#i'm only posting these several days later than i meant to so i suppose that's something

[cevansbrat0007]

The Lonely Hearts Club: Part Two

Summary: Full Story! Breaking up with Andrew Barber is hard to do. You of all people should know, considering you just tried. Now what? Read Part One.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Angst, Discussions of Break-ups, Fun with Exes, Jealousy, Andy Being a Menace, Confident Reader, Eventual Smut, Cursing, Expect Additional Future Warnings, Minors DNI

A/N: Dedicated to @atkissoflife, @that-one-anxious-mango, and @piscesmermaidprincess. This multi-part fic features a combination of requests from the likes of @writer84, @lexivass, @moejdaw, and several others. It is also, part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

___

February 15th - 12:25am - Los Angeles, CA

Wow. Just...wow.

You stare down at your phone as you wait for the bartender to bring you your check. While you had initially been prepared for Andy to be upset over your note, as well as your pretty abrupt departure, you certainly hadn't expected this.

If anything, he seemed almost...unbothered. By all of it. Granted, it was sometimes hard to gauge a person's tone via text. But you'd also been in a relationship with the man for the better part of six freaking months! At this point, one could argue that you were practically fluent in Andrew Barber and all of his fucking moods.

The guy was up to something, without a doubt. Which meant that you were now officially on high alert. Because your man - your ex - had never been the type to play fair.

Especially where you were concerned. You should've known that it was gonna take a hell of a lot more than a handwritten letter and a box of artisanal muffins to knock some sense into his stubborn ass.

"Argh! You are such a fucking ogre, Andrew!" You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Why can't you ever make things easy?"

The next time you look up it's to see the bartender returning with your credit card. She goes to hand it over, only for you to interrupt her mid-sentence.

What was her name again? You could've sworn it started with a "D".

"Sorry, I know I said I was ready to close out. But since men are stupid, I think I'm gonna need another margarita. Quite possibly two."

Delta gives you a sympathetic nod before pocketing your card once more. "You got it, sweetie. Still want sugar instead of salt?"

"Yes, please." You mumble, reminding yourself that it was okay to feel annoyed. Because you were. This was supposed to be your time, damn it. You deserved to take some space for yourself!

Even if it meant sitting alone at a hotel bar, missing the one person you loved more than anything, the day after motherfucking Valentine's Day. Cheers, bitches.

___

Two Weeks Later – Somewhere in Downtown Boston

Andrew Barber stares blankly at his computer screen, mindlessly tapping his index finger against his temple as a fresh wave of anger courses through his veins. 

He’d been so good the last two weeks. So patient and understanding. He’d given you your space, just like you’d asked. Never intruding with the exception of the text he shot off that night.

Even when he’d come across your latest Instagram post from a few days ago showing off your apparent date with another man. Some pretentious looking fucker who went by Russell Cromwell. You two had looked real cozy while sharing a plate full of Birria tacos. And then you’d posed outside of the restaurant with your arms wrapped around his waist. 

But the real kicker had been the last photo in the carousel. The one where you’d kissed him on the cheek – when you’d done the “knee thing” that actresses used to do in those old black and white movies you loved to watch so much.

Oh yeah. The two of you would be having a discussion about that one real soon. His wayward Baby Girl could count on that shit. 

Honestly, you had no idea how hard falling back had been for him. It had been a real struggle. Because at his core, Andrew Barber was a man of action. He was well-known for his cunning and mental prowess. This was a man who had graduated at the top of his class, who had then gone on to become the youngest District Attorney in the city of Boston’s history. 

And in times of crisis, he was someone you could count on to remain calm and collected while you worked towards a solution. Nothing could shake him, save for the trial and media circus that had briefly surrounded his late son. 

After that particular tragedy, Andy had resigned himself to being alone. Forever. He often tried to convince himself that he preferred it that way. Andrew Barber didn’t do love. Not after what happened with his ex-wife, Laurie. He was better off living a life of no commitment. 

Even if it meant a lot of lonely nights filled with a seemingly endless revolving door of meaningless one-night stands. 

And then he’d met you. 

Yes, you.

The woman who had somehow, against all odds, brought magic back into his life. Your laugh, your smile, your very presence – it colored his whole goddamn world. He told you that all of the time, and yet it was almost as if you didn’t believe him.

At first, he was convinced that you were too good to be true. Although he’d been quickly dispelled of that notion when you’d had the balls to walk out on him during your very first date. It’s quite possible that he’d fallen for you right then – because you were the type of woman who knew her worth.

By then, Andy had become convinced that you were a gift from the universe. The way he saw it, after everything he’d been through, he was owed you. You were the woman of his dreams – his very salvation – all wrapped up in a curvy little package. And when you ran that night, it called to the primal part of him that felt compelled to give chase. 

Just like now.

But what you had yet to understand was that, once a man like Andrew Barber had deemed you his forever, there was no going back. There was no letting you go. No means of escape.

At most, he’d been granted you a temporary reprieve. You both needed time to assess the situation, survey the damage, and then calculate your next move. 

And sweetness, you’d already played your hand when you’d left that little note skipped town under the pretense of taking a fucking business trip.

Fine. Now it was on him. And while you still held most of the cards, that certainly didn’t mean that Andrew Barber was walking around without an ace or two in his back pocket. And you had better believe that he was more than ready to play his own. 

But first…he needed some fucking coffee. And lucky for him, he knew just where he could find the perfect cup – shot of chocolate, dash of cinnamon, hold the whip. 

___

Forty Minutes Later – Monarch Media Group (20 Minutes Outside Downtown Boston)

You lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. For the life of you, you simply couldn’t seem to focus today. Or any other day for the matter.

Even though it had been almost a week since you’d returned from your trip to L.A., you still felt just as conflicted about things with Andrew Barber as you did before you’d left. And not only that, but you also found yourself feeling on edge about the entire situation.

Because after your brief text exchange the morning of February 15th, he’d left you alone. The most impatient man you’d ever encountered this side of Boston had actually found it within himself to respect your wishes. 

No calls. No texts. No emails. Not even so much as a fucking smoke signal.

And while part of you was pleased with that particular development, there was no denying the fact that you missed your Big Man. 

You could be woman enough to admit it. You missed the hell out the handsome, grumpy-faced district attorney who, up until recently, had been a major mainstay in your life. But after some serious soul searching and a generous amount of tequila, you’d come to the conclusion that it was important for you to get your mind right before moving forward with anything.

You owed it to yourself to figure out who you were outside of your relationship with Andy – needed it even. Because that man was a force to be reckoned with. He could be so dominant sometimes, his personality so completely all-consuming that it was easy to lose yourself in him. 

To allow yourself to become so entirely eclipsed by his brilliant shadow. Which is something that could absolutely happen the moment you stopped paying attention to your own wants, and needs, and desires.

And if that ever were to happen, part of you wondered whether or not you would be able to find your way back. Honestly, you had no idea.

Because after all of this, if you chose to be with him…it would mean that you were all-in. There was no other option with him.

That beautifully stubborn man didn’t have a lower setting.   

However, the last thing you’d ever expected was for Mr. Andrew “My Way or the Highway” Barber to go quietly into that good night. Well, suppose you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Because if anything he could very well be planning–

Your inner musings are interrupted by Anya, your favorite receptionist at Monarch Media Group. Granted, she was also the only receptionist at the company you’d worked for over the last several years, but that was neither here nor there.

Anya gives you a knowing look before taking a seat on the edge of your desk. “Hi, friend.” She lightly pokes your shoulder. “How ya doin?”

“I’m okay.” You blow out a breath and then decide to exit out of your Outlook. “What’s up?”

“Oh…nothing much.” You watch as your friend and coworker helps herself to a piece of chocolate sitting in a nearby dish. 

“Okay.”

“I just stopped by to tell you that your coffee has arrived.” She dutifully unwraps it before popping it in her mouth.

“What?”

You hadn’t ordered any coffee. You didn’t usually even drink the stuff this late in the day. Unless…

“Yep. And just so happens, it was hand-delivered by the handsomest door-dasher I ever did see.” Anya pokes your shoulder again. “I would’ve accepted it on your behalf, but the guy insists on giving it to you himself. Probably angling for a tip if you ask me.” She throws you a conspiratorial wink for good measure.

Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Andrew “Check Out My Shit Timing” Barber.

“Ugh.” You bury your head in your hands to muffle your cry of frustration. “Can you please just tell him I’m not here?”

“I’m afraid I already let that cat out of the bag. But by the look on your face and the way you’re rocking back and forth like a human pinball, I take it I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No!” 

“Did you and Andy like…break up…or something?” Anya pauses as she reaches for another piece of candy, her hand hovering in mid-air.

No, Anya. I always feel like jumping out the nearest window. I’m fucking squirrley like that.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You wail. “It’s just…it’s just really fucking complicated, okay?” 

“Gotcha. So…about the coffee…” 

“I’m going. I’m going.” You stand up in a huff, wishing you knew where you put the ponytail holder that had been on your wrist just this morning. “But if he pisses me off, I’m dumping that shit on his shoes. Hot or not. I do not care.”

“Okay, but if it comes to that can you please try to do it off company property? I’m all for you handling your business, but I’m also thinking about all the paperwork I’m gonna have to do if you accidentally injure one of the city’s hottest attorneys.”

“Fuck you.” You grumble as you stalk towards the front of the office to confront the annoying asshole who also happened to be the love of your life. 

“What can I say? I’m a selfish bitch.” She chirps, blowing you a kiss.

“Your words not mine. And stay the hell out of my chocolate, you mooch!” You call out as you turn the corner, fully intending to give the Boston D.A. a piece of your mind before you politely, and very firmly, shoved him out the door. 

Because if that man thought that he could just waltz right into your place of business and act like he owned everything and everyone, then he was sorely mistaken. You were going to prove to him, and whoever the hell’s job it was to oversee this whole godforsaken cosmos, that you knew how to stand your ground.  

The sight of him standing right there in the lobby is easily enough to temporarily rob you of all reasonable thought. His back is to you, giving you the brief opportunity to give him a thorough once-over. His tailored white dress shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, exposing his brawny forearms. But what really draws your attention are his slate gray slacks, which only serves to highlight his perfectly sculpted backside. 

He looked good. Nobody deserved to look that damned good, least of all your ex-boyfriend. 

Wait. Is that – is that what he was now? Is…is that how all of this worked? Fuck! 

You note the lack of tension in his broad shoulders. All things considered, he seemed pretty relaxed. But the real question was…how long could it be expected to last?

Andy picks that moment to turn around, his bright blue eyes locking with your own as an eager grin slowly spreads its way across his handsome features. You take a steadying breath and choose to ignore it. 

“Andrew.” You exhale, trying your best to appear unaffected by his presence. It was a lie, of course. But if you managed to keep this unexpected interaction short and sweet, you just might be able to pull it off. “Wh–what are you doing here?”

“Hi.” He cocks his head to the side as he drinks you in, almost as if he’s amused by your disgruntled demeanor.

“Hello.” You cross your arms over your chest, wishing that you had chosen to wear a different sweater today. Andy loved you in this color, especially because of how it paired with your particular skin tone. 

“Happy Wednesday, baby.” 

God, he really needed to lose that stupid smile. Otherwise, how on earth were you supposed to maintain your composure? 

“Sure.”

“Brought you something.” Andy holds out one of the cups of coffee he’s carrying. “Figured you might be able to use a little pick-me-up.” 

“Thanks, but I’m good.” You tell him with a shake of your head. 

“What? Since when?” He rears back before offering up a playful pout. “We always get coffee together on Wednesdays. It’s our thing…our little afternoon delight.” This time you’re treated to a wink.

“Shh!” You hiss, bridging the distance between your bodies to slap a hand across his mouth. “Don’t say that!” 

The last thing you needed was someone to overhear that and think you two used to sneak away sometimes in the afternoon to…to well…you know. Some of the people you worked with possessed very vivid imaginations.

And besides, that whole afternoon delight business had only happened once or twice. Okay, quite possibly four and a half times – and then one more after that. 

Amusement sparkles in his gaze as he stares you down. And then you feel the faint flick of his tongue brush across your palm. When you don’t react he does it again, this time following it up with an exaggerated groan. 

You immediately jerk your hand away as if you’ve just been burned. Knowing that things were only bound to get worse, you snatch one of the coffees before grabbing his arm and dragging him outside and into the unseasonably warm weather. 

Thank goodness for small favors.

The smell of spring was definitely in the air these days, but all you can focus on is the sound of Andy’s laughter trailing behind you. Frankly, it’s enough to set your teeth on edge. Even still, he allows you to lead him down the street. At some point there’s a slight shift that results in your relinquishing his arm so that he can lace his fingers through yours.   

But you'll allow it if it means that he’ll behave for as long as it takes to make it to your destination. Which just so happens to be an empty bench located at the edge of a nearby park.

To his credit, the attractive buttface at your side doesn’t say anything during your impromptu power walk, but he also doesn’t need to. Because after two long weeks without you, the man was probably venturing into serious touch-starved territory. 

You knew it. And so did he. So part of you didn’t see the harm in giving him this one, small thing.  

Relief fills you when you finally reach the bench. Of course Andy sits first before pulling you down with him – but thankfully not onto his lap. Although you’re positive that the thought was there.

Eventually he lets go of your hand. Unsure of what else to do, you finally take a sip of your coffee. The rich, slightly bitter flavor of chocolate and mocha bursts onto your tongue, followed immediately by a quick hint of cinnamon.

Mm. A perfect cup.

“I’ve missed you, baby girl.” Andy’s large, lightly calloused hand cups your face – the roughened pad of his thumb caressing the curve of your cheek. “It hasn’t been a very fun couple of weeks.”

“I know.” You whisper as you lean into his touch and your eyes flutter closed. Perhaps you were just as starved for affection as he was. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you miss me?” His tone is gruff, but there’s no mistaking the emotion behind his words. Or the pain in his eyes for that matter. 

“I did, Andy.” So much.

“But you still left. Tried to break up with me before hopping on a plane and running off all the way to L.A. to share some chips and queso with good ol’ Rusty.” Your eyes fly open as Andy’s hand drops away. “Or did I read that wrong?” 

How the fuck had he known where you where? You hadn’t included anything about your intended destination in your letter…

“I saw it on your Instagram, in case you were wondering. Was actually able to use that stupid account you set up for me after all.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he narrows his gaze, trying to read your expression. “Couldn’t really get much else, although I enjoyed those pics of you at the beach.”

“It was a work trip.” You remind him, suddenly feeling defensive. “And Russell is an old friend, nothing more.”

“Hm.” Andy quirks an annoyed brow. “Are we talking about the kind of friend who also  accompanies you to the beach so you can show off your brand new bikini? Not that I’m complaining any about that gorgeous, sunkissed glow you’ve got going on, princess.” 

His big body is certainly tense, but there’s no ignoring the feral gleam in his eyes. Almost as if he’s dying to undress you and spend the next several hours checking you for tan lines. 

And he would, too. It’s not like it would be the first time. 

“I went alone. Russell stayed behind for that one.” You roll your eyes at the sight of his nostrils flaring. “Jesus Christ, dude! I know you may not believe that I’m a big girl, but I am. And if I wanna go hang out at the beach by myself, then that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!”

Which was exactly what the fuck you’d done. And it had been positively marvelous. 

“Fine.” He grunts, raising his palm towards the heavens. “God forgive me for having the sense to worry about my girl, especially since the last time I checked, she still couldn’t swim for shit.”

“Whatever, Andrew. This girl does whatever the hell she wants now, so you had better get used to it.” Your mouth is set in a thin, firm line while you silently dare him to disagree.

“I’m not quite sure how that’s different from any other day with you, but alright.” Andy tries to calm himself by playing with a stray curl that’s fallen free from your bun. “You’re still mine, sweetness. Even when you insist on being a brat. Or did you somehow forget that part?”

You swat at his hand instead of responding, hating that steady feeling of warmth that was currently pooling in your belly. 

“Did you?”

You make a show of ignoring him in favor of enjoying what was left of your coffee.

“You know, they say that sometimes silence speaks louder than words, baby girl.” You find yourself resisting the urge to clench your thighs together at the sound of the dark chuckle that rumbles through his chest. “It’s alright, though. Guess I’ll just have to remind you again once we get past this little wall you’re trying to put up between us.”

He gifts you with a flash of his pearly white teeth. Andrew Barber was the type of man who would only let you get away with so much before he put his foot down. And you would do well to remember that. 

“Pretty sure you meant to say “actions”, jackass.” Apparently he finds your acerbic wit funny as well.

“Eh, I’ve heard it both ways.” Andy shrugs before going back to toying with your curls. “But I think you should know that I’m not very happy with you, baby. And I’m trying to be patient here, but it’s kinda difficult when I can’t even get you to talk to me.”

“I was going to call you…” That wasn’t a lie. You had just been trying to drum up the mental fortitude you knew it would take to pick up the phone and actually dial his number. Sometimes, dealing with Andrew Barber could require some serious patience. 

“Were you now?” He doesn’t believe you. You can hear it in his voice.

“I was.”

“Okay, then have dinner with me tonight.” He releases your curl, watching the way it bounces as it springs free.

“Andy.” You let out an exhausted sigh.

“Meet me at my place. I’ll swing by Imperial Wok and pick up a few of your favorites so we can eat. And then we can talk in a quiet, private setting without any interruptions. How does that sound, princess?”

“Wonderful.” The word slips out before you can catch it. “But I–I can’t.”

Andrew Barber’s excited smile dies on his lips the moment that phrase reaches his ears and registers in his brain. As much as you hated to admit it, being alone with this man wasn’t a very good idea right now – especially behind closed doors.

Because while you’d never seen the man in court, you’d definitely heard plenty of stories about his ruthlessness. And you knew firsthand just how persistent he could be when he was determined to get his way. 

When Andy wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it. Not only was he relentless, but he also wasn’t above using every tool at his disposal – including sex – if it meant having you back in his life. It wouldn’t matter all that much to him how it came about.

The same way he wouldn’t care if whether or not your desired reconciliation only happened because he’d lured you into his bed before fucking you back into submission. 

“The fu–why the hell not?” He growls, his hand grips the arm of the wooden bench so hard his knuckles go white.

“Because I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” The pronounced tick in his jaw makes it clear that he’s beyond frustrated by your refusal. 

Unfortunately, that was too damned bad! By the time this was all said and done, your handsome ogre was going to have mastered the art of having some goddamned patience. At least you hoped that would be the case…

“Both.” You offer your Big Man a small apologetic smile as you rise from your seat. “Let’s plan for sometime next week. Maybe we can shoot for Monday. I’ll, uh, send you a text or something and we can find a place to meet. But I really need to get back to work now.”

Andy stares at you for what feels like a full minute as his impressive brain works overtime to figure out his next move. And then he stands up before taking your empty cup and discarding them both in a nearby trash bin.

“Alright.” He mutters with a nod in your direction. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for your message then. Now, let’s get you back to your office.” A lump forms in your throat when he wraps a muscled arm around your shoulders as you two begin walking back the way you came. 

Fuck, you really hated this shit. But if this relationship was ever going to have a chance of working, you had to continue standing your ground. Even though it hurt like hell.

“I, um...I know you said that we probably won’t be able to sit down and talk until next week. And I suppose I can understand where you’re coming from with that, but while I have you now…” He lightly coughs into his elbow.

You glance up at your hotshot attorney, trying to figure out where he was going with this so that you could potentially cut him off at the pass.

“I at least wanted to say “thank you” in person for still agreeing to help Lydia with the charity gala this Saturday. I’m sure that it wasn’t an easy decision for you, especially given how things have been between us lately. But I really do appreciate it. And, frankly, I’m sure the kids at St. Augustine’s do too.” 

You feel the blood drain from your face as the reminder of this weekend’s event all-but smacks in the face. “Shit!” You hiss, pulling away from Andy as you reach your building. “It’s this Saturday? Are you sure?”

 “I am.” He confirms, his eyes filled with surprise. “I just spoke with Lydia yesterday when I–”

“Fuck!” You exclaim as your hands fly to your hips, uncaring that you just interrupted whatever it was he was about to say. 

In all of the chaos, you’d completely forgotten that you had agreed to help the wife of one of Andy’s colleagues with her annual charity ball. Starting by arriving at the hotel early Saturday morning to aid in the event setup, before heading up to your room to get ready for the evening's festivities.

A room that had been booked during a time when you and Andy were on much better terms.     

“She did mention that she sent all of the volunteers an email a couple days ago with a list of instructions. Maybe it got buried in your inbox, baby.” He rests his hands on your biceps, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “But she is definitely expecting you and I’m afraid it’s probably too late for you to back out at this point.”

Deep down you knew he was right. And quite honestly, you wouldn’t even dream of doing something like this close to the actual date of the gala. But there was still the issue of having to share a hotel room with your ex.

Closing your eyes, you force yourself to take a deep breath. “I–I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that big of an asshole. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to share a room…” You trail off, hoping that he would at least be somewhat understanding of your current plight.

“Ahh.” You can see the moment when realization finally dawns. “Right. Almost forgot about that.”

No, he actually hadn’t. But since Andy didn’t feel as though there was any real need for you to know that, he was going to keep that particular tidbit to himself. Even he was capable of showing some restraint every now and again.   

“Like I said…” You find yourself anxiously bouncing on your toes. “I don’t think –”

“I get it, sweetheart.” 

Wait. He did? Just like that?

“You do?”

“I do.” His words are accompanied by a lopsided grin. 

He didn’t. But then again, you didn’t need to know that either.

Andy’s hands leave your arms so that he can tenderly cup the sides of your face instead. “You just leave it all to me, baby girl. I’ll call the hotel and change the reservations.”

“You will?” You place your smaller hands overtop of his own. “You…you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Andy leans down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “And I promise to be on my best behavior Saturday night.” He gives you another kiss, which you allow. “If you want, I’ll even send over the updated confirmation info.” 

“Thank you.” You murmur, wishing that you could give-in just a little more and offer up your lips for a kiss. A real one this time. 

But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not even when Mr. Andrew “Give Me A Gold Star For Being Helpful” Barber was acting sweet. That would only throw everything off balance all over again. 

Andy’s heated gaze drops to your mouth before he slowly pulls away. “Don’t work too hard, okay?” His husky voice sends one last tiny flutter through your belly. 

“Same goes for you.” You tell him as you begin to head into the building.

“Goodbye, baby girl.” 

“Goodbye, Andrew. See you Saturday.” 

He waits until you’re safely inside and out of sight before turning on his heel and proceeding in the direction of his car. Oh, you’d be seeing him on Saturday alright. And he would be on his best behavior – depending on just how much patience he could muster. 

You two would be sorting this shit out then, whether you liked it or not. When it was over, you’d both spend the rest of the weekend making up for lost time. And Andrew was going to do everything in his power to ensure you enjoyed every fucking second of it. Just like he planned to enjoy getting reacquainted with that delicate sweetness between those luscious thighs. But first…

He needed to go make a call.

END

*Part Three Coming Soon...*

___

Unofficial tag list -

@blueraspberryreader

@openup-yourmind

[basmathgirl]

You reblogged a Gif set of the first episode of the fourth season of DW „Partners in Crime“. One of your tags reads “filed under: things they often did to Donna” in regards to the unflattering lighting. And now I’m wondering what do you mean by that or what are other examples of “things” they did to Donna in your opinion?

Hello kind Anon

I started collecting examples to show you, but it qucikly became like a school homework project, so I won't write an essay about it.

Basically, Donna was not meant to be seen as glamorous, sexy, the love interest, or cool; just some middle-age woman close to the Doctor's visible age. And and we all know how the media has long dictated that only women under 25 (or under 30, at a push) can be seen as a romantic co-star. Good grief, CT was in the film "Starter For 10" in 2006, where she plays the mother to an 18 year-old lad, played by James McAvoy who is only 10 years younger than her, and she was paired with an actor almost 20 years older than her!

Anyway, I've picked three examples to get you thinking.

Watching S4 makes you realise that several bad lighting, unflattering costumes, and dodgy makeup decisions were made. I'm going to start with the way Donna was introduced to us in the trailer at the end of Doomsday as opposed to The Runaway Bride episode.

Trailer:

Episode:

Not exactly flattering in comparison - if you ignore being lit like a character from Wicked. You'e never think these were filmed only a couple of months apart. And there was the whole disappearing cleavage shenanigans to take into consideration:

One minute it's allowed to be there; the next it isn't. Why? It's as if busty women aren't allowed to exist. DT certainly enjoyed the view but that's a whole other post..

They often put Donna in clothing I'd bought for my mum. Take for instance the outfit she wears at the beginning of Fires of Pompeii.

Very middle age-to-early pensioner in design, you must admit. Yes, tunics were the fashion at the time the programme was made but this is at the opposite end of the spectrum to Rose's 'little girl' pinafore combo or Martha's leather jacket. It's practical clothing that's not meant to be attractive but comfortable. Except all that nylon would have had her sweating like a pig in the Italian heat. Oh well. It's not as though they intended for her to look pretty. The dress Evelina gives her is a definite step up, but it is still very 'mumsy'.

Our last view of Donna was originally her wedding to Shaun Temple.

What could have been a pretty dress becomes a hideous outfit for Donna. They must have chosen the most unflattering hairstyle for her ever possible. But never mind, eh? She gets handed a winning lottery ticket so it doesn't matter if she doesn't look beautiful on her wedding day. At least she could look at the photos later and acknowledge Nerys managed to be pretty in a peach dress. The money should more than make up for it *chokes on my own spital*

Yes, I have many problems with the whole wedding scene in The End of Time where Donna gets her 'dream' of being married to a man who doesn't even stand next to her in most of the photos. Not that she seems to mind. We're supposed to believe she gets a huge pay cheque a happy ever after to fulfil the dream.

In case you were wondering, I'm much happier with the 60th anniversary specials.

[vodika-vibes]

some Jaster x Reader with a passionate kiss after one almost died please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 I‘m starving for more of this man 🫠

I'm Still Here

Summary: After a series of assassination attempts against you, Jaster welcomes you home.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x Reader

Word Count: 1238

Warnings: Mentions of child slavery, mentions of assassination attempts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I actually love this AU that I'm slowly crafting, and baby Jango is the most adorable baby. And this is technically a sort of sequel to the most recent Jaster fic I posted. Well, it is in my head, at least, lol.

Jaster’s going to be furious. You know this. Your astromech knows this. The medical droid charging in the cargo hold knows this. In your defense, the mission was supposed to be a lot simpler than it turned out.

Your job was to protect a business man from his competitor. You’ve done it a million times. Normally all you have to do is stand there and look intimidating, and you get a nice little paycheck at the end. 

Normally, the mention of having a Mandalorian bounty hunter is enough to keep things peaceful.

That’s not what happened this time.

Turns out the competitor was actually a slaver who had kidnapped the client’s daughter and sold her into slavery to try and force him to sign a legal document. A fact that you only found out five minutes before walking into the meeting with said competitor. 

Which meant that your simple mission turned into a much longer, much harder fiasco. The client had been near tears, distraught over his missing child, distraught over the contract he had to sign to save her, and just distraught overall.

Luckily, you’re pretty good at thinking on your feet. A simple aerosol drug left the client in an altered enough state that he wasn’t allowed to sign the contract, and a simple explanation on your part that he caught a fever from a planet he visited recently, was enough to buy you two weeks to rescue the kid.

Which you did! It took you ten days, total, and at the same time you managed to completely dismantle the slave ring. It wasn’t your intention, but, well, it was the easiest way to ensure that the little girl made it to safety and back to her parents.

And though it’s annoying, it’s not the first time a mission became more difficult halfway through. It happens, people lie. Though you got the feeling that the client didn’t lie so much as completely panic.

No. The problem came later, after you had been paid. The client and his family had been thrilled, giving you a 150% bonus, which would go towards a very nice nameday present for Jango, and probably Jaster too, and they insisted on you spending the night while they celebrated the return of their child.

And when you finally returned to your ship, which was a wedding present from Jaster, it proceeded to blow up on you. If you had left when you were supposed to, the night before, you would have been in the middle of hyperspace, and killed instantly.

As it happens, aside from several very painful bruises covering your entire body, the explosion did nothing more than give you a bad start to the day. And then the Death Watch assassin showed up. Because your day couldn’t possibly get any worse at that point.

Luckily the Port security team was on point, and they immediately came to your aid, and the assassin was put down with extreme prejudice (they were not happy about the destruction of one of their docks), and you were given the option to go to the hospital.

You refused them, and just asked to borrow a ship so you can return home.

“Borrow” of course, turned into “Here, have this ship, we certainly don’t need it! Also it comes with a medical droid and an astromech!”

And of course you couldn’t say no. 

So here you are. On a ship that’s probably more expensive than every single ship that belongs to the Haat, covered in bruises, and wondering just how annoyed Jaster is going to be.

Of course he’s going to know what happened. Your former client said that he would “message the Mand’alor to reassure him that you’re alright” and really, you were kind of hoping that Jaster just wouldn’t find out about this.

Oh well. Nothing you can do about it now.

You grimace in pain as you lean forward to start your descent onto Mandalore, following the instructions to your personal landing pad. Your new ship is about the same size as your old one, so you’re not all that worried about it fitting. 

You set the ship down, and power it down. And then you lower the ramp and watch as the pair of droids leave the ship, following your instructions as to making themselves at home in your home. 

And then you limp down the ramp, and Jaster is there, waiting for you.

He looks deeply worried, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair is sticking up in every direction, indicating to you that he’s been running his hands through his hair. 

“Jaster, I’m home.”

His gaze snaps to your face, and he crosses over to you in several large steps. “Cyare,” he reaches out and lightly cups your cheek, “Blown up? Nearly assassinated?”

You lean into his touch, “I was lucky.”

“Lucky!?”

“I wasn’t in hyperspace when my ship blew up.” You clarify, “Which is where I was supposed to be.”

Jaster goes gray at the thought, “Don’t say that,” He says hoarsely, “I can’t even think about that.”

You reach up and gently cup his face with both of your hands, “I’m okay, riduur. A bit bruised, but nothing serious.”

Jaster releases a slow breath, “You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, and he just breathes for a moment, “When I heard the news that your ship had been blown up, and someone tried to assassinate you…I feared the worst. I was sure that something was going to happen before you got home-”

“Shh, you’re borrowing trouble, love.” You whisper.

He opens his eyes, “Do you have any idea how much it would kill me to lose you?” Jaster asks.

You smooth your thumbs over his cheeks, “If it’s anything close to how I would feel if I lost you, then I have a pretty good idea.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “I love you so much,” Jaster whispers after a moment. And then his lips are against yours as he pulls you into a deep, passionate kiss.

And then there’s a disgusted noise, and he breaks the kiss as he presses his forehead against yours, “I thought you were supposed to be in lessons, Jango.” Jaster asks.

“I was! But I got bored and I saw that buir is home!” You peek to the side and see Jango has his hands over his eyes, “Are you done being gross?”

You grin at Jaster, and press a quick kiss to his lips, “I love you too,” You whisper to him. 

He lightly traces a circle against the side of your neck, “We’ll pick this up later tonight.” Jaster promises in a low voice, and then he raises his voice, “Yes, ad, we’re done being gross.”

“Ugh, finally!” Jango runs over to you and takes one of your hands, “Jas’buir said that you were blown up! Are you okay?”

You grin at your ad, and you smooth a hand through his curly hair, “You didn’t think something as silly as a little bomb could hurt me, did you?”

And a delighted grin crosses his face, “Of course not! I told Jas’buir that you’re too strong to get hurt like that! I made you something, come see it!”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” You flash a small smile at Jaster, and he shakes his head with a laugh as he trails after you and Jango.

[rubykgrant]

(Here is my fantasy-adventure love story I have been working on! I'm just sharing the beginning right now, but I may post more later. I started writing this by accident, not expecting to at all, and somehow managed to make something that was surprisingly descriptive, and I even had fun creating it~ This involves a character getting an injury, nothing too gory, but there is a small wound and mentions of blood without being graphic. Just a heads-up! Fairly long, so be ready for that. I hope anybody who reads enjoys it~)

When I was still very little, and feeling especially unhappy, I left my home without telling my family.

I had no destination in mind, mostly because everybody knew my usual hiding places, and I didn’t want to be found. Not right away. I wanted to be alone for a while. Really alone, not just surrounded by people who were ignoring me. By myself somewhere quiet, able to think my own thoughts, enjoy my own company, and not cringe each time I heard somebody shout. All the shouting was giving me a headache that didn’t really end, it would just lessen then intensify, throughout the day.

I wanted to hide, but not stuck in some dark and cramped little corner, and that meant leaving home and going somewhere else.

I also wanted to make my family come look for me, to actually worry about me. That was selfish, I know, but I was young and upset. I was also filled up with another feeling, one I couldn’t find the words to describe at that age. I was somehow bored and hopeless, tired from all the constant fighting. Everybody in my family had their own problems, but took out their frustrations on each other, then sulked without finding a resolution. Nobody was trying to actually talk or fix anything.

Being the youngest, my problems didn’t seem as important to my parents and older siblings. I was pushed aside, sometimes literally, and had no way to properly voice what was wrong. It was like something in my heart or in my head felt broken. This was depression, I know that word now. Yes, even young children can be depressed. That feeling doesn’t care how old you are, it happens when it happens. I don’t think my family would have believed me if I tried to explain it to them back then, and even without knowing that word, I knew that I had asked for help before, asked for a little more kindness, and it was refused. I had also asked why my parents and my siblings were fighting so much, a true explanation for what seemed to be causing all this anger and anxiety, but I was not important enough to be answered.

To be clear, my family didn’t hate me. That’s the worst part, I know they loved me, and I loved them, but the love didn’t do anything to stop all the hurt. It would have been easier if they just hated me, but even then, I probably would still love them when I was little. You can’t help that, when you’re young.

Because of the painful feelings and the love that didn’t help, I reached a breaking point. When you are as young as me at that time, every decision feels like a very important life choice. Something that will change you forever. Obviously, as we grow older, we usually get some perspective. The decision I made to leave home that day was just the immature action of a child who wanted some breathing room, and later some attention. It still wound up changing me forever. I suppose that proves life is unpredictable.

While I was still oblivious to the things that were out there, waiting to happen, I thought my only options were throwing a loud tantrum or leaving.

So I left, and went farther away than I ever had before. I decided to try and go in a mostly straight line, so I could find my way back if nobody came looking before dark. I thought myself very smart for this.

I left behind all the familiar sights near my home, and at first, it was fun to feel like I was exploring a new area. I was on an adventure, which distracted me from my unhappiness. I intentionally broke several rules about wandering into places that were off-limits. I found a hill, one that rose up and turned into high cliffs. Normally, I wasn’t allowed to even think about going up that high. So naturally, I did. I should have stopped when I could no longer even recognize the shapes of rocks and mountains around me, but I was excited, and determined, and enjoying this sense of rebellious freedom.

I still could have gotten home alright, eventually. Then I got hurt.

I felt something sharp snag my arm as I moved around a cluster of rocks. For a short moment, I thought perhaps a small creature had stung or bit me, but that wasn’t it. There was something sharp and metal hidden in all the plant growth here, and it had caught my arm, above the elbow. It wasn’t very painful at first, but as I turned to see what happened, the sharp little metal thing twisted, dug in deeper, and suddenly my arm was on fire with pain.

I panicked, tried to jerk away, and that made it worse. The metal thing was, in fact, a barbed hook. Longer than the first finger of my hand, curved in a way that intentionally made it perfect for not letting go of anything it snagged. It also had a tangle of more metal connected to it, but these bits were thin and interlocked, like a chain that acted as a wire. This all snagged me as well, pinching and cutting me everywhere.

I didn’t know what this was. I had never seen a trap or a snare like this before. I just knew that it hurt, horribly. I also knew that it was making me bleed, and that turned the panic into terror. My stomach felt like a tight, cold knot. I finally figured out that I should stop struggling, or it would just get worse. I wasn’t able to rest in any position that was comfortable, no matter what I tried there would always be some part of me that pulled against the metal. After crying and then catching my breath, a new fear hit me.

A predator could smell my blood. I was so far from all my safe places, who knows what might be lurking out here. It started to get dark, and I did the only thing I could think of.

I started crying out for help. I screamed so loud it made my throat ache. Even if my family couldn’t hear me, there had to be somebody, somewhere. I hoped.

As it got darker, I panicked again, now knowing that I was too far from where anybody lived. I also realized that nobody lived here because it was unsafe, and it was unsafe because of things like the hook in my arm. Suddenly I was very aware of how small I was, and what a vast world I was in. I felt surrounded by emptiness… but it was a deceitful emptiness, because dangerous things were hiding everywhere. So much was unseen and unknown.

It’s a pretty humiliating feeling when life just seems to prove every thought you ever had wrong. I thought I could take care of myself for a few hours alone, I thought I could leave my home and easily find my way back, and I thought it would serve my family right to finally be concerned about me. Life had literally added insult to injury. The hook in my arm hurt, and even though nobody else was there, I was mildly embarrassed underneath all the fear. Insult to injury.

In my childish imagination, I pictured my family coming along, seeing me like this, and telling me it was my own fault, this was what I deserved for going off on my own, exploring unsafe places. I deserved to be hurt and trapped, shame on me.

In truth, they would be mad for making them worry, but they would have helped me, taken me home, and tended to me. Kindness didn’t come easy to my family lately, but the love was there. They weren’t coming, though. I was too far away, too high up. They must be worried about me by now, and probably looking in all the wrong places. Why would they even imagine I would ever come here?

Eventually it was completely dark, true night, and I started to think I would be extremely lucky to see tomorrow. I wouldn’t be able to sleep or relax while I was here. A big predator could eat me. Small predators could start picking me apart, and I wouldn’t be able to stop them. I might just keep bleeding until I died. Even if none of that happened, if I wasn’t able to get free, I would starve. My whole body hurt, I was terrified, and hungry.

The depression I couldn’t name seemed like a beautiful dream compared to this.

In the darkness, I reached out, feeling my way to the other end of the wire so I could try and detach it from the rocks and plants. Even if the hook was still stuck, I might be able to go home and bring the mean little thing along, if the wire wasn’t holding me back. It was agony to move, and my fingers were almost numb from pain and cold. When I finally found the other end, I realized the wire was connected to something large and round. Like a boulder, but perfectly smooth, it was made to be this way, and made to connect to the wire with the hook. It was also metal, and much heavier than me. Bigger than me, too. I couldn’t lift it, or get the wire loose, or free myself from the hook.

At some point, early that miserable night, a miracle occurred. I had no other way to think of it at the time. Later, I still consider it a miraculous event, even with all I’ve learned.

Somewhere up above me in the darkness, I got the sense that something was moving. Shortly after, it wasn’t entirely dark anymore. There was a strange source of light. At first it was a soft and distant glow, but different than anything I had seen before. It got brighter and bigger, before seeming to burst, shooting in all directions. The burst of light made a sound, and I heard it echo, sharp and powerful. The light was part of something, some shape I could see against the furious shine the light turned into. I heard a deep rumble from that shape, and then a crashing noise. A short distance away, something was moving downward, hitting other mountains, crushing the rocks. I couldn’t see it properly, but from that sound, I knew it was huge. The lights didn’t follow it down here. The thing groaned as it fell into the rocks, almost like a wounded animal, but it didn’t act like anything that had ever been alive. Just a big, heavy thing, like the metal ball, but it was falling apart.

I could feel the force of that thing falling slowly pass over me, aftershocks coming in waves, and with it a smell drifted over. I couldn’t recognize it, but it was unpleasant. It left a bad taste in my mouth. As the huge thing settled in the rubble it made, the glowing lights above changed. They seemed to quiver and flicker. As I looked up in wonder and shock, I saw a new shape moving. This thing was most definitely alive.

I had heard stories about strange things that live somewhere in another world, high above. They can sometimes look similar to us, but are completely different creatures. They are mysterious, and often very dangerous. They can abduct us, steal us away from our homes, never to be seen again.

The stories are mostly told to frighten little children like me into behaving, so we don’t wander far from home, or follow the towering cliffs too high up. I had done all that, just to get away from my family. Now that this was happening around me, I also remembered stories about these creatures making cruel weapons to kill us. Things like metal hooks and wires.

I was so high up on the rocks, the lights were shining down on me. Whatever was up there could easily see me if it cared to look.

After a moment, it did. The creature paused, hovering up there in place, and seemed to dip lower, rising back up, and pausing again. It was watching me. It was curious. I froze.

Another loud noise, another burst of light, another large object falling down, a little farther away. More rocks rumbling in the dark. The creature moved on, maybe deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble.

Then it returned, rushing down toward me. It moved with an intense purpose, as if it suddenly decided it had to hurry. I had no idea what to do, and even if I thought of something, it was impossible to actually do anything. I was still trapped. I was hungry and tired, no chance to escape or defend myself. I could only watch this creature get closer.

Soon, it was right in front of my face, and I was struck with an intense sense of familiarity that I never expected. The creature truly was similar to me, at least from the waist up. A head with a face, eyes, nose, and mouth. Arms with hands, and fingers. Still, very different. Clearly not meant to live in the same world as myself. The creature also seemed to be just as shocked to see me as I was to see it. Eyes wide and uncertain, but also amazed. Surely, this familiar appearance was a trick to lure in victims. Why else would something so alien almost mirror myself?

After a few moments of looking at me with disbelief, it moved away, rising upward again. I barely had time to wonder if it would move on, when it returned, even more urgent than before, and this time reached out to touch my wounded arm. I flinched, but couldn’t really do more. I felt the fingers, warm and gentle. Not directly doing anything yet. I realized, it wanted me to know it was trying to help. The eyes were pleading, no cruelty at all in the expression. In fact, it was worried more about my reaction. It didn’t want me to struggle and fight, making the wound worse. I held my arm up a bit, and braced myself.

It dug out the hook, able to maneuver the barb in a way I wouldn’t have thought of. It hurt, but then the pain eased, and I was so relieved I cried again. Then it helped unwind the wire from my body, doing some kind of trick by bringing the little links close together, moving them so they fell loosely away. This particular creature might not have set this trap, but it knew what it was and how it worked. Once I was free, the creature shot itself upward, pushing off the rock where the metal ball still sat. I thought about trying to find my way home in the dark, but with everything that had happened, the large objects that were now in my way, I wasn’t sure it would be possible. My “go in a straight line” plan wasn’t an option anymore.

I was also curious. You’d think I would have learned my lesson about exploring the unknown, but I had just experienced something that was utterly unusual and fantastic. It was impossible to resist trying to find out more. I didn’t think I would ever have another chance like this. The fact that the creature had just saved my life also intrigued me. It wasn’t an evil monster at all.

I followed it.

I caught up quickly, despite its head-start, and also despite my own injuries. I was built for swimming, after all.

Some of my fins were a little torn, but not in danger of getting shredded as I moved through the water. The wire had scrapped my skin and my scales, but thankfully none had been ripped off. The worst was the cut on my arm from the hook, but I covered it with my other hand, and could swim just fine without moving my arms. I wasn’t as big and strong as my older siblings, but I was a powerful swimmer for my age. Now that nothing had me trapped, I could work my shoulders, arch my back, and roll all that movement down through my tail, building momentum. Up, and up, and up…

We both broke through the surface of the water at the same time, and I heard the creature let out a high-pitched noise. It couldn’t breathe in the ocean, like me. That’s why it had been hesitant to dive down, and in such a rush to get me free. These beings didn’t just live in the surface world because it was their territory, it was the only place they could survive. I could breathe air, I knew that almost as an instinct, but also from experience.

When we weren’t out swimming through the ocean, we lived in caves with air pockets under the water. The ones that became out main homes were all naturally formed, but long ago our ancestors carved them out to make tunnels that helped the water flow through different caverns. Somewhere from the cracks in the ceiling, air from the surface would rush down. Somewhere below, from cracks in the floor, bubble filtered up. There was always air and water in our caves… but some tunnels didn’t wave the flows for water. Occasionally, me and my siblings would pull ourselves up to crawl across the rocks, trying to see who could go the farthest into these tunnels as a dare.

Nobody had ever gone very far, and we never knew if these tunnels lead anywhere. Partially because we would all eventually lose our nerve, but also because our parents would catch us, then scold us. If we wandered too far away from our pools and paths, and got stuck somewhere with no water, we might die. That wasn’t just an over exaggeration to frighten us into behaving. Being too dry never felt good… it was also an instinct, understanding that without access to the water, we would die.

Without air, this creature would die.

I remembered some of the old stories, about how our kind would have to pull these creatures from the world above deep in the water. Down so far that they would never be able to swim back to the surface, even if they got free. In the stories, this was called “drowning”. It was the only way to stop them from pulling us up, where we would meet all forms of terrible torture and evenual death, like being denied water until we became dried husks. At this description, I always imagined left behind shells when certain creatures molted, but shaped like one of us.

This creature had risked it’s life to swim down and save me. Now, instead of pulling me up, I had come willingly. I wondered again if this might be a devious trick somehow.

The creature turned to look at me, the sounds it made grew quieter, more even. Catching its breath. I hadn’t been sure before, because even though the creature was small, size doesn’t always matter. Now I thought for certain, this must be another child. Perhaps my age. I looked back, my face resting closer to the waves. My nose was still below the water, but the creature kept its chin up. With the urgency gone, I could tell it was was amazed to see that I had followed.

I watched as the creature moved their arms around to stay in place, and also… I wasn’t sure what to call it. The creature didn’t have a tail, like me. Instead, two limbs below the waist, and these limbs bent almost like the arms. It had another set of hands on the ends, but they were longer, and the fingers were stubby. This was how it moved through the water, using these two limbs. I wished somebody else was here, to see the creature. Somebody who would be better at understanding how it looked, how it worked.

The creature turned, looking around, and then swam toward the top of a cluster of mountains. Above the water, I could finally see what they turned into. It was a little like some areas of seafloor where I played, with small hills, and plants growing around. These plants were much different than what I was used to. It all looked more sturdy, somehow. Nothing flowed continuously up here. The air moved, though. Not quite like the water, but I was surprised to feel it moving at all. The air pockets in my home never felt like this. Those were contained. Up here, it was like the whole world was breathing.

As the creature swam toward a hill that rose out of the sea, I continued to follow, and we both wound up sitting in the sand, side by side. Waves rolled up around us, then went away, then came back. I had never seen water do this in my life. I had always been within it, feeling it around me completely. Even in our caves with the air pockets. The times I’d been able to see a clear view of the waves above me, at a distance, it had been in open water. Nothing for them to crash into or wash over.

It had a rhythm, a pattern, but occasionally it shifted and changed, the water pulling away for a longer stretch of time, and a rather big wave following, then finding the rhythm again. Bubbles turned into foam at the edges of it. Seeing the way the ocean, my whole entire world, moved up here was fascinating.

Out across the water, I saw the flickering lights. They were dying out now, whatever they were. I could see clouds rising from each one. The smell I noticed below the water was up here as well, and even worse. We had sources of heat in my world, and this smell was like when something touched that heat for too long. Burning.

I looked at the creature again, and found they had been looking at me as well. We looked at each other for a long time. Still getting used to the fact that we both existed, and also resting. We were very tired.

They were better at sitting up out of the water than I was, but that made sense. I noticed the creature had a scratch on one side of their head, above the left eye. They were hurt, too. The creature was almost entirely covered in some kind of clothing. We have clothes too, usually just worn for special events, or simply because we like them. Having clothes all the time gets heavy and slows us down when we swim. It must not be a problem for creatures up here, except right now, because those clothes were wet.

As we sat there and looked at each other, the moon began to rise in the sky. I knew the moon, even from a distance deep below the water. It was also connected to some instinct. The moon was part of the water, part of me, part of everything that lived in the sea. Tonight, the moon was round, bright, and pale. As if it wanted us to get to know each other better, the moonlight shined down on us.    

Now I could see more details and differences between me and the creature. They had a slightly slender face, while mine was a little more round, but my chin came to a tiny point, and theirs ended in a small squared jaw. The features they had were defined, but not harsh. Graceful is the word I would have used, if I’d known it. Their hair was very long, made of thick curls. My hair fell around my neck, barely touching my shoulders, just a bit wavy.

This creature might not be at home in the water, but I could tell they had strong muscles in their arms. This strength seemed somehow fragile, though. Maybe that was because I could see another child there beside me, and sensed that no matter how strong a child is, it is terribly easy for us to be broken.

Eventually, the creature reached out a hand, and I touched it again. The fingers were still gentle. Nails shorter than mine, but more little rough areas of callous on the palms. Their face had a reassuring expression. They didn’t want to frighten me, even now, and I greatly appreciated that. They looked at my arm, not bleeding as much anymore. The creature carefully pushed the torn parts of my flesh together, attempting to close the wound. I didn’t know how to explain that wouldn’t work, as soon as they let go it would open again, but then I heard a ripping noise.

With their free hand, the creature was pulling off a shred of clothing. They already seemed to be torn and tattered in a few places. Once they had a section they considered to be the right size, the creature wrapped the fabric around my arm, tying it in a way that kept the wound closed, but still loose enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable. My other scratches weren’t as severe, thankfully. The creature still wanted to check me over, just in case. I have to admit, I was no longer worried about this creature trying to trick me in some way.

As they fussed over me, I was suddenly filled with a funny feeling of delight. I had been saved by a being from another world! They had gone to great trouble to help me, and were still concerned with my safety. Just as I didn’t have the words to describe depression, I didn’t have the words for how I felt right there. Many years later, I would learn the word “enchanting”. I had gone from feeling neglected, to desperate and forlorn, to incredibly lucky all within a single day.

What made me so special, to find myself in this moment? Still no answer for that, but maybe that’s alright. You never know when something special will happen. It doesn’t matter how old you are, either. Life does whatever it wants.

I was also falling in love with this creature, just a little bit. Perhaps not seriously, considering I was very young, and we had only just met, after all. Still, it was a very big feeling, and I had never felt anything quite like it before. They had rescued me, and were now caring for me with genuine kindness. How could I not fall in love?

When the creature was satisfied I was alright, they settled down again, sitting closer this time. As I watched them look out across the water, a new expression of utter despair filled their face. It occurred to me that the creature was alone, just like I was. Had they also left their home, and now couldn’t return? I thought about the objects that sunk into the sea. I’ve never been that close to anything like it before, but I’ve seen strange things made of metal and other material come down from the surface before. Some are very old, but others more recent. Stories told the creatures from this upper world make large structures for themselves that float on water. Some of them have loud, dangerous blades that slice through anything that touches them. That must have been what sunk before.

Now the creature had no way to move through the water without trying to swim, which wasn’t an easy task for them. We were also pretty far away from other cliffs and hills that reached above the ocean, so I doubted their home was nearby. The creature might have also lost their entire family when those objects sunk. Everything went down, deep into the water. They drowned. I was safe, but what about this creature? Who would find them? Who would help them?

I wished I could. I wanted to.

I tried to say that, telling them “I don’t know who you are, or what happened to you, but you saved me. Thank you for that. Do you know where your home is? Please, tell me how to help you,”

The creature’s attention was back on me, curious and confused. They made new noises, and it was clear we had different languages. We couldn’t understand each other with words, but… I thought about how they had communicated wanting to help me with their face and movements. I tried to do that.

I clasped one of their hands with my own, and brought it over to touch my injured arm, then pressed the hand to my chest, while smiling.

You helped me. Thank you.

They smiled back, and seeing the joy in that smile, I fell a little more in love. Yes, foolish and childish, but forgive me. I was foolish and a child.

I moved our hands toward the creature, until it touched their chest. My other hand, with the arm that had been bandaged, reached out to touch the same spot on their arm, above the elbow. They had no injury there, but I hoped I was clear.

I want to help you now.

The creature made a sound, almost like when they burst through the water earlier. Their head bent forward a little, and I saw their shoulders shake. They were crying. I had done the same, many times in my life. I knew how it looked, and how it felt. They leaned forward, just a bit, and the creature let me hold them in an embrace. We were different beings from different worlds, but we were also two children that were hurt, and lost, and alone. So, we understood enough to try and comfort each other. They might have just lost their whole family. Even though mine made me sad and angry, I would not want to lose any of them.

Thinking of my family made me wish I could communicate how I felt with them like this. I wished we could all comfort each other, find a way to understand each other. Two different creatures who had only known each other for an hour and didn’t speak the same language were figuring it out. Maybe there was hope with my family.

Soon, the creature took a deep breath, calming down. They briefly squeezed their arms around me, just a bit tighter, before moving away. It was a physical sign of gratitude. Now they looked like they were trying to think of what to do next.

The creature could see the area better thanks to the moon, and they motioned to me that they needed to find a safe place to rest. I watched in awe as they rose upward, using the two lower limbs to move. Now it was plain to see why the ends of those limbs were shaped differently than the hands. It was for balance, and the creature was much better at using the limbs out of the water. It moved along the sandy hill, and I followed from the shallows of the waves. Things had also washed up in the sand, objects that must have come from the same structure as… I felt bad, thinking of the one who saved me as a “creature”. We didn’t know each other well yet, but I decided to call this individual my friend. At least, to myself. We could try to find shared words to call ourselves later.

[danceswithdarkspawn]

@tsunderesalty

screenshot because the ask isnt in my inbox anymore but HI THIS IS FINALLY DONE FROM LIKE (checks calendar) MAY???? anyway by now i think most of us have figured out #1 is going to happen eventually and #2 is fucking...AU material??? which I can't be caught dead doing.

so that leaves us with the Third Option. Did I actually make Morrigan be nice to Ariel??? idk but i tried babes

Brief warning for:

suicidal and/or self-destructive thoughts

mentions of death and dying

general spoilers (this is set post-Griffonheart)

largely unedited because I wanted this to be a little more casual

Morrigan looked up from her makeshift potions table. Ariel sat at the opposite end of the camp, perched in front of the fire, hunched and staring distantly into nothing. A corner of Morrigan’s lips briefly quirked, finding the image of the brooding Grey Warden somewhat reminiscent of the same one she fought the Blight with. Except now her lines were deeper, her face much more gaunt, and she possessed a darkness behind her eyes that was unnatural.

She swallowed thickly and looked back down to the salve she was preparing. She added a little more beeswax to the melting pot and sifted through a collection of tiny corked bottles filled with various oils, finally settling on three. The first contained royal elfroot oil for its restorative properties; the second held embrium, to make the spread warming. And the third was Andraste's Grace, which Morrigan acquired back at Skyhold just for this purpose. Morrigan carefully added a drop each from the first two, and two from Andraste's Grace. A sharply sweet aroma lifted from the pot when she gave the contents a stir. She rifled through her collection of glass containers, picking out one that was short and round, and gave it a cursory wipe down before pouring the contents of the pot into it. Satisfied, she went about making other provisions for the journey ahead.

Morrigan approached the fire sometime later, jarred salve in her hands. Ariel didn't look up from the fire until Morrigan stood beside her. The sharpness of her features were made even more severe by the shadows resting in their hollows. It made her appear much more slight than she was. Her skin was a sickly pale, nearly taking on the orange hue of the light of the campfire. The only variation was marked by black spidering veins creeping up her neck. Ariel's eyes began to cloud in the days prior, transforming her pupils into endless milky pools.

"Do I look that bad?"

Morrigan blinked, catching herself. She released a small breath through her nose and said, "You've not quite the visage of a hurlock. Perhaps there is some humanity left in you yet." A long breath passed with only the crackle of fire between them, meanwhile Ariel simply stared in silence. "I made more of this for you," Morrigan said, holding out the jar. Ariel took it slowly and turned it over in her hands. "I noticed you were having some trouble walking; it should help alleviate some of the pain."

Ariel set the jar down near her boot. "Thanks."

"Are you experiencing any other pains?" Morrigan frowned a little when Ariel shook her head. "Nothing at all?"

The beleaguered Warden let out a humorless laugh. "I'm dying, but yeah, I'm fine." Morrigan inhaled a slow breath and bit down a scathing remark. Ariel tilted her head up to regard her, was silent for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. She looked down, head dropping between her shoulders. Morrigan thought it reminiscent of a dog tucking its tail in. "I'm sorry," Ariel finally said, rubbing at her eyes. "I know you're just trying to help."

Morrigan released a measured breath, feeling her bristling ire cool. She crossed her arms, shifted from one foot to the other, flippant, meaningless motions meant to distract from her raw heart. Anger was how Ariel dealt with things, Morrigan reminded herself. She supposed she would be angry too, given the circumstances. Still, something about this anger was different. Helpless, perhaps.

The night and the campfire crackled on, unaware.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" The question came out a little sharper than Morrigan intended.

But Ariel let out a bitter laugh that bordered on a sob. She shook her head in her hands, drew in a seething breath, pushed her fingers through her hair. "You could kill me," she finally said.

"I will do no such thing." Ariel didn't answer, hands clenched. "How severe is the pain?"

"Go stick your hand in the fire," Ariel said, motioning. "It's like that, but everywhere." Another hissing inhale. "And probably...I think I'd prefer to burn, at this point."

Morrigan made for her potions stock before Ariel finished, rummaging through little corked bottles, holding them up to the light, before choosing one. She uncorked it on the way back. "You could tell me before it gets so debilitating. Here." She held the bottle out; Ariel righted herself long enough to take and down its contents. Morrigan retook the emptied glass and returned it to the stockpile.

But she lingered there, frozen at first and eyes glazing over open tomes with their annotations, different reagents and the rest of her supplies. Her heart began to gallop, and Morrigan made herself busy without much thought. Pages turned, bottles opened, a crucible was filled; the scent of crushed embrium and wax and just a little rose water and—

"It's not debilitating," Ariel said from across the fire. "If it was, I wouldn't be walking."

"You are a fool," Morrigan spat. She flicked her wrist and a fire sprang to life beneath the crucible. "You needn't be immobile to be debilitated. You know this, I hope?" She shot a look over to the fire, where a pair of colorless eyes bore right through her. She snapped her attention back down, snatching a stirring rod and plunging it into the waxy slurry. "You should be resting."

"I will, once that stuff starts working."

Morrigan scoffed. Her brow ached. "I will hold you to that."

A strained laugh. "What are you gonna do, turn into a wolf and lay on me?"

A pang streaked through the witch's chest. A memory, long since tamped down, dredged to the surface; her lips flickered, the fire licked at the sides of the crucible. Morrigan hadn't meant for the gesture to hold him down, but rather to—

"It worked for Eran, did it not?"

The night turned deathly quiet. Morrigan tamped out the little fire, went about pouring the mixture  into an empty vessel. It wasn't blended well. Too choppy, too stiff from scorching. She'd attempt to salvage it in the morning. It did not matter much to her now, however; the distraction had served its purpose, though her nerves still felt frayed and raw.

"Would you do it for him? If he was like this," Ariel added, and Morrigan snapped her head over. "If he asked you to kill him, would you?"

Her blood turned to ice. A lump formed in her throat and Morrigan struggled to swallow past it. Morrigan was unsure if Ariel's irony was intentional, but its weight was hard for her to ignore. She wondered how fatally close Ariel was to realizing that was exactly what she allowed before the Archdemon's slaying.

Not that she didn't try. Or plead. Or...

Morrigan said nothing, unable past the vice on her throat, knowing her silence was as good an answer as any.

Morrigan returned to the fire some time later, sitting across from her companion. She crossed her arms, minding off the chill that had settled around their makeshift camp. She'd thought these nights very reminiscent of camping during the Blight, especially when the two of them took watches together. How they'd sit across the fire, with Morrigan trying to do something worth doing, and Ariel still and silent as a gargoyle for most of it, save the times either of them grew curious about the other.

They'd come full circle, like a snake eating its own tail.

"Before I left Amaranthine," Ariel began, and Morrigan started a little, "I sent Leliana a letter telling her what I was doing, that I wanted to find an end to the Calling." Morrigan's eyes flicked to Ariel's hands, where she flipped a twig between gloved fingers, all the while her eyes remained on the fire. "Wanted her to come with me, but she couldn't. She told me Justinia wanted her. And I didn't understand because I thought—" Her fingers closed; the twig snapped. She flung the remains into the fire. "She made me promise I would tell her if I got my Calling so she could be with me."

In another life, Morrigan wondered how different this all might be. She knew solitude had done lasting damage to the Warden; it was evident before leaving Skyhold. It was not until this endeavor, however, that the depths of those scars revealed themselves. It was...sad, in a way. Familiar, but also sad. "I imagine it is difficult that she could not accompany us."

A short laugh. "Leaving Skyhold was about as difficult as leaving for Amaranthine," Ariel admitted. Silence. "She still had work to do for the Inquisition. I can't do much about that." She paused again, her head tilting, until she reached down and plucked the jarred salve from beside her boot. "That's what the ring's for, right?" She set the jar in her lap, then pulled upon the fingers of her gloves until they came off. The aforementioned band glinted in the firelight before it too came off, dropped inside a glove, and then set aside in favor of opening the jar. She took a generous amount on her fingers, spread it between her hands. "Though it doesn't really work in a place like this," she continued, sounding a little more subdued. "This in-between bullshit is weird. I can't feel her here."

"The flux of magic here makes such enchantments unpredictable," Morrigan admitted. Ariel answered with a low hum that mingled with a sigh, having steepled her hands over her nose. Her eyes fell closed, and Morrigan's lips quirked with a twinge of pride. The smell was potent, even from across the fire. "I could attempt to alter it, if you wish."

Ariel shook her head, then lowered her hands. "No, it's fine. We have more important things to do than fuck around with a magic ring." She resealed the jar and fished the ring from her glove. "I just didn't want to be alone at the end," she said lowly, sliding the ring back onto her finger. Her touch lingered, twisting the metal, kneading one hand into the other. "I didn't want to die alone in the Deep Roads and be lost down there. If things became so unbearable...if she was with me, then maybe—" She trailed off, her hands lowered, and she stared into some middle distance for a long breath. "I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want her to see me like this."

"No? She is not unfamiliar with death's face."

Ariel shook her head. "Not like this. It's too much. Even being like this around Kieran, the boy's too young...and if I'm honest, I'm—I'm glad Leliana had to stay behind."

Morrigan leaned back on her perch, a brow arched. That was not something she expected from Ariel. "Should I be flattered that you tolerate my company so?"

"I'm too weak," Ariel answered, kneading a hand into her eyes. "I want to go home. I trust you to get me there."

Ah. Well... "You know that there is a chance this does not work."

Ariel's hand lowered, hollow eyes fixed on Morrigan through the flames. Then her head dropped between her shoulders again, her thin hair becoming a curtain. "I know. That's been a possibility for over a decade now. Always there, always stuck to me like a shadow in my thoughts, my dreams, I—" Fingers clawed through her hair, and a low hiss coupled with the crack of embers followed. "If I were still with Leliana, I would have asked her to end it at least a dozen times already."

Morrigan drew in a slow breath. She was beginning to understand; the evidence had been there since leaving Skyhold, but in all the moons since their departure, Ariel's earlier outburst was the first time she voiced such notions. She supposed it was foolish to assume Ariel meant it in jest, though she could hardly fault her regardless.

And again she wondered how things might be different if things had played out just a bit differently.

Love was such a trap, one all of them had been snared by in one way or another.

"And you think Leliana would kill you?"

"If I were to beg, if things were so hopeless..." She slowly shook her head in her hands, her hair bunching in the crooks of her fingers. "I'd like to think she would," Ariel answered, not looking up, her voice a touch thicker. "I hope she wouldn't."

Morrigan was unsure of what to say. Delicate sympathy was very much out of her element. It was one thing to deal with the ills of her son; it was an entirely different matter responding to grief left to fester for a decade. When everything aligned and horror seeped in, it was everything Morrigan could do to stave away her own grief. "Do you truly believe she would allow you to lay down and die? Have you so little faith in her, in yourself?"

The Warden reared back, her lips spread into a bitter grin and she laughed. Morrigan bit the inside of her lip, golden gaze narrowing, watching Ariel claw at the twin streaks running down her face. "This is what I mean," she said, and Morrigan raised a brow. "Why I'm glad I'm with you and not her."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"This," she said, balling her fists and shaking them. "This insistence to just...keep going, even if I don't want to. It's what Eran used to do for me. Whenever I wanted to lay down and be done with it all, he'd just—" She sucked in a breath; her colorless eyes were wild. "He'd pick me up by the scruff and say 'Get up.'," she hissed through her teeth, "'You're not done yet, get up!'" A long silence followed while Ariel stared into the fire, her breath heavy, and her visage looking every bit beastlike with the way the fire and ghastly light of the Crossroads lit her face. For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this place knew of Ariel's nature.

"I need that," Ariel finally spoke, subdued again. "I need to be told to keep going. Not soft reassurances and 'oh, darling, rest for a while.' No, as much as I want that, it won't fix me. Once this is done, if I survive this, I'll have a lifetime of that, but for now, I—" She looked off to some unknowable spot beyond the fire, then finally dragged herself to her feet, collecting her discarded things. "I suffer a little now, it'll feel all the better when it's over. That's how that works, right?"

Morrigan's lips momentarily quirked. "Yes, the sooner I return you to that tart of yours, the better, I think."

Ariel tossed her a hollow glare. "She's not a tart."

"No? The way she acts around you, I might have been fooled." The jab dredged out a reaction from Ariel that Morrigan had not seen since departing Skyhold: she smiled, a genuine, lopsided smile, and she raked a hand through her hair, looking down. Morrigan could guess what she might be thinking about. "We should move on from this place come morning," Morrigan suggested before they carried on further. "We have lingered here for long enough."

"Right. That's probably wise."

With that, Ariel vanished into her tent, and Morrigan set about preparing for the journey come morning. She sorted and packed up much of her supplies, putting away the things she would not need immediately and leaving the rest before setting off.

"Morrigan?"

She snapped her head toward Ariel's tent, finding the woman dressed down and standing with her hands fidgeting at her front. Morrigan opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but she finally spoke.

"Thank you," she simply said. "For everything."

Morrigan's thoughts fell over themselves until she finally managed, "Of course." Of course. As if it were the most...natural, obvious answer. If Ariel thought it indifferent, however, she gave no indication. She nodded in farewell before disappearing back into her tent, this time for good.

Morrigan went back to organizing her things, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner as her mind wandered. Was she doing enough? Could this be stopped? What if it couldn't?

The heavy lid of the trunk carrying her various reagents thumped shut, but her hands lingered upon it, her eyes following the worn ivy patterns carved all across it. It had to be, she told herself. "Would you do it for him," she mouthed, her fingers curling in on themselves.

She wondered what he might say. She wondered if he'd let her.

[unforth]

@sharkfish are you sure you want to know? You're going to hate it.

Okay so last year, @/selpuku, who is an artist for several fandoms I'm in, posted this

on Twitter. They specified in a second comment that they meant primarily Moshang, which is a ship between Shang Qinghua, who is a book author who dies, wakes up in his own book as a baby, and then grows up to adulthood in the book, so who is at least 50 years old probably older, and Mobei Jun, who is a character in the book and a very powerful demon who Shang Qinghua spies for and, well, there's too much to explain succinctly but there's probably a 30 year age difference but Shang Qinghua doesn't realize at all that Mobei Jun is (in canon this is) interested and it takes a while for them to figure it out. The power dynamics are complicated; Shang Qinghua is older and basically created the entire book verse, but in-verse he's fairly weak and Mobei Jun could pretty easily crush him like a bug if he wanted to (but instead, as the pic says, Mobei Jun wants to rail him so bad).

Anyway, so far, so fandomy and normal for fandom.

But then.

Someone Quote-Retweeted it to scream about how "reverse grooming" was not a ship dynamic and it was disgusting and all the usual anti crowd jumped on board. I've got OP for the reverse grooming post and basically all the other involved people blocked so I can't find many receipts now (and finding anything older than a day on Twitter is nearly impossible anyway) but in the replies to the "reverse grooming" post a whole bunch of people went off agreeing and sharing all the examples from danmei especially that they felt reflected this supposed dynamic where a younger person somehow "grooms" an older one into a relationship. They especially went off on Hualian, which is the relationship between Hua Cheng (an 810 year old super powerful ghost) and Xie Lian (an 817 year old super powerful god). Because they met when Xie Lian was 17 and Hua Cheng was 10, they are a ripe target for the dumbest takes ever. Antis split between what's going on here, it's usually either "its pedophilia because Hua Cheng was only a kid when they met" (never mind that they get together literally 800 years later) or "Hua Cheng is an obsessive stalker and his behavior is abusive" (never mind that between about the time when they're 23/16 respectively and 817/810 respectively they literally don't see each other for 800 years). Their actual dynamic is more like fan/celebrity, where Hua Cheng is embarrassed everytime his fannish behavior (note: no not Finnish behavior, autocorrect, lmao) is revealed, and Xie Lian is always super chill about it, and they fall in love, and happy otp feels abound.

So yeah people antis decided that Hualian was the quintessential example of this so-called "reverse grooming" dynamic since Xie Lian was obviously not an abuser but they're positive in their vibes read that the relationship is toxic so therefore one of then MUST be the abuser which means Hua Cheng must be the abuser. and there's also initially an age difference and since antis only have like three insults to hurl at ships they don't like and "pedophilia" obviously didn't apply (since Hua Cheng is younger) and incest didn't apply (since there's zero way they could be related) and grooming didn't apply (since Xie Lian didn't have a hand in raising Hua Cheng, though there are absolutely antis who think the opposite, that Xie Lian is the abuser of the two and is a groomer etc) anyway the point is if none of those is the problem it's time to invent a new term for what happened and that's "reverse grooming" where the younger one "grooms" the older one into a relationship the older one wouldn't have wanted otherwise.

Even quite aside from how utterly unsupportable this is in canon, it's still absolutely batshit. Of course it's possible for younger partners to abuse older partners and even manipulate them into relationships but even considering that, "reverse grooming" is still a batshit way to refer to such a dynamic.

Anyway this exploded on danmei Twitter, and beyond that even, for about a week.

Now you know. You're welcome. And sorry.

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hey, can I ask you a question about your blog itself?

Apologies if this is half-formed, but I’ve been thinking a lot about online/fandom spaces and what I want out of them. You’ve filled this blog with so much wonderful work, but at least to me it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It doesn’t seem to want to demand my attention in an endless, black-hole kind of way. I find it “quiet” if that makes sense. Not literally, because most of tumblr is literally silent, but like…mentally. Mentally quiet.

I’m wondering if you have any thoughts or advice about engaging in one’s interests online (particularly on the—and I use the term loosely and with mild disdain—‘content creation’ side of things) without getting lost in it. Or only getting lost in the good, fun, I’m-getting-genuine-joy-from-this kind of way.

I want to get better at being able to make things (and give myself the time and space to do so) without feeling like I have to find a way to eventually monetize it or grow it until it becomes a “thing” or else it isn’t worth my time to do. I guess I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove my interests are valuable, and now I can’t stop.

Anyway, since you are probably the only person with whom I am personally vaguely acquainted who seems like they’ve done that/built a space like that, I thought I’d ask.

PS, I’ve now discovered there’s not a 500 character limit in the ask box on mobile. Sorry in advance.

hi, @clintbeifong!

first off, thank you so much for your very kind words. i am so glad to know that you enjoy my blog in the way that you described; i love the idea that it’s a nice, quiet place for you.

second, i’ve spent the last several days considering what you’ve asked, trying to come up with a thoughtful response, and after all of my consideration, i’m still not sure that i have much practical advice to offer, in terms of specific “do this” or “don’t do that” kinds of rules you might follow.

instead, what i do have are some rambling thoughts on art and its value, which i hope at least somewhat apply to the topic at hand:

it isn’t at all surprising that you feel pressure to monetize your fanworks, because, honestly, that’s how things are nowadays—everyone is supposed to have a “side hustle;” we’re all expected to be “on the grind” as much as possible; with the advent of streaming and self-publication, activities that were once solely recreational (like playing video games or journaling) can now effectively be marketed; there is very little separation between the professional and private self, when employers and potential employers have access to your social media accounts and are constantly evaluating what you post in terms of how it relates to their brand.

that feeling of “if i can’t use it to make money or gain exposure, i'm wasting my time” is part and parcel of living in a late capitalist society.

but here’s the thing: art needs time and room to breathe, and the "payoff" from making art isn't always immediate.

obviously, there are times when making art can be profitable and can help you gain exposure. but it can’t be that way all the time—even for artists who are at the top of their games, who make their livings making art.

think about it: for every one famous da vinci* painting, there were notebooks full of his sketch work—line drawings which he, at the time that he was alive, had no intention that anyone but he and maybe his students and intimate acquaintances would ever, ever see. while some of it was draft work for commissioned pieces he would later profit from, a lot of it was much more aimless practice, and, in the cases of some of his more fanciful “invention” blueprint sketches, was just for fun.

* note that i'm choosing da vinci arbitrarily here. the same could be said of any number of artists, writers, musicians, etc.

while that work was half-formed and never meant for public consumption, was it less valuable to da vinci than his finished, “published” works, like the last supper?

though i can’t speak for the man, i have a feeling that if you asked him, he’d say no.

that work was practice.

that work was fun.

and practice and fun are two things that are crucial for every artist, no matter at what level or in what sphere they’re working.

so here’s the thing: fanart can make you money.

particularly, in your case, one of your multiple talents is making—lovely!—visual fanart, which is perhaps the genre of fanwork that best lends itself to monetization.

that means, in theory, you could profit from your work here—and lots of fanartists on tumblr and other sites do just that.

but even if you don’t make money with your fanart—if that’s not something you can do or that you want to do, even if the option is available to you—that doesn’t mean that your fanworks aren’t valuable on other grounds.

when you’re drawing lovely digital comics of cj cregg and danny concannon dancing, your hand doesn’t know the difference between that activity and working on a piece for your professional portfolio (if you have one).

it all still counts as practice—maybe focusing on different elements of the art than were you doing commercial work, sure, but practice all the same. it all acts in service to you getting to know yourself and your craft, developing habits, problem-solving, refining your techniques, etc., etc.

—and it does all of those things in addition to something else, which is allowing you to have a place to play.

with fanworks—whether they be visual art or gifs or fic or meta or memes—you get to experiment without worrying what an editor or employer might think. you get to follow your muse. make things on a whim. fix other people’s mistakes. make mistakes of your own with really no consequence.

while certainly there are occasions to do those same things in art in other circumstances, as well, in fandom, that’s the reg; that’s the function.

you get to play around and make things to suit yourself.

fanwork can—and, honestly, should—be totally self-indulgent.

you want to draw a million versions of the same couple kissing? go for it! write a bizarre au that will make sense to no one but you and maybe one other person who once had the same very niche summer job you did and happens to be in the same fandom? knock yourself out!

da vinci had his flying machines, and we have blorbos and “but there was only one bed!” tropes.

having that playground will benefit you, both by giving you a mental space in which to mess around and figure things out about your art AND by enriching your brain, helping you not to burn out.

having fun is an integral part of being creative.

so grant yourself permission to do it.

it’s okay to monetize your fanworks if that’s what you want or need to do—of course, paying attention to and respecting copyright law as necessary, so you don’t get your ass sued—but it’s also okay not to or not to monetize every piece. it's okay to draw or write or gif or analyze or meme something that will net you nothing more than maybe a few notes and a sense of personal satisfaction because doing so will benefit you in the long run, as an artist and as a person.

you’re not wasting time or effort because your talent isn’t a limited resource.

if it’s something that makes you happy to do, then that’s justification enough in itself to do it.

god knows the world can be miserable enough without us refusing ourselves access to what few outlets we have for joy.

now.

all of the above said, if making fanworks has ceased to make you happy, and if doing so is now something that feels like a chore to you, then the great thing about fandom is that you also have no obligation to produce content for it.

go play on another playground for a while! reblog other people's work without making any of your own. or step away completely! get back into your favorite video game or read a book or plan a birdwatching outing or do whatever it is that gives your brain a rest.

fanwork isn’t a job, and you don’t have to do it if it isn’t gratifying. you owe no one anything with it but yourself. you can always come back to it later if you want to.

and i guarantee: even if it’s been years, the second you update that wip, someone is going to be happy to get that notification. it doesn’t matter that half a decade has passed since you last posted a chapter.

if there is a sense of quietude or relaxation to my blog, it is because, at the end of the day, i make the gifsets i want to look at, i write the stories i want to read, and i ramble out the meta that helps me to make sense of the shows i like.

of course, i am always happy—thrilled!—when other people enjoy my work.

bringing others happiness is a unique pleasure.

but, ultimately, i’d still be giffing and writing stories and meta about two geeky middle-aged scientists in love and a bunch of overworked, underpaid doctors in chicago even if nobody else wanted to look at or read them because that’s what makes me happy.

i won’t pretend that it’s always easy not to care about the “rat race” aspect of it all—in my life outside of the internet, i'm a college english professor whose specialization is creative writing, so i absolutely understand the experience of opening up a wip doc for one of my fics and immediately feeling guilty for doing so because shouldn’t i be working on something i can actually publish under my own name, that i can potentially make money off of and that will help me someday get tenure????—but i do still firmly believe that no instance of making art is ever wasted and that there is inherent value in engaging in the act of collective storytelling that is fandom, even if it's not "profitable" to do so, in the traditional sense.

i don’t know that anything i've said here will prove useful to you, but, speaking solely as a fan of your work, i wish you well in your creative endeavors.

i hope your able to find a way to get what you want to out of your creative process and be happy with how you engage with fandom (or not).

thank you very much for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[thebloomingbodygraph]

A is for Authority

When I first started researching Human Design, I remember seeing so many people talking about just following something called Strategy and Authority...

I was ticked off because I didn't know what that meant, and every explanation I came across didn't seem to make any sense.

Turns out it just wasn't the time to understand yet. A few years passed and it resurfaced in a friend's Instagram post. All of a sudden, there it was -- a bodygraph, the chart component of Human Design. Instantly I knew it was time. Time to study, time to learn, time to put the pieces together.

And then I saw it again -- strategy and authority.

Only, this time I smiled, and then went straight for the source textbooks written by Ra himself.

Authority, if you're new to HD, is the method of decision making that is most aligned for your circuitry. (Whereas strategy is the way you interact with the world.)

There are lots of types of authority, especially for Projectors. You can be a splenic Projector, a sacral Manifesting Generator, an Ego Manifestor... to name a few.

I remember when I found out I was an emotional authority, and how I wasn't supposed to make spontaneous decisions. I remember thinking back on all of the spontaneous yeses, spur-of-the-moment ideas, and last-minute urges I'd listened to... and then come to really regret it.

Turns out, we're all conditioned to make decisions with our minds. But our minds? We can't trust those to make decisions. (Look at the track record in your own mind if you don't believe me...)

I got curious. Who would I be if I didn't make decisions with my mind? Who would I become? Could I even trust that? What if it decided something stupid? What if I didn't think it made sense? OMG. What if I embarrass myself because of something my emotional authority said yes to? Am I really going to trust this? Do I really have to take my time to decide?

I opted to test the waters. (I'm a line 1/3... of course I did it in the name of learning more). I ran the next few big decisions through my solar plexus... ones that were bigger than choosing my dinner, but less severe than say... moving cross-country.

The first decision I ran by my authority was about a relationship. I had wanted to end a relationship I was in, but was feeling wishy-washy about it. Instantly, as I thought of the other half of the relationship, I knew I had to get clear... and now I knew how to arrive at that clarity.

I learned that those of us with emotional authorities are about half of the population. We need to make decisions over time, in high points of our wave (joy, excitement, etc), in neutral moments of our wave, and in low moments of our wave (sadness, despair, hopelessness).

I learned that it takes time to go through that wave of emotions and that often times we can make a decision before we're out of that wave. Which is why I would commit to something and then a day or two later, I would regret it. I learned to at least give it 24 hours before you say yes to something.

The biggest thing emotional authorities can do to help ourselves is to sleep on decisions.

Everything is a no until it's a yes? I wasn't sure I could live that way, but this wishy-washy relationship decision was enough of an edge to "lend" decision-making to this "human design process" and see what could happen.

I was ready to renegotiate the relationship, but I wasn't sure how I felt about that or when to bring it up. I don't shy away from hard conversations; my old patterning is to be spontaneous and say it without processing. With this new choice to make decisions with my authority, I waited for the conversation. I wanted to decide the time to have that talk based on my solar plexus (the emotional center) and its timing instead of what I was used to.

I noticed my emotional wave. Feeling low most of the day, feeling high points at the end, and the next day being balanced, only to feel that wave shift again the following day. I started to pay attention to the ebb and flow of my mood, checking in on how I felt about the relationship conversation in each point of the wave.

I noticed that initially, I was a very big NO for the conversation. I was hesitant, my body felt like it was caving in energetically. I didn't feel stable or open or grounded. So I waited.

Then I got some great work news and was in a high, and thought about the relationship again. I noticed that I was anxious, that the buzz in my stomach can feel like excitement when it's actually fear and adrenaline and pangs of dread. I noticed that I was still a NO for having that conversation.

I continued through neutral, still hearing no, for about a week's time. Then, on a Saturday morning, I woke up with a peace in my belly as I thought about that conversation. It took me by surprise, as by this time, I was annoyed about how long the decision to "have a simple conversation" was taking. I laid in bed, laughing at my surprise sensation of peace, and felt grounded.

I kept thinking about the conversation in this groundedness and felt nothing but serene, present, calm awareness. It was time.

I had the conversation and was more present, thoughtful, kind, and open than I had ever been. The conversation, which I thought would've broken me up with this partner ended up reuniting us in a different, much healthier, more connected way. They're still a part of my life, and I'm so grateful -- so grateful -- I listened to my authority instead of just blurting something out haphazardly.

Relationships and partnerships are big decisions to start with, and the rest weren't small either. It's been three years since I woke up with that first sensation of peace in my belly, and I've trusted my authority every day since. It started as a game, or a quest for testing out this system known as Human Design.

It is ongoing as a way to live my life -- the only way to live my life.

Each time and every time I honor my authority in my decision-making, I am surrounded by what seems like magic. It feels so successful, so pleasing, so incredible. There are jobs that have materialized seemingly out of thin air after waiting on a decision.

I recently commented on someone's Facebook after waiting for my authority to give me the green light -- it took a YEAR. But after I commented, I literally had a Human Design class organize itself in the comments of my thread. I'm teaching it at the end of this week.

My solar plexus doesn't steer me wrong. And that's the power of authority. It gives me a way to bypass my self-doubt, not listen to my spleen center's fears, and know what to trust. In a world where things are scary often, that can be the biggest respite -- knowing exactly how to choose what's best and to trust it.

[dumbledore-and-grindelwald]

Is grindeldore toxic?

I assume that since I'm being asked it's up for debate, which is something I never considered. I’m not patronizing anyone who thinks they’re healthy btw. I’m just saying that  grindeldore being a toxic ship is something I’ve always taken for granted.

Note: I started writing and it got out of hand, so I’m sorry if you get bored and end up not reading the entire post.

I've been following these two since back in the day, when DH was published and I always tried to learn as much as I could about them. With Rowling mentioning that Dumbledore asmade a fool by love, that he lost his moral compass, because Gellert was morally bankrupt and, insted of seeing it, Albus was projecting virtues that he wished Gellert had, and when she said that Gellert was a narcissist and a user and in her mind he would have used Albus' infatuation, So these comments have definitely affected the way I see the relationship.

Down the line, Rowling made it much more reciprocal than she had originally imagined it. She had said in the past that Gellert wouldn’t have reciprocated Albus’ love that way, which could be interpreted in several ways but I always took it to mean that she saw Grindelwald’s feelings as a toxic kind of love that would not allow him to put his loved one over his ego and his interests.

Skipping to the actual story, there is the fact that Gellert used the cruciatus curse on Aberforth (conformed in the books, unconfirmed in FB. but there's still room to revel it later). If one has a disagreement with their loved one’s family and things get heated, there are different ways to handle the situation. Obviously Gellert did not care in the slightest for Aberforth, but he still knew that he was important to Albus and he didn’t contain himself. His instincts were to go for actual torture when we all know that he was not in actual danger and he could have wiped the floor with Aberforth without harming him. And this cost him, because we know that the fight started with Albus and Aberforth against each other, but then the situation turned when Albus was put in the position of trying to stop Gellert.

Then, in the King’s Cross chapter, Albus’ limbo-version mentions two very specific things: Gellert left with his plans of ruling, of muggle-torture and of the hallows and he was left to bury his sister and to live with his grief. We don’t know what was said that day. But even if Albus had pushed him away, Grindelwald could have tried to support him and to help him. These things are supposed to be parts of a healthy relationship. He didn’t. We can come up with excuses. He had been expelled from the most tolerant school of magic for his experiments. It’s not like he had the cleanest slate. But even if Aberforth had made some noise, his word voice not have been heard. Not when he was an underage boy whom people thought him half-wild and whose grief over losing his mother and his sister so fast would have been enough to dismiss his claims as the result of hit trauma. Gellert would have been in the clear. Other than not wanting to delay his plans, he didn’t have to our knowledge enough of a reason to not support his partner, and Albus seems to be bitter about it after almost a century.

As for Albus’ mention of their politics, he acknowledges with regret that he encouraged and helped Gellert when it comes to the Hallows. What is interesting that he mentions seizing power as a plan, but muggle torture as a scheme. Now, there are couples who can separate their politics. Even if Grindelwald and Dumbledore’s methods weren’t irreconcilable, that doesn’t make the relationship itself toxic. That’s not all that happened with them though. Gellert consciously mislead Albus. Albus was the one who coined the phrase ‘For The Greater Good’ to describe the main point that their arguments were supposed to focus on. He was going on about doing only what was necessary. He didn’t want to hurt people for the sake of it. Gellert never meant to settle for that. Muggle enslavement and punishment were not an afterthought for him. This is more than ideology. Albus had made a life-changing decision. What would have happened if they had gone through with it, reached the point of really taking action and Gellert’s little surprise was finally in the open? Albus would have been horrified, he would have felt used and disrespected. I would say that consciously depriving one’s partner from choosing freely by manipulating their perception of the context in which they’re making the choice IS toxic. Gellert possibly planning to use arguments along the lines of ‘but you love me’, ‘we’ve come so far, you can’t back down now’ etc. would be toxic. Also, the blood troth is not just an innocent promise of love. It did entail love and I don’t have a doubt that it had sentimental value for Gellert, but he knew EXACTLY what would make Albus turn on him in the future and he hoped that he could manage the situation, but he also wanted to be in the clear. I don’t think that Albus would ever try to kill him. But they thought that the troth prevented them from consciously going against each other in any way. If Grindelwald tried to kill someone other than Albus, Albus wouldn’t even know that defending wihout trying to hurt him was possible. He would have found himself unable to even react based on his consciance without meaning harm.

In FB Gellert is literally planning to have Albus killed. From the extended edition of CoG we know that he has seen a long time ago that an obscurial would kill the man he fears the most. Albus knows about his vision so there are chances that they were still together when it happened and Albus only realised that it was HE who Gellert feared later. Gellert fearing the person he loved was unhealthy for their relationship in itself, but it also lead him to many of his aforementioned actions. I don’t think that he would have been able to kill Albus himself, but the fact that he sent Credence once and he wanted to do so again shows that he feared enough to let it happen in the only way he could. He thought that being removed from the situation would make it hurt less. It so happened that at some point he realised that the person he had approached was Albus’ relative and knowing about the familial trauma that Albus has experienced, he still chose to vilify him to his own kin, whom he later tried to kill.

There are other questionable things. He was totally fine with the place Albus chose, asking if it was one of his regular haunts, all smiles and charm, but the moment Albus mentioned freeing each other from the bond he becomes malicious. When the bond was broken, I think that his ‘Who will love you now Dumbledore? You’re all alone’ was primarily how he felt about himself. But when he hurts and even if it’s the result of his own actions,  his instinct is to hurt back. And let’s not forget the jealousy. Grindel!Graves was interested in Newt because he was curious about what made Dumbledore fond of him and when they are at Per Lashez he asks mockingly if Albus will mourn Newt before attacking.

So yes, I think they’re toxic. In fandom calling something toxic usually comes with negative connotations. It implies that there’s something insincere to it or that its fans shouldn’t like it. That’s rubbish to me. Love is a feeling and there are different kinds. I don’t doubt in the slightest the depth of Gellert’s emotions or that Albus did not stop loving him for a second of his life. But people’s personalities are complicated. Albus loved his family but was not cut out to be a carer. Similarly, I think that Gellert is not cut out to be in control of his emotions and of his desires. There is his toxicity against other people and especially against muggles which is rooted in hatred or in believing that they are inconsequential... or sometimes they are just in his way. On the contrary, his behaviour towards Albus stems from love that is consuming. It’s a need. But anger was always Gellert’s undoing. When he put love and hatred on the scale, he leaned towards hatred but he wanted to have both. So in his attempt to reconcile the two he ‘poisoned’ Albus. The irony is that the toxicity in their relationship was proportional to Grindelwald’s love, because he was not emotionally healthy. The more some people love, the more altruistic are. Instead, I think that Gellert would have hurt Albus less if he loved him less. And his tragedy was that by the time he came to certain realisations and chose love it was too late for them to have a future.

People are complicated. Charaters who are so grand, smart and intense will be even more so, especially when they collide. Maybe the reason that I never considered that fans might not think of them as toxic is that the word does not bother me and I never had or will have any qualms about shipping the hell out of them.

[rayofsunas]

s/o who dies.

A/n: listennnn, I wasn't going to write something dark, but then I unregretfully decided to listen to edgy/dark audios and I was suddenly in the mood to write this so yeah lmao. also, guess what? I'm planning on making a discord server right after posting this! so, be on the lookout for that when I get it all sorted out. also, note for Scaramouche's that the reader inserts tend to lean more femininely versed (I hope that's okay), the only reasons why I do that is because one I simp and I'm female AND two since I am doing a mini-series for Scara, I've kind of based his imagines/fics around that universe (baby daddy universe). I haven't started his yet, but consider these part of that series' universe. anyways as always thank you for requesting anon and enjoy! <333

Summary: you die + how the boys cope afterward.

Parings: Albedo/Gn! Reader, Xiao/Gn! Reader, Scaramouche/Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, death, poison, illness/cancer, murder, arson, obsessive behavior

Word count: 2.1k

Albedo

"You need to keep this on your head." Your lover said for the one-hundredth time, placing the cold cloth on your forehead once again after taking it off only seconds earlier.

"This is pointless," You said, no longer wanting to ignore nor hide behind the invisible thick curtains of the obvious death sentence approaching. "My body rejected the medicine the first twice doses, what's a third time going to do?" You asked, knowing Albedo wouldn't answer; your hope was to knock some sense into his thick skull. but he was too worried trying to ignore the obvious as you had previously been doing, not anymore though.

This was saddening to watch, both Albedo's unfolding and the girl who accidentally poisoned you, whimpering into Sucrose's shoulder. She was only a young girl, barely seventeen when she was chosen to work under Sucrose and your boyfriend. She was very good at Alchemy and luckily had a desire to practice the craft. But unfortunately, she hadn't paid much attention when it came to Surcrose's educational poison lesson and had unknowingly mixed up poisonous liquids and materials.

After tipping over some clutter in Albedo's office and knocking over a test tube laying unsealed on the counter, you had realized the contents spilled on your skin, bleaching into your pores. You had been tasked with bringing the famed alchemist and his assistant some vials and materials for the collection of a rare butterfly they had found. It was both telling and obvious that something was wrong when you never showed up with the required materials requested and it was already too late hours later when the chief Alchemist, his assistant, and Alchemist in training came bounding down the stairs of Albedo's home laboratory.

It didn't take long for the trio to realize something was wrong. Sucrose had found the vile on the floor, most of its contents spilled and in a little puddle, plus your state on a nearby lounge chair was obvious; slumped awkwardly, forehead visibly sweating, eyes closed, breathing raspily.

You accepted the first doses of the supposed nullifying medicine without hesitation, just wanting the numbing feeling to go away. But when it never kicked in you decided it would be best to save the medicine, because it wasn't working. Your time was coming.

"Since the medicine is taking immediate effect, you should try to get the contents out of your system," He said, reaching out for you. Badly you wanted to argue that the medicine wasn't working at all, but he wasn't listening and already has his lean arms wrapped around your middle, helping gently lift and guide you over to the sink.

You hear materials being shoved to the side and soon enough you had your head dangling over the sink, shaking hands gripping the metalled edge tightly. Soon enough, Albedo's hand was on your back rubbing up and down, hoping to comfort you, it wasn't working though. You could only think about your death, what the other side would look like. Could there even be heaven or hell, maybe a place in between, maybe nowhere...?

As soon as you felt the urge to vomit, you did, and despite it being utterly disgusting Albedo seemed to welcome it happily. He took this as something good, but it only worried you when you saw the reddish hues in the bile.

"I think they should leave." You muttered acknowledging Sucrose and Elizabeth, the taste of gooey, metal only becoming more apparent. The blonde agreed, nodding and muttering "Okay."

As Sucrose lead Elizabeth towards the stairs, the pair heard you say. "Goodbye Sucrose, Elizabeth." Which only seemed to make the young girl wail louder.

You sighed sadly once the silence was back. Just your thoughts of death, and Albedo's slowly crushing heart.

"You should probably leave soon as well. I don't want you to be here when I go." Albedo frowned at your statement, head shaking.

"Don't say things like that."

Of course, he'd say that. Why did he feel the need to ignore this when it would only come back to hurt him even more later on when you were gone?

"You're the smartest man I know and we both know where this is heading," You said, head feeling much heavier than before. It was getting closer to your time. "I'm going to die, and you can't do anything about it."

"I'm not leaving your side. We promised to stick together through everything, you can't ask me to leave."

"I guess... But promise me this."

"When I go, stop blaming Elizabeth. It was an accident..." You said sincerely. Albedo wanted to make a fuss about it, tell you he'd never been able to forgive her. But for you, he would try. If it was your list desire, your last wish, he'd make it come true. Though it would be difficult. Accidental or not, she was the reason you were leaving him here, alone.

"Okay, I'll try..." He said honestly.

"Thank you," You said, letting out a shaking breath you had been holding for a very long time. Now you felt much more peaceful. "And since I know you stubbornly won't leave," You started, finally turning away from the sink to look into his cerulean eyes. "At least hold my hand."

"Of course, love."

even a year after your death, no matter how hard he tried, there was still this nagging feeling every time he looked at Elizabeth

he wanted too badly forgive her, but he couldn't

she had, although accidental, taken the one person that meant so much to him and he'd never forgive

Albedo is gonna be distant towards everyone he knows and it's completely purposeful

he doesn't like the pitiful gazes that people send his way and he hates that all the captains stared at him at your funeral

obviously, some questioned if he was able to stay in the field

he hadn't taken any time off, even when Jean advised he was welcome and that it would be best

tbh, albedo's going to have a hard time for a while

Xiao

Why did it have to be you? Why not him? He'd feel much better knowing you could live another day, after all, he'd been living a very long time.

But no, the fallen Archons, Gods, Yaksha had chosen you to join them. He wished that weren't the case

Humans and their pathetic vessels... So weak, he thought. Allowing something like cancer to beat them.

No matter how harsh it sounded, he didn't despise you, no. It wasn't your fault. You didn't ask for this. He just knew that if you were a godly being this wouldn't have happened like this or at least not so soon; Xiao had known Gods that had terminal illnesses to live years. Why couldn't you be like them?

He hated watching you lie there in that bed, immobile, sickly, and tired, and all you could say was that everything was going to be alright, that he'd be alright.

But it wasn't. He wouldn't be okay without you. He would struggle daily, fall deeper into a hole. You were the light of his life, the only light in his life. And you were gone, just like that. Turning external scars into internal ones tattered all over his dying heart.

Xiao for the longest time has been by himself, so the people of Liyue know it'll be harder for him to overcome this, no matter what he says or does to prove otherwise

Zhongli in particular knows how hard this will be for his friend

his first and probably last love, dead, gone in the blink of an eye

he'll continue fighting all the monsters he crosses, becoming even more violent when he does so, trying his best to get rid of this stupid sickly feeling of heartbreak

but it won't go away, no matter what he does, no matter how absurd

he just wants the feeling to go away, he despises that feeling so much

if you have a secret place somewhere, like in the mountains, Zhongli often finds him there, wallowing in invisible self-pity

"You know they wouldn't want you to be like this." Zhongli would say, only trying to help

but it doesn't

it only enrages Xiao, even more, fuels him to push everyone out of his life again instead of letting them in like he'd done in your presence

Scaramouche

How dare you. How dare you leave him like this. Alone, nonetheless with a toddler to raise who kept crying for her mommy. He couldn't do this without you, he didn't know how to raise a child, speak to her with the gentle care that you did. That was your expertise but now he'd be doing it solo.

And never again would he entrust someone who he cares about, into ignorant, incompetent arms. Never again will he ever allow any member of the Fatui to watch after his daughter; no matter their rank or position. They had one job while he was away doing business in Liyue. Guard your home twenty-four seven, accompany you into Inazuma's port town should you need anything, watch after his daughter while she plays happily in the luscious Inazuma fields. And they couldn't do that. All he gave them was one simple task, watch and keep you and your daughter safe. Instead, they slacked off, probably drunk in some bar while you were being brutally attacked by murderous mercenaries, left to fend for you and your daughter, only to die protecting her and leave your home to be severely burned.

He knew those idiotic Fatui soldiers were incompetent the moment he stepped foot into the harbor and found that everyone seemed to quiet down. Especially the eerily silent soldiers flanked on each side to welcome him home; he was the highest-ranking soldier in the land of Inazuma after all. Not a single one bothered to step forward and tell him what was wrong, what they all criminally allowed happen. Scaramouche only realized what had happened when he was mere minutes away from arriving home, his daughter had come running from his widowed mother's arms, the sight of smoke rising in the air, from the direction of his home. You were nowhere to be seen.

It all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye. His daughter was clinging to his shirt and his mother only stared with tears of pity.

It didn't take long for the puzzle pieces to be put together and before he knew it, Scaramouche was standing in front of his home, part of it burnt to a crisp and black.

He didn't need to ask what happened, he didn't need to know where you were, because he already knew. What he didn't know was who exactly had done this. But he was going to find out, now.

Incompetent, selfish, bastards. They would all pay for this. The lazy piggish Fatui soldiers who he should've never trusted with such a simple task and the thieves who had murdered you. They all had it rightfully coming.

Scaramouche hates the world after he lost you

he hates it so much and can't understand how this had happened

he's not a good person, so he blames it on karma and those stupid idiots who couldn't protect you

ngl, he's not gonna be around much after your death... his mother would argue that he should be here to raise your daughter, because she's also in pain and doesn't understand that this isn't some game of hide and seek this time

instead, he's focused and driven by revenge

he doesn't listen to a word anybody says, he's much more dangerous than before, and he only trusts his judgment

anyone trying to get him to stop his mission, is someone who doesn't want to see him happy he thinks (though that's not true at all. they hate that he is obsessive over this) but he will personally put a stop to that

and he'll only return home to his daughter and mother when he finds who did this and they along with their bloodline is exterminated

while he's gone, the remainder of his family is relocated somewhere he knows they'll be safe, for example, even though he despises childe, he knows his mom and daughter will be safe with his family

sorry, but Scaramouche will hold this deep-rooted hatred and love for you after you die

yes, he still loves and misses you dearly, but he hates you for leaving him alone, hates that although it wasn't intentional and out of your control, that you were gone

no matter how hard you tried to fight, it was selfish of you to leave him like this

he's not going to stop until he believes whoever was behind this is dead

and in his case, he'll stop believing when he chooses, even if they are innocent/guilty, he'll keep going

3.19.21, rayofsunas

[allherdaydreams]

Valley of Kings — Chapter One

Vali | The Middleman

Universe: Vikings Pairing(s): None yet (there will be several later on, mainly Ivar x fem!OC and much later on, Harald x fem!OC) Word Count: 3,160 Warnings: Bad writing ig? Author’s Note: I don't really love this lol, but I decided I'm just going to publish the chapters on here when I'm done and have slightly edited them and hope for some feedback, etc. Sorry if it's not great! Anyway, lemme know if you wanna be on a taglist and I’ll add you! Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated ❤️

read the prologue here

I remember the smell of the air — as spring was leaving, with summer slowly taking its place, the wind was gentle and sweet with the scent of wildflowers. The hunting cabin which belonged to the royal family of Kattegat rested in the foothills just east of the town; to the south surrounded by trees, and to the north, mountains. The smell of pine and woodbine lingered in the air, too, though all of the sweet scents of the wilderness were drowned out with that of the meat we roasted over the fire each night we stayed there.

I remember the way the grass tickled the back of my neck as my friends and I watched the clouds. I had never understood why Sigyn insisted on being barefoot every moment that we were out there, but in midday, the dew had only just faded and the greenery was soft underfoot. The clear blue sky gave us a false sense of security.

It was the last truly peaceful day I would have in a long, long time. I must have been fifteen or sixteen, but I had always looked and acted older. My friends were all older, too — I was the same age as the youngest son of Ragnar, Ivar, but I only spent time with him when his brothers were around. I had been inseparable from Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd since I was small. We all figured we would stay that way forever.

We had been at the cabin for many days, and planned to head back into town at the end of the upcoming week. That day, Hvitserk and I had both killed a deer, Sigurd had caught many rabbits in his traps, and Ubbe had tracked a boar, though he was still waiting for the right time to shoot it without the probability of getting attacked. (He was much wiser than Hvitserk and I; had it been either of ours to kill, we would have gone after it with no hesitation or regard for our safety at all.)

My sister had come with us — Ivar went, too, and wherever Ivar was, Sigyn was never far behind — but had never enjoyed hunting. Instead, she chose to spend the trip in and around the cabin, cooking and cleaning. When the chores were all done, she spent the rest of her time alone out in the yard, lost in her own head. She was, it seemed, daydreaming at nearly every waking moment of her life.

When we reached the cabin that day, we found her in her usual spot on the grass, staring off at the clouds even as we reached her. Ivar crawled toward her, but instead of trying to grab her attention, he only laid down next to her.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, staring up at the sky. As the other princes and I walked into the cabin, I heard Sigyn begin to tell a most detailed story, as she always did when Ivar asked that question.

"I am dreaming of a far away kingdom on the edge of the world..."

When we had resurfaced from the entrance of the cabin, Ivar and Sigyn were still laying in the same spot. Hvitserk had flashed me a grin as he nudged my arm before strutting over and laying down on the vacant side of Sigyn. Knowing he wished for me to follow, I laid down next to him.

"You know, Sigyn," Hvitserk said. "If you come with us to the Mediterranean, you will get to see a far away kingdom."

"Yes, Hvitserk, I know." She responded simply. "But it would not be as magnificent as the ones I dream about. Besides, I love Kattegat and I have no wish to leave. We have been over this."

Sigyn had always been straightforward. She was very honest about everything, and often didn't understand the difference between our jests or when we meant what we said. I suppose that my sweet sister assumed that everyone would be as charmingly frank about their feelings as her.

Sigyn had the softest, steadiest voice I had ever heard. She often kept a calm tone which made her seem as if she had the most level head in Norway. Only when she was in great distress or feeling something very strong did her tone ever noticeably change. Not to say she was emotionless by any means — she felt a great deal more than I could ever wrap my head around — but she was always calm. At least, she always was when she was around us.

"Are you going to be okay here while Mother and Father and I are gone, Sigyn?" I asked gently, leaning upwards just slightly to look over at her past Hvitserk. Hvitserk's brows furrowed slightly, and he looked over at her too as she gazed thoughtfully at the clouds. She nodded slowly, turning her head to meet our gazes.

"I think so. You will not be gone very long. I will have Ivar and Muninn." I smiled at her sweet tone, but had to keep myself from grimacing.

"We may be gone all summer," I reminded her.

"Or longer," added Hvitserk. She nodded again and looked back at the clouds.

"Perhaps you will. And I will miss you everyday. But you'll come back." Hvitserk and I looked at each other, and I shrugged as I laid back down. I knew she understood — she was always the more intelligent twin — but I just didn't want her to be hit with the emotions all at once when I would not be there to talk over them with her. We may not have spent every waking moment together, but we had never been separated in our lives.

We stayed there for a long time, quietly and sparsely conversing amongst ourselves. When Ubbe and Sigurd had finished skinning the meat for dinner, they called us over. Sigyn and Ubbe were the best cooks among us, so they were the ones to prepare our meal while the rest of us sat around them and talked. It was not long until we heard the sound of hooves coming up the path to the cabin, and Hvitserk and I stood and craned our necks to see who the incoming rider could be.

"It's Bjorn!" I called the others. Sigyn and Ubbe looked up then, put down the food, and quickly joined the rest of us as we all watched the eldest prince of Kattegat approach.

His expression was grim — though he was usually serious, I wasn't used to him looking so discouraged or unhappy. He dismounted his horse once he reached the cabin, tying the reins to a fence post.

"Hello, Bjorn," Sigyn said, walking up to him with a smile. She turned towards the tall horse, stroking his head gently, her attention now completely focused on the stallion. Bjorn smiled faintly as he gave her a nod.

"Hello, Sigyn," As he passed her, he patted her shoulder. Tearing his eyes away from my sister, he looked towards the rest of us, and his expression darkened again. "I come with news. You will all want to sit down."

By the time Bjorn had finished his story, all of our faces looked just as grim as his. Sigyn, who was sat on a bench behind Ivar, was the only one of us who didn't look angry in the slightest — her downcast eyes made it seem as if she was on the verge of tears as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Ivar's hair. She had always had a habit of soothing herself with soft textures when anxious or upset; usually, one of us lent our hand or hair for her to play with, if there was no small animal close enough for her to pet.

We were all quiet and contemplative for a while, all of us stuck in our own thoughts. I wondered what Hvitserk was thinking.

"You think our father never knew?" Ubbe brought his gaze up from the table to the sky, which had turned to grey. I saw in his eyes a calculating worry. He was trying to find reason in something where there likely wasn't anything that was good enough to justify it.

"It's possible," Bjorn mused, watching the knife in his hands as he turned it over slowly. "In those early days, it wasn't easy to navigate the sea."

"He knew. He had to." Hvitserk spoke from beside me. I glanced at him and nodded in agreement.

"If he did, he should have told the people," Sigurd decided aloud. "Everyone lost relatives; fathers and uncles, sons and daughters. They would have demanded revenge."

"That is why he didn't tell them," Ivar shot back, glaring at Sigurd.

"What do you mean?" Ubbe asked as his brows furrowed. Ivar rolled his eyes.

"It was a waste of time." He said simply.

"Ivar..." Sigyn's voice trailed off. Her face made it clear that she wanted to say something, but didn't know how to approach her volatile best friend.

"They were dead, Sigyn! Ragnar wanted to sail to Paris. He wanted to be famous. Isn't that more important?" He turned to look at her, and she drew her hands back from his hair and into her lap. "Hmm?"

Sigyn looked at the ground.

"I don't think so," She said solemnly.

"You can say that." Bjorn replied, shrugging. Ivar turned again, back to facing his brothers and I.

"I can say that? What does that mean?"

"Here's what it means —" Hvitserk interjected. "— at least to me. Our father abandoned us. We were just kids, and he ran off. Only the Gods know if he's still alive. And now, we hear he kept this big secret from everyone. That he was not truthful or honest."

"This makes me feel sick," Sigurd shook his head again. "How could our father not tell the people what had happened?"

"Maybe if he had told them, they would have killed him." Bjorn replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"If it's true..." Ubbe began. "If it's true that our father lied to his people and abandoned them, then I hope he never comes back."

"He betrayed our name. If he ever came back, I would kill him." Hvitserk snarled, ripping Sigyn out of her mind and back into the present. Her head shot up to look at Hvitserk.

"Me too." Sigurd agreed. Sigyn looked back and forth between the two of them, her expression somewhere between alarm and betrayal.

"Screw you!" Ivar exclaimed. Hvitserk scoffed and looked down, shaking his head. "All of you. He never did anything wrong. He is our father. And that is the end of it. You all sound like a bunch of Christians."

"I love our father as much as you do—" Ubbe said, but was interrupted by Ivar.

"Who said I loved him, Ubbe? I said I admired him. He's Viking. And you are soft." Ivar's voice was defensive, challenging, angry; as he usually was.

"I am not soft! None of us—" Ubbe gestured to his other brothers and to me. "— are soft. But we want to understand what our father did, and what he was."

He crouched down in front of Ivar, glancing up at Sigyn before making eye contact with Ivar. "As his son, his fame does not interest me. What he used his power for—" Ubbe pressed a finger to his temple. "— now that would interest me."

"By now, my brothers, there will be a lot of anger in Kattegat. Now they know the truth. Our father betrayed a whole generation of people," Hvitserk said.

"So if he ever came back—" Sigurd started to say, causing Bjorn to sit up straighter and stare at his brother.

"I don't think he is ever going to come back!" Bjorn exclaimed, frustrated. "I think what happened in Paris finally broke him. You all can say whatever you want, but he was a human. People started to talk as if he was a God — he was not a God! He was a man! A man with many dreams and many failings. I've learned that in the years since he went away. If I was him, I wouldn't come back."

I glanced at my sister now, who was watching Bjorn sadly.

"Despite all his failings, he is still the greatest man in the world to me," Bjorn looked down at the ground again as finished his sentence.

"He cared for you — he cared for all of you," Sigyn said, looking to each prince in turn. "He made mistakes, but as Bjorn said, he is only human." Bjorn and Ivar nodded, but Hvitserk and Ubbe shook their heads.

"Sigyn, we were not lucky as you were to have a father that was there for us. If he truly cared enough, he would have stayed." Ubbe told her. His voice was gentle, as it always was when he spoke to her, but I could hear the frustration behind his words. "You should learn that about love now; love means loyalty. Dedication. You don't abandon those you love."

I watched my sister grapple with finding the right thing to say. Ivar reached a hand behind him, blindly reaching for Sigyn's own. Once he had grabbed it, he guided it to his shoulder before letting it go. Her fingers traced shapes onto his shirt.

"I must go to your home now, Vali, Sigyn," Bjorn looked towards each of us in turn. "I have more preparations for the voyage to discuss with you father, and now I should talk to him about this as well." I nodded at him.

"I will go with you," I replied, and looked towards Sigyn, who met my gaze.

"I should stay here, then. There is no need for both of us to go," She decided.

"Perhaps we should head back to Kattegat early," Ubbe suggested, looking to his brothers. "See the reactions of the people."

"We already know how the people will react, Ubbe," Hvitserk said. "But yes, we should go and see what we can do."

The journey to my home was longer than usual; we had gone around Kattegat instead of cutting through it, which was the quickest way there, but didn't seem appropriate. A silence hung between Bjorn and I for most of the journey.

"You did not speak," Bjorn said finally, just before we had reached my home. "You did not speak when we were discussing my father."

I nodded at him. "It was not my turn to speak. Not my conversation to have." Bjorn let out a short hum of amusement.

"I think you discount your wisdom. Or maybe your importance," Bjorn decided. I didn't have an answer to that.

We dismounted our horses as we reached out family's land. Bjorn walked ahead of me, but stopped slowly and leaned against one of my father's many souvenirs from past raids. I stopped beside him, and he glanced at me before nodding his head over to the water. When I followed his gaze, I was met with my parents wading in the shallows with the little model ships I had helped him make.

My father must have noticed our presence somehow, because he turned to look at us before he walked over. Bjorn drew close to him, then spoke in a low voice.

"Did you know Ragnar lied to us all? The settlement in Wessex was destroyed as soon as we left." My father looked from Bjorn to me, then to the ground as he thought for a moment. He nodded, glancing back to me before looking Bjorn in the eyes again.

"I knew," He said. "A farmer who had escaped the slaughter told you father and I what had happened. Then, Ragnar killed him, so no one else would find out."

"You were a good friend to my father," Bjorn replied simply.

"Bjorn? Vali?" My mother's voice reached my ears, and I turned from the men to her, smiling.

"Helga," Bjorn answered, immediately walking towards her.

"Hello, Mamma," I called to her, following Bjorn again.

"What brings you back so soon, Vali? I thought you were going to be gone hunting for another week," My mother questioned as she walked out of the water and met us on the sand, embracing me.

"I decided to come back early. We caught plenty of game," I lied, but she nodded and smiled as she drew away from me. She turned to Bjorn.

"And what brings you here, Bjorn?"

"I was just coming to see how the boats were progressing," Bjorn explained.

"What do you say, Helga? What shall we tell him?" My father asked, walking along the docks.

"We think that it won't be long before you have boats ready and able to take you to the Mediterranean Sea," My mother told Bjorn happily.

"If it exists," My father muttered.

"Of course it exists," Bjorn insisted, looking up from the model boat my mother had placed in his hands.

"It's just a map, Bjorn; marks on a paper. A child could have drawn it! How can we know it's real?" My father asked. Bjorn studied the boat more as he thought over his words carefully.

"I learned from my father. The only way to tell if something is real..." Bjorn knelt down, gently pushing the model back into the sea. "...is to sail there."

I would like to think I can remember everything of that day — of most days spent at the hunting cabin, in Kattegat; with my friends, with my sister; the days that bled into each other and the nights that ended with sunrise instead of slumber; that phase in my life where I was preparing for the rest of it, learning the arts and trades and traditions of my people.

Indeed, I would certainly like to think that nothing of those days has escaped my memory. But as I write this, and as I try to recall every moment of every day & night spent in the sweet comfort of home, of youth, of camaraderie with those whom I still love most in the world, I recognize that the mind is never so sharp as to be able to recall every last detail or feeling from many years prior. My mind is not as sharp as it once was, either — I have accepted that soon, if it hasn't already, it will begin to fail me.

Perhaps not all of this story happened in the way I remember it — who is to say, when so few of us are left and still able to recount our adventures? — but the stories of my people & my past deserve to be told. Otherwise, who will remember the Norsemen? The Vikings are gone. I am one of the last to be able to remember the Golden Age. This story is mine to tell.

tags // @peachyboneless @youbloodymadgenius sorry y’all probably forgot about this fic its been so long lmaoo i’ll unadd you if you want

[mimisempai]

I will always wait for you

Summary:

Sometimes to work out his nightmares, Sam goes flying and Bucky waits for him, knowing that he will always come home.

🌈 Happy Pride month ! 🌈

To celebrate, 1 day, 1 story.

Be ready for smiles, laugh, fluff, tooth rotthing fluff, positive vibes and a lot of love!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31925692

1719 words - Rating G

As Bucky slowly awoke from his sleep, he became aware of three things. The first was the absence of a warm body next to him, the second was the morning light streaming in through the open window, and the third was a small post-it note, lit by the ray of sunlight and lying on the pillow where Sam was not.

He took the post-it and read what Sam had written. It was short, and exactly what Bucky had expected.

Bucky,

I had a bad night. I needed to go flying.

I love you,

Sam

Taking a quick look around the room, he saw the briefcase that contained Sam's armor opened which confirmed what Sam had written to him. Shuri had done a good job of allowing the armor to have multiple appearance options, so Sam regularly went flying just for fun or often to clear his head, as it was now the case.

Bucky quickly understood that it was not because Sam didn't want to see him or couldn't stand his presence. Sometimes Sam just needed that to feel better, to fly free, without purpose or mission, to exorcise the demons that haunted him. Bucky better than anyone could understand that.

Bucky decided it was time to start his day.

After making the bed and changing into a casual outfit, he headed for the kitchen, stopping to look at the pictures that filled the hallway wall.

There were family photos there, both blood-related and not, many of them taken by Sam. He ran his fingertip along the frame of a photo taken on their wedding day. A rather cute photo that the photographer had been desperate to take, Sam smiling, his face framed by Sarah and Joaquin kissing him on both cheeks, each on one side. Sam's sister Sarah had welcomed Bucky into their family, no questions asked, and Joaquin, Sam's teammate had become like a little brother to Bucky.

Bucky, who had been alone for so long, had found happiness with this family, he was bound to them with a bond stronger than blood.

He couldn't help but smile when he saw this picture and the one next to it where he and Sam were supposed to be looking at the camera, but were looking at each other. Bucky was happy to see Sam's smile immortalized in this picture. But his throat tightened every time he saw his own face in that picture. He looked so happy.

A happiness that at one time in his life he never thought he would have.

Sam was everywhere in their house.

When Bucky arrived in the kitchen, he saw his breakfast tray ready, as they had always done for years, the first one to get up would prepare it for the other. This morning there was a can of coffee he didn't know about. Bucky removed the post-it note stuck to the can to read it.

Carlos said that your coffee hasn't been delivered yet, but I found one that tastes almost the same. Try it. Or throw it away and get a Starbucks if you're not happy.

Love.

He put the post-it note in his pocket with the first one he'd found on the pillow.

When Sam had become Captain America ten years ago, knowing that Bucky had chosen to stay in Delacroix most of the time unless there was an urgent mission that required his skills, they knew they would have complicated schedules. Sam would regularly have to leave unexpectedly, without them necessarily having a chance to say goodbye.

So Sam had started leaving post-it notes, and Bucky was responding to them. Over the years, this has become an essential part of their relationship. Not just for urgent matters, but also for general messages, and sometimes just a gentle thought written down for the other to find later.

Bucky sipped his coffee, which he had to admit was not bad at all. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall with scribbled events and Sam's work schedule for the week hanging next to it. He saw that Sam would have to leave for periods of several days, lots of events and press conferences. He was disappointed for a brief moment, as they would not see each other for several days. Some might say that he had got used to it, but for him it meant that after ten years the attachment was the same if the thought of Sam's absence had that effect on him.

But he wanted to make their lives more pleasant, as Sam did, so he went to get the ingredients for some muffins. Chocolate chip muffins were Sam's favourite. Bucky had discovered a passion for cooking. Well, especially when it came to cooking for Sam. The others...

He took one for himself, then packed the others in a plastic box, and stuck a post-it on it telling Sam that he would be of no use to anyone if he starved.

After folding the laundry he decided to sit in the living room and read, today was a day of rest for both of them after all so he was going to enjoy it.

After two hours of reading, Sam wasn't home yet, but it wasn't nearly long enough to start worrying. Maybe he had decided to visit friends or family. But it was more likely that he was flying high in the sky. He had once told Bucky that there were only two things that made him forget his nightmares: flying and Bucky's arms. Too bad he didn't wake Bucky up and let him help him with the second.

Looking for something to distract his mind, he took the small notebook that Sam had given him the other day. He had seen that the previous one was full. Sam had given him the first notebook 10 years ago, to replace Steve's. He told him that since this was a new life, he should have a new notebook to fill with positive things. Since then, Bucky had been writing down things he wanted to do, visit, eat, listen to. This was his second notebook. As he flipped through it, he found a new little post-it note

I took the liberty of adding a few lines... I hope you won't mind.

I love you (so much more than 10 years ago and less than tomorrow.)

Bucky smiled, feeling moved, and ran his fingers over the notebook, tracing the familiar curves of Sam's writing.

Then he went to the last page where Sam had written something.

-Listening to Trouble Man (You stubborn old man)

-Trying a new delicious recipe for Sam (though nothing outdoes your muffins)

-Being nice to Redwing (jealous of a bot, how cute of you)

Shaking his head and laughing, he put the notebook back in its place.

He continued to walk around the living room. He found himself in front of the fireplace. Winters were not cold, so a fireplace was not common in Louisiana homes. And yet it was Sam who had wanted it when they built their house after Bucky had confided in him that what haunted him most in his nightmares was the cold. The memory of his cryogenic sleeps.

So when the roles were reversed and Bucky needed warmth after a nightmare. When he didn't want to disturb Sam or when Sam wasn't there, He would light the fire and sit in front of it until the heat made him forget his nightmares.

The way their relationship had started, who would have thought they would have come to this. Certainly not him. But they were perfect together in a way Bucky would never have dared to dream.

Bucky figured Sam's nightmare must have been particularly hard on him, to keep him out there for so long, but he trusted him to tell him about it when he needed to.

In the meantime, he picked up an old record and headed for the record player. Another present from Sam when Bucky had told him he missed the sound of old records.

I hadn't anyone till you.

Bucky remembered when this song had come out. As he listened to the lyrics now, he thought they were prescient.

I hadn't anyone

Till you

I was the lonely one

Till you

I used to lie awake and wonder

If there could be

A someone in this wide world

Just made for me

His eyes fell on another post-it note on the record cover.

Bucky, you little sap, I'm sure you think this song is written for you. The someone just made for you, you think that's me right?

Well you're right and it's mutual.

With love from your fool in love.

He read it several times and put it in his pocket with the others. The little piece of paper may not have been warm, but Bucky felt a familiar warmth spread through him.

Music filled the room and Bucky opened the living room window to let the breeze in.

He lay down on the couch, the book he had started this morning in his hand, resting his head on one armrest and his feet on the other. He quickly became absorbed in his reading, absentmindedly humming the song. When he got to the part Sam mentioned in his little note, Bucky began to sing out loud as well, and as his voice faded with the music, he heard the door open behind him.

Bucky sat up and turned his head, Sam was home.

"Stay where you are, love."

Sam came to join him, kissed him gently before sitting against him, Bucky closed his arm around him.

"Hi," Sam said softly, a half smile on his face. "I missed you."

"Hi," Bucky replied, pressing a kiss to Sam's head. "I missed you too. Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, I did," Sam replied. "Did you have a good time too? I'm sorry I wasn't there most of the day."

"Of course you were there," Bucky replied. It was the truth. Sam was always there, even when he wasn't physically there. Bucky could see him everywhere. There were traces of him, of them, everywhere. And when he left, he always came home. In Bucky's arms.

He tightened his embrace and whispered softly, "You are here. And I will always wait for you. Always."

_____ I think the sappy one is me but well...

I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

Not beta'd

[pretty-setter-bois]

toxic

     ‘I’LL BE LATE’. a small text, really. maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it hadn’t been sent so many times in the past. or if it had been sent at all, in fact.

today was wednesday, the fourth day of the week. this week, it was the fourth time suna was late, but the first time that he’d arrived hours after work without further notice.

you roll over on the couch, coming to the conclusion that the anxiety eating up at you wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

what if he’s gotten tired of me? what if he’s seeing someone else? what if he’ll leave me for someone better?

to anyone else’s perspective, your thought process of the relationship would’ve sounded completely toxic.

the sound of the big hand reaching twelve on the clock was loud. it always was.

eight o'clock.

your mind drifts back to the morning, where suna had been awfully quiet — much quieter than he usually was, anyway. 

“you sure you’ve had enough for breakfast?” you’d pestered.

“yeah, don’t ask me again.” he replied, a small hint of irritation in his usually relaxed tone.

“okay.” you answered, a bit hurt.

the rest of the morning was silent, and suna had left earlier than he usually did.

maybe i should text him, he’s been gone longer than he was for the last two days. but he did sound frustrated this morning, and he was complaining about me being clingy recently.

you decide against your negative thoughts — he was your boyfriend, after all, right?

8:12 PM

me

hey, can you tell me when you’re coming home?

after waiting for a few minutes without a response, you partake in an endless scroll along several apps on social media to take your mind off of the message you sent.

8:57 PM

rin <3

in a few minutes

you shut off your phone, feeling that if you stay on it for too long, you’d get your hopes up. in your dictionary, ‘a few minutes’ from suna meant a little under an hour. if only you could go back to when a few minutes meant a few minutes.

9:00 PM

me

stay safe!

seen

     “OI, SUNA,” WASHIO calls out in his deep voice. “don’t you think it’s time for you to go home?”

“what do you mean?”

“he’s kind of right.” komori says, stirring the ice in his drink. “wouldn’t (Y/N) be worried right now?”

he shrugs, taking his phone out at the mention of your name.

8:12 PM

(Y/N)

hey, can you tell me when you’re coming home?

he places his phone back in his pocket, eyes glancing over to the clock of the bar.

8:30 PM.

practice had ended three-and-a-half hours ago, to be exact. he’d spent the past hour joking around and poking fun at komori’s drinking habits, the time before that being post-practice training.

“i mean, you’ve been late a lot recently. i know if i had someone waiting for me at home, i’d try to avoid being late.” washio speaks again.

“ah, speaking of keeping someone waiting,” komoya stands up. “i’m supposed to be picking sakusa up after his practice, so i’ll get going now.”

“goodbye.” washio nods.

“later.” suna salutes.

after paying his bill, komoya places on his jacket and leaves.

“you might wanna lay off on the drinking a little.” washio suggests.

“we don’t have practice tomorrow, it’s coach’s daughter’s birthday.” suna replies, downing what remained of his drink.

“and friday-”

“is also off, coach has to go to that ‘all japan’ meeting for the coaches in the prefecture.”

“still, it is not wise to consume all of this-”

“another one!” suna calls out to the bartenders.

it was hard to believe how different he could be after a night of drinking. his usual introverted, lazy-self almost transformed after a few glasses of the intoxicated drinks.

this time, he drinks the glass all in one sip, ignoring washio’s warnings of protest.

"suna, it's starting to get late." washio sternly states.

"mhm." suna replies, taking his phone out of his pocket to text you.

8:57 PM

me

in a few minutes

the middle blocker quickly rises to his feet after that, forgetting the 200 milliliters of alcohol he’d consumed a few minutes ago.

he wobbles on his feet, trying to see what was in front of him despite the dark, recurring spots that obstructed his vision.

"hey, suna!" he faintly hears.

his teammate pays the bill, placing the middle blockers arm around his shoulder and taking his leave.

     THE SOUND OF the doorbell was loud in your empty, melancholic apartment, causing your heart to jump and your body to rattle after it. you hastily make your way to the door, half confused and half terrified.

rarely anyone rang the doorbell, and when they did, suna answered it. what if suna was at the door? he usually had his own key, so he didn't need to knock.

you open the door, greeted by the sight of washio struggling to hold a half-asleep suna.

"what happened?" you ask, worried.

"ah, he ended up getting a little carried away..." he sheepishly admits.

suna practically throws himself onto you, head nuzzling into your shoulder.

"thank you, washio-san. sorry for the trouble." you apologize.

"it was nothing at all." he shakes his head. "have a good night."

"you too." you nod, closing the door after he'd left.

"(N/N)." suna mumbles.

your breath hitches. it had been ages since he's called you that. in fact, ages since he's been so touchy.

he often kept his distance from you now, only speaking to you when he was asking you where something was in the apartment or telling you that you need to go grocery shopping.

"yeah?" you respond.

"i'm tired."

"alright, come on."

you take him to the bathroom, pulling down the toilet seat for him to sit on while you brushed his teeth. you'd rather him whine about being sleepy rather than getting a cavity.

when he finished that, you gave him a change of clothes to put on before he'd slept. him, of course, being half-asleep already, couldn't tell half of what was happening, and you ended up helping him in the end.

you'd led him to bed after that, covering him in sheets and wishing him a goodnight. as you began to stand up, he grabs your wrist.

"(Y/N)." he whines a little, voice softer than before.

"yeah, rintaro?"

"don't leave me alone."

the words take a few minutes to register in your mind.

don't leave me alone.

maybe you'd made up the entire morning. what if he was just grumpy? everyone's grumpy in the morning, so it wouldn't make a difference if suna was.

besides, his nature was being lazy. maybe he was just a bit tired and wanted to go on with his day. they say a sober mans thoughts are a drunk mans words, right?

you glance at his face, an innocent expression donning his sleepy features. how could someone like this ever wrong anybody?

"just give me a few minutes." you finally, breathily exclaim.

he gives what you assume is a nod, and you head into the bathroom to brush your own teeth and change.

when you come back, suna's already fast asleep. he looks so peaceful, so happy.

you'd give anything to see him like that again, even if it meant to unintentionally lose yourself in the process.

previous | masterlist | next

TAGLIST ☆☎☂♔

@stfucanunot ​@sunaswife​

NOTES ☀♕❣⁂ღ

i hope i got this write hehe.

[mamichigo]

Title: your name's riddle

Pairing: Revali/Link

Rating: G

Word count: 1,1k

Tags: Reincarnation, Fluff, Music, Post-Breath of The Wild, Centuries later

Summary: He comes without warning: a bard that doesn't speak much, and every day he perches himself on the highest point of Rito Village. There's something hauntingly familiar about it.

Notes: This is my gift for @blueatelier in the @revalinkexchange :> I am so happy to write this one.... I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Happy Valentine's day 💖💖

*

Lately, a lone bard had claimed a spot at the highest peak of Rito Village. The young man looked delicate, and clearly had no set of wings, and yet, Revali always spotted him atop the rock formation with an instrument to his mouth and fluttering pieces of paper held down by the weight of his own leg.

Despite being a rito, Revali never found himself to be passionate for music. He knew how to sing, as any good rito would, but his knowledge went no further than that. Even their own rito bard evoked no particular feelings in Revali, even if he admired the man's work.

This hylian, however, caught him simply by a sense of curiosity. Revali was a warrior, and he knew how the elements were cruel to anyone, but especially to a soft-hearted hylian like him. Hylians were made of more fragile stuff. Revali couldn't fathom how someone like that managed to make it all the way up there without mortally injuring himself. So, in the third week of the bard's stay in the Village, Revali flew up to him in a whirlwind that made the bard's hair stand.

"I know bards like to go wherever the music is, but up here, really?" Revali raised his eyebrows. "I'm not saving you from certain death if you foolishly fall to your death, you know."

The bard had long since stopped his melody when it got interrupted by the ruckus. He lowered his strange instrument to his lap and tilted his head minutely. He opened his mouth, and though Revali saw his lips form the shape of words, he couldn't hear what he said. Revali frowned.

"What?"

The bard smiled and patted the ground next to him. Revali looked between the bard and the rock, and decided it couldn't do any harm. He sat down carefully, back straight. He watched the bard from the corner of his eyes.

"So?"

The bard leaned in and cupped a hand around his mouth. Revali startled when hot breath touched his feathers.

"Nice to meet you," a raspy voice whispered. It was so quiet it was almost carried away by the wind.

"That's quite a voice you have there," Revali commented, if only a little skeptical. "Strange for a bard."

The bard's eyes crinkled when he held up his instrument, gesturing to it with grandiosity.

"Are you saying that strange mouth instrument of yours does the talking for you?" Revali asked, to an enthusiastic nod. Revali snorted. "I have my doubts. It seems to be doing a poor job so far."

To Revali's indignation, the bard stuck out his tongue at him, but before Revali could return it in full, the bard had already turned away. He fumbled with papers until he found a particular one that made him hold it up in triumph. He indelicately shoved it at Revali.

It seemed like a half-finished sheet for one of his melodies. Revali could tell by the notes that it was still a work in progress. He roamed his eyes over the paper to find what was so interesting about it, until the name at the top caught his attention.

"'Link?'"

The bard pointed to himself, and Revali stared blankly for several seconds. The bard waited, eyes patient and expression open.

"Oh! Is it your name?" The bard--Link--once again nodded his assent. "I suppose your music actually does the talking for you, in unexpected ways." Revali paused, until something clicked. "You're writing a song about yourself?"

Link nodded. Paused. Shook his head.

"Well, which one is it?"

Link opened his mouth and this time Revali instinctively lowered his head.

"It's about discovery."

"Discovery of what?"

"Of myself." Link took the music sheet and pointed at the notes written down. Just as Revali had noticed before, they were messy. They clashed. They were unfinished. "I don't know who I am."

Revali laughed without meaning to. "What do you mean by that? You're you, what's there to know." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless… You don't have amnesia or something of the sort, do you?"

Link waved his hands and head. Point taken.

"I think I wasn't originally meant for this."

Link looked up at him, and there was something in the hardness of his stare that made something stir inside Revali. A memory trying to shake loose. It was gone as soon as it came, but it left Revali bereft in consequence.

"Sounds like a troublesome dilemma," Revali said, voice forced into playfulness. He couldn't touch on why he suddenly felt so distraught. "Are all bards supposed to be having an identity crisis?"

Link shrugged and pointed at himself.

"Just you then." Revali sighed and eyed Link's instrument. "Why would you stay at Rito Village for so long then? It'd be better to explore different places, see different things. You might just find yourself along the way."

"I need to be here," Link said. "Something here is calling to me."

"Calling?"

"I'll show you," this Revali didn't hear, but he read the shape of it on Link's lips. He wondered how he picked up the ability to do so this fast.

Link held his instrument, and now Revali noticed that his hands weren't quite as delicate as Revali thought they would be. They were scarred, calloused. His middle finger was bent awkwardly from what he could only assume was a bone fracture that healed out of place. That explained how Link got up here, but it raised several more questions about the man himself.

He was brought back from his reverie when the first notes were played. The melody was slow, calm, then increasing in intensity. Revali ached. Somewhere, everywhere. His chest, his eyes, his bones. He felt it somewhere deep. He longed for something lost. He did not know why. The ocarina--and when did he learn the name of that instrument?--was masterfully played until the music's completion.

Link opened his eyes slowly, and before he could even fully lower his ocarina, Revali had already grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Link smiled, soft, soft, sweet drops of liquid Revali had never drunk before. His eyes were here, but it was also somewhere a hundred years ago. Revali kept asking himself how he knew these things as his heart beat wildly in his throat. It begged to roar itself back to life.

"I feel like I know you too," Link said. Small, quiet words. Link shifted, took Revali's wings. Palm to feathers, too small. He wasn't even able to hold Revali by the hand. Finally, Revali's insides settled just right. "See? We fit."

Revali breathed harshly.

"Who are you?"

"I don't know either."

[starkeristheendgame]

Hi! Are you still taking prompts? If yes, can you do a Starker one, where Tony is oblivious, and Peter doesn't know what to do, and ask for help to a close friend of Tony and they try to make him jealous by pretending to date and Tony is like of course he is with him he's everything i'm not and having a total breakdown and peter realize that they hurt tony instead and ask for forgivenes and end up together, pleasee? Thank you! If you aren't please just ignore this!

Against my better judgement, my prompts are never closed! Thank you so much for this super sweet/angsty prompt, Nonnie! I realised after finishing this that I never directly included Peter asking for forgiveness, but I hope this feeds you just the same! ❤

TW: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Self-worth issues | Jealousy | Alcohol mention

SFW

Harley Keener is two years Peter’s senior and nicer than Peter could have ever imagined. When Tony had first started to talk about the ‘the first one he pseudo-adopted’ and how Harley had grown into more of a ‘mini me’ than he could’ve imagined, Peter had felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. 

What if Harley was better than him?

What if Tony liked Harley more?

What if, with Harley around, Tony didn’t want Peter around anymore?

He needn’t have worried, though. Harley wasn’t as ‘outwardly’ nerdy as he was, but he was more than happy to gush over the latest Star Wars LEGO offerings, and Tony snarked them both in equal measure. It was surprisingly like having another Ned around, and it took less than a week for Peter to feel stupid for having worried about his place besides the two of them. 

Tony even joked that Harley was the ‘prototype’ and Peter was the ‘updated model’, to which Harley had just rolled his eyes, knocked Tony’s spanner off the table like a cat and gone straight back to talking to Peter about ComicCon.

They became fast friends, and Peter supposed that was somewhat why he tended to forget there was a second person in the lab with them here and there, starkly (heh) reminded of it when Harley flopped down next to him on the penthouse couch one evening and said; “so how long have you been in love with Tony?” 

He could have cried. The Avengers he was around almost every other day for the past two years brushed off his doting as a hero complex and ‘mentor crush’ and it had taken Harley Keener less than three weeks to call him out on its true nature. 

Naturally and mortifyingly it ended up with Peter sniffling against Harley’s shoulder, wailing about how Tony was out of his league, how every single possible thing that could was against them, and how worst of all; Tony wasn’t interested. 

“He’s interested,” Harley had shrugged, gingerly plucking a tissue from the box and holding it out to him. He’d been somewhat cryptic about the basis of his statement, but had enthusiastically proposed a manner of ways in which it could be proven. And Peter…

Peter agreed to one. 

He didn’t know why. He wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment and he certainly didn’t get his kicks out of being humiliatingly, crushingly rejected, but...But Harley had said so make jealous. Tony always wants everything, and when he thinks he can’t have something he just tries harder to get it and Peter had inexplicably said yes. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, Peter didn’t quite know which) the only real, viable option was...Harley himself. None of the other Avengers would work; since they were all taken, straight and/or highly unlikely to be receptive to fake-dating a teen half (or more) their age. 

Neither Ned or MJ had access to the Tower or could really be around any SHIELD, Stark or Avengers activity, and that left quite literally no-one else but Harley. 

“I mean, in a way, its perfect. I’m the grandmaster of the plan anyway, and you don’t have to wordy about hurting my feelings or me falling for you. We can collaborate flawlessly to get you some Grand-Daddy dick,” Harley hummed around the stick candy in his mouth, and Peter wasn’t quite sure what part of that sentence offended him the most. 

“Does literally nobody want me?” he pouted, bottom lip pushed out dramatically as he kicked Harley’s leg out of the way and picked up the PS5 controller. 

“Hey, chin up, munchkin. You’re prettier than half the girls I know. I’m just not wired that way.”

“You’re straight?”

“I’m not anything. It’s like asexuality and aromantic, but both,” Harley pulled a face, clearly trying to remember the term, then shrugged. “Ah, I can never remember it. Anyway, point is, I’m not interested in anyone. You’re a little cherub, for sure, but you’re cute like a cat, not suck-my-dick cute.”

And, well. Cute like a cat? He considered that a high compliment. 

Thus, Operation Get That Grand-Daddy Dick (Peter did not name it) was underway. They both agreed to keep it natural and subtle, since Tony walking in on them half-naked or all over each other was just likely to spook him off. They’d edge into it; hint that they were spending more time together, act a little cosier, maybe get caught holding hands after a week or two. 

In truth, it wasn’t all that different to how they had been before, except that Harley made his smiles even softer, a little more secretive and let his gaze linger when he was sure Tony would notice. They sat and stood closer together than before, and here and there Harley would press a lingering hand to his back or arm. 

They made sure when one or both left they secreted away just out of sight and took a little too long, standing close together by the elevator and making sure to hug ‘longingly’ (whatever that meant in context) should Tony happen to peek. 

And yet for all his smarts, Tony didn’t seem to particularly notice anything amiss until the first time that he spotted them ‘romantically hugging’. Harley was actually a very good hugger, and they stood in front of the elevator together, with Peter facing it and Harley facing the lab. Harley had his chin over Peter’s shoulder and his hands low and tight on his waist, holding him close. 

“Spotted,” Harley whispered quietly, and moments later Tony spoke up. 

“Well that looks cosy.”

Tony’s voice was carefully level, no betrayal of emotion as Peter shyly disentangled himself from Harley, taking a step away as though caught doing something he shouldn’t. He didn’t have to fake the heat in his cheeks when he glanced up at where Tony stood, arms folded, and he fumbled with the strap of his backpack, glancing across at Harley before he gave Tony a meek smile. 

“Um, I’ll-- I’ll see you Friday, Mr. Stark!” he chirped, shuffling around Harley and into the elevator. Tony was still staring at him as the doors began to close, and Harley turned, casting him a wink and a finger-waggling wave. Peter waved back sheepishly and the moment the doors were shut, he whipped out his phone. 

[To: Thing 1] Did he look mad? It looked like he looked mad. Omg. U gotta tell me anything he says :// [19:31]

Harley did in fact text him back two hours later, though there wasn’t much to report. Tony had made a few flippant remarks that could either be parental interest or slight jealousy, and had dropped the subject after a short while in order to focus on his latest project.

Peter slumped. There was snails who had a faster moving love life than he did. With a groan, he stuffed the last of his anxiety snacks in his mouth and flopped back against his pillow to discuss the next step with Harley. 

Social media was their next plan of attack. Tony followed Peter on Instagram and Twitter, and had his Snapchat even if the older man rarely used the platform, so they were going to up the pressure by hanging out outside of the lab (which they did anyway) and posting it to social media. 

It was too soon to cancel plans with Tony to hang out with Harley (and frankly, Peter didn’t want to anyway) so they simply both made themselves unavailable on certain other days, or hung out together without mentioning it to Tony beforehand. 

They got ice cream at the park, went to the art museum downtown, visited several different cultural/ethnic based stores and went to the arcade to kick ass at air hockey over the course of a few weeks, all while keeping up the poorly secretive touching and closeness at the lab. 

And he’d still have more luck getting blood from a stone.

Tony seemed...Either completely oblivious, or just completely unphased. Whilst Peter caught him watching them here and there with an unreadable expression, Tony never directly asked them or overtly commented on what was happening. There was the odd, “enjoy the park yesterday, kid?” or “saw your post the other day, you should try this place next,” but never anything along the lines of what Peter hoped for. 

Even Harley was starting to doubt his original statement that Tony was definitely interested. 

Especially when Tony was the one who started cancelling plans, telling them both to ‘go enjoy themselves’ and ‘live the lives of young people’. He didn’t do it all the time, but here and there they’d both receive a text telling them not to come today. The lingering looks got longer and more weighted, but even so, Tony made no move in either aspect. 

“I think I’m just gonna have to give it up,” Peter admitted to Harley one night over the phone, hanging upside down in his bedroom with the phone dangling on a web besides him. 

“Maybe he’s just not ready for anything right now?” Harley suggested on the other end, between the frantic sounds of tapping buttons. 

“Maybe-- Oh, hang on. I’ve got an inbound from JARVIS. It might be Avengers stuff,” Peter hummed, quickly twisting to tap on the screen to accept the incoming call from JARVIS. 

“Hey, J. What’s up?” He greeted the AI, blinking at the call screen. 

“Apologies for the disturbance, Mr. Parker, but protocol deems that when Mr. Stark is in distress I establish contact with someone on his emergency list in order to inform them.” The AI’s voice was as smooth and unhurried as ever, but Peter frowned at the screen. 

“Distress?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker. Sir’s heart-rate is elevated and he is displaying significant symptoms of sadness, including light drinking, darkened lighting and angered viewing of your social media.”

“Angered viewing of my social media?” Peter echoed, fear ratcheting up as he dropped from the ceiling and moved to tug on a pair of shoes. Fuck, had he let something sip? Was there something in the background of his photos? Had someone figured out who he was? He was hopping towards the door on one foot when JARVIS spoke again, and he had to hop back to pull his phone down from the web. 

“Why is he sad over that? Did I do something wrong?”

JARVIS was silent for a short while, as though the AI was debating on how best to respond. 

“I... Believe Sir may be feeling lonely. Or unworthy of company. There have been a multitude of such instances over the past several years,” JARVIS replied after a pause, as Peter locked the web shooters around his wrist and tugged the Spiderman mask over his head to avoid any cameras, crawling out of his window and leaping out into the brisk air. 

It didn’t take long to swing to the Tower, especially not when panic and concern had him pushing it, testing his muscles and leaving him slightly out of breath by the time he slipped onto the top landing console. 

JARVIS directed him through to the penthouse and up the set of 12 steps that lead to the ‘upper level’ of it, to an open doorway that revealed Tony Stark sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at his phone with a neglected, half-open bottle of whiskey loose in one arm, like a newborn babe. 

“Mr. Stark?” he asked softly, and Tony’s gaze flit up to him, clearing immediately. His mentor cursed and jerked upright, almost sloshing the whole bottle over his bedding. 

“Shit! Kid! Wh’r you doin’ here?” Tony’s voice was just hinting on slurred, the same easiness and lack of concentration that came when you’d had a shot too many. Or five. Peter’s heart cinched as he stared at Tony gingerly putting the bottle on the bedside table, at the redness of his eyes and the messiness of his hair where he’d been running a hand through it, over and over. 

“JARVIS called me. He said you were sad,” Peter managed after a moment, hands wringing the mask between his fingers nervously. He’d never seen Tony like this, this...uncomposed. He looked haggard, tired and sad, and it made Peter feel empty and adrift, unsure of how to approach this new version of the man he loved. 

“Fucking snitch,” the older man grumbled half-heartedly, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Shit. Don’t-- Ignore me, kid. Adults my age are entitled to a night like this once in a while. Go back home, I’m fine. Fuck, you didn’t leave Harley for this, did you?”

“Harley?” Peter parroted, brows furrowing as Tony waved a hand. 

“Go on, kid. Get. Make the most of being young and pretty with someone young and pretty.” Tony reached for the bottle again and Peter found himself striding across the room, placing himself in the way of Tony’s outstretched hand and the whiskey. Tony’s fingertips brushed his stomach and recoiled like he’d been burnt by the contact.

“Mr. Stark, do you think I don’t want to hang out with you anymore?” he asked after a moment, voice fragile. God, he’d hoped to maybe make Tony a little jealous, but nothing like this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And he clearly had. There was nothing but rawness in Tony’s eyes when the older man looked up at him. 

“I’m not taking it personally,” his mentor attempted to joke, but it came out bitter and too flat to land lightly. Peter’s heart cinched in his chest and he shuffled to sit on the edge of the large bed, teeth on his lower lip as Tony turned away from his gaze. 

“Mr. Stark, I’ve never...I’ve never not wanted to hang out with you. Even if I have other friends, too,” he pointed out tentatively, and Tony scoffed lightly. 

“You’re too good for a world like this, shortstack. For someone like me. You should be trailing after someone like Captain Uptight,” Tony muttered lowly, and Peter scowled.

“You’re not less better than he is. Both of you are good people. Both of you make mistakes. Both of you save the world.”

Tony’s brows pinched, and he breathed out something that just barely sounded like then why aren’t I good enough?

Making an executive decision, Peter toed off his sneakers and crawled further up onto the bed, picking up Tony’s arm and settling down against his side, curling up under his arm and wrapping his own around Tony’s waist. 

He could feel Tony’s heart thumping wildly in his chest, could feel his breath hitch and the hesitant way that Tony let his arm settle over Peter, fingers curling in his hoodie. 

“You are,” he offered simply, squeezing gently. “This is my fault. I was acting like a dumb kid, and I thought... I should’ve known that it was just gonna end badly.”

“Is being my mini-me really that bad?” Tony choked out, and Peter pushed himself upright, alarmed. 

“What? No! Mr. Stark, being around you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t ever ever regret being around you! I just... I have to…” He trailed off for a moment, frustrated, then prayed to Harley for forgiveness and sucked in a deep breath. 

“I’m not actually dating Harley. At all. He doesn’t like people that way. Any people. We’re not boyfriends and I don’t want to stop spending time with you to spend time with him. I like spending time with you and you’re still my hero. Tony Stark or Iron Man,” he stated firmly. 

Tony looked at him for a moment, then looked away. 

“You should be with Harley, kid. Or someone like him. Not someone like me. Not someone with my history. I’m a shit person, kid. All this Iron Man stuff hasn’t even wiped half my scoreboard clean. Someone like Harley... He’s the better parts of me. Like you. He’s worth your love”.

Tony seemed almost startled at saying that word, twitching a little before he attempted to turn away from Peter again, gaze finding the far end of the room like he wished he was anywhere but here. 

Peter fidgeted, then sucked in a deep breath. “Please don’t hate me after this,” he fumbled out quickly, then rolled half on top of the older man, hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he leaned forwards. 

The kiss was awkward and clumsy and couldn’t have lasted for than two seconds before Tony pulled away, eyes wide and voice rough. 

“Kid, what-- You can’t--”

“If you say you’re not interested, I’ll respect that,” Peter interrupted. “Or if you say I’m too young or whatever. But if you say anything along the lines you of not being enough, or not being worthy, or-- or-- Or whatever it is you feel you aren’t... You’re wrong. The reason me and Harley were acting like that is because I was trying to make you jealous.”

“What-”

“And I know its dumb! I don’t it was childish and I never thought it would hurt you like this. But I’ve lo-- I’ve really liked you. For years. And I know you’re a lot older and we might never be able to be...To be...Normal. I guess. But I want whatever I can get with you, because you’re worth it,” Peter barrelled on, desperate to at least be heard before Tony kicked him out. Except when he trailed off Tony was just... Staring at him.

“It’s just... Hero worship. You still think I’m some magical superhero and you--”

“No offence, Mr. Stark, but you don’t know what I think. Not when it comes to you, clearly,” Peter cut in, cheeks heating at being so brash. Prior to this he wouldn’t have ever dreamed about being so direct and forceful against Tony. 

Well. Not in any PG-rated sense, anyway. 

“Just... We don’t have to talk about it now, okay?” eh offered, sliding off Tony just a little so he was back up against his side, wriggling around until he could grab the faux fur throw on the bottom of the bed, pulling it up over both of them. Tony remained quiet at his side, just watching as he got them both settled. 

“Just... I’m gonna stay, alright? Right here. With you. Because this is where I want to be, and its where I’m gonna stay until... Until you tell me to leave.” His lower lip threatened to wobble with mounting emotion as he lay his head on Tony’s chest, feeling the thick ridges of his scars beneath his shirt. 

A moment later, Tony’s hand settled lightly over his head, fingers sliding tentatively into his hair. 

“And if I never tell you to leave? If I’m selfish and never want to let you go?” the other man whispered. 

“Then I guess that makes us both selfish, because that would make me happy,” Peter mumbled into his chest, wrapping his arm tighter around Tony’s waist. The room went silent for a while, save for their breathing and Tony’s heart thumping beneath his ear. 

“Okay,” Tony rasped after a moment, and Peter smiled. 

“Okay, Hazel Grace.”

“...What?”

“Nevermind. You’re too old for that reference.”

“You’re a little shit.”

[hookedonapirate]

Trick or Treat

A/N: It feels so great to post again. I've been in a writing slump for several weeks now, so I wanted to write something short and sweet to get the writing juices flowing. Thank you @hollyethecurious for your ideas for the premise and @darkcolinodonorgasm for Killian’s costume!

Rated: Teen and up for mature language

“Well, that’s disturbing.” Emma grimaces at the zombie gnome with gnarly teeth, reaching out with dirt and blood covered hands like he's coming out of the ground to get them. Even though it's not real, the graphics are enough to give a kid nightmares.

 “That’s so cool, Mommy!”

 Well, any kid who’s not her seven-year-old son that is. Henry runs down the sidewalk, his oversized hat falling off his head. He’s a ball of energy most days, but tonight, he’s extra energetic, and he hasn’t even had any candy yet.

 “Kid, your hat!” She follows after him, picking up his hat from the winding walkway which is lined with jack-o'-lanterns on each side. But as she passes each one, she’s surprised when she realizes these aren’t just typical jack-o'-lanterns with a mouth, nose and eyes carved into them. No, these are intricately crafted jack-o'-lanterns. One is carved into a haunted house, one is a graveyard full of ghosts, another looks like a skull from afar, but up close, it appears to be carved into long stem mushrooms and grass. Her favorite is the pumpkin carving that mimics a scene from the Nightmare Before Christmas. 

 Like seriously, who has time to carve out all these pumpkins? And why weren’t the Jack-o'-lanterns on display as she had seen at the Night of 1,000 Jack-o'-lanterns at the Chicago Botanic Garden? Whoever carved these has some ridiculous artistic talent. They are also way too into Halloween, because their yard is all decked out. There are games set up on tables in the yard, skeletons and ghosts hanging from the trees and tombstone yard signs all over. 

 As she walks up the steps to the house, fake fog sweeps around her feet, the porch is covered in fake cobwebs with large spiders and the porch railing is lined with decorated jars, “potions”, skulls and other Halloween themed knickknacks. She laughs at the potion bottle labeled, “love potion.” When she reaches the door, which is wide open, a group of kids in cute costumes gathered around waiting for treats, she’s expecting the three looney witches from Hocus Pocus to emerge from the house. 

 When a man in a black top hat, tailcoat and a cane appears through the door with a bowl full of candy, she realizes how wrong she is. 

 Boy, is she wrong.

 Holy shit, he’s gorgeous. His skin looks ghostly white from the makeup on his face and he's wearing a brown curly mustache, but those vivid blue eyes are so very blue, even in the dark and under the hat he’s wearing. She’s afraid those eyes will set her on fire when he looks at her.

 “Trick or treat!” the children chorus. 

 Emma can’t take her eyes off the man as he excitedly hands out candy.

 “I love your costume, lassie,” he compliments a little girl who's wearing an Elsa costume.

 He has an accent? Holy hell.

 The little girl frowns, clearly not understanding what he meant by lassie. “I’m not a dog, I’m Elsa.”

 He chuckles, dropping a candy bar into her pumpkin bucket. “My apologies, Elsa. Please don’t blast me with ice.”

 “Thank you, mister,” she says cheerfully before scurrying down the steps to meet her parents at the end of the walkway. 

 “Trick or treat!”

 The man looks toward the small voice, seeing Henry approaching him. He grins big and wide, which makes him look much creepier than he already looks in his costume. Creepy, but sexy. “Well, hi there. Captain Hook, I presume?”

 Henry nods his head and opens his Halloween sack, using his plastic hook to hold one of the straps.

 “Very nice costume, lad. My favorite one so far.”

 “Thank you. I made it,” Emma boasts with a smile as she steps behind her son, placing the hat on his head. She’s not normally one to brag, but then again bragging doesn’t normally afford her the opportunity to talk to ridiculously handsome strangers.

 The man looks up, and when his eyes finally connect with hers, he completely steals her breath. She was wrong. His smoldering blue eyes don’t set her on fire, but they do make her melt.

 And his heavy stare makes her skin tingle.

 “You made this lovely costume?”

 She waves her hand nonchalantly. “It was easy. Just took a red, long-sleeved shirt, some ribbon and slapped some red felt and white feathers on a straw hat and voila.”

 “Very impressive, lass.” He glances at her shirt briefly before returning his eyes to hers. “Did you also make your costume?” he asks, his eyes dancing with mirth. He must have been referring to her red leather jacket and white t-shirt that reads, “This IS my Halloween costume.”

 Emma laughs. “No, I bought it on Amazon.” 

 “Wow, Mom, check this out! Full-size candy bars!” Henry shouts excitedly when the stranger deposits the candy bar into his sack.

 Emma tears her eyes from this man’s mesmerizing blue ones to see the full-size Snickers bar Henry’s holding out to show her. “Huh, people actually do give out full-size candy bars.” She looks up at the man. “I’m impressed. Let me guess, you also carved those pumpkins, too?” she asks, pointing to the pumpkins in his yard.

 He nods with a small smile. “I did. You’d be amazed by what I can do with these hands,” he says smugly.

 Emma wants to roll her eyes, but she can’t deny she very much wishes to find out exactly what he can do with those hands. Instead, she flashes a sarcastic smirk. “So who are you supposed to be, Jack the Ripper?” 

 He chuckles. “Not quite. I’m a gentleman from the Victorian Era. A devilishly handsome gentleman, may I add.”

 She cocks a brow, laughter bubbling in her throat. “If by a  devilishly handsome gentleman, you mean creepy.”

 He sets down the candy bowl and surprises her when he takes her hand in his and lowers his head, murmuring softly as he looks up at her. “The name’s Killian Jones. And it just so happens, I’m always a gentleman. Not just on Halloween.” His touch sears her skin, then he presses his lips to the back of her hand and it feels like electrical currents are surging through her. Her breath catches, and she’s worried he will notice. Judging by the smirk spreading across her skin, he definitely noticed.

 Emma turns her head, looking for her son, whom she spots in the yard playing games with the other kids, their parents supervising them. “I should get back to my son.”

 This man actually pouts as he releases her hand. And it’s freaking adorable. “I told you my name and yet you haven't told me yours?”

 She bites her bottom lip, contemplating whether she should or not. But then again, what’s the harm? It is a small town, so they’ll probably end up running into each other again at some point. “It’s Emma.”

 He grins, making her heart melt. “Nice to meet you, Emma.”

 “Likewise.” 

 He scratches behind his ear, which makes him look less creepy and even more adorable. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new in town?”

 “I’m from Chicago.”

 “Well, love, welcome to Storybrooke.”

  Oh. Now he’s calling her love? Can this man get any sexier? Jesus Christ. “Thank you.” She gives him a shy smile and turns to head down the steps.

 “Wait. Before you go, I have a treat for you, too.” 

 She spins around, arching her brow. “Oh, that’s okay. Henry will share some of his candy with me.”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “This treat is not for kids.”

 Emma gulps. “What kind of treat did you have in mind?” Something salty? Her mind definitely did not go into the gutter there. Okay, it totally did. 

 He heads inside, then returns not a moment later with a caramel apple. 

 “A caramel apple?” She almost sounds disappointed. But she’s definitely not.

 “Aye, but not just any caramel apple. It’s an adult caramel apple. So make sure you don’t share this with your lad.”

 She eyes it suspiciously. “It’s not laced with love potion, is it?”

 He chuckles and leans closer, whispering in her ear. “No. But it is laced with cannabis-infused butter.”

 Emma smirks as she takes the caramel apple. “Wow, you really go all out on Halloween, don’t you?”

 He shrugs. “You should come back around Christmas.”

 “Oh God, you’re not one of those people who goes completely crazy with the Christmas lights and the decorations and Santa and his reindeer on the roof, are you?”

 He shrugs again, donning a smirk. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

 “Is that an invitation?” Because she's definitely not thinking about inviting him to get high and engage in hot, sweaty sex with her. Not at all.  

 “Perhaps. Do you and your son enjoy hot cocoa and watching Christmas movies in front of a cozy fireplace?”

 She eyes the caramel apple and then glances up at him. “Does Santa enjoy adult cookies with his milk?”

 His grin widens, making her heartbeat skyrocket out of her chest. “Aye, then it’s a date.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not a date.” She doesn’t like the idea of waiting until Christmas to see him again, though.

 His face clouds with guilt. Sorry, love, I just didn't see a wedding ring on your finger so I assumed-”

 “I'm not married,” she clarifies, her cheeks flushing because of the fact that he was curious enough to check her hand for a ring. “Nor do I have a boyfriend. I'm single.” Very single. She's never been so glad to be single before.

 He sighs in relief, which gives her the courage to say what's on her mind and to thankfully change the subject.

 “You know, adult cookies aren’t just for Christmas...”

 He cocks his brow, and good Lord, she really needs him to stop doing that, because it’s doing things to her breathing and her heart. “No? What other special occasions are they for?”

 She shrugs. “Like a Saturday night, say next week when my parents are taking Henry for the weekend.”

 His eyes flash with something she can only describe as excitement. Or anticipation, maybe? “But still not a date, right?”

 She shakes her head. “Nope, just two adults enjoying their adult cookies.” 

 He laughs. “Okay, I’ll bring the apple cider.”

 “Sounds like a date,” she says accidentally when she had meant to say Sounds like a plan. But she doesn't even bother correcting herself as her cheeks warm with blush. She backs away and manages to rip her eyes from him to turn around and head down the steps. She finds Henry playing a game with the kids and takes his hand, telling him it’s getting late. He leaves with a groan but doesn't make a fuss. 

 As they leave the yard, Emma turns around, getting one last glimpse of the devilishly handsome Victorian gentleman. He winks and smiles at her, making her heart stutter, and she blushes and walks away as she leaves with her son.

  She had doubts when she moved to this small town to start over, but the warm feeling in her chest is telling her perhaps coming to Storybrooke wasn't a bad idea after all.

Tagging a few people who might be interested in reading:

@kmomof4 @teamhook @ilovemesomekillianjones @onceuponaprincessworld @artistic-writer @nikkiemms @snowbellewells @donteattheappleshook @itsfabianadocarmo​ @searchingwardrobes​ @melly326​