#he’s literally in a different dimension or thinking about what to eat for dinner

[smalltownnights]

Chris Pine went full eldest daughter dissociating at family events and you know what good for him

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 4)

Original prompt + parts 1-3

Masterpost

-----

It's not the most awkward dinner Lois has ever had, but only because she's dined with literal supervillains before.  

Danny is poking at his Mongolian beef with his fork more than he's actually eating it.  Lois can hardly blame him; it’s been a difficult few days for her and she’s not the one who just landed in a different dimension from the one she grew up in.  But Danny certainly isn’t up to keeping conversation going.

Jon is making a valiant effort, but he seems distracted.  He keeps shooting looks at Lois and Clark when he thinks they’re not looking, and while he recounts everything he and Damian got up to (not too much trouble, thankfully, although that wasn’t saying much), he’s less enthusiastic than he would normally be.  

Clark keeps shooting Jon worried looks when he thinks Jon isn’t looking.  Lois will have to ask him how that conversation went; it seems like it was rough on both of them. 

Eventually, even Jon runs out of things to say, and the four of them sit around the table, eating their Chinese takeout in silence.  

“So, Danny,” Lois finally says.  “I don’t know how the dimension you grew up in differs from this one, but if you have any questions about anything, please ask one of us.”

“It’s not that different,” Danny says.  “I mean, it is in some ways, but it’s still Earth, you know?”

Lois isn’t entirely certain she does, but this doesn’t seem to be the time to ask.  Maybe when things are less fresh.

Jon has no such compunctions.  “What’s the biggest difference?” 

Danny looks thoughtful.  “You guys have a lot of superheroes here,” he finally says.

“What kind of superheroes did your other world have?” Jon asks eagerly.  

“We mostly didn’t,” Danny says.  “I mean, I guess Phantom kind of counts.  But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Jon is clearly flabbergasted by this.  Lois fights a smile, and she can see Clark doing the same thing.  Jon has never known a world without the Justice League, but she and Clark can both remember when superheroes were much, much rarer.

“Most people probably wouldn’t even count Phantom,” Danny says.  “The kids mostly did, but a lot of adults didn’t trust him because he was… because he wasn’t exactly human.”

Combined with what Danny said before about that interdimensional portal, this is painting a picture Lois really doesn’t like.

“There are folks like that everywhere, unfortunately,” Clark says.  “And you can’t always change their minds. But I believe most people are better than that."

Judging by Danny's expression, he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Lois couldn't blame him; she has enough trouble seeing the good in people the way Clark did, and the other dimension sounds worse than hers in this regard.  

Danny doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it any further.  Silence lingers for just a beat too long before he speaks.  “Oh, the sun’s yellow here.  That’s different, too.”

-----

The front door slams, shaking the house, and Jon scrambles into the kitchen.  

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” he demands.

Kon mentally says goodbye to his tentative plans for the day.  Not that he minds hanging out with Jon, but he’s clearly upset about something.  Kon’s good at a lot of things, but emotional conversations is not one of them.

“They’re in town for the day,” Kon says.  “You’re lucky they didn’t hear you slam the door like that.”

“Did you know about Danny?” Jon demands.

“Who?”

“Dan-El.”

Clark texted a couple of days ago, telling Kon to call when he had time.  Kon has been putting it off, knowing that Clark has better ways of getting in touch with him if there’s a real emergency.  That’s starting to seem like a mistake.

He doesn’t answer Jon right away, which Jon seems to take as its own answer.  

“Did everyone know but me?” Jon demands.

The thing is, Kon is pretty sure he's not supposed to know about Dan-El. Lois and Clark have never breathed a word about him in Kon's hearing.

He only knows because he spent an afternoon helping Ma go through some old boxes up in the attic and found a box of photos-- mostly of Clark as a kid, but some of Ma and Pa when they were younger.

"Oh goodness," Ma had said, when she'd notices what Kon was looking at. "I keep telling myself I'm going to organize those and put them in an album, but I never get around to it."

She'd sat down next to Kon and looked through the pictures with him, pointing out her favorites and telling stories to accompany them. ("And that one was from just after Clark's tenth birthday-- we had to get a new door because his strength was just coming in and he broke the old one.")

Then Kon had pulled out a photo of a toddler, sitting on the front porch with Pa. He'd thought it was a picture of Clark at first, but Pa's hair was considerably more gray than it was in the pictures from Clark's childhood, and Ma had just told him that the porch had been rebuilt and expanded after Clark broke the old one in tenth grade.

"Oh, that's Daniel," Ma said. She'd gently taken the photo from Kon's hand and ran a finger over not-Clark's face. "He was our first grandson-- Lois and Clark's oldest." She'd gone on to tell him the whole sad story.

There's a small headstone for Daniel Kent in the Smallville cemetery, right next to Pa's parents. Kon thinks it must have been Ma or Pa's idea; there was no body to bury and as far as he knows, Lois and Clark never visit it.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kon says.  “I think it’s just not something they talk about.”  Jon doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “They told you now, right?”

“Only after he showed up!” 

“Wait, what?”  Kon is starting to think he really should have replied to that message from Clark.

-----

Not for the first time, Clark wishes there was a handbook for this sort of thing.  But oddly enough, parenting manuals generally don’t cover how to talk to your long-lost son about his alien heritage.  He’s put this off long enough already; Danny had spent most of the previous day out with Lois, picking up all the necessities he didn’t have.

“So…” Danny says, kicking his feet a little.  He’s sitting next to Clark on this skyscraper, his feet dangling over the edge.  It makes Clark a little nervous, seeing how Danny can’t fly yet, but he also knows he’s fast enough to catch Danny if he were to fall.

"Lois said you're an alien?" The words are softened by the blatant curiosity in Danny's tone, and Clark remembers Lois recounting how excited Danny was to meet J'onn and to see space from the Watchtower. 

It's a sentiment Clark can understand. He's traveled through space and met aliens both hostile and friendly. He regularly meets with his colleagues on an orbiting space station. And yet, seeing his adopted planet from space still fills him with awe.

"When I was born, my parents— my birth parents— already knew our planet, Krypton, was dying," Clark begins. It's not an easy story to tell, but the grief is old. Not gone, but distant. It's a place and a people he will never know except through stories and the archives in the Fortress— but those, at least, he can share. He tells Danny this, too, and promises to take him to the Fortress soon. It would be easier if Danny could fly, but he'll make it work. 

"You should talk to Kara, too," Clark adds. 

"Who's Kara?"

"My cousin. Right now she's in space, on a Justice League mission, but you'll meet her when she gets back. She was a teenager when Krypton was destroyed; she has firsthand memories."  He’ll save explaining the part where she got caught in suspended animation for later; he’s dumped a lot of information on Danny already.

“You said something the other night about yellow sun radiation?” Danny asks.

“It’s what gives Kryptonians our power, here on Earth,” Clark says.  

“And what powers are those, exactly?” Danny seems more hesitant than Clark would usually expect of a teenager finding out he’s going to develop superpowers— but then, they already know Danny grew up in a world where that sort of thing was feared and looked down upon.  

“Enhanced sense, enhanced strength and speed, flight, invulnerability— there are others, but those are the main ones to expect.”

Danny nods thoughtfully.

[wonderinc-sonic]

Does anyone want sonic and friends christmas headcanons? No? Bah humbug! You can have them anyway

Sonic's invited to a lot of christmas dinners. He attends them all, even Eggman's. He eats so much, but runs so much in between he burns it off.

Tails organises the Christmas Lights show. It is extremely extravagant.

Eggman organises a rival Christmas Lights show. It is extremely temperamental. He built it right next to Tails', so they both look worse. Metal uses it as a distracton to get Sonic, but because hes rushing around looking for dinners Metal can't keep track.

Amy spends December baking like crazy to get everything to her pals, but since she also observes Chanukah, and Yule, and everything else. By christmas day, she has no energy to make anything, and if she didn't go to Vanilla's she'd eat leftovers on christmas day.

Knuckles doesn't understand Christmas, it looks weird from above. All big festivals look strange, with lights shows and a change in people's pattern. He does put tinsel and lights on the master emerald when his friends are visiting, so that they don't offer to do it for him and touch it.

Cream and Vanilla host for Christmas, but only after they've been to mass. Santa still visits Cream, so anybody who stays overnight also gets visited by Santa.

Big sometimes consents to being santa, but it's a lot of fuss and a bit loud. He does always send homemade christmas cards.

Rouge's family always did a big Christmas with every possible relation. She now brings Omega with, because her great aunt kept asking about a date and she thought it would close the questions forever. Now they like Omega more than her, and decorate him.

Shadow prefers to spend Christmas quietly. He will exchange gifts beforehand, so he can have peace on Christmas day. He might come around, but he doesn't have to.

Silver thinks its literally magical. Like a kid at christmas. He climbs the tree like a kitten

Blaze doesn't celebrate Christmas (different dimension) but appreciates the warm and spicy season for that. They do a winter solstice, which is somewhat similar.

Espio's not fussed about Christmas, but Vector loves anything with lots of festivities, and Santa still visits Charmy. They have an arrangement with Santa that he gets his presents after the January Sales.

The Babylon Rogues have no idea what Christmas is, but they do get gifts at Christmas from their friends on the ground sometimes. They like that. They aren't really read up on the meanings and traditions, so they just unwrap them as soon as they get them.

And of the IDW Crew

Lanolin organises the secret santa

Tangle makes a big mess of the decor and always leaves gift buying until late

Whisper is a fantastic caroler. She howls the start of Once in Royal.

Jewel looks excelent in the glittery sparkly jumpers, and insists on christmas jumper day.

Surge and Kit dont remember christmas before, but by god are they going to accept the free dinners

Rough and Tumble still get visited by Santa at their respective houses, and phone eachother up to compare gifts. Their mums are friends.

Belle performs the nutcracker for her friends, but is very bad at ballet.

Starline is still dead, merry christmas to all and to all a good night ❤️ (he likes eggnog too much and gets weepy over Its a Wonderful Life)

[mariaofdoranelle]

Whiny Whitethorn

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

This whole thing was born last night, when my uber driver told me he got blocked from two different restaurants on iFood (but I wrote Uber Eats because it’s used worldwide even though it’s a huge flop where I live).

Enjoy!

Warnings: none I think? Nothing happened but Aelin thinks Rowan’s a creep but it’s just hinted. Anyway.

Words: 2k

Rowan had never felt greater loss in his thirty-two years of life.

He laid on the floor, wondering how he’d survived an entire month without his favorite restaurant already. His fridge felt too dull. His counter, too empty without Emrys’ Steaks takeout boxes. Meat on a stick would never be the same.

He did complain about the food every time, but only because he wanted Emrys’ Steaks to achieve even greater greatness. Rowan complained because he cared.

Now he moped around the house, chest hollow as he reminisced the times he focused on the bad parts instead of the good ones. A month ago, if he knew that would be his last time ordering at Emrys’ Steaks, he wouldn’t have complained to that lady that the fries weren’t as crispy. Neither would he make a suggestion about purchasing rice of better quality if he knew they were struggling financially.

Because that’s what happens, right? No restaurant that good would close without a good reason.

Feeling an inkling of doubt, Rowan opened Instagram and typed the restaurant’s name. He only visited there once because he preferred to have food delivered at home—

There’s a story. Posted one hour ago. Of the place open.

Emrys’ Steaks didn’t close, they just ditched Uber Eats.

Rowan closed his eyes and relaxed against his tiled floor, relief taking over his previously tense muscles and making him feel like he was fluttering. He was so grateful he felt like his body was expanding to another dimension. One filled with meat on a stick.

He considered changing his clothes and going to the restaurant to fully understand what happened, but decided to use the phone number available on their page.

The Uber Eats link was still there, but it didn’t open in Rowan’s phone. Odd. He should remind the staff to take the link off or fix it.

Rowan: Good evening.

Rowan: Can you send me a picture of the menu?

Emrys’ Steaks: hi

Emrys’ Steaks: [picture of the closed menu.]

He frowned. Maybe they put the same person who buys that second-rate rice in charge of the phone.

Rowan: Open, please?

Emrys’ Steaks: yes til 11pm

He pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to let other people’s incompetence get to him because the food is worth it.

Rowan: I’d like to see the open menu

Emrys’ Steaks: apologize

Rowan: I’m sorry…?

Rowan: You know what

Rowan: I’ll just have a rump steak with bacon on a stick.

Emrys’ Steaks: sorry for the typo sir i meant i apologize for the inconvienent

Emrys’ Steaks: sorry again sir there’s no steak

Rowan: It’s a steakhouse.

Rowan: What do you mean there’s no steak?

Emrys’ Steaks: i don’t know sir my mom said that but uncle emrys is cooking a lot maybe theyre bringingh their own meat

And that’s when Rowan gave up on getting his dinner delivered.

˜˜

The small restaurant was cramped as ever, reminding him of why he insisted on ordering from home. Rowan walked until he reached a counter in the back, but the staff was busy going from one place to the other. The only unoccupied person was a little girl sitting behind the counter, playing on a phone. Despite being a literal child, she looked old enough to reason with.

Rowan cleared his throat. “Do you work here?”

He could finally see past that curtain of pitch-black hair, when she looked up with eyes so wide and blue Rowan had an impression she was trying to blind him with UV lights.

“No, but I’ll get someone who does. What’s your name?”

”Rowan. Rowan Whitethorn.”

The girl’s mouth fell, and she took him in with eyes so wide it looked as if she was seeing a ghost. “Are you Whiny Whitethorn?”

He froze. “What.”

She straightened her posture, studying the situation with her little inquisitive eyes, as if she were a miniature Sherlock Holmes. “Do you whine to my mom every week?”

“Not whining!” His voice rose, just a small display of the outrage he felt. “I call to give helpful input—“

The girl giggled, taking a few steps back until she was running towards the kitchen. “Mom! Whiny Whitethorn is here!”

The loud background noise, a deafening result of multiple tables’ chatter and laughter, was one of the reasons Rowan preferred to dine in his own home. The place was nice, but with a casual touch about it that made it look attractive to young people. As long as they’re well-employed enough to pay for the steaks, that is, since they were just a little over the average price.

A moment later, Rowan was taken aback by the woman emerging from the kitchen. Her light blue dress shirt that matched her turquoise eyes was tucked under a skirt tight enough that he decided it was best to snap his eyes back up.

For a second, he forgot about the nickname she and her daughter called him. For a second, Rowan was about to tell her she could call him anything she wants.

“Rowan Whitethorn?” The woman extended a hand. “I’m Aelin Galathynius, the person you… voice your complaints to over the phone.”

He shook her hand, a bitter smile adorning his face. “I believe you meant whine to.”

“Do you want a table, Mr. Whitethorn?”

”I do, actually.” He cocked his head with a pinched expression, trying to silently address how annoyed he was. “I’m here because you’re unreachable online.”

“Can you elaborate, sir?”

“You see, your Uber Eats page hasn’t been working for a month. I even thought you guys were closed.” Rowan opened up his phone and showed her the issue with Uber Eats, then his text thread with the restaurant. “And whoever is in charge of the phone is completely inefficient.”

“I see…” Aelin’s unwavering face faltered, and that’s how he knew she’d just found out about something not going according to plan. “Emrys, the owner, gave my daughter access to our commercial phone, but she isn’t allowed to speak with the clients in it. I apologize for the inconvenience.” A pause for her fake customer smile. “About the Uber Eats… I’m afraid you can’t reach us there because I blocked you.”

“You did what?” Rowan blinked, his mind racing and empty at the same time. He wasn’t expecting this. Was it even possible to block a customer? “Why would you do that?”

”Your bi-weekly phone calls were disrupting my work, sir. I weighed my decision a lot before doing it, considering how frequently you ordered from us.”

Rowan blinked. His mouth opened, but wasn’t able to articulate any reply. He couldn’t believe this—

“Come on, Mr. Whitethorn.” She rounded the counter, to lead him away from it. “I’ll show you a table.”

˜˜

A rump steak with bacon on a steak was always great to help him put things into perspective.

Except that there was no perspective. Rowan was doomed. Aelin said she’d come back to talk to him, and he could only think of all the ways he was going to grovel to get unblocked on Uber Eats—

The kid from earlier sat in front of him, at his table, without saying a word.

“Hello… child.”

“It’s Annie.”

He extended a hand for her to shake, unsure of how to act around kids. She shook it, before giving a skeptical, pointed look at his shirt.

“Are you a trainer on Pokémon Go?”

Rowan looked down, just now noticing he was wearing a silly t-shirt his friend Fenrys gave him a couple of years ago. It was of Pikachu on a cartesian plane, his thunder jolt making a parabola, and some projectile motion equations on the side. It was as nerdy as a shirt could get, and Rowan was sure the Pikachu was the only part of it that Annie understood.

He leaned closer, resting both forearms on the table. “Why do you ask?”

The kid mirrored his position, eyeing him up and down. “I can unblock you on Uber Eats. My mom won’t notice if you don’t call her again.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank you, Annie—“

“But I want two shiny or legendary pokémons in return.”

Rowan squinted his eyes at that devious little thing. Maybe kids weren’t a mystery after all. This one seemed to be sneakier than most adults he knew.

“Deal,” he grunted.

To Rowan’s surprise, the girl’s business-like stance fell for a moment. Her pinched lips broke into a grin, her upper body shaking with sheer delight in what looked like a giddy dance and a squeal. His eyes crinkled, that sight reminding Rowan of how kids were universally known for getting happy over silly things. It was an overly used cliché, but looked cute in person.

Rowan opened his app, looking for something a kid her age would like. “I have a shiny Squirtle with sunglasses.”

She shook her head with disappointment, letting out a heavy sigh. “I can get grounded, Rowan, and you offer me a Squirtle?”

That little urchin was so adorable it almost made him forget how smart she is. Rowan crossed his arms, jaw tight this time. “What do you want?”

“One galarian legendary bird.” Her eyes narrowed. “And the shiny Squirtle.”

He gaped, struggling to find an answer that matched his shock. Absolutely not. His galarian birds were sacred, and—

“Fork.”

Rowan frowned, wondering what was Annie’s issues with the cutlery, when he noticed Aelin coming their way. Shit, shit, shit. That trade was the only way to get him unblocked, and he had to act fast. He skimmed through the app, his eyes quickly finding a shiny Mew. Annie said she wanted one shiny and one legendary, Rowan could only hope she’d accept one with both things as part of their deal.

Confirm trade.

The little girl gasped in the exact same moment Aelin reached their table. And when she eyed the screen on Annie’s hand, her eyes went cold, her lips flat.

“I need to talk to you in the kitchen, Annie,” her mother said half-smiling her costumer smile, half growling between her gritted teeth. ”Now.”

The little girl jumped from the chair and ran away, leaving him alone with Aelin.

She was smiling at him, but it was clear that it wasn’t a cheerful one. It wasn’t even a costumer smile. This time, Aelin looked livid, her smile a sharp blade aimed at him.

“Look, Whitethorn, my patience with you is wearing thin. You’ll stay blocked on Uber Eats, and if you come back here, I don’t want you chit-chatting with my eight-year-old daughter again.” Aelin leaned closer, her eyes poisoned with rage and threat. “She might be with me at work out of need, but don’t you think for a second that I don’t watch her. If I ever see you trying to befriend Annie again, sending her online gifts behind my back, I won’t call the police. You’ll be the one wanting to call the cops on me.”

Rowan leaned away, shocked when he understood what she was implying. ”I think there was a misunderstanding, I’d never—“

“Did you understand, Whitethorn?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Perfect.” Aelin took a step back, her costumer smile plastered on. “Enjoy your meal.”

It was actually cold by now, but it was better than no dinner. He got back to it, his movements slow as he processed what just happened.

Aelin’s assumption of why he sent Annie that pokémon was a huge misunderstanding, but he was still on the wrong side. Rowan was so desperate to be unblocked he engaged in a secretive deal with someone else’s kid. He didn’t need to know a lot about children to understand how unacceptable that behavior was. If he were Annie’s father, he’d be threatening strangers who did that too.

After quickly finishing his dinner, he had already accepted that his future depended on an eight-year-old. And he lost a shiny Mew with no guarantee that she’d take it instead of one shiny, and another legendary pokémon she requested. With very little hope, he opened Uber Eats on his way out.

Emrys’ Steaks 4,8⭑

30-45 min • $4 Delivery Fee

Rowan’s shoulders dropped in relief, his chest expanding as he breathed in the cold evening air. He thanked that little urchin in his mind, and got into his car with a triumphant smirk.

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[mixing0]

Ideas for a potential (and ideal for my tastes) Kirby Party game!!

This'll be long, obviously, so I'm leaving everything under the cut.

At its core, the game is a literal copy-and-paste of classic Mario Party. Everyone moves around the board, gathering more of a select item than their competitors to win, with minigames sprinkled throughout. No differences there. The difference comes from what the objects are, in this case.

On the topic of stars:

Here, stars are replaced with food items, given out by Kawasaki who replaces Toad. Whenever Kawasaki is moved, through any means, he prepares a new, unique food item.

When you get to Kawasaki, you can spend 20 point-stars (the Kirby equivalent of coins) for whatever he offers. Or you could spend 25 point-stars to get a different food selected at random.

Why does this matter? Because you can eat these food items for special bonuses, offering a nice helping of strategy to the established norm. Eating them means you lose a point, however, so it should be used very carefully to be effective.

Outside of those, at least one food is offered that has no stat effects and is just your bog standard.

On the topic of items:

Originally, I had planned for most of the items to come straight from Mario Party 2, but after looking more closely into the item system of Parties 5-7 (mainly 6 because it serves as another big influence on the project), I fell in love with the nuance and strategy that could be employed.

With that in mind, I was thinking about revamping the item system and number of items to better fall in line with this style. However, I'll still share the old item lineup, just for personal reference:

Wheelies act as mushrooms, letting you roll two dice blocks, while Rex Wheelies let you roll three.

Warp Stars act as, well, Warp Blocks, letting you swap places with a random player.

The Dimension Mirror allows you to move backward along a board when used. (And this will be more costly, so as not to be absolutely broken like the Reverse Mushroom was.)

The Vat-luck moves Kawasaki to a different space.

The Noddy Network calls Nightmare upon a player of your choosing.

The Enticing Cheese calls Daroach, while the Stinky Cheese prevents Daroach from stealing from you.

The Dinner Bell warps you straight to Kawasaki.

The Invisibility Stone lets you walk through alternate pathways.

The Nebula Chest steals a random item.

The Dueler's Sword... is self-explanatory.

On the topic of boards:

I conceptualized 12 main boards for the game. At the moment, they are:

Augmented Area (Technology-themed.)

Foody Feilds (Grassland, Food-centric theming.)

Corruption Cavern (Mining cave theme.)

Dusky Drawings (Spooky Mansion + Art theme)

Basalt Boulevard (Fire/Lava theme)

Royalty Ring (Castle theme)

Headstrong Honky-tonk (A casino in Merry Magoland.)

Galvanized Garden

Sanguine Sands (Western theme)

Mauve Mountain

Impeccable Iceberg

Nightmare's Nexus (Space Theme)

I may end up removing some of these, adding more, or changing a few of these ideas around.

On the topic of characters:

The roster includes:

Kirby

King Dedede

Meta Knight

Bandana Dee

Marx

Gooey

Adeleine

Ribbon

Magolor

Taranza

Susie

Elfilin

With the following making an appearance as non-playable characters:

Kawasaki (as the host.)

Nightmare (filling Bowser's role.)

Escargoon (who owns the bank.)

Daroach (filling in for Boo.)

Mr. Shine and Mr. Bright (who operate the day/night cycle.)

and other well-known enemies (who serve the other roles as needed.)

Each playable character will have a unique outfit for every board except for two. No one will have a unique outfit on Basalt Boulevard, and everyone will have a unique outfit on Nightmare's Nexus.

The character that does not have a unique outfit on the given board plays an integral role at the end if they lose, triggering a boss fight that acts as a final minigame (sort of similar to the boss minigames in Mario Party 9).

And that's everything I had! I hope you guys like my ideas!

Oh, and be sure to look out for the art I'll be making for this in the future. I've already made a few things for it, but they're all so old now that I feel like revamping them.

[darrowsrising]

For "Send Me a Character" I gotta ask for Darrow and Virginia!

My faves!🤗

Darrow of Lykos:

First impression: Darrow: 'I would have lived in peace, but my enemies brought me war.' Me: I love you so much, I declare you my favourite.

Honest to Reaper, I loved him from the first sentence. I have felt lust at first sight, but love at first sentence (not romantic love, just...idk, you like a character so much you just...love them, if that makes sense)? Idk, it's one of those experiences that make life worth living.

Impression now: I would die for Darrow of Lykos, I would kill for Darrow of Lykos and most importantly, I would live (am currently living?) for Darrow of Lykos. Ok, I may exaggerate, but honestly, Darrow really inspires me and if anything, he made me realize that life is worth living...even when it sucks. And I am not saying that lightly, I just can't evoke properly what Darrow means to me. I read books hyped to 7 dimensions, but none of them actually inspired me like this. And I truly needed it, especially at the time I read Red Rising.

That being said, I can put my bias aside for analysis, but will I stop reminding you that I love him? Nope! Think of me as a brighter version of Sevro, I thrive on your annoyance.

Favourite moment: Every moment, let's not do this, it's a losing game.

Idea for a story: I find it the hardest to write fanfiction from his perspective in first person, although his thought process is a lot like mine. But I would love to dig into a quiet, peaceful day with his family. Or maybe the his and Virginia's first date. If Pierce ever adresses that date again, I will literally hang over every word.

Unpopular opinion: People who say Darrow is overrated are the same who're saying Beyoncé is overrated.

Ok, now a more serious one, this narrative that Darrow is bad...worse take ever! Different reading experiences and interpretations and any other things don't work in this case at all. Idk, the fact that people are unwilling to accept that the majority, and yes, even Sevro, can be very wrong, is kinda scary to me, even though it's fiction.

Favourite relationship: My personal favourites are his relationships with Virginia and Sevro. But every Darrow relationship is great. LET DARROW BE DAD, BLOODYDAMMIT! Even that with his soldiers. You know what my God did even after a heart attack? Went to speak with his soldiers, acrually talk with them, not adress the masses. His bodyguards rotate every hour and they can't keep up with him. I am not saying everyone should love Darrow, but...how can one not?

Favourite headcanon: HE SLEEPS SHIRTLESS. At the very least. Idk, if anyone deserves to wake up to the best slive of man cake of a husband shirtless every morning, it's Virginia au Augustus.

Virginia au Augustus:

First impression: Hot damn, girl, you must be really special if Darrow can't even muster a retort, let alone stop staring at you in the sunset.

I adored their little meet cutes, but I honestly loved her the most at the Institute, maybe because she was the most consistant and I loved to see and piece together who she really is, while knowing certain things about her for facts. I loved her because she wasn't like the other Golds, there was something about her that wanted more but didn't know how to implement it, although she tried. I think that Mustang was the first introduction of a Gold that actually seemed to care, you know. It mattered to me when she actually got that Red analogy.

Impressions now: I love her so much, she my favourite female character, she's just everything I wish I could be, but I also relate to her on a certain level (I am no genius, I wish lol). I love how Pierce writes his main cast, because it never gets boring. They don't just stop at a certain point, they evolve and they feel so real because of that. Virginia is no exception - I have actually taken to calling her Virginia, not Mustang, because I think it now suits her more.

I genuinely love Virginia for everything Kavax said to her in Dark Age. I think of her exactly the same things and...I can't help but love her for that.

Favourite moment: I love all of her moments, but I must say that the Iron Circle and Imperium scenes made my brain tingle the most.

Idea for a story: WE. NEED. HER. POV. HER EVERY OPINION! GIVE US VIRGINIA'S POV SERIES, PIERCE!

Unpopular opinion: I think she is very underestimated. Just because she is peaceful and/or tries to walk the stiletto so that her successors don't destroy the Republic because she slipped once with a certain issue and they exploited it to hell, doesn't make her harmless. To be peaceful is to be capable of great harm and choose not to inflict it. Otherwise you're just harmless.

Favourite relationship: I obviously love her romance with Darrow, but her bromance with Sevro is the very best. I also like how the twins bond was explored, but also how it's dealt with now. Her relationship with Pax? 🥺🥺🥺 I also can't wait for more friendship with Victra, because I think their opposite personalities are the most intriguing thing. Pierce does like that in his characters, there are plenty of characters built like that.

Favourite headcanon: When she was pregnant and missed Darrow terribly, she allowed herself to be miserable only when she was alone, so she tried to keep busy and often forgot to eat, which wasn't really a problem, because she couldn't keep down much. On one particular hard day - Darrow's (fake) execution - she did not come out of her room at all. She woke up, dizzy and sick and it smelled of garlic and okra blossoms and tomatoes. A highRed help was making pitViper egg soup for the mantainance staff. She talked to her over a bowl of soup and it was a bit awkward at first, but she was a midWife, so it ended up being a heartfelt and helpful discussion. They made a deal - the mantainence staff gets to eat whatever they want, as long as Virginia gets served this soup at every dinner. Her baby seemed to like it a lot.

Thank you for the ask! Howl on!🐺💖

[sithlordmando]

agent jack ‘whiskey’ daniels nsfw alphabet

i saw someone do one of these for mando so i thought why don’t i give it a shot!

also give credit to @sithmando​ because she helped with a lot of this too!

WARNING: this is pure filth so, read at your own discretion. 

nsfw alphabet — agent jack ‘whiskey’ daniels

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jack is a snuggler. he won’t admit it but the best sleep he gets is after fucking you senseless. he prefers being the big spoon so he can nestle his head in the crook of your neck. he loves the way you smell and this gives him an excuse to enjoy it. when you’re done having sex, he’ll lazily pull you into him and kiss your forehead and you’ll fall asleep like that.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

jack is very proud of his legs, particularly his thighs and ass. he looks good in a pair of well-fitting jeans and he knows it. he really loves when you sit on his lap and grind yourself into him, humming as he tells you what a good girl you are.

jack is very much an ass man. he loves checking your ass out when you’re walking ahead of him or leaving a room. he appreciates a girl who can wear jeans just as well as he can. he likes to keep his hand on your ass and will give it a light squeeze or smack to remind you (and everyone else) who you belong to. sometimes he’ll stick his hand into your back pocket just to remind you that he's there. he also loves the view he has while he’s fucking you doggy style, seeing your ass bounce against his dick just hits different. 

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically)

jack cums a lot. he knows that you know how to work him so that he cums quick. (quickies bent over his desk are a common thing.) he held back when he could, wanting to wait for you to reach your orgasm first. it’s super important to jack that you cum first. jack definitely prefers to finish inside of you, feeling that anything else is cheap and dirty, and that’s not how he feels about you.

d= dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

though he would never ask, jack wants to try anal. he can only imagine the way that it would feel around his cock. he would ease you into it, not wanting to hurt you. he always wonders but never has the balls to actually mention it. he knew that it was something that was over the line, and boy, did he not want to cross it. 

e= experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he knows how to fuck. he fucks good. he knows how to hit every spot like it’s clockwork, loving the sound of you whimpering beneath him. he knows that you love it when he sucks on your nipples, gently biting when he switches between the two. he knows you love when he finger fucks you into your first orgasm on the way home from dinner. he knows you like being on top, but only because of the way he pounds into from below. 

jack knows how to eat pussy. he knows exactly how to work your clit and bring you so close to an orgasm to then stop and act like he did nothing wrong. jack could cum at the sight of your reaction when he’s sucking on your clit while slowly finger fucking you at the same time. 

f = favorite position (this goes without saying.)

hands down, jack loves when you ride him. he loves the view, the feeling, and loves that when you get tired he can still rail you from the bottom and make you scream his name. he also loves missionary, it gives him the perfect view of your entire body and he loves being able to tell when you’re about just from your facial expressions. it gives him even more confidence to know that he’s the one making you feel like that. 

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

jack likes to tease you a bit, and depending on the situation, can be a bit giggly with you when you’re both getting undressed. however, once he gets going, he gets going. when he’s close to finishing, he has no time for funny business because he’s so fucking ready to fall apart that he can barely string a thought together.

h= hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

jack takes pride in his mustache, so it only makes sense that he would maintain himself down there too. nothing crazy, but he does like to trim the hedges once in awhile and keep it clean. he has a bit of a happy trail leading to a well-groomed patch of hair.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

it depends. Sometimes jack enjoys a quickie and will pound into you relentlessly to chase his own release. however, if you’ve got the time, he’s a generous and romantic lover and genuinely wants to make you feel good. he paces himself, touching and kissing you as he fucks you slowly. after losing his wife, jack wants to savour every moment he has with you and show you just how much he loves and adores you.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jack is horny, like, all the time. usually, he’ll fuck you to get himself off but if he’s out of town on a mission, his hand gets the job done. sometimes he’ll shamelessly call you while he’s doing it, telling you how much he wishes you were there sucking his cock or bent over the table taking it. 

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

jack is a kinky motherfucker. he’s down for anything. frankly the man is a poet with a lasso and knows how to use that shit in other ways too. he loves bringing a little bit of cowboy roleplay into the bedroom and will lasso you to him and tie your hands with it as he pleasures you relentlessly. sometimes, if you’re both feeling adventurous, you’ll have some fun with the whip too.

jack loves orgasm denial and overstimulation. he loves bringing you so close to the edge then backing away, watching as you’re a panting mess begging for him to fuck you. then there are the times where he fucks you into orgasm after orgasm with no mercy.

jack is also a dom. he likes being bossy and punishing you when you’re being a whiny brat. he’ll lay you on his lap and give your ass a few good smacks if you’re misbehaving. however, he can also appreciate when you’re riding him and telling him how good he feels inside you. it turns him on knowing he can pleasure you like this and he never gets tired of you telling him how good he makes you feel.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

jack will literally fuck you anywhere as long as you’re okay with it. after a couple of drinks at the bar, you’ll be all over each other and go back to his bronco so you can ride him in the driver’s seat. sometimes, you can’t even make it to the truck and he’ll lean you over the sink in the bathroom of the bar and fuck you from behind, watching your face twist in pleasure in the mirror as he brings you to your release over and over again.

one time you even joined the mile high club on the statesman plane. after a particularly tough mission, he bent you over the pool table and fucked you senseless before moving you to the plane’s bedroom and taking his proper time with you on the bed.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

literally a cool breeze.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

jack does not like sharing. you’re his and no one else’s. the idea of someone else making you feel as good as he does has him seeing red.

although jack is into mild bdsm and choking, he doesn’t like hurting you. he’s very careful and makes sure that you’re 100% okay with whatever kinky shit he wants to try with you. above all, he just wants to make you feel good and show you how special you are to him.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

don't get me wrong, jack loves top. he loves watching you suck him off, with the occasional deepthroat that he knows you struggle with. but good lord does it feel great. he loves when you’re on your knees, face full of slobber and you’re looking up at him through your lashes. you always say “i probably look gross,” but he thinks it’s fucking hot and seeing you like that drives him crazy. 

he loves when (on occasion) he can mouth fuck you. your mouth is so warm and cozy, and God, you know how to use that tongue. he won’t admit it because you’ve only done it a few times, but he loves when you suck on his balls. it’s like he’s transported to another dimension and he doesn’t want to come back. 

when it comes to eating you out, jack is a pro. if eating pussy was an olympic sport, he’d win the gold everytime. he knows your body, so he knows exactly where to lick and suck to push you into oblivion. he loves the way you taste and will never not want to go down on you. you love the feeling of his mustache on your sensitive areas and how jack occasionally looks up at you with those big brown eyes while nestled between your legs.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? alow and sensual? etc.)

it all depends on the mood. if it’s a quickie, he’s fast and rough with his thrusts. he’s looking for a quick nut and it shows in how he fucks. when he can take his time, he starts off slow. he teases you by letting himself sit in you, feeling how you adjust to him and convulse around his cock. once he’s comfortable, he’ll start pounding into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

jack is always down for a quickie. some days you’ll visit him at the office and the moment you walk in the door he’s ready to take you over his desk or on the sofa meant for sleeping on his long nights. you’ll be at dinner and he’ll keep teasing you so that the moment you two leave, you’re fucking in the backseat of his truck. even in the mornings, you’ll wake up to him feeling up your body and lingering kisses all over, leading to a quickie before you can even completely wake up. 

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

when it comes to risk, you guys take one each time that you decide to fuck in his office, or anywhere in the new york headquarters. there’s always the risk of another agent walking in or an intern coming to take lunch orders. the two of you were caught once, that poor intern. she walked into jack taking you against the glass window overlooking the city. now everyone knows to knock first.  

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

jack has stamina. he’ll fuck you and cum, then continue fucking you until he cums again. with jack, it’s like he can actually communicate with his dick, “ok this is gonna be a quickie, now i wanna last longer, now we’re going to go a few rounds.” he loves pleasuring you so he makes sure that you always cum at least twice before he does. if not, he feels like he didn’t do well enough. 

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he takes the strap. no, i will not elaborate.

he doesn’t like using toys on you. it’s a pride thing. what toy can make you feel better than his own tongue swirling around your clit? no dildo can elicit the noises out of you that his cock does.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

jack is a fucking TEASE. fuck. he’ll feel you up in public when you’re in a bar seated at a table full of people he’ll sneak his hand up your thigh and start rubbing circles around your clit as he leans over to you and whispers filthy things in your ear.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

jack is a dirty talker, especially when he’s bottomed out inside you and you’re clenched around him like a vice. he runs his mouth and calls you all kinds of things, tells you all the things he’d like to do you. he loses his mind when you’re fucking and has no filter. he’ll let out low groans occasionally and lets out an animalistic noise bordering on a growl when he cums. 

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

jack would love to teach you how to work a lasso or whip. he thinks that’d he would have so much fun showing you, and that’d you look sexy as fuck doing it. he’s already brought you the gun range dozens of times with him. teaching you how to kick someone’s ass a bit old fashion? good heavens, he’d melt. 

x = x-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

the man is packing. his dick is LOUD and he knows it. we’re talking 7 inches, uncut, and thick. Sometimes he catches you staring at the bulge in his jeans and smirks to himself because he just knows. 

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jack is a flirt. he’s utterly shameless. he’s always calling you pet names in public (darlin’, sugar, baby girl, etc.). he’s down to fuck wherever, whenever. at the office, in his bronco, in the bathroom of a bar, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re down. he can’t keep his hands off you, always feeling you up and whispering in your ear the things he’d like to do to you later when you’re alone. it seems like he’s always ready to go, it doesn’t take much to turn him on.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) 

for jack, its easy to fall asleep with you by his side. he usually waits until you’re asleep, then he can rest for the night with you by his side. he’s a cuddler, so your back is either pressed up against his chest or you’re snuggled up by his side.

[bitchiha]

Ok I know these characters are not the main ones but can I request some relationship hcs for Genma, Ibiki and Omoi? You can totally exclude some of them if you don’t want to write for them 🙈

A/N: Girl!! Thank you for this!! I honestly never thought about writing for these characters before, which is kinda weird bc I love all of them?? Anyways, without further ado..

✎ Relationship Headcanons!

Genma Shiranui

Ugh this man gives me tingles LNDJSJS He’s gives me immaculate vibes and he looks so cool all the time, but... you are the one thing that can really rattle this mans cool confident exterior down to the bone.

I think he has a baddie type. Like you know what you want, confidence, just bad bitch energy to the max!! Uhm also I feel like he digs long legs and girls who are taller than him. If you’re a baddie who’s tall and confident he’s floored. But even if you are short, it doesn’t matter as long as you can wipe the floor with him LMFAOOO. He likes Instagram baddies I’m sorry it’s true.

He strikes me as a smirky / flirty type of boyfriend. Like he’ll really fluster you up and have this cocky smirk the whole time he’s doing it. But you know how you can get payback that works every. single. time? If you take that toothpick out of his mouth and slip it into yours and walk away. He’ll stand there with his jaw to the floor like mhm, Yah, she just did that.

I feel like he also goes batshit crazy for nicknames, like he will call you any sort of pet name ever. Princess, babe, baby, (baby girl irks the fuck out of me so I’m not putting it here w/out saying that), honey, love, cutie, darling. But he likes it if you just call him the classic names like babe or baby, he does have this thing for being called darling though. Like if hes being a little shit and refuses to get the tv remote for you just plead and add the word “darling” To the end of the sentence and boom! Your wish is his command.

For cuddling I see him as more of a switch. Like he can be the big spoon some days and wrap you up in his arms and legs, but then he can also be the little spoon, really loves when you’ve got your leg around his waist or if youre playing with his hair.

He loves neck kisses, like he loves them. He really likes giving them, hes the type of person to purposely give you hickeys in noticeable places just to watch you struggle to cover them up. However, he loves receiving neck kisses too. Make sure to leave him a hickey for payback.

Another thing about Genma is that he’s super funny, like he can make you laugh until your ribs get tough. So he’s good at cheering you up and helping you loosen up in tough situations. Like he can lighten the mood instantly. This is great because if you two are ever arguing or if you’re in a bad mood he can just say a few jokes and get you laughing in no time.

He’s also the type to show off his relationship. Like if you aren’t a ninja, he will show you off to all his ninja friends and brag about you whenever an opportunity presents itself. If you are a ninja though, you would make the most badass duo on missions and he will flaunt it to his comrades almost obnoxiously. Ebisu gets annoyed the most.

So yah, he likes showing you off but don’t forget to show him off too! Like really show him off to your friends and get him all confident about himself. Feed his ego bc he will repay you for it later ;)

With all that being said, it’s safe to say he also digs pda. Like he doesn’t mind kissing, hand holding, wrapping an arm around you, just being affectionate overall. I mean he won’t be too crazy like he won’t shove his tongue down your throat or anything, but like a quick kiss never killed anyone.

Ibiki

I think one of the best and worst parts about dating Ibiki is that he can literally read you like a book. So he knows when youre feeling upset or uncomfortable or literally anything. It’s good because he can get you to open up about something that’s bothering you and be able to help you. It’s bad because he can end up pestering the shit out of you until he finds out what’s wrong.

Anyways, he’ll be a good gift giver, like he picks up on the way you look at a certain dress in a shopfront window, or how your gaze lingered a second longer than normal on a bracelet a passerby was wearing. Then boom, the next day you’ve got it.

I know he’s a tough guy, but look at the gif! LOOK AT IT!! He has that soft spot. Also remember that episode when we met his brother? I seen a glimmer of that soft spot! He will be gentle and caring with you 100% like I see him giving you sweet kisses when you’re at home together, playing with your hair, things like that, but only when you’re alone.

He can also be a tough love kind of guy sometimes as well. If you aren’t a ninja he will want to have you learn basic techniques for defending yourself. He may even teach you some ninja basics and a jutsu or two, just so you can protect yourself when he’s away on missions. If you’re a ninja he will teach you more complex jutsus.

In public he prefers to keep the relationship discreet because I mean, he has enemies. He’s not gonna want them to go after you in order to get to him. So at the most, he’ll put a hand on your back when you’re in public. But like I said, when you’re alone together he’s super affectionate.

He’s probably not like the best big spoon in terms of cuddling though, like I think he may accidentally crush you. And anyways I see him liking you being the one laying on him or draping a leg over him instead of the other way around.

His favourite types of kisses to give you are kisses on the top of your head and forehead kisses. Like before he leaves on some very important mission, he’ll give you a kiss on the top of your head. In the mornings when you two wake up he’ll give you a kiss on your forehead.

If you want to melt this guy though, you should give him kisses on his scars. Especially the ones on his face. He also likes when you trace your fingers over them. It makes him feel comforted and he’ll probably fall asleep while you do so.

Ibiki can be a hype man, but in a different sort of way. Like he won’t be cheering you on the loudest, but he’ll be the one who gives you the best advice behind the scenes. Like if you’re going on a difficult mission, he’ll tell you how smart and strong you are and how much of an excellent ninja you’ve become. Then he’ll slide some advice in on strategies with the information you told him.

I think he’s the best at helping you wind down after a mission, but he’s not there to do it very often because he’s busy a lot. When does though, he greets you at the door, runs you a bath and makes you something to eat. Then you can lay in bed or on the couch together and you can tell him all about the mission. Also if you return the favour when he comes back from missions, he will melt again.

Supportive and helpful bf, 10/10

Omoi

You love him, you really do but sometimes his over analyzing situations problem really gets on your nerves. Like he can be like “you wore a light sweater instead of a heavier one, does that mean you don’t want to stay out that long?” And ur like: bruh I just wore this sweater because it looked cuter.

He can also be more negative in situations (he’s cautious so he wants to always factor in the worst worst worst case scenarios) so it would be amazing if you could balance him out without getting hot headed with him. Like giving him some positive things to think about instead of focussing all on the bad will get him to be more reasonable, but only if youre the one to say it.

Will also 10/10 force you to listen to Bee’s rapping with him. If he’s forced to stay and suffer through front row seats of his masters horrible rapping, you best believe he’s making you suffer too. It’s a relationship afterall, so that means he’s gonna constantly drag you into things that are kinda crazy.

He gets lost in his thoughts a lot so you sometimes gotta keep him on track. Like you may have been talking about what you should eat for dinner, but he ends up talking about agriculture, so you have to cut in and make the decision yourself.

All his wild imaginative thoughts get you curious so when you’re just hanging out on a lazy day. You’ll set him on a ramble and he could just talk and talk and talk and you’ll nod your head until your sleeping quietly on his shoulder. He won’t notice until he asks you if you agree or something and you don’t reply. He would have been offended if you weren’t so cute.

Also, you wanna know what gets him going? So, sorta like what I said about Genma, If you just take that lollipop right out of his mouth and put it in yours... he’s gone, you’ve just sent him into another dimension and you probably can’t bring him back, it’s also a good way to get him to stop talking.

Man, Omoi just likes kissing. Like he doesn’t care what kind of kiss as long as its a kiss. He likes giving quick kisses on your lips and also on your cheek and likes when you do the same for him.

I think he likes being the big spoon when you’re cuddling but he doesn’t mind either way. Like if you wanna attach yourself to him one day then he will let you. He likes to talk while you’re cuddling too and probably ends up with his forehead resting in the crook of your neck. That’s like his go to spot.

He has a very good imagination so the two of you are always going on cool dates. Some of them turn out amazing, others result in you two running for your life. It’s never a dull date, though!

This also means he can get you the oddest gifts. Like sometimes he can really hit the mark with some really cool necklace or gadget, and other times your like: why did you think I would need a slug statue? Or like he’ll get you some obscure poster and it won’t even match your rooms colour theme. It’s okay though, it’s the thought that counts and even then, the gifts are still cool. I mean you can put the slug statue on your balcony, it’ll look nice there.

He doesn’t mind pda, I think he’d be really affectionate tbh. He loves slinging an arm around your waist or shoulders, or giving you a quick kiss. Like Genma, he doesn’t mind showing off his s/o. Like yes! All the villagers can admire this badass duo.

It may kill him, but he would ask Karui for relationship advice. She would probably just mess with him for the most part. That being said, Karui and you will get along 1000%. Lowkey likes you more than Omoi.

He needs to know you can take care of yourself in the event of an enemy attack, so he lowkey might surprise you with a sneak attack at random times, just to make sure you’re prepared. Like you could be watching tv at home and he just sneaks up on you and is like “boom! This is an enemy attack? Whatcha gonna do?” At first you would get scared, now you just sigh and walk away.

“What? So you’re just gonna walk away from the enemy? That’s not how this stuff works!”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Dear Mr. Fantasy

Summary: Sometimes when he sleeps, Dean sees flashes of other Dean Winchesters, in other universes. His dreams lately have been filled with himself in a thousand forms, a thousand different versions of what could have been. Dean likes to think that they’re made of the same star stuff, but whatever the cause, he feels the connection. 

Warnings: SEASON 15 SPOILERS, bit of angst. 

Author’s Note: Inspired by Traffic’s “Dear Mr. Fantasy” and the header image; prompt given by @thoughtslikeaminefield​. Love you. @cabin-fever-bang​ prompt fill. So many thanks to @cracksinthewalls​ and @there-must-be-a-lock​ for exceptional editing and motivation. Also love both of you.

Word Count: 2157

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Dear Mr. Fantasy

Sometimes when he sleeps, Dean sees flashes of other Dean Winchesters, in other universes. His dreams lately have been filled with himself in a thousand forms, a thousand different versions of what could have been. Dean likes to think that they’re made of the same star stuff, but whatever the cause, he feels the connection. 

Some have been vastly different (he spent an entire day lost in thought about a female version of himself who was apparently a rodeo queen by day and monster hunter by night). 

Some are so similar that the lines between his actual self and the other blur to the point of confusion; is he dreaming about himself or a different Dean who made one different choice twenty years ago?

He can always tell the difference, eventually. A scar in the wrong place, an absent friend or loved one still around or maybe someone gone who shouldn’t be. In one universe, someone neglected Baby (couldn’t have been Dean, had to’ve been Sam) to the point where she pulls slightly to the left. 

Dean spends the morning after that dream with a muscle tick in his cheek and a suspicious, side-eyed glare for Sam that he never bothers to explain.

But there’s one particular Other Dean, a favorite one his mind drifts to during rare peaceful moments. Daydreaming when he should be researching, drifting off when a particular song plays on the radio while he’s working on Baby, even washing his hands sometimes will pull him back to those dreams. 

Unsurprisingly, his favorite alternate world has no monsters. It’s not that he isn’t aware of monsters in this dimension, that he doesn’t hunt them. No, in this other world, there’s no magic, no terrifying creatures of the night at all. He can feel the lightness of this world, steadiness that comes with not having to worry about whether a vampire is going to make this evening walk your last or a wendigo is going to join you on your camping trip.

Dean has a theory that this world was a test world, one where Chuck decided to just let things evolve as they would with very little interference. Humanity still has its issues: war, plague, famine, politics, streaming services that have lived long enough to become the villain. 

But no monsters.

Chuck has left this world more or less alone, and Dean is pretty sure he knows why. In God’s eyes, a world without monsters is stale. This alternate world is a world without supernatural conflict, without apocalypse-level struggle, without life and death and good and evil and all that high-stakes, cursed-destiny crap Chuck literally eats for breakfast.

Boring. This world is a snoozefest for Chuck, and Dean’s okay with that.

In fact, he loves it.

He’s been rooting for this world for a while now. He still dreams of it sometimes, so he knows somewhere deep inside that it’s still around. He knows all the worlds will be destroyed eventually, wiped away by Chuck’s callous cruelty. But this one…

Dean’s not the sentimental type, not really, but if he could send it a greeting card, it’d be that cat from years ago on the motivational poster, clawing onto a tree branch.

Hang in there, baby.

He must have done something right for once, because he drifts off and finds himself back there again. He’s a little older in this universe, and he suspects his other self is in denial about beginning to need glasses. A shame, too. A mechanic’s gotta be able to see what he’s doing, and the eyestrain headaches his other self suffers every night would probably clear up completely if he’d just go get his eyes checked.

But they both know he won’t. 

He sees better with his hands than his eyes these days. At forty-eight years old (none of that years young bullshit, either; he’s old, and he’s goddamn earned it), he’s spent his entire life in a garage working on one motor or another, same as his dad before him, and so on. 

It’s honest work, clean despite the grease, and Dean himself has used his own money to help put at least a couple of generations of little Winchesters through college or wherever their hearts took them, starting back with his brother. Dean and his dad both feel pride over Dr. Winchester, the history professor. Might not make as much as a mechanic, but he’s happy and settled, and really, what man could ask for more?

The best part of this Dean’s day, the best part of his whole life, is her. He’s known her for nearly three decades and loved her just as long. 

He was a twenty-year-old punk, learning his way through the art of motorcycles. He’d spent his life so far working on muscle cars, something he would never completely tire of, but now he was in absolute heaven. Dad’s buddy Danny Elkins had agreed to take Dean on, and Dean had taken to bikes like it was meant to be. 

Four months into his new life, Danny’s daughter brought her dad lunch, and, for the first time in his life, Dean wondered whether there might actually be a woman who could pull his attention from an engine for longer than a night or two. 

It was more or less instant attraction for the both of them, kinda like the movies that she loved to watch. Unlike those movies, however, there was no disapproving father to contend with or prove himself to.

“She’s a big girl and can crack your skull just as good as me,” he’d told Dean. “Pretty sure she’s settled on ya, so just make sure you’re worth it.”

So that’s what Dean did. 

Tonight’s dream finds the older Dean alone in the garage, and the sun is at the tail end of setting. Splashes of indigo and orange paint the horizon, framing her approach in a wash of colors blending into shadows that hold no danger.

“Figured you’d forget dinner tonight, what with your new toy. Thought we could share, and you could show me what you’ve been up to.” 

She doesn’t really care about the bikes, the cars, any of it. She only cares that it matters to him, and whatever keeps him running is something she wants to be a part of.

Surrounded by motorcycles in various states of repair and assembly, they speak quietly of their day, sharing the tiny details and separate moments that make up their simple life. She feeds him a bit of meatloaf with her fingers, and he eagerly returns the favor by sucking a smear of mashed potatoes from the corner of her mouth.

She sets the dinner containers aside, twisting to the side to reach for the apple cobbler she made yesterday, when he realizes he can’t stand even that bit of separation between. He’s been without her all day; that’s too much to ask of any man.

“C’mere,” he says.

Dessert forgotten, she settles astride his lap, arms linked around his neck, smiling that serene combination of lips and eyes and cheekbones that makes his heart twist and his groin swell same as the first time she turned them on him thirty-odd years ago. 

They’ve sat like this a thousand times, and he prays silently he’ll get at least a thousand more. When they were kids, crazy and hungry for every experience, she’d come into the garage in her little tank top, her tiny shorts showing off her new ink, heels fit to kill someone (how she never broke an ankle has always been a mystery and a miracle, in both Deans’ opinions).

She scrubs a thumb over his bearded jawline, humming deep in her chest. She’s swapped the tiny skirts for jeans, although he thanks his lucky stars every day that fashions have moved from bootcut back to skinny. Harder to get off quick, but damn does he love the lines of her legs in ‘em.

They press foreheads together as an old Traffic song plays over the radio, swaying gently, always in sync. 

“Dear Mr. Fantasy, play us a tune,” he half-whispers, half-sings, breath warm on her cool cheek.

“Something to make us all happy,” she answers in kind, eye closed. She slides her nose alongside his, runs her chin over his wiry beard, smiles into his kiss as it buffs her face red. 

Perhaps in remembrance of their long-past youth, she’s chosen her smallest tank-top, one she’d normally never wear without at least a button-up over it, and he drops his head to rub his cheeks over the bare skin over her collarbone. Her legs link behind his back, anchoring her as she leans back to allow him more access. 

God, what she can still do to him. The salt of her skin, the fragrance of her perfume that he picked out for her on their first anniversary that she’s worn religiously ever since, the silk of her hair that he tangles between fingers that still tremble with eager nerves.

Older Dean and worn-out, monster-plagued Dean sigh together, content down to their bones. This life is it for both of them. She is it. One Dean still can’t believe his amazing luck after all these years, and the other aches at the simple, total happiness he feels honored to witness.

“Dean.”

The older man runs a reverent hand down his wife’s arm, twining his fingers with hers. He kisses her knuckles, a few more crinkles lining his eyes as he smiles.

“Dean, wake up.”

The scene before him begins to fade as she takes his face between her hands, kisses his temples, the spot between his eyes, the corner of his mouth. For just a second, this Dean (the “real” Dean, as Chuck put it) feels those kisses, looks deep into her eyes and feels that warmth and light that she brings to the other man’s life. 

I love you, she whispers, and he allows himself to believe for one moment that she’s talking directly to him.

“Dean, come on, Cas has a lead.” Sam’s voice finally breaks the dream wide open, and Dean reluctantly opens his eyes. “We gotta go check it out. Get dressed.”

“Yeah.”

He sits up slowly, feeling each of his forty-one years with an ache that no longer surprises him. He swings his legs over the side of his bed, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his face in his hands. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel her phantom caress, her thumb against his cheekbone, her lips on the corner of his.

I love you.

Dean scrubs at his face with hands that get a little older and a little more scarred every day. Warrior’s hands, a testament to his hunts and battles. If he squints a little (maybe he needs an eye exam, too) he can imagine they’re different sorts of scars: burns from hot engines, cuts and scrapes from tools and every-day hard work rather than knives and punches. 

He inhales, gathering strength, putting on his mental armor piece by piece. A knight, riding off to save the world from the devouring dragon. He reaches over and grabs his jeans, sliding them on and standing in a smooth motion that is accompanied by only one or two pops and cracks.

I love you.

Dean doesn’t know how this is all going to end. He knows how he won’t let it end: him against Sammy, to the death and all that biblical Cain and Abel crap. But beyond that, he’s going to fight to save his brother, all of his little patchwork family, because they’re all he has in this world. 

He wonders briefly if his other self’s wife exists in this world, or if she’s just an anomaly, a one-time figment of Chuck’s imagination. He’s pretty sure it’s the latter; a man can only get that lucky once in a thousand lifetimes, and that other Dean is that one in a thousand.

This Dean could search a lifetime and never find her. She’s already been found, and maybe, just maybe if he and Sam can get their act together and bring the final beatdown on Chuck in enough time, he can save her. He can’t have her, but he could save her world, leave her safe and happy with his other self.

“Let it be enough,” he says aloud, not sure if he’s coaxing himself or the universe. He says it again, one more time for luck. 

It has to be enough.

…

“Dear Mr. Fantasy” by Traffic

Dear Mister Fantasy, play us a tune,  Something to make us all happy. Do anything, take us out of this gloom.  Sing a song, play guitar,  Make it snappy.  You are the one who can make us all laugh,  But doing that you break out in tears.  Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had.  We wouldn't have known you all these years.

[redstarwriting]

That Damn Book

Stephen Strange x Reader

Request: “Can we have a strangexreader piece where the reader is constantly trying to make sure that Stephen doesn't overwork himself, slleps and eats at decent times? Maybe one day he locks her out of the study and she opens a portal to snatch away his books?”

Word Count: 1,078

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: swearing, Doctor Stephen Strange being a stubborn ass

A/N: I fucking LOVE writing for Stephen Strange. I literally love Dr. Strange so much I went as him for Halloween last year LMAO. This was really fun to write. I kinda relate to Stephen though, not gonna lie. I mean considering I wrote this at 3:33 in the morning after eating dinner at like 11pm. Yeah, he and I are ~the same.~ Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one!! Thank you for the request!

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Living in the Sanctum Sanctorum had a lot of perks. You were always surrounded by magic, you could read as many books as you want, you were able to take care of your stubborn ass overworking ass dumbass smart ass boyfriend, and it was right down the street from your favorite café! A café you went to often, considering you needed to feed Stephen somehow. Even though you loved this man, he could be so ridiculously and infuriatingly stubborn and downright stupid sometimes. He seems to forget that he can’t do everything at once all the time, causing him to overwork himself. In doing this overworking, sometimes he doesn’t eat and sleep. Like at all. You genuinely don’t know how he survived before you came along.

“Stephen, it’s time for you to eat,” you say, knocking on the door to his study. You hear nothing in response and sigh, opening the door and letting yourself in. Stephen is surrounded by books, intently reading probably the thickest one of all of them. “Hello? Earth to Stephen,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face. He glances up from his book at you and says two words before going back to it. “I’m reading.”

“I see this. But you should be eating. Lucky for you I got your favorite, so,” you form a portal and grab the dinner you got him from where it was currently sitting, bringing it into his office. You push a few books out of the way to make room for it before sitting it down and giving him a grin. A grin he doesn’t see. cause he’s too damn invested in that book. This causes you to frown immediately, and you suddenly form a portal under his book, causing it to fall. He gives you an annoyed look and you just smirk as a portal opens above you, the book landing in your arms. “You get this back after you nourish yourself. You know, for a doctor you’re really bad at self-care. You’d think you out of anyone would advocate to have a healthy body,” you start rambling, turning to go to the door and take the book with you. “(Y/N), I really need that book. This is important, and it could be detrimental to the universe if you don’t give it back to me so I can finish the whole thing right now.”

“You used that excuse last week, Stephen.”

“Yeah, and then seven demons nearly entered our realm and I had to stop it and he only way I knew how to do it was because I read the necessary book so, please. Give it back.”

“After you eat. The theory of,” you glance at the book he’s reading, nonchalantly saying the next part, “Different dimensional deities can wait for now.” You hear him sigh, and you shoot him a wink, turning away from him again. Before you can actually leave his room, though, a portal opens underneath of you. You shriek before falling right into your boyfriend’s arms. “That was horrifying!”  He chuckles, grabbing the book from your hands. You reach to snatch it back, only to have Cloak wrap around your shoulders and literally fly you out of the room. You’re taken far enough away from the door that you can’t run back in before Cloak does, shutting the door behind him. You go to the door, turning the doorknob only to realize, you were locked out. You groan out of frustration, “Oh, come on Stephen!” You hear a chuckle before his muffled voice rings out, “Thank you for the dinner, (Y/N). I promise I’ll eat it, just let me finish this.” You sigh. “Fine. But you better have your ass in bed later or I swear Stephen I will burn that book.” He just laughs and you roll your eyes.

The next few hours are made up of you doing things around the Sanctum. You clean up some messes, make sure to talk to all of the magical objects that appreciate being spoken to, practicing your own magical skills. Before you knew it, you were tired. And it was around eleven o’clock at night, so you decided to go to bed. You went in yours and Stephen’s room, preparing to go to sleep when you realized Stephen was not here with you. You silently curse but give him the benefit of the doubt. Surely, he’d be here before two in the morning.

Wrong.

You were frustrated to say the least. Honestly all you wanted right now was for him to be next to you in bed, holding you as you fell asleep. But nope. That book was too important apparently. You sigh, before getting an idea. You smirk to yourself as you silently begin opening a portal to your boyfriend’s study. Sure enough, there he is. What looks to be about twenty-five pages left in that damn book. You silently enter the portal, slowly creeping up behind him. Usually he would turn around right away and ask you what you were doing and why you were doing it, but because he. was so engrossed in this book, he genuinely had no idea that you were there. Before he could even process what happened, you snatched the book away from him, running back through the portal. He turned around as soon as he processed it, only to see you sitting in bed, waving the book in front of you before you closed the portal. You smile to yourself when you hear footsteps coming from down the hall. The door to your room opens and a very tired and annoyed looking Stephen is standing there. “I told you I needed that.”

“Stephen. You have the twenty something pages left. You and I both know you can read that tomorrow in like thirty minutes. Please come to bed, I’m tired,” you say, stretching your arms out and doing grabby hands toward him. “And I want cuddles,” you complain, putting on the puppy dog eyes. He sighs. Normally people giving him that look didn’t faze him, but you weren’t just people. You were you. So, he gave in. The next morning, he finished the book in record time. And it’s a good thing that he did. Some deities from a different dimension showed up on Earth like three hours after he finished it. He beat them, of course, but he didn’t let you hear the end of it for a while.

[secret-engima]

Okay but how does Regis' dinner with his Demon King not-so go???? U can't just LEAVE that there, do Chocobros 1.0 get an explanation? Does tiny!Cor attack Noct and get gently put down by the the Dark Retinue and just, instantly idolize these SERIOUSLY OP but also v tired warriors?

XDD Well technically I COULD but I won’t. FICLET TIME.

The Chocobros 1.0 do NOT get an explanation (not a full one anyway) because nobody is up to explain the whole “your kids from another dimension that died and woke up here and accidentally usurped a kingdom with the crash landing”.

Instead, after the Night King blandly warns that any attacks on his person will end badly, so please don’t, and please don’t attack the servants either they’re just doing their jobs, he waves a hand and the daemons release Regis and Co. Very slowly, warily, they stand up and rub feeling back into their limbs. Their weapons were taken away, and in this AU while Regis and co have Elemancy and other fancy magic, they DON’T have Armiger (it’s a lost art in this world, so Regis would have to be taught how to access it) so they can’t just yank more out of thin air as they assess their situation (heart of enemy territory, at the feet of the Immortal Accursed who is acting surprisingly nice but has been terrorizing their kingdom off and on for literal centuries). Regis opens his mouth to maybe cautiously ask a question when Cor shakes out the last kinks in his back-.

Then dives for the Night King with bare hands sparking with lightning.

Regis doesn’t get time to tell Cor to stop and the Accursed doesn’t even blink or startle. He doesn’t even move because he doesn’t have to.

The board-shouldered man with Amicitia gold eyes and two scars on his face stops Cor in his tracks. Regis isn’t even sure where the man came from, he moved so fast. He was just there, casually deflecting Cor’s attack without flinching from the lightning, then catching Cor’s follow-up attack with an almost lazy gesture.

Cor winds up winded on the floor at the man’s feet. The man in question rumbles a laugh while letting a frantic Weskham and cursing Cid drag Cor back into their group by his ankles, “Nice try kid, but you’re about three decades too early to pull that off.”

“I’m sorry for him,” Regis manages past the vice in his throat, because Regis can see the Night King watching Cor with a contemplative expression he can’t understand (why is the Accursed looking at Cor like that, with an expression that could ALMOST be called fond-), “He’s young.”

“I remember,” the Accursed says, but does not elaborate on what he remembers (being that young? Others who were like Cor? Information his spies brought him on Cor?) The king shakes his head and looks over at the shadows, “Prompto.”

Yet another human slides out of the shadows, this one as clearly of Niflheim descent as the grinning bear of a man is of Amicitia blood (and Regis can feel Clarus trembling at that, is trying not to think of it himself, because that paired with the Night King’s black hair and blue-blue eyes....). The newcomer smiles like the sun, a shockingly genuine expression in a place like this, “Lemme guess, guest duty?”

The Night King’s expression shifts from mild and unreadable for the first time, a delicate half-smile sliding onto his face that makes him seem unnervingly ... human, “Iggy should be finished soon, just ... escort them to the dining room. Maybe a tour.”

The blond man (Prompto? Is that his name?) laughs, calm and easy, and gestures for Regis and his Retinue to follow him, “Sure thing, Your Majesty. Come on intruder-guests, His Royal Highness needs to finish business in here without gawkers.”

Numb and confused, even Cor meekly follows the man out past the daemons and into the strange, endlessly tall building that served as the Night King’s home (hard to call it a castle with no ramparts or walls, just a tower as large as a small village that reached-reached-reached for the sky, the methods to build it lost centuries ago). The man (Prompto, he introduces himself as) leads them down halls lit by ghostly blue lights where torches should be, past daemons dressed like servants, who bow deeply to their guide as they pass and make no move to attack. Along the way, the man chatters amiably, pointing out meaningless trivia that would do nothing to help should they try to escape but was almost amusing were it not for the circumstances.

At one point, Cor lunges for Prompto’s back before Regis can stop him (Cid curses as the boy worms out of Cid’s grip unexpectedly, he’s getting better at escaping each time they try to stop him from getting into trouble). Cor snatches a decorative but razor sharp knife from a display rack as he goes, diving for Prompto’s back.

The man sidesteps without even looking, easily swipes Cor’s feet out from under him, then sidesteps again when Cor rolls with the fall and comes up swinging. Regis is tempted to try joining in, to try to get AWAY but by the time he’s thought it, the fight is already over and Cor is dazedly staring at Regis from where he’s been pinned against the wall by Prompto, “Dude,” says the member of the Dark King’s court, “rude. Wait until after dinner or something yeah? Pretty sure His Majesty will let you borrow a training room if you want to go a few rounds with me or Gladio.”

Cor twitches against the hold, but doesn’t really dare move because Prompto is holding the knife now and it is dangerously (lazily) close to Cor’s neck, “You’re faster than Gilgamesh,” Cor wheezes angrily, “How are you faster than Gilgamesh?”

Prompto doesn’t even blink at the mention of the ancient Swordmaster’s name, just lets Cor go with a shove that propels him into Clarus’s arms, “Please. Gilga-brat,” Clarus choked on his spit at the nickname, “has got nothing on Iggy when it comes to speed. Not even close. Assuming you stay for a day or two, ask your king if you can spar with Gladio a few rounds or something”

“Assuming we survive the night?” Weskham asks dryly.

Prompto blinks at him as if surprised, then grins, the expression sharp with something Regis can’t place (it almost seems like grief, but that can’t be).

They arrive in the dining room to find another human, a man with horrible scars mostly hidden beneath strange glasses that have to be too dark to see through and oddly stretched to wrap around the front of his face rather than being small, round little lenses like Regis is used to. The man is expertly directing a positive mob of Tonberry and Arachne, pointing out where to put the plates and where to adjust something all without so much as turning his head in the direction of the people he’s instructing. Regis wonders with a prickling chill if he has some kind of power given to him by the Night King. Surely all of the human inhabitants have SOME reason for staying in this place, either curses, thrall marks, or the promise of unnatural magic. Regis glimpses the woman from before, but she disappears through a different door before he can really look at her.

The blind man tips his head in their direction, “Ah, our guests. Your Highness, you sit in that chair if you will,” he gestures to the plush seat opposite the one clearly meant for the Night King and Regis falters at the implied equality between him and the Accursed, but the man is already directing the others to their seats and all they can do is tentatively creep past the bustling Tonberry and sit as food more fitting for an Altissian Royal Banquet than a castle of evil is laid out before them. He knows he should be wary, but after weeks of travel on only rations and campfire cooking, the sight and smell makes his mouth water.

Moments after they are seated, the Night King sweeps in, his Amicitia on his heels. The woman reappears alongside a boy who must be Cor’s age (physically anyway) and they seat themselves. Regis notices that the arrangement is a mirror of his own Retinue.

The prickling feeling increases.

They eat only because Regis is terrified of pushing the Accursed into acting like- well- the Accursed, even though he’s half afraid he’s eating people or something with every bite (it tastes amazing though, like fine dishes and rare spices, not like daemon food at all so maybe he’s okay?). Over dinner, the Accursed makes very light, easy conversation, never asking why they tried to break into his kingdom or mentioning the fact that they were- you know- mortal enemies. Regis doesn’t understand what the trick is and that scares him.

Finally Clarus breaks. He does not slam the table, he is more controlled than that, but he puts his utensils down and clears his throat, “May I be permitted to ask a question, Your Majesty?”

The Night King looks up and there is surprise in his eyes for just a moment, “Speak freely,” he answers dryly after a moment, “you’re hardly going to say anything I have not heard before.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Weskham shoots Clarus a sharp look and Regis pinches the bridge of his nose. The Night King tilts his head like he doesn’t understand, “Clarify.”

“Why are you entertaining us as honored guests? We are all members of your sworn enemies, of Lucis that you have spent centuries trying to destroy. Why show us courtesy? Why have the attacks on Lucis stopped to begin with?”

The Night King sits back and looks ... so genuinely flummoxed Regis almost finds himself believing it. The Accursed looks at his Dark Retinue, who all openly shrug save Ignis, who adjusts his strange glasses without comment. The Accursed frowns, then calls to the rafters, “Sheria?”

An Arachne, so old she’s massive, easily descends from the rafters (Cor’s breathing goes pointedly measured, he never could stand arachnids of any kind). The Arachne leans down and murmurs something into the Night King’s ear that the Dark Retinue can apparently hear because now all of them are blinking. The Accursed nods slowly and dismisses the giant daemon, then rubs his forehead, “Lovely. Just great. Why did no one tell me this when I took the Astral-cursed job-.”

The blind man’s lips twitch, “Noct,” he murmurs softly and there is an entire conversation in that one word. The Night King throws his head back and groans like a teenager, sits up straight and shatters Regis’s world with a casual, “Yea I didn’t do any of that stuff. I’ve only been King for ... I think a year now? About a year. Still catching up on all the paperwork and stuff.” He pauses, “The raids on your kingdom DID stop right? I ordered all raids be put on hold indefinitely on my first day.”

Regis is pretty sure he’s not breathing anymore, “You ... have only been ... for a year?” He manages a strangled gasp, squeaks out, “Then you aren’t the Accursed?”

The man waves a hand impatiently, as if the title was an annoying fly, “Formal title. Blame my uncle, he was always a drama queen.”

“...Uncle?”

The Dark Retinue is definitely snickering now as the Night King (?) props his chin on a hand and says, “Yeah, my Uncle. The original Accursed. I finally killed him a year ago, which makes me the new Night King.”

Cid runs a hand through his hair, “Ah thought the Accursed was immortal.”

“Yes, he was. Only one of his blood could kill him, everything else just bounced off. We fought, I won, so he died. That’s ... how it works. Next question.”

Cor speaks up next, because Regis is still trying to get his world to stop shattering, “So you ... aren’t going to kill us?”

A fractured expression and the deceptively human, amiable mien cracks to show ancient, terrible, grieving anger. In that moment the man before him seems centuries old, not somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties and Regis can BELIEVE that the man (men, and woman, because the others have similar expressions if not so deep and ancient) is an Immortal. Has seen things too old for Regis to comprehend.

“No,” the man answers and his voice cracks with emotion as he looks away, “No, I’m not going to kill you. I don’t want to kill anyone. I did my killing. I don’t want to do anymore.” And there is ... something so very fragile in those words, so very broken and tired and Regis suddenly realizes that ... this was the first Accursed’s nephew, family, he had assumed this man killed the other out of desire for the throne but what if...

What if it have been a desperate desire to make the death and madness stop?

“Is there something we can call you,” Regis hears himself saying, his heart going out against his will to this dangerous, strange immortal, “other than your titles? Is there a name you prefer?”

The looks the Dark Retinue send him are approving and surprised, and the tight line in the Night King’s shoulders unwind, “...Noctis. Please, call me Noctis.”

[lastbluetardis]

Home for the Holidays (1/2)

This is part one of my gift to @timeladyelpia for the @dwsecretsanta gift exchange! Apologies for the delay; I hope you enjoy this! Your info said you enjoy reunions and established relationships, so that’s what this is :)

Ten x Rose, 4400 words, teen

Also tagging @doctorroseprompts 

Summary: Despite being locked away in different universes, the Doctor and Rose have managed to stay connected through their marriage bond, celebrating holidays and special events even through the impenetrable distance. After celebrating three Christmases apart, fate brings them together once more just in time for the holidays.

Note: If anybody remembers this little ficlet (If Only in My Dreams) I wrote for last year’s Ficmas, I borrowed from that idea and wrote the reunion. However, you do NOT need to have read that in order to understand this.

AO3

The holidays were one of the hardest times for the Doctor. Though he didn’t naturally celebrate—at least not any Earth or human holiday—Rose had. Oh, he would join in the festivities with his past companions, wishing them Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Festivus, or whatever holiday they in particular celebrated, but he was always on the outside looking in.

But all of that had changed when he’d met Rose, when he regenerated into his current body and left her and the Earth to fend for themselves during a Sycorax invasion while he was—helpfully—in a regenerative coma. All on Christmas Day.

When it all had blown over—blown up, more like it, thanks to Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister—he had strangely been invited to Christmas dinner at the Tylers’. Even more strangely, he’d said yes. After he changed, of course. He couldn’t very well have Christmas dinner in his borrowed jimjams. No, he’d gone back to his TARDIS and found himself a new outfit before heading back up to Rose and her mother.

Even now, remembering the look of appreciation in Rose’s eyes when she beheld him in his new suit sent butterflies through his stomach.

He had stayed for dinner and the snow-that-wasn’t-snow and for dessert. And even once that was finished, once the food was cleared away and the dishes piled high in the sink for the following morning, he hadn’t wanted to leave quite yet. So he had accepted Rose’s invitation to sleep on the sofa for the night. Not that Time Lords needed much sleep. (However, newly-regenerated Time Lord could certainly use a nap.)

He had spent the next couple weeks with the Tylers, which was virtually unheard of for him. But the TARDIS had been in no shape to fly, thanks to whatever jiggery-pokery Rose had done to the old girl to look into her heart to become the Bad Wolf. And thanks to his less-than-stellar driving while his brain was imploding and collapsing during some regeneration complications. 

No matter, he had been able to get his beloved ship flying again a week or so after the New Year. In the interim, between TARDIS repairs, he had reconnected with Rose. Answering all of her questions regarding regeneration. Filling in the gaps of her memory during her time as Bad Wolf. Recounting all of their adventures together to prove to her, without a doubt, that he was still the Doctor. Still her Doctor, though he’d never exactly stated it as such.

(Little did he know then that Rose had already considered him her Doctor. She later confessed to him that his earnest attempts to convince her of his identity had been endearing.)

On the evening before he and Rose were to depart for the stars once more, Rose had stayed up late with him in Jackie’s living room and had presented him with a small package. She had seemed slightly embarrassed or self-conscious as he ripped into the brown-paper-wrapped parcel; she had begun rambling about traditions and new beginnings and something about “together”, which he very much liked to think about. He liked the idea of him and Rose together forever.

Upon indelicately ripping off the wrapping paper, he saw a simple white box. When he removed the lid, a Christmas ornament lay nestled in a soft bed of shredded cotton. His hearts had constricted in his chest as he pulled out the ornament, two penguins clad in hats and scarves leaning in to touch the tips of their beaks together. Beneath, in an elegant script, were the words “The Doctor + Rose’s First Christmas” and the year.

“I know it’s silly,” Rose said, still looking anywhere but him. “Christmas is over now, and it’s not like we even had a tree in the TARDIS to put it on, but I saw it and couldn’t resist. Obviously, I wrote in our names. Not many ornaments have ‘the Doctor’ written on ‘em.”

He pulled her into his arms, silencing her words. “It’s perfect,” he said through the lump in his throat. “Tell you what. We can put it up on the tree next Christmas. And get another ornament to go with it. Eh? Can be a tradition.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “You put up a Christmas tree in that box of yours?”

“Not usually,” he admitted. “But you celebrate Christmas. I want the TARDIS to feel like home for you, and if celebrating all of your little human holidays makes it feel like home, then I want to celebrate with you, however you’d like. If you’d like.”

Her expression softened and she smiled shyly at him. “The TARDIS is already my home, Doctor.”

The admission both floored and delighted him. A big, beaming grin split his face in two, and the echoing expression lit up her face too.

He very nearly kissed her then, and he spent the rest of the night, after Rose had gone to bed, cursing himself for not seizing the opportunity.

No matter. They got there eventually, after a few hiccups in the road.

By the time their second Christmas rolled around, they were an actual proper couple, and they went shopping together not only for their first Christmas tree, but also for the companion to the penguin ornament. They’d decided on two polar bears decorating a Christmas tree together, snouts pressed together in a supposed kiss.

They had bought other decorations as well, but they displayed their couples’ ornaments proudly on the front of the tree, making sure no branches, lights, or baubles obscured them from view.

“I wonder how long it’ll take before we have enough couples’ ornaments to decorate the tree just with them,” Rose mused as they de-decked their tree after the holidays. “Ages and ages, I’ll bet.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got ages and ages,” he replied, a goofy grin on his face. “Forever, in fact.”

And they did. They had forever together. Whatever Rose had done as Bad Wolf had changed her at the cellular level. Her body wasn’t breaking down at all; it had enough regenerative energy—courtesy of the TARDIS—to replenish any aged and dying cells before they turned hazardous. For all intents and purposes, she would live just as long as the Doctor. Longer, perhaps.

Upon realizing what that meant for them, for their future together, they decided to bind themselves together in every way possible. One soul in two bodies. At least, that was how Rose had liked to think of it when he had explained the telepathic marriage bond. An open channel between them, their minds, allowing them to see the most intimate parts of the other.

There had been no one the Doctor had wanted to share that sort of connection with, apart from Rose. There had never been anyone like her before—nobody he loved as deeply, fiercely, wholly, eternally—and there would never be anyone like her again.

Not even now that she was gone.

It had been over three years since Torchwood. Since Canary Wharf. Since the Daleks and Cybermen and parallel worlds and Void breaches that ended with the multiverse being saved, but with Rose being trapped permanently in another world.

In those first few moments, as he watched the Void breach fold in on itself like a crumpled piece of paper, the Doctor had held his breath and tensed for the inevitable slash of pain in his mind as his bond with Rose broke. But when a minute passed, then two, then ten and his bond with Rose was still there, he relaxed a fraction.

The anguish and desperation clanging from her half of the bond was what kept him sane, funnily enough. Regardless of their mutual devastation, the fact that he could still feel her in his mind meant he hadn’t truly lost her. She wasn’t truly gone. He wasn’t truly alone.

It had taken months for them to adapt and adjust to their new reality. Time moved around them differently; Pete’s World, as he’d dubbed it, moved slightly faster than their prime universe. And time didn’t really exist in the TARDIS. However, they tried to sync their internal body clocks with each other, to sleep and eat and relax at the same time to make up for the fact that they weren’t physically with each other.

Despite having his wife in his head at all times, he still missed her. He missed her more with every passing day. Nevertheless, they had coped as best they could.

However, the holidays still hurt. It hurt to try to celebrate with Rose when she was—literally—worlds away. Universes away. It hurt to go out and get a Christmas tree. It hurt to decorate it. But above all, it hurt to pick out and purchase their couples’ ornament alone. He’d had to pick out the last three on his own, and if his calculations were correct—which they were, because he was quite brilliant—he would be needing to go out and buy a new one soon. Their sixth overall, the fourth he would buy alone.

Despite Rose’s confidence in the Dimension Cannon—a clever bit of technology that the Torchwood researchers and engineers in Pete’s World had been developing for well over a year now—it seemed as though the Cannon hadn’t worked enough to bring her back to this world in time for Christmas.

But he didn’t care when she came home. He just cared that she did come home. One day.

He had been skeptical of the Cannon when Rose first informed him of its creation, but now that it began showing signs of life—acting as a crude teleport—he was cautiously optimistic that one day it would work. Once he or any of the Torchwood scientists managed to figure out how to poke a hole through the Void, through the fabric of reality, large enough for Rose to squeeze through, but small enough that the entire microcosm of the multiverse didn’t implode in the process. It was a delicate balancing act.

However, now that Rose was busy testing the Dimension Cannon, letting it blast her to whatever corner of her universe it fancied, their bond was a little more strained and out of sync. It had nearly given him a hearts-attack when she went utterly silent one day, only to reappear in his mind hours later as though nothing had happened.

She had since taken to warning him about when she was planning a Cannon jump so he wouldn’t be alarmed if she disappeared from his head for a few hours. Though he appreciated it, it didn’t stop his anxiety from squeezing a tight band around his chest. Every time her half of the bond went quiet, he feared he would never hear from her again.

Inevitably, though, she always returned. She would always return.

He had taken to running errands on the days she did her Cannon jumps. Not only did it distract him from the silence in his head, but it gave him a break from trying to keep his body clock synced with Rose’s. He didn’t need to concern himself about when or where he went, or for how long.

On one particular day in the beginning of December—for Rose, at least… Pete’s World had gotten completely out of sync with their universe by now—the Doctor had decided to visit Ghealach, a small moon on the other end of the galaxy that was basically a junk shop masquerading as a bazaar. The unique feature of Ghealach, however, was that it was utterly psy-null. Telepathy was strictly forbidden as a security measure; the shop owners didn’t want a telepathic being creeping into their heads to swindle them out of money and supplies.

As such, if the Doctor were to go to Ghealach, it meant his bond with Rose would be silenced.

I’ll be there for just a few hours, he told her that morning. I should be done by the time you’re back, but in the event that I’m not, I don’t want you to worry.

Thanks for telling me. Stay safe, Doctor.

He snorted. I’m not the one blasting myself to the gods know where.

He got the impression she was sticking her tongue out at him, and so he rolled his eyes right back.

Be safe, he murmured, passing a kiss and a caress down their bond.

He piloted himself to Ghealach but stayed in the TARDIS until Rose’s presence faded from his mind, indicating she’d gone on her jump.

Wearily, the Doctor rubbed at his eyes and at the dull throb that pulsed behind his temples. Ignoring the ache, he grabbed his overcoat, swung it around his shoulders, and exited the TARDIS.

Ghealach was bustling with activity. All sorts of creatures were buying and selling, bartering and trading. While he usually loved the atmosphere—all of those people, all that life—he couldn’t stomach it today.

So he moved with a purpose, knowing where he could find the parts that he needed to fix the TARDIS. Well, not exactly fix, as nothing was technically broken. But the mechanisms behind the fine-tune precision needed for landing at the coordinates he set must be going a bit faulty. He was landing in an incorrect time or location more often than usual.

If Rose were there, she would’ve teased him about his poor piloting skills.

Pushing that thought aside, the Doctor strode from tent to tent, turning out his pockets to exchange whatever baubles and trinkets and bits of alien tech he happened to have.

It took nearly two hours, but he finally had all of the pieces he had sought out to find, plus a few extra bits he didn’t need but might one day have use for.

It took another half hour or wandering to find the TARDIS again. He hadn’t realized how far he had wandered into the labyrinthine stalls of the market. But he finally beheld his glorious ship. It was odd not to hear her welcoming hum as he approached. Even his bond with his ship was muted on this moon.

He slid his key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door inward. Her central rotor gleamed in welcome and the lights flickered between bright and dull. As soon as he closed the door behind him, leaving the psy-null territory, he felt his ship’s utter joy and delight.

“I missed you too,” he cooed to his ship, affectionately rubbing one of the coral struts as he draped his coat across it.

It was only when he’d skipped up to the center console that he realized his ship wasn’t the sole presence in his mind.

Oh! You’re back earlier than I thought, he said, cringing. Sorry, love. Didn’t think I'd be on that moon for so long.

“Doctor.”

Her voice was faint and breathless, and the Doctor clenched his jaw; it sounded as though she was right beside him. He was getting bombarded with a mixture of emotions, strong ones at that. Stronger than he usually felt from their strained bond.

What’s the matter? Everything all right? Jump go okay?

“It’s you… It’s really, actually you.”

He frowned at the display controls of his ship as he worked on sending her into flight. Rose was coming across clearly. He could read every thread of thought and emotion: disbelief, confusion, love, hurt, happiness, desperation. All of it. Everything that was going on inside that beautiful head of hers was broadcast for him to see.

But if he could sense her so easily, then that meant…

Where are you? he asked, frantically tugging the display screen so close to his face that his nose nearly brushed it. He typed at the keyboard fervently, even though he had no coordinates to input. I’ll find you, Rose. I will find you. Gods, you’re here. Where are you? I’ll find you.

A choked sob sounded from his wife, and he reached into himself, into their bond, to cradle her close. A maelstrom hit him, and he couldn’t seem to soothe her, no matter how much comfort and love he swaddled her in.

I know, love. I know. We’re so close. All these years and you’ve finally done it. You’re brilliant, you are. We’re so close now. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you and bring you home. But I need to know where you are.

“Turn around.”

Turn around? What? Where are you, Rose? I need as much information as you can give me so I can find you.

“Turn. Around.”

His mind was still churning even as something—someone—touched his shoulder. Fingers gripped his shoulder hard and tugged. Spinning on his heel, his jaw slackened as he beheld the blonde standing before him. Rose. His wife. His bondmate. His everything.

“Rose?” he croaked, clenching his hands into fists at his side.

She looked nearly the same as the day he’d lost her. The planes of her face had sharpened, the roundness of youth having faded over the years, and her hair was a gentler shade of blonde, seemingly professionally dyed rather than a cheap bit of bleaching product she found in the shops.

His eyes roved across her face hungrily, urgently willing her to be real, as his mind sought her out. He hadn’t realized how muffled their bond had become, separated as they were through universes, but now it was in perfect focus, at full power. It was as though a radio station that had been staticky was now tuned.

And all of the emotions swirling through both of their minds was being broadcast on all frequencies. Shock and disbelief and tentative, delicate hope.

“Oh, Doctor!”

Rose launched herself at him, pulling him from his stupor. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as close as he could. Her warm, small body contoured to his, pressing against every inch of him until there was no space left between them.

Her hands scrabbled at his back, searching for better purchase to cling to him. He buried his nose into the soft spot where her shoulder met her neck and breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of her. She smelled like energy and electricity, but beneath that was the familiar scent of Rose. Of home.

“What… How…?”

“It worked,” she said, her voice warbling. “The Cannon… it worked. With a bit of help. Needed a bit of alien tech to help brace the Void open, then close it up behind me. Some friendly aliens helped out with that. Though they said the fabric of that reality was already fragile. Not sure what that was about. Torchwood promised to look into it, and I said we’d look into it from this side of things.”

“Fragile?” he asked, pulling away from her. “How can the fabric of reality become ‘fragile’?”

Rose looked like she was about to open her mouth, perhaps to offer her input, but the Doctor realized he didn’t particularly want to talk about the fabric of reality or the universe or anything that wasn’t Rose.

He shook his head and cradled Rose’s jaw in her palm, brushing his thumb against her lower lip. She sighed, her warm breath ghosting across his hand.

“I’ve missed you,” he rasped, raking his eyes over her face to recommit every detail to memory. She was even more beautiful, more breathtaking, than he remembered. “So much, Rose. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t miss you. And I know we were never truly apart, but…”

Rose rocked up onto her toes, fisted her hands in the lapels of his suit, and tugged him down until their mouths met in a hard kiss. All thoughts left his mind as he lost himself in her. The taste of her, the touch of her, the smell of her, the sound of her, the sight of her. His senses were utterly overwhelmed by her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Pleasure sparked through his veins as their lips moved together in a familiar rhythm of pulling and yielding, sliding and gliding.

A full-body shudder rippled down his spine as his mouth parted for her probing tongue. The little whimper she let out weakened his knees and he stumbled back a step until his backside pressed against the central console of the TARDIS.

Rose followed, not breaking the kiss. The Doctor braced himself against the console, more than willing to let Rose cage him in, resting her weight against his. Their bodies moved together, rocking and writhing as their hands explored every inch of each other that they’d been deprived of for three and a half years.

“I missed you,” he murmured between frantic kisses. “I love you.”

I love you, he whispered into her mind. His half of the bond wrapped around her half even tighter than his body wrapped around hers, needing to feel her everywhere, needing to hold her close to convince himself that this was real, that she was real, and that she was here with him.

“I’m here,” she mumbled against his mouth. I’m here. I’m back. I came back. I love you. I love you.

Her hands moved restlessly across his body, alternating between pressing into the small of his back and his hair. Desire rippled through him as their hips and legs tangled together, rubbing and grinding and relishing all of the sensations they’d been deprived of for these many long years.

Sure, they’d had the mental presence of each other during their separation, but no number of mental embraces could replace a real hug, of being ensconced in another’s arms, two bodies inhabiting one space.

A deep groan rumbled up the Doctor’s chest as he devoured Rose’s mouth. The bedroom was too far away for the utter need throbbing through them both. Hastily removing all necessary pieces of clothing, they joined together on the raggedy old jump seat. Their bodies moved as one, touching and kissing and teasing and tasting until their coupling culminated in the pinnacle of pleasure and love.

Afterwards, they sat slumped together, panting for breath and clinging to each other. The Doctor skated his fingertips up and down the smooth expanse of Rose’s spine. She still had her shirt on, and the fabric bunched and fell with every up and down motion of his hand.

“I love you,” he said groggily, pressing a series of kisses to the column of her throat. His mind was blissfully blank and full of Rose. She was everywhere, filling the deep, dark expanse of his mind with her light and warmth.

“You feel so good,” she sighed, nuzzling closer physically and mentally. “I hadn’t realized how faint our bond had become. But now… God.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. Then he asked the question that had slowly been eating away at him. “How long were you waiting in here? How did you even find the ship? That moon… you wouldn’t have been able to feel her—or me.”

“Maybe a half hour,” Rose said. “Felt like an eternity. But then I reminded myself that I was lucky enough to have found the TARDIS at all. I would’ve been devastated to know I’d landed here but just missed you.”

He would’ve been devastated too. Even more horrifying was the idea that Rose wouldn’t even have been able to reach out for him to tell him where she was, what with that telepathic dampener suppressing their bond.

“But I was just wandering around when I found the TARDIS,” Rose continued. “I nearly walked right by her at first, ‘cos I didn’t think the jump had actually worked. I figured I was on an alien planet in that other universe. But then I walked past her and the door just… clicked open. That’s when I turned and saw her, and I ran right in.

“But then I wasn’t sure which version of you it would be. Everything about the TARDIS looked the same, so I figured I wasn’t too far off. Then I was beginning to think about how I would explain everything if it was a past you. Especially if it was a past you who hadn’t met me yet; how on Earth would I explain to you who I was and why you needed to help me.”

“The marriage bond would’ve been proof enough,” he assured her, tapping at his temple for emphasis. “The bond transcends time, through regenerations, past and present. No matter which version of me walked through those doors, I would have known who you are.”

“Thank God it was you,” she said. “Though for a minute there I thought I went mad and was invisible.”

He offered her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I didn’t think to look around the TARDIS. I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

She smirked at him, then nestled her head into the crook of his neck, letting out a sated sigh Despite the sound of utter contentment, she murmured, “We should get up.”

“Or we could stay here like this forever,” he countered.

“As wonderful as that sounds, my legs are going half numb,” she retorted. “And I feel disgusting. I could use a shower, if you’d care to join me?”

His belly swooped in renewed desire as he nodded fervently. Rose grinned at him, her tongue poking teasingly out of the corner of her mouth. He pinched her bum for her cheek, causing her to shriek with laughter and swat at his hand.

A daft grin settled across his face at the sound. Oh, how he’d missed her.

He couldn’t help but lean up to plant a row of tiny kisses across her jaw, beginning at the sensitive skin beneath her ear and working his way to the corner of her mouth. He felt her cheek lift in a smile as her hand went to the back of his head to keep him where he was. As if he would ever wish to stop kissing her.

“Shower?” he mumbled against her skin, slowly making a path down her neck.

“Mhm,” she hummed distractedly.

He laughed softly and pressed a final kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Rose heaved a great sigh but dutifully lifted herself off of his lap to stand on wobbly legs. He followed suit, and they each fixed their jumble of half-off clothing before they moved, hand in hand, down the corridor of their home.

Part Two (the Christmas fluff) coming soon!

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 8: Peter*

Ironically, it was very easy to pick out a fake name for this guy because of the journey I am about to bring you on, in which this was a name that was relevant during this date. This is a long entry despite this date being the only one, and only maybe two hours, simply because it has thus far been the worst date I have ever been on in my life, and I remember every damn detail.

Sometimes when I’m on Bumble, I get in really weird moods where if it looks like the guy isn’t going to respond to my message (they have 24 hours to respond or they disappear), then I will put in a snarky comment as the clock ticks just to make myself feel vindicated. When I picked my opening message to Peter*, I chose to do a pick-up line, which is something I never do. 

Peter* looked a lot like Dr. Chase from House, that is, Australian, blonde, blue eyes, good looking. Therefore my message went like this: “I have a really bad pick-up line if you’d like to hear it.” After it became hour 23, I was like ok it’s snarky time. Simply put, I said, “whatever you’re missing out.” LO and behold the dude finally responds and says “Lol ok go ahead.”

Now it is my time to shine. I say “Wow ok now the pressure is on. Here goes,” “Part One: Are you Australian? Part Two: because I’d go down under for you.” He laughs or whatever and goes into just talking. He asks if I want to come over to watch a movie that night and I’m feeling spontaneous so I say sure, but preface that despite my dirty pick-up line that I’m not interested in a hookup situation. 

He seems still interested so I discuss with him that I am going to cook dinner for myself and because it is a meal kit, that he would be doing me a favor by sharing the meal with me and eating it. So I cook the meal and bring the pot of pasta over to his place, which is in St. Petersburg, which is about 30 minutes and across a bridge.

He gave me instructions to pull up in front of his apartment complex and that he would meet me out there to help me find parking. He definitely over complicated things as there was street parking that was easy to find on the other side of the building to where I pulled up. He comes to my car and gets in and immediately I can smell smoke. I’m like great, that’s not super attractive but I’m here, let’s just see how this goes. We park and he holds the food and we go to his place. 

He warns me that his place is messy; however, I’m thinking like everyone says that, it’s just a thing people say when they don’t have a pristine home that is perfectly maintained, which can only be achieved if you have a daily maid service or you legitimately have severe OCD. When I walk in the door, a wave of smell hits me. The predominant smell was definitely that of weed. The kitchen sink was a mountain of dishes and I honestly didn’t want to make direct eye contact with it as it would give me anxiety. He asks me if the place smells and I say that it smells like weed. He asks if I smoke and I say not my thing, but I don’t care what other people do. This is true, but I still expect people to be on their A-game for a date…. More on that later.

It was a studio apartment, and so everything was there. I had to use the bathroom but was afraid to see how bad the bathroom may be based on everything else. I would later hold my pee literally until I got home hours later. I asked if he could find some clean silverware and plates. 

His buddy from out of town had slept over, I guess, the night before, so the futon was still flat. So on this date, I am put to work to help him fold it back into a couch. It was a struggle and took like 3 minutes, so afterward I sat on the couch while he searched for clean utensils. I was charged with picking out a movie. This in itself was a difficult mission. I went to his Hulu account, none of the profiles said his real name. I had to ask, “Peter*, which account is yours?” He is clueless. He finally says oh it’s the one that says Peter (not his real name, actually Peter), thus why I chose Peter for his name for the purposes of this memoir. He says it’s his ex’s account and I’m like “oh… ok, does she know you still use the account?” and he says she doesn’t. Nothing is good on Hulu so I swap to Netflix. Keep in mind the guy is still searching for something clean for us to eat with. Now on Netflix, none of the names are his; again, I ask which profile is his. This time it’s “Mark.” I’m done asking questions. I don’t even want to know at this time. So I choose the movie Get Him to The Greek. It’s funny and not that long so I picked it.

Five minutes after beginning his search, he is still looking for anything clean. Bro couldn’t even find plastic silverware. He emerges finally with a serving spoon and those measuring cup keychain packs and two paper plates. He hands me the serving spoon. I am thinking, “what the fuck is this.” So I use my serving spoon to put the food on each plate and start the movie. I struggle to eat this butternut squash ravioli with a giant ass spoon, and he’s wolfing down his food with literally a measuring cup. At least he doesn’t smack his mouth when he eats, I think.

Already I’d say this is going pretty terrible. Fifteen minutes into the movie, he gets up and gets something from a desk. Peter* cracks open his window and he starts smoking weed like right in front of me. I don’t say shit. All I know is that I cannot wait for this movie to be over so I can leave. He returns to the couch and decides now he’s gonna be cuddly. I just kinda let him put his arm around me but I don’t really do much else.

I try to get a conversation going but the dude is straight-up stoned. We were talking about something or another and he started a follow-up question. “What are you…” then he trails off. I give him a solid minute then say “What are you… what?” He’s like “huh?” I say, “Well you started to ask me a question and then stopped after those three words…” He says “Oh…. I have no idea. Hah.” I think my soul left my body at this point. 

More of the movie goes over. He goes to smoke again. He returns to the couch. He sits far away from me. Suddenly, and I mean suddenly, he leans super far over and tries to kiss me. I swiftly lean the other direction and let out a sort of “ehhhhhhh” noise. He still manages somehow to kiss my cheek, which is better than my mouth because I am not into it. I have no idea why he thought that was a good idea. I think we were in different dimensions. Shortly after that, I mentioned, “I think after this movie ends I’m going to go home. I’m tired and my dog needs me.” Not necessarily a lie. I was tired and my dog does need me.

The movie finally ends, he asks if I’m going to eat the rest of the food or if he could have some. I say I think I will eat the leftovers for lunch, but at this point, he’s already dipped his measuring cup into the pot and grabbed a couple of ravioli. He says, “oh ok I won’t take more then.” Especially with people I am not comfortable with, I am weird about people using used utensils on food. So immediately I knew that I was actually going to throw the remainder out since he just touched them with his used whatever.

He then puts on his shoes and goes to show me the way out of his apartment complex. He runs into one of his neighbors and they make small talk. I am mortified and just cannot wait to get out of this place. We come out of the elevator, and he walks me towards where I had pulled my car up to meet him, AKA the wrong side. As we’re walking to the door I passively mention this is the wrong side, “Oh this is the front of the building.” We walk out of the doors and he says drive safe bye and gives me an awkward side hug. I stand there like, what an ending to this rollercoaster ride. At this point, I don’t even give a fuck. I know where I am and I walk to my car, get in, and drive as fast as I can to get home. 

I arrive home and my phone dings; a text from Peter*. It says “Shit I’m so sorry.” At this point, the apology could be for any number of things so I simply reply “? I just got back home” He says “OK just walked you out the wrong side not a huge deal just thought you were parked on that side lol nevermind.” I say, “hahahahahahahahaha you just realized?” All the haha’s because I am just in such disbelief that this man was so stoned that he walked me out the wrong side. 

He says, out of order “Glad you got home goodnight :)” and “I did lol.” I decide to passively tell him he is a dumbass, “I kinda said something I was like oh this is the front ok.” He comes back with a non sequitur, “I am a tad weird I understand that lol”

I never speak to or hear back from him again, thankfully. I hope he was embarrassed. I hope he knows how terrible that date was. I’m glad I didn’t even HAVE to ghost him or tell him he needed to fuck off. I will never forget this whole chapter.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 27

A little tension in this chapter, but then again, given what’s going on, everyone is tense.

I have the story written through Chapter 36, after which I will start working in the new characters that were announced last night.  I think, once we get through the next 3 chapters or so, that you’ll agree there is some need for them....

My conversation with Xiomara regarding Maverick’s eating habits – or lack thereof – was more exhausting than expected.  Having never spent much of her life around anyone who was not neurotypical, her method of ‘handling’ us was essentially to foist us off on any willing person and trusting them to keep it out of her sight.  On the opposite side of that, I had grown up the most neurotypical person in my family, and made an entire career out of getting the best results possible out of people who spent their entire lives being told they were less. After about five minutes, I started to worry my teeth were going to break from grinding them together so hard.

“Xiomara,” I growled. “You can’t just expect someone else to work with anyone you don’t understand.  You get better results out of your people when you acknowledge your differences and leverage their strengths.  That also means that you have to watch out for their weaknesses.”

She scoffed. “You don’t even use that word. Don’t you mean ‘opportunities for improvement’?” she asked snarkily.

“This isn’t a skillset he can work on, Xio!  It makes absolute perfect sense in his mind to go days without food rather than asking for something he actually will eat!”

“He was in the military,” she ground out. “He’s had to just eat what was given to him before.”

“Yeah, he was,” I cried, exasperated. “I got his service medical records from Grey. Maverick was hospitalized fourteen times for malnutrition before he was given geriatric vitamins.  His weight was dangerously low at nearly every medical appointment before he learned to essentially bloat himself with liquids before physicals so he wouldn’t be force-fed anymore.  He could have killed himself with hyponatremia!”  I held up a hand and took a few deep breaths to calm down. “Look, all I am asking is that you do not allow him to fly until he has Antoine Costa, Grey Hodenson, or myself confirm he has consumed the amount of calories he is going to be prescribed.  That’s it!”

“Maverick is a grown man, and you want me to require a doctor’s note to let him do his job!?  This is too much, even for you, Sophia,” she sighed.  “He’s pretty much the only pilot we have who can maneuver the ship.  We need him.”

I wracked my brain trying to figure out how to get through to her.  “How many times have you ended a meeting in the middle of a sentence and sent me to my quarters with an escort because you knew I would keep working if you didn’t?”

“That’s different, you passed out. Twice. Right in my office.”

“Exactly. ‘You take care of everyone but yourself.’  That’s what you said, right?” She looked away, embarrassed. “And don’t think I don’t know that Tyche isn’t the only one siccing Zach on me with food six times a day.  This is the same thing, just more serious.  Maverick legitimately doesn’t know that it isn’t normal to go days or weeks without eating anything but vitamins and protein shakes.  His entire life has been that way, because people refuse to understand him and try to make him into someone he isn’t.  I don’t understand why you are being so stubborn about this! Honestly!”

“And I don’t understand why you are coddling a grown man who is a picky eater!”

Click. There it was.

“You think he’s just being a picky eater? Seriously?” I asked, struggling not to laugh. “Cheese and rice, Xiomara.  Didn’t you hear him when I got in his face over how he talked about Derek? He’s autistic, Xio.  Well, sorta.  He has Asperger’s.  This isn’t him being a ‘picky eater’, this is his soul trying to eject itself into another dimension because something is ‘wrong’.  I’m going to make sure we have foods he can eat, you literally just have to tell him either ‘no’ or send him to get one of us to confirm he actually ate. That’s all.”

“Fine,” she relented, hands up. “I’ll enforce this, but I still don’t agree with it. However, you and Grey apparently think this is a major deal, at least if he’s being given a prescription to eat, so I’m going to defer to you two.”

“All I ask,” I confirmed placatingly.  “When does he need to be here for relocation to Meenie?”

“Preferably within the hour, so we can get everything re-calibrated if we need to.”

“I’ll make sure he’s here, I promise.  Antoine already went to get soup, since Maverick hasn’t eaten in at least the time we’ve been on this level.  Since we had to scrap the food that was already here, Noah is going to pick up dinner early and test everything before we’re allowed to eat anything, so the migraines should stop and we can have coffee.” I wiggled my bottle of water at her in an attempt to change the subject to something less charged.

“Whoever did this was clever, I give them that,” she stretched her neck and huffed. “If the only two people who weren’t affected are also the only two who have documented reasons not to eat anything, that means they’re just as looped up as the rest of us.”

I nodded in agreement. “Harder to find the person drugging everyone if they look like a victim, too.  It makes sense.  That, and messing around with the sensors in such a major way: the corridors leading to the storage room from every possible direction, damaging the spare parts… do we think the same person damaged the ones already in place, too?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible.  I’ve discussed the likelihood with Noah, and they say it may be the case. We have some information that I don’t feel comfortable discussing up here.” She looked meaningfully around the room, able to see nearly every single person present from where she stood.  

I glanced around before shrugging and agreeing. “Okay, let me go find Arantxa so I can show her how to choose a menu.  Apparently she feels she has done a poor job the last few days.”

“That was her?” Xiomara shuddered playfully, earlier hostility completely gone. “Help us, Sophie-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope.”

I threw my hands up. “Ugh! It wasn’t that bad!”

“Everything that comes from the consoles is vegetarian, Sophia, because all the proteins are synthetic.  Yesterday was entirely unnecessary.”

“I never said it wasn’t, just that it could have been worse, okay?”

“If it had been worse, I would make her a suspect because clearly she would be trying to kill us,” Xiomara joked. I laughed before waving her off and heading back to the table that had been unofficially designated as being reserved for my staff and family.  Arantxa was staring at her data screen, while Antoine and Tyche were encouraging Maverick to eat slowly and not drink straight from the bowl. Surprisingly, Derek had a bowl of miso soup in front of him, but with no tofu, which was explained when I noticed an awful lot of tofu in Maverick’s.

“You must really like tofu,” I joked at the pilot as I sat down.

He just shrugged. “I don’t mind it, but Derek apparently hates it, so I scooped all his into mine.”

I glanced at my sister, who just shook her head. “Maverick offered him some, and the second Derek wrinkled his nose, hot shot over there just went ‘Whoops, tofu’s squishy’, fished it all out, then handed it back and assured him the rest is broth.  He seems to like it okay.”

<It’s okay,> Derek confirmed. <I like how it feels. Warm and smooth.>

Huh. Cool, another food Derek liked. “We can definitely have miso soup brought in more often, it’s a pretty popular food if I remember correctly.”

“It’s for breakfast,” I barely heard Maverick whisper. “Dad always had it for breakfast, but Auntie wouldn’t let me have any until I ate my rice and natto.” He started to tremble as tears rolled down his face. “I don’t like natto,” he gulped.

As smoothly as possible so I wouldn’t startle him, I stood up and circled around the table.  “Hey,” I said softly, brushing the tears from his face. “I think the soup is salty enough, Maverick. You don’t want to add any more.” He sniffed and nodded his head, but tears kept coming. “Besides, I’ve tried natto, and I don’t blame you. It smells bad, the texture is gross, and it tastes like coffee with blue cheese added to it.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” my sister exclaimed, looking faintly green.

Maverick shook his head and smiled slightly, rubbing his face. “It’s really gross, but I had to eat it because she said it was good for me.”

<You won’t make him eat that, will you?> Derek asked urgently, looking slightly panicked.

“Ew! No!  I can’t even stand to be in the same room as the stuff, how would I force him to eat it?” I turned to Maverick. “No natto, I promise.  You never have to eat it if you don’t want to.  What about the rice? Was that good or bad?”

“No rice,” he whispered.

“Okay, no rice. That’s fine.  I eat it a lot, but usually for lunch or dinner, and you don’t have to eat it either, that’s okay.”  I was starting to feel like his issue with some foods had nothing to do with the texture, after watching a normally cocky loudmouth be reduced to tears at the mere concept of a specific meal.  “We can still do miso soup with breakfast, if you like. And… crepes?” I glanced around at Antoine, my sister, and my friend for confirmation.  “He likes savory crepes, Tych,” I told her.

“Ooo! Miso soup and savory crepes would be really good!” she lit up genuinely. “Maybe spinach and mushroom?  That would pair well I think.” Antoine nodded in agreement, a thoughtful look on his face.

When Maverick nodded, I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “Okay, so we can start there for breakfast tomorrow. Different kinds of crepes, some savory, some sweet. Miso soup, scrambled and boiled eggs on the side, as many different cheeses as we can get while avoiding the pungent ones. Greens. Toast, butter, and we’ll figure out a selection of jams, although one should be lingonberry to go with the crepes. That should cover pretty much everyone.  Teas, coffee, water, and juices.”

“The tomato sangria again?” my sister asked hopefully.

“Definitely,” I laughed.

Arantxa scrunched up her nose as she finished inputting the list. “This is all over the place. How does that all go together?”

I shook my head. “Right. I’m supposed to be actually teaching this, not just doing it. Sorry.  Um, yeah. So, a lot of cultures eat vegetables with breakfast, and some people just don’t like sweet foods, so vegetables and savories.  Other people really prefer sweets for breakfast, so sweet crepes, toast, jams and jellies.  Most cultures like cheeses any time of day, so those are always a good idea when you’re planning a meal and need to fill it out some. Then the drinks: you almost always want to include that exact list of beverages, just make sure the juices compliment what you are serving overall.  Since everything on that list is pretty ‘bright’ from a flavor perspective, which usually means ‘fresh’, the sangria will go well, but we’ll pick at least one non-citrus since some people aren’t fond of it.  We still have to fine-tune it, picking out which crepes, which jams, all that stuff, but it’s a good basis.”

“I have to go,” Maverick interjected, tilting his bowl so both Antoine and I could see it was empty.

I nodded, and Antoine stood before I could. “I will take him to Xiomara so she knows he is cleared to fly,” he patted my shoulder.  “You ladies focus on what we need to do to keep everyone calm. Derek, don’t forget you need to come make sure everything is still calibrated.” With that, all three of the men at the table headed off.

“How are we supposed to keep everyone calm?” I complained. “We don’t even know exactly what is going on. The sensors were damaged, the replacements destroyed…. Rants, did Derek and Zach ever figure out who messed with the sensors in the halls?”

She shook her head, dark hair flying. “Unfortunately not. All they could figure out is that whatever caused it wasn’t done all at once.  When Derek tried to trace it backwards, he was led to over thirty different terminals total. He said something about either a group of people involved, or something called a ‘spoof’?”

“Someone spoofing the source,” I clarified, only half to her.  “What about Miys? These are their systems we’re talking about, they have to be more familiar. Did they find anything different?”

She shook her head again. “They only confirmed what Derek and Zach found.  All of them are waiting for records of who accessed those consoles from 24 hours before the first access occurred until 24 hours after so they can try to narrow down the list.  But, if it’s a group, I don’t know if that will help.”

“Investigations have to start somewhere,” I sighed. “Tyche, anybody got too much downtime right now?”

“Just us,” she remarked wryly. “All of the pilots who were brought up here are either on rotation as drone pilots or navigators, with the exceptions being Maverick and Evan since they are actually the ones responsible for moving the boat until we can get everything back on line. Pranav and his assistant are taking twelve-hour turns keeping track of minute camera adjustments necessary to make sure Maverick and Evan still have the clearest field of vision, along with managing the rest of his department remotely.  Xiomara and Grey are riding herd on the flight crew in back to back shifts while also looking into the investigation as much as possible from here. Their assistants are filling in for them on the day to day stuff.  Eino is still running education remotely, with his assistant as support.  Huynh and his assistant are overseeing the finishing of sleeping space and the permanent installation of the bathrooms, while also trying to coordinate the construction of the diving platforms in BioLab 2.”

I tilted my head back with a groan. “Which leaves us. I still need to update the ship on what happened with the drugs.  Tych, I hate to ask, but can you start drafting that while I go over the breakfast menu with Rants?  That way, while she is trying to set one up for lunch, she can pick your brain and I can broadcast the update, start answering questions, and Zach can isolate and loop each question I answer until we have some FAQs, just like Arantxa did last time.  Is that good for everyone?”  I got nods from both women, and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get started.”

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[argylemikewheeler]

If you like is prompt or not that’s okay. Prompt: Mike’s parents finally take him to a therapist and he gets diagnosed with depression and gets proper treatment. Hope your having a lovely day.

[talks of depression/self-sabotaging behavior really briefly but still be aware xo]

Mike would never admit it beyond the bathroom mirror, but he had been so scared of going with his mother to the doctor. He knew who he was– maybe not what he was on Those Days– and wasn’t sure what a stranger could possibly tell him about it. But he had no choice: his mother had been given the name of the doctor from a friend of a friend of a cousin or something, and Mike fell victim to it whether he wanted it or not.

Which he didn’t.

The entire drive there, Mike kept planning all the ways he wouldn’t cooperate. He’d first start maybe speaking only in the bits of Spanish he’d been learning in school. Or maybe backwards– no, he wasn’t that good at it yet. Then he’d just stare out the window– if the room even had one– and count the number of animal-like clouds he could see.

God, Mike missed old summers. The ones with his best friends and smiles that didn’t feel empty. The happiness Mike could feel without a hollow reminder that given a chance, a half crack made in the joy, and everything could break and he could be Like That again. He could be laying in bed, aching despite not having moved for days. Mike missed being happy in a way that wasn’t an oddity. When his parents wouldn’t be surprised by his laughter or a smile.

Mike’s mother didn’t try and coax him into being pleasant the entire ride up. She just drove and told Mike when they arrived. Mike didn’t try to look polite or even excited as his mom went to the desk to say they arrived for the appointment. Mike sat in his chair and kicked his feet harshly at the carpet.

How dare his mother take him here? She didn’t know what Mike was feeling– how could she ask him to share that with another person? Mike didn’t want to say it to himself half the time. What if someone told him he was crazy? What if they sent him away? Mike would only learn to swallow his heavy, black thoughts further. As if they weren’t already hidden somewhere dark Mike had only recently learned he had.

The doctor came out to get Mike and she wasn’t even wearing a lab coat. She had a cardigan and blouse on– she looked like a regular person. Mike didn’t trust it, but went anyway. Alone. Her office was small but well decorated. It felt strangely like a classroom, but less of the pressure Mike felt from school.

She asked him questions, too many if Mike was honest, about his daily life. How many days would he say he felt upset or sad– or a word Mike had never heard before– depressed. It sounded harsh. But then again, so were his feelings. He told her the number– out of two weeks, about ten days probably. Like, if he had to count. She wrote it down but didn’t change her expression.

Mike tried not to give her too much after that. He wanted to avoid her questions, but he felt bad being rude to a woman that was so kind to him. She didn’t ask for any of the gory details. She asked, once, if Mike had ever hurt himself on purpose– even if it was just to stay awake way past his bedtime to make himself tired the next day. Mike never considered being tired a way of hurting himself. It seemed pretty stupid, and he wanted to say as much, until he suddenly started to feel the heavy rings under his eyes. He realized then she was asking questions she already seemed to have the answers to.

Mike wasn’t upset after that. He figured he should have been, but if someone knew his answers, then he was free to finally speak it all out loud. He wasn’t the one giving it away, or blame, if it was already common knowledge between the two of them.

Finally, after an hour, Mike’s mom was called in.

“Karen,” she said, placing her clipboard on her desk. “I know it’s only been one session so I can’t diagnosis him right now with anything for sure, but–”

Mike crossed his legs twice, not sure which way would be the most comfortable to sit when he got turned into a monster. His mother gripped her purse tightly the skin around her nail bed going white.

“I think, Michael– can I call you Michael?”

“No.”

“Mike,” she suddenly redirected her attention to him. “you are showing signs of clinical depression and I think you could benefit from coming here to meet me– or any of my colleagues– regularly.”

“What does that mean?” Mike’s mother asked, although she sounded more relieved than disappointed.

“It means your son is healthy– it’s just a chemical imbalance in his brain. Your son is healthy, physically, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“I’m fine.” Mike meant the word in its totality. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

“Mike,” His mother said firmly. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Dad says I’m fine!”

“Well, your father doesn’t know you’re here.” She said quietly through clenched teeth.

“W-Why not?” Mike asked, turning to the doctor– she had said to call her Becca; her doctorate wasn’t in medicine.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mike.” Becca said. “Some people just don’t respond well to the truth.”

Mike bit his lip. “You sound like my friend, Will.”

“Does Will go to a therapist too?”

“Maybe… I think so. But for something different.” Will and Mike definitely spoke about very different things, Mike was sure. Will didn’t sound like he ever stared up at his ceiling at night and felt like it was moments from sinking down onto him– that had literally happened to him, one way or another.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s good to have people in your life that understand– even just the healing process.”

Healing. The word followed Mike home. The entire car ride, Mike couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of him needing to heal something in him. He didn’t remember ever breaking anything. The alternative was that something in him was born broken. Or maybe things can break without any pain; they just slowly crack and the pieces drift apart like driftwood at sea. There was no pain in the beginning, but there would be in putting everything back.

That night, Mike tried to slip out of his parents’ sight early and go to bed. His father wasn’t paying attention and his mother nodded sweetly and kissed his head before letting him up the stairs. Mike climbed into bed and curled up with his SuperCom.

“Will? Come in, Will.” Mike said, saying his closing over after he was sure he’d called his friend enough.

“… Hey, Mike! What’s going on? Why are you using this channel? I have a phone, you know.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Mike rolled over and put his back to the door.

“Go ahead.” Will said. He sounded cheerful. Mike was envious.

“Do you… go to therapy?” Mike asked slowly, cupping the receiver to his face. The word felt dangerous to let loose in his house.

“I do, yeah. Mom takes me like, bi-weekly now.”

“T-Twice a week!”

“Every two weeks, Michael.”

“Oh… Oh that makes more sense.” Mike sighed and let his head lull into the pillows further. “Does it help?”

“I definitely think so. Makes things quieter, you know? It’s not always rattling in my head. I get to talk to someone. About my nightmares, about stuff with my parents, about Jonathan– sometimes I complain about you too.”

“Hey!” Mike squawked jokingly. He released his button without saying over, knowing Will would click his button shortly to let him hear his bubbles of laughter. After a moment sitting with the happy static, Mike pressed the button again. “So, you just talk about… whatever you want?”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever is bothering you.” Will said. “Why do you ask?”

“Mom took me today.” Mike sighed, rolling onto his back. “Doctor says– sorry, Becca says– I’m like, depressed or something.”

Will’s static picked up before he spoke any words; silence he wished to share with Mike. “Are you okay, Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Michael.”

“I’m going to work on it, okay!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going back next week.”

“Call me after? Or come over if you want. I can have Mom make a dinner you like. You can sleep over.” Will offered. “It’s not that bad. I promise.”

“I know.” Mike nodded. He had one last question. “Nothing… Nothing’s broken, right, Will?”

“With who, me or you?” Will said, his voice shaking with a laugh. “There’s a big difference. I left this dimension… You’re completely normal.”

“I am?”

“Cross my heart.” Will said. Mike could practically hear Will moving his finger in an X across his chest. “It’s really going to help, Mike. Trust me.”

“I do.” Mike said. He lifted his finger and cut Will out. “It’s me I don’t.” He clicked it again. “Over and out, Will. I’m pretty tired.”

“Good night, Mike. Over and out.” He answered, clicking off the channel too.

Mike laid in bed, trying to figure out if he had the energy to heal in him. As unpredictable as his moods were, they were vivid to Mike. None of it felt like a dream. They were all incredibly clear and draining. On those days, the ones that made any single thought too overwhelming, healing would be impossible. Eating was too difficult then. But maybe that’s what made talking helpful; Mike finally had an audience with whom he could repeat his bickering brain’s thought. Maybe Becca could make sense of it all. Or at least shut it all up.

Mike knew the word would never be healed. It would constantly be in motion, constantly changing and growing, and maybe that was encouraging too? There was no race– he was going to be like this for a long time. It wasn’t like slapping glue on two snapped pieces, it was a rebuilding of something out of shifting parts that never intended to go together. He’d have to reintroduce different parts of himself to the New and Improved Mike Wheeler: the one that heals and cares and speaks and shares and maybe, just maybe, loves.

It sounded far off, but so did ever speaking his own hidden truths. But he did that today, didn’t he? Healing might have been continuous, but it also meant to be active. Just thinking about it was a bit of progress. A bit of a reward to throwing his hands up to his darkest days, but grabbing onto that small bit of light he found in his life– and maybe choosing to call every once in a while before bed.

ao3