it took Magnus a moment to realise what was wrong with them.

There was no Voyance rune on either of his hands.

"As far as they're concerned," he said, and now his voice was hollow too. "I am no longer one of them."

Magnus liked to imagine he had two brain cells. A back one and a front one.

The back one was fast - it did all the legwork and simply gave Magnus the information he needed in that moment. The front one, though somewhat slow, told him what he needed to do with the information he had.

Right now, the back brain cell was telling him, The Shadowhunter for some reason got deruned and is now practically a mundane in the eyes of the Law.

All the front one was willing to give him was, Fuck.

There was murmuring breaking out among the vampires now. Magnus couldn't hear what they were saying, but he suspected the gist of it was something like, Well, if he's deruned, there's no harm in drinking his blood and killing him, right?

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP! NO ONE IS GOING TO DRAIN THE LIGHTWOOD BOY!" Raphael yelled, confirming Magnus’s thoughts.

"Lady Camille would've let us drain him," a vampire muttered sullenly from someone behind.

"Dale!" another vampire hissed from nearby, this one a woman. "We don't mention Lady Camille around Magnus Bane, remember?"

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Raphael. Raphael simply shrugged.

"Simply trying to spare your feelings," he said.

Magnus sighed. "Nevermind that. Now-" He turned back to the Nephilim boy, who was still sitting on the ground, eyes flitting among the vampires - who were still muttering in spite of Raphael's orders. "What about him?"

"You have to get him out of here," Raphael hissed. "Now."

Before Magnus could even think of what to do next, the Shadowhunter stood up in one swift move, graceful even with the lack of runes. Just as swiftly, he brought his wrist to his mouth, teeth tearing at pale skin.

The dirt on the floor quickly soaked up the splash of deep red blood that landed on it.

Like a ripple, the smell of fresh Angelic blood hit the noses of every single vampire in the room.

Behind Magnus, Raphael swore in a low voice.

"So," the Shadowhunter said. "Who wants to go first?"

In the silence that followed, one could hear each drop of the Nephilim's blood hit the floor.

Plop.

There was a stain of blood red on the Shadowhunter's teeth and lips.

Plop.

The vampires looked on, eyes wide and nostrils dilated. Magnus heard a click behind him as someone's fangs popped out.

Plop.

Magnus had to act, and fast.

[mirahuyooo]

Gifts Welcome & Unwelcome | jjk

Gifts Welcome & Unwelcome

— Birthdays are quite troublesome, if you do say so yourself.

Word Count: 1,400 Content/s: romance, fluff so sweet (diabetics beware lol), happy birthday things (this was meant for HIS birthday but since that passed I had to make changes lol T-T), vampire gf enduring shit for her fav human, vaguely historical setting (1500s, Joseon), jk is an ambitious brat, hint of angst bc someone makes a brooding cliffhanger appearance in the end lol, Vampire AU Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

[masterlist] | read more of [The Undying]!

A/N: I CoME BACK FROM THE GRAVE TO GIVE Y’ALL THIS ONE!!! I had a massive burnout and one after the other, problems came coming in T-T buT ENOUGH EXCUSES, here’s the best I can cook up right now (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ  I hope you guys enjoy!

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿 ◁ || ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

Birthdays are quite troublesome, if you do say so yourself. Feasts, gifts, and invitations have to be taken in mind to make the special day worthwhile.

You stopped celebrating your name day decades ago, coming to an understanding that there was no point in celebrating such things when you've been given the curse of eternity. No more feasts, gifts, nor dressing up could get you to ever think of birthdays the same way, and an old acquaintance of yours found that notion agreeable.

“We're near untouchable now,” he had told you then. “Birthdays are for those who fear Death's visit at any moment.”

The faint feeling is still there in your mind though. Somewhere in the deep recesses of your memories lies the anticipation and excitement over life—memories collecting dust and housing cobwebs of wistful nostalgia.

You suppose your fellow vampire was right—the fleeting, much finite time of humans have always made them yearn for the littlest of festivities, made them huddle together just a little bit closer to fend off the cold cruelty of fate, and made them forget such fears for even just a fraction of a moment.

