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lilac-witch · 5 months

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If My Wish Came True, It Would've Been You - Azriel x OC

CHAPTER ONE: ALL YOU HAVE IS YOUR FIRE AND THE PLACE YOU NEED TO REACH

word count: 1.1k

synopsis: Koschei's forces are growing stronger by the day, and the fae of Prythian need an answer to their prayers. Thankfully, the Most Handsome High Lord is full of entertaining ideas.

warnings: strong language.

a/n: the above media work is not mine and I have no idea who to credit 😢 if you are the owner/know the owner, please let me know so I can credit their work or replace it should you/they not wish to have it displayed. also, the plot of this series may not align with the writings of SJM completely, and that is because I am taking creative liberties to lead the story in the direction I want it to go 😁

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Formal meetings had never been Azriel’s strong suit. Too many fae and no shadows to hide in and watch from—forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair not made to accommodate his wings—subjected to the flamboyant disagreements of those who held power.

“If you sit any straighter your spine may stay fixed in that position.”

Azriel’s head swayed slightly to the right, meeting the amused violet-blue eyes of his High Lord. “It’s not my fault that these fucking chairs make it feel like someone is busy shoving a stick up your arse.”

Azriel’s keen eyes caught the slight uplift of Rhysand’s mouth despite his cool, composed posture.

“Such vulgar language, Az! I think you’ve been spending too much time with Cassian and Nesta.”

Azriel resisted the urge to give Rhys the finger, so as to avoid an uncomfortable conversation with the company they presently shared.

For the last several hours, Azriel had found himself sharing a space with not only one, but seven High Lords. The bi-annual High Lord’s meeting—the only time of the year when one could expect to find all of the great powers of Prythian in one room together.

“Are you going to bring it up?”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, face souring ever so slightly.

“Yes, in a few moments. We can’t delay the inevitable, I suppose.”

Azriel watched his High Lord for a moment before responding. “You’re not to blame. You know that right?”

Rhys's head bobbed—in agreeance or thanks, Azriel wasn’t completely sure.

Rhys cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the bickering High Lords scattered around the table. “As much as I enjoy watching the lot of you nip at each other's tails, there is a much more… pressing matter to discuss.”

“And what would that be Rhysand?” the red-headed lord mused. “Here to tell us you are the mother’s gift to us all? That we ought to bow before your feet? Name you King?”

Azriel snarled in warning, only to be waved off by Rhys. Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court—and the greatest waste of space Azriel had come across in over 500 years of existence.

“That’s right. Call your dog off,” Beron said, lips parting to reveal that smug smile of victory. Cauldron, it made him want to knock the arrogant redheads’ teeth out.

“As I was saying…” Rhys drawled. “There are signs of Koschei’s troops gathering in great numbers. We assume they are planning to attack. The question begs as to when.”

“And you learnt this from the shadows that whisper in your dog’s ear, I presume?” Beron questioned, the remark causing Azriel’s fists to clench.

“He’s a prick. Don’t let him get to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath as Rhys’s voice infiltrated his mind. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, his hands relaxed, settling palms down on his leather-bound knees.

“Elain has been having visions,” Rhys revealed as Azriel monitored shocked expressions litter the faces of those who sat around the table.

“Well…that is most concerning,” Thesan breathed, slouching back in his chair—chin finding the cup of his palm.

“You’re certain it’s Koschei she’s seeing?” Helion asked, leaning forward to rest his weight on his onyx forearms. Azriel couldn’t recall a time when he had seen the High Lord of Day look so serious.

Rhys nodded. “We’re almost completely confident that Elain is seeing the death god–”

“And what would you have us do, Rhysand? Our troops are a little thin after the last war you led us into.”

Azriel resisted releasing the primal growl that rose up through his chest—threatening to rattle his ribcage like one of the musical shakers he’d seen being played in the street of Velaris. “You seem to be misinformed about your own cavalry, High Lord. From what my sources tell me, your troops were barely dented by the war, unlike the rest of the courts.”

Beron snarled at him, eyes ablaze with that raging fire that ran through his Autumn Court veins. A compulsive liar—just like his eldest son.

“So, another war is upon us, and we are low on means of muscle and protection,” Kallias stated, rubbing at the skin between his stark white eyebrows. “What do you suggest as a solution? Will the mortal queens aid us?”

“Vassa might, but Mother knows Koschei will do everything he can to tighten his noose around her.” Rhys leaned back in his chair, and Azriel noted his attempt to appear nonchalant despite his growing agitation. “There is another option…”

Azriel knew that pondering look on his brother’s face too well. That was a look of scheming—of plans that may or may not get them killed…again.