Now that you've subjected yourself to be among them, it couldn't be helped to indulge in the trouble, you suppose. This indulging, however, would not be for the village that was currently celebrating another birthday that had aligned with yours—the only son of the local scholar you heard. Some hunters had passed by your area the other day to catch a boar for a feast in his honor, forcing you to make haste in hiding the deer you had slain earlier in the morning.

You doubt they knew much else about you other than your name anyways.

Rather, you were doing it for him.

“Happy Birthday, jagi.”

Jeon Jungkook's smile would've made your heart skip a beat if it hadn't been undead for the past seventy years.

This damned boy.

The only one who had known about your birthday had gone to your door early in the morning, claiming he had a little surprise. You were forced to run to your room under the excuse of getting ready, slipping on a more decent change of clothes and, more importantly, an old ring your old acquaintance gave you to feel that faint rush of old, dark magic wash over you. Though still stinging, the sun that now shines down on your skin hurt a lot less than without the help of the ring on your finger.

Now, where were we?

Ah, his surprise.

It came in the form of a picnic, as it had turned out—one that showed a stunning view of the vast murky sea, the town not so far in the distance as well. The two of you eventually sit by the many boulders littered along the shoreline, among the worn blanket he had laid out and beneath the shade of clouds. You look at the human beside you. “You're the first person who's wished me that in a long time,” you idly tell Jungkook, smiling at him with a genuine fondness. Though birthdays still don't quite feel the same, it was the thought and effort that was stirring something within you. “Thank you, really.”

From your praise and smiles, Jungkook preens with pride of himself. “That's not all,” he then says as he leaned in with a grin barely masking his secretive mischief. “I got you something else, too!”

“Do you now?” you muse, in spite of knowing well. Of course, he always does.

The man fished something from his pocket, eager as ever. Not long after, a simple necklace of leather cord and cheap polished stone was revealed to you. It was a reddish stone with streaks of grey and white, barely the size of a coin yet a capsule of time all the same.

Watching as you look at the object you gingerly took from his hands, your lover flusters red. “It's not much, I know,” Jungkook is quick to say, sheepish and almost embarrassed of himself. “I'll get you a better one next time.”

At his words, your lips curve upwards. Ever the overachiever this one.

You've had your fair share of diamonds and other jewels tucked away somewhere of what is known to be Europe, many more riches kept by your kindred. In truth, you doubt that Jungkook will ever get his hands on anything better with his sailor salary, but the notion of his determination and devotion spurred your heart more than any other treasure could.

You lean forward and place a thankful kiss against his lips, hands coming forth to cup his cheeks. You feel him flinch at your cold touch but he soon settles to have his hands come and gently snake around your wrist. “You needn't have to get me anything more than you can get,” you tell him, moving to catch his gaze when he stubbornly looks away from you. “I love this all the same.”

His thumb draw circles on your skin, as his lips draw into a pout. “I want to give you the world,” he ardently declares, his bold ambition earning himself a light-hearted scoff.

Wanting was unnecessary, especially when the object of desire would be something that can't be done in such a short lifetime. “I don't want the world,” you affirm, sweetly bumping your cool forehead onto his and letting it rest there. “I want nothing else but peace and quiet,” you tell him, peering through your lashes with a smile. “And you.”

Such words were a praise that shot right through his very being but he recovers enough to pull you fully into his arms in a tight embrace. You nearly giggle at the feel of his veins pumping more blood to match the quickened pace of his heart.

Staying in Jungkook's arms by the cliffside felt simple enough, but it brought you more peace of mind than you could ever have without him. You stand by what you told him—peace, quiet, and Jungkook. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Now,” you hear him clear his throat, “why don't we test the waters?”

Before you could fathom what exactly his words meant, you were hoisted in the air with the brute holding you running steadfast towards the crashing waves.

“Jungkook!”

Your squeals turned to laughter as you managed to cling onto him tight enough to make him catch himself amidst losing balance and second guess his plans of throwing you to sea, lest both of you get soaked to the bone. “You reckless oaf,” you tell him, arms still wound around his neck.

Jungkook simply grins down at you, the sea breeze blowing his locks to and fro. “Your reckless oaf,” he grins, let go of you and earning a shriek from your lips.

You manage to catch yourself, landing on your feet as Jungkook’s arms were at the ready of helping you balance. The water is cold as it laps at your calf, the skirt of your handbok now soaked and swaying with the waves.

Your half-hearted glare is met with a jovial grin, Jungkook’s arms circling around your waist to hold you close to him, and perhaps not splash the water his way. “Is it safe to say I’ve surprised you today?” he instead muses, making you playfully roll your eyes as the smile on your lips betray you.

It was then you saw it.

A figure in the distance, clad in black that nearly disappeared amidst the rocks and forest. In that instant, chills ran down your spine—not because of the cold, but because you knew exactly who it is.

Your acquaintance.

Your kindred.

Your old friend.

Kim Seokjin.

His name nearly fell from your lips in a hush dread, mouthed instead as if saying it aloud would bring upon some curse.

“What?”

Brought back to reality, you see Jungkook look in confusion. He didn’t seem to catch what you said, something you were quick to use to your advantage. “It’s nothing,” you assure him, glancing back to see Seokjin gone. “Today’s been pleasant,” you then say, to get both of your minds off of that little moment. “Thank you for everything.”

“Happy birthday,” Jungkook says, pressing a kiss between your brows you hadn’t noticed were still slightly furrowed. Under his touch, you let your eyes flutter close.

Happy Birthday—you hope it stays that way.

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿 ◁ || ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 : @mwitsmejk @dreamamubarak @bloodline1632​ @younhakim29​

[im-tempted]

CHURCH BELLS RINGING, MUTED SINGING

I will drag quackitys past relationships into a conversation about TNT duo

CARRIES OUR EXUBERENCE AWAY

They're just older than they ever thought they'd be and tired leave them alone

OUR FRIENDS HAVE ALL BUT LEFT US/THEY DEPARTED MANY YEARS AGO/And They Won't COME BACK/THEY WON'T COME BACK NO MORE

This ties into the whole fact they believe everyone will leave them because EVERYONE HAS LEFT THEM it's not a fear of they're right

WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST

Remember how las navades isn't a real desert it's in a snow biome the whole city is literally built on fake foundations the whole base of his country is a farce dust→sand

LET OUR HEARTS RUN 'ROUND IN CIRCLES/WHILE WE FALL APART

Them having their separate breakdowns during this whole arc but coping with that by falling into the cyclical nature of their relationship

WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST

Just see above for this line it's the same every time

LET OUR MINDS RUN 'ROUND IN CIRCLES/WHILE WE FIGURE IT ALL OUT

See above

INSOLENT AND OUT OF CHARACTER

They've become more jaded a twisted version of the people they used to be more full of life able to actually love before but they're both broken in a way now that they can kind of still work if they squint

WE'VE CHANGED SO MUCH/I BARELY RECOGNISE OUR FORMATIVE LIVES

Like the line above started they're both no longer the people they used to be after all the death (they're own or others) and betrayal and all the other shit they're no longer the people they started the relationship as and that's its own brand of frightening

HIDDEN DEEP, DEEP, DEEP UNDERGROUND

Pogtopia we don't need to talk about this you get it

AND THEY WON'T COME BACK/THEY WON'T COME BACK NO MORE

This is both about how the people who have left them won't come back BUT ALSO they won't come back they'll never again be the people they where when they first entered the smp and that's ok but it also means their relationship will shift for better or worse

WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST

↑↑↑↑

LET OUR HEARTS RUN 'ROUND IN CIRCLES/WHILE WE FALL APART/WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST/LET OUR MINDS RUN 'ROUND IN CIRCLES/WHILE WE FIGURE IT ALL OUT

This is gonna repeat forever you get it moving on they're obsessed and need each other to get up in the morning

FEELING MOODY, DARK AND HEAVY

They're so sad

THERE'S NO FEELING IN MY LEFT ARM

Insert picture of Wilburs skin

RESONANCE IS FAR AWAY

They don't match perfectly but they try *sons*

TRY TO COMPLICATE MY THINKING

Wilbur has an issue of hiding his feelings behind speeches and overcomplicating his speech and he's super overthinking his relationship with quackity

AM I FALLING, AM I SINKING?

Oooooo mans spent 13 years without a body what's going on (also has no idea where his relationship with quackity is let alone where it's going)

POWDER IN MY FINGERNAILS

"I've forgotten everything I know about TNT" ← I say like a liar

AND THE BELT WRAPPED AROUND/MY SHRINKING WAIST IS HAVING TOUBLE/TRYIN' TO KEEP THE DAMN THINGS UP

He just came back from the dead give him a break he feels out of place in his body he didn't have one for over a decade

WANT TO WRITE A SINGLE LETTER/MAYBE THEN I'LL FEEL MUCH BETTER

Remember his apology arc? THAT

UNTIL THEN WE'LL FLOAT/WE'RE HUNGOVER, OH YEAH WE ARE/WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST/WE'RE HUNGOVER IN THE CITY OF DUST/SO LET OUR MINDS RUN 'ROUND IN CIRCLES/WHILE WE FIGURE IT ALL OUT/ALL OUT, MHMM

We've talked about this

[latin-dr-robotnik]

So, there's this blogger lady who used to be a pretty major voice in the Spanish SonAmy community for at least a decade, and yesterday she posted a new entry about Kishimoto's tweet on SonAmy and the fandom reaction it attracted.

Content warning: I'm gonna discuss some very archaic, homophobic things said in that article.

And so far so good but I started noticing she was getting a bit too aggressive with some tweets and taking Sonic Twitter's daily rancid takes way too seriously, as if it was her first interaction with that part of the fandom. She went out of her way to grab some tweets, debunk them and publicly shame haters. Ok, I guess.

And then, out of nowhere, she went into a tangent about Sonic's canon sexuality and... like... she starts saying a bunch of biphobic shit??? Like, of all things to get mad about Sonic Twitter, she decided to lash out against fans writing about Sonic being bisexual, and she gets very defensive saying "Sonic has been canonically straight since the beginning" and some wacky shit like "if you think Sonic and Knuckles were flirting in Frontiers you should go to therapy because that's a very toxic relationship, and if that's what homosexual love language looks like, then I'm happy to be straight". I'm not fucking kidding you.

And I'm sitting here legit confused because I didn't know where the fuck that came from? Or the fact it was very unnecessary and homophobic on her part to say all of that? Like, what the actual fuck?

The article ends with her writing about Western canon fucking everything up and SonAmy's current canonical status, which is fine but nothing we haven't discussed in the past in the SonAmy fandom. And the whole point of the article was to discuss SonAmy as a canon thing, not to go after bisexual Sonic headcanons! That tangent was fucking horrible.

Tbh I used to look up to that woman because back in the day her blog used to be a shining beacon of light in the Spanish fandom, but man, this was a very rude awakening. I stopped reading her years ago when I began writing my own articles and researching the dynamic on my own terms, and to see her not only repeat points we discussed 5 years ago, but to also fully display her bigotry in this way... damn, what a letdown.

I love SonAmy, it's been my OTP for almost 20 years. I love SonAmy in every way, regardless of canon, gender or sexuality they may be represented. Fuck bigots, homophobes and transphobes in our community. I won't tolerate this shit even if we share a common ship. It is not the way to discuss SonAmy, and that article will certainly not help us at all in the fandom.

Also, as a bisexual myself, the fact I'm the one being told to "go to therapy" for engaging in some fun lighthearted SonKnux shipping stuff instead of the adult woman making a whole scene out of people shipping whatever the fuck they want and rambling about how proud she is to be heterosexual is very amusing to me.

If the thing that triggered this fandom figure so much was people sharing bi!Sonic fanart and headcanons on Twitter, instead of the fact some fans weaponize other ships to constantly attack, harass and "debunk" SonAmy fans, I think the one who has a big problem here is her.

Don't even tell her about transfem!Sonic fanart and mods, she might have a meltdown.