Rhys took a breath before continuing. “A few months ago, the Night Court received a visitor from a distant land. A very distant land.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. No… Rhys would have to be out of his god's damned mind to be suggesting this.

“Her name was Bryce Quinlan. Fae, although not completely like us, but not entirely different either. She possessed the power of a star. And she fell through worlds…”

“Are you meaning to tell us that you had a fae from another world land on your doorstep?” Helion blanched, his deep-coloured skin seeming to glow with excitement. “Why in the name of all things good are you only telling us this now!”

It was Azriel who spoke next. “We didn’t know who she was, what she was, and what she was capable of. We didn’t want to take the chance of word getting out, and the issue becoming larger than what it was.”

Rhys looked to Thesan, whose intelligent eyes were combing through this newfound information. “She’s back on her home planet, where she belongs. Her stay was brief, but her impact… tremendous.”

“You wish to seek out her help.”

“Yes,” Rhys confirmed. “She mentioned great powers that protected her world from harm. Warriors of unparalleled strength. She called them Valkyrie.”

“That’s not possible,” Helion countered. “The Valkyrie died out centuries ago.”

Rhys simply nodded. “They did. In our world.”

The silence that followed was almost painful. No one dared to utter a word—as if fearing that everything would shatter like glass.

Surprisingly, it was the Lord of Spring who broke the spell. “Let’s say your idea holds value. How do you plan on contacting this… Bryce Quinlan, when she is worlds away?”

Rhys’s lips turned up in that arrogant smirk that had earned him his nickname—prick. It was then that Azriel realized. Rhys had been thinking about this for a while—a long while. And he had formulated a plan that he was seemingly confident about.

“My second in command has some incredibly useful qualities,” Rhys hummed, threading his fingers together. “Why don’t you leave the details to me.”

Eeek!!!

I'm so happy to finally be uploading this! I've been mulling over this idea for ages and it feels so good to finally put pen to paper... kind of. I hope you guys love it, and I can't wait for the chapters to come!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon

#acotar #rhysand #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #crescent city #bryce quinlan #azriel x oc #helion #thesan #kallias #tamlin #beron vanserra #azriel x reader

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sailorgundam308 · 8 months

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Got pretty annoyed yesterday while discussing the game with a friend (don’t worry, we’re still friends lol). But truly, I got annoyed at, once more, seeing how there are wrong assumptions weaved into the community discourse - things based out of someone’s ass, apparently, that got traction and now are repeated by players as if it’s true. But, of course, if anyone stops 2 seconds to actually pay attention to the game, these ideas prove to be just wrong.

This friend, for example, was mentioning how Astarion and Karlach NEVER agree or disagree together in anything. That’s a lie. I’ve (me myself, so I KNOW firsthand) been screen shooting every time there’s an agreement between them and when there isn’t. There are much more agreements than disagreements between Astarion and Karlach. They do come across as having different alignments, but they think alike MUCH more than ‘the internet’ (or even some devs?!) tend to believe. They might justify their rationale in different ways but they do agree together and disagree together way more than they disagree with each other. So that is something I personally can attest to.

Then I heard the argument that Karlach and Astarion don’t get unique scenes between each other: again, untrue. The tiefling party scene with Karlach, for starters, is the only unique romance scene for Astarion. The only person who has back and forth with Karlach after the paladins of Tyr are defeated is Astarion. They have (out of the top of my head, at least 4 unique short banters while both are in the party - again, more than Karl with any other companion.

Then the wrong assumption Astarion can’t go to Avernus : he can and he goes, both as ascended and spawn if you’re playing origin Karl. Ascended if you’re playing him.

A lot stems, again, from simplistic and shallow interpretations of both these characters’ story arcs and personalities. Others come from prejudice, from passing judgement on their appearance instead of their “content”.

Moreover, though, there will never be as much this x that content if it’s involving Karlach (and worse for Wyll) SIMPLY BECAUSE there is LESS than A THIRD the amount of content for Karlach in ANYTHING.

For some reason writers/devs took a long while to decide to put the work into Karlach and when they did they clearly made a bet that blew in their faces - that she’d be a lesser origin character and that’d turn out alright. But she’s the second most popular character and because people like her, they are paying attention to her story - and the massive lack of work and resources dedicated to her arc. Imagine if she had received the attention in detail and the game time / in game content, say, shadowheart received? Instead of a temple Shar, we went to Avernus? In place of Shar, ZARIEL made a personal appearance? We could’ve gotten a young Karlach flashback cinematic, an extra dungeon in act 3, then a personal quest closure with Gortash instead of SH’s parents, so we’d know what the fuck happened. As someone who can’t give two shits about SH, that would’ve been incredible to play. Half of that would still have been a blast. But we get nowhere near. And I’m only bringing Karlach to attention here as an example - if you look at Wyll (who was the front page origin boy since the conception of the game), the disparity is even more shocking.

I’ve read on a writer’s twitter a while back (can’t remember who exactly so you’ll have to excuse me), that they were the writers for Durge, and for a time they got to write some stuff for Astarion for a bit, due to some task delegation changes and whatnot, and they explicitly said they “managed to put in things specific to their “main” character (durge) in Astarion’s writing” - or something in those lines. Honestly… what the fuck? Not sure if that was the intention, but to me it sounded like someone with their own precious OC, which they are obviously attached to, pushing content in to benefit their “main”. In a game where there are several “mains” and many with glaringly less content than others. Again, in my interpretation of what I read that day, this information came across as the most unprofessional shit I’ve seen - if you are tasked to write someone else’s character, you should act as that character’s writer - not a fanfic writer trying to push a personal headcanon or narrative because it pleases YOU, in detriment of other characters. It was wild at the time and I just kinda… walked away and pretended I didn’t read it. It was just shocking and not the attitude I expected from a serious professional.

Whether that’s the whole truth or not I can’t say, but what I can say is that this left me with a weird taste in my mouth and perhaps that’s why until today I couldn’t finish a single run with Durge despite trying several. There are other issues with Durge for me personally in term of the actual writing of the sentences and the way they were worded that just seems impossible to take seriously. (But I’m trying to get over it still, as I want to experience this part of the game too, so I won’t give any sort of personal final veredict).

Also, the idea that Durge was supposed to be the main character… that’s a new assumption for me and my friend also brought it up. That sounded very sus and I went to read more about it and, of course, that’s also wrong. In previous BG games, we always played a Bhaalspawn. It would make perfect sense we played one again - but the butler shit, the amnesia, the gore erotic fantasies, that wouldn’t fly for the average BG3 player - and wasn’t supposed to. When they decided to split tav to leave the “absolutely neutral protagonist” they parted with the bhaalspawn narrative that was a very big part of the previous games, so I assume they didn’t want to just toss it, but put it to another “dark tav” or whatever shit that means. And then they doubled down with the evil and edge lord of kitschy horror narrative. It’s FINE. But isn’t supposed to be the main character.

TLDR: instead of taking random assumptions about bg3 as yours, pay attention to the game itself. And think critically about it a bit. All the origins are presented AS equals but they’re nothing but. And Larian should be (yes, troubleshooting tech issues but also) trying to even out the absurd gaps they allowed to happen in integrating the narrative of, especially, Karlach and Wyll into the game. Make more and decent content for them, fix the plot holes, rewrite the shit that doesn’t make sense for them FIRST.

Tbh, I wouldn’t be complaining if Larian had owned it to their content and presented us with Karlach and Wyll as sort of Halsin or Minthara type of companion - non origin, lesser tier of companion. Then the production choices they made would be at the very least justified. And I won’t EVEN start on the fact that these two, Karl and Wyll, are the two PoC origins… the black guy and the southeast Asian woman. Because, oh, boy, things start to look VERY bad when you put THAT into this equation… 👀

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b1oodthrsty · 1 month

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ok i have a TON of different writings in my notes app about various things in jthm but tje first one ill post will be about nailbunny !!!

(tldr: me ranting about how nailbunny is the last remaining part of johnnys former self prior to becoming a homicidal maniac & speculating why)

johnny says that nailbunny had existed even before the bunny was nailed, and recognizes it as being one of his own internal voices, probably the first one hes ever had.

though theres no given explanation as to why johnny began associating this voice with the nailed bunny, it could imply that like the bubs burgers boy, the event behind it is what causes him to associate a voice with it. we're told how and when nailbunny died:

though, it doesnt give much answers about the importance of this memory for johnny, as killing animals is something johnny does often, unlike reverend meats association with the memory of the girl. it could be that this was the first thing hes ever killed, though we aren't given any kind of clear timeline of when johnny started to kill. if this was true, it'd mean he's only been doing this for three years (which at least to me, seems somewhat plausible considering that hes 25, and cant recall much prior to when he started killing). in my own interpretation of this particular incident, i would connect the bunny to johnnys irrational fear of losing what he grows attached to- the mention of buying, and feeding the bunny prior to killing it could suggest that he didnt intend to kill it immediately, as the act of feeding it is a bit unusual for johnny, since he tends to either kill things right away, or torture them slowly. the actual nailing of the bunny, in a place he could easily see it from, would make more sense following this interpretation considering that johnny expresses numerous times his desire to remember special moments through violence, one of them obviously being his attempt at killing devi. theres PLENTY of things pointing to this irrational fear of his that drives him to selfishly preserve what makes him happy, but i feel this tweet is the most straightforward coming from him about it and i dont want to spam like 398343934284 screenshots:

so, it could very well be that when buying and feeding the bunny, johnny felt happy and connected to it- and upon realizing this, he felt he had to preserve the feeling through nailing it to the wall. i dont think that happiness is what ended up being preserved in his subconscious, though- remember, johnny states that nailbunny existed prior to the nail actually entering the bunny- so, if anything, the nailing of the bunny reads off to me as the separation of his former life to his current one, solidified by those past memories being engrained into nailbunny rather than having to be held by johnny anymore.

nailbunny seems more like the last piece left of who johnny formerly was, as its shown to reminisce on such memories, seemingly bitter with johnny over the way he's slowly lost himself. johnny often seeks to vent and pursue advice from nailbunny- its one of the few characters able to berate johnny without receiving some kind of backlash or disagreement on his behalf, obviously because he's aware that nailbunny IS himself, giving it the special privilege of being considered always right by him.

johnnys former self-awareness & whatever traumatic memories pushed him to entering the position hes in, have been absorbed by nailbunny, making it quite literally a voice of reason for him. something i find especially interesting is that when johnny attempts to garner sympathy from nailbunny over his loss of devi, nailbunny shuts him down, claiming what he did was "impolite":

sure, nailbunny isnt expressing an open guilt for johnnys actions, but its clear that it finds his moping to be pointless considering the severity of what he's done. theres a fight in johnnys subconscious between feeling naturally, humanely guilty for losing someone he cared for, versus egotistically feeling as if there was no other choice to be done given how fucked up he already is. i really like this particular aspect of johnnys character, how he teeters back and forth from mocking his own pathetic nature, to being convinced that everything he says and does is right. he likes to think that hes a cold, unfeeling individual who knows better than most, yet when actually about to die (which is something hes idealized since the beginning of the series as being a perfect paradise away from humanitys filth) hes hit with a moment of full clarity that he's just as stupid as everyone he hates, as if almost regretting his death.

i actually have WAY more written that delves into how i think him seeing the afterlife was a form of closure for him & reverend meats purpose in suddenly showing up upon his revival, but this is already full of lots of shit so ill end it here :] feel free to scream at me if i got anything wrong/inaccurate or offer your own thoughts ive never posted my rambles before but i love jthm so much so this has just been brewing in my notes app for the past few days ......... if u made it this far thank you im sorry for melting your mind with these evil words of mine ^____^

#jthm #ora.txt #chatter.pdf

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padfootastic · 2 years

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hello! here’s a lil drabble/ficlet situation about sirius being super invested in baby harry’s life, to the point he gets annoyed and jealous when he’s not immediately caught up on every little thing.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Lily entered the dining room to an unusually confrontational scene. On one end of the table was her husband, hands held up, palms facing outward in a gesture matched by the pleading look on his face. Right across from him was Sirius, arms crossed across his chest and a severe frown on his face. In the middle, Harry was sitting with a thumb in mouth, watching his father and godfather intently. Lily was a bit surprised at how quiet he was being—usually the presence of his favorite people meant an overload of squeals and shouts and giggles.

“Padfoot—“ James began only to be cut off by Sirius’ hand swiping through the air.

“No, James, I didn’t expect this from you of all people,” he took a deep breath and Lily was startled to see the emotions play out on his face. “How could you?”

Lily decided to enter the conversation then before things could devolve any further.

“Er, what’s going on here?” In any other situation, the way in which both their heads swivelled to look at her, coupled with the surprise on their face, would’ve been comical but Lily was too distracted to care about that right now. She couldn’t even remember the last time James and Sirius had had a disagreement. Those two just didn’t do that.

Which was another issue all in itself and if she focused too long on it, it made her head hurt (how can two people who spend as much time as they do together never have any tension?? she didn’t get it, didn’t think she ever would). But for now, she had more important things to tend to.

“Well?” She asked again, seeing the expressions change on their face. James was making a face, not unlike a child who’d been caught with their hand in a biscuit jar whereas Sirius had doubled down. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a straight line, and the most stubborn expression Lily had ever seen on his face.

“We, er, that is—“ James tried, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s nothing, hon.”

Lily snorted in response. She could see Sirius staring incredulously at James and really, this was just getting weirder by the second.

“Evans,” Sirius said, curtly. She didn’t even bother correcting him knowing it was a lost cause at this point. “Will you please remind your husband that we had an understanding and I won’t stand for him breaking it as he pleases?”

“Sirius—“

Lily doesn’t let James finish his groan before cutting in. “What understanding?”

“Did you and your husband not name me Harry’s godfather for a reason?”

“…yes?”

“And does that not entail certain responsibilities and obligations on my part—“

“…Yes.”

“—as well as yours?” Sirius finished, speaking over her uncertain agreement. Now she was a bit stumped.

“Ours?” She blinked at him, wondering what he was on about. A quick glance in James’ direction showed no help from that side. Her husband had the most resigned expression of exasperation on his face, which was really saying something, considering how often he looked like that.

“But of course!” Sirius said, “You are aware that James has the mirrors, yes?” This time he didn’t even bother waiting for her to nod before continuing. “Which means instantaneous communication.” He stressed the last two words, eyes squinting and a stern wrinkle appearing on his brow.

“Si, stop being so dramatic,” James cut in. “You’re confusing the dragonshite out of Lily.”

She grimaced lightly. “Very elegantly put, darling.” Her dear, dear husband only sent her a cheeky wink in return.

“Fine,” Sirius sneered. “Let me ask you this, then.” He pointed one long, pale finger in her direction, her eyebrows raising at the attempt at intimidation.

“Is it or is it not true that Harry, my godson, crawled on his bum across the living room exactly eight days and three hours ago as of right now?”

She opened her mouth to say—not sure what, exactly, but something. Before she could, though, Sirius had already cut in with an overemphasised, “And. Is it or is it not true that James, once my dearest friend—“

“Once?” James yelped.

“—and you, fellow co-wife—“

“You can’t be serious right now,” James groaned, clearly distressed if he wasn’t considering his egregious word choice.

“—did not even bother to use aforementioned mirror to inform me, post-haste?” Sirius finished dramatically, with the air of someone throwing down the gauntlet. He stared at them with a ridiculous air of triumph around him, daring them to disagree.

Lily could only stare in bemused disbelief at her husband’s best friend, nay, brother. One of her closest friends in his own right. Someone who, by all accounts, was incredibly smart and articulate.

Perhaps his bloodline was making more of an appearance here?

“He really has gone off his rocker, hasn’t he, Lils?” James’ spoke what she dared not say out loud. “Should’ve considered this before putting him in charge of the sprog.”

The words had the intended effect. In front of her wide eyes, Sirius basically puffed up in outrage, reminding her terribly of a charm-dried duck. He leaned forward to wrap a possessive arm around Harry, as if James could’ve been anything but joking and they’d take his precious godchild away from him, keeping him plastered to his chest. Harry, for his part, was as overjoyed as ever. He happily wrapped his chubby fingers around two of Sirius’ and prompt tried to insert the whole thing in his mouth, drooling and chewing gummily.

And Sirius, who was notorious for not even deigning to shake hands with strangers (and on one unavoidable occasion, had actually cast a cleaning charm on his palm the moment they’d stepped back from the handshake), someone who applied three different kinds of purifying charms on anything before using it, barely even spared a glance in his direction beyond pressing a kiss to his crown.

“Well, nothing for it then,” Sirius sniffed, nose slightly in the air in a way that reminded Lily entirely too much of Narcissa Black—not that Sirius would appreciate the comparison, of course. “I’m afraid I must take my godson out and away from this dishonourable institution then.”

And in front of both the Potters’ disbelieving eyes, Sirius actually swept out of the room with their child happily lounging in his arms, neither of them looking back even once.

“James…”

He made an answering squeak, still looking at the doorway through which Harry had basically been kidnapped by an over zealous godfather.

“What just happened?”

Her only response was the sound of his head landing on the table with a thunk.

#sirius black #harry potter #james potter #good godfather sirius black #well hello there first piece of fic i’ve writtten in a while #also coincidentally first something of 2023 lol #listen this just came to me a while ago—the thought of sirius throwing a hissa fit bc james didn’t mirror call him as soon as harry did sumn #even if it’s the most irrelevant inconsequential thing ever #and that just kinda snowballed into lowkey crack scenarios #like s in the middle of a fight and picking up his mirror to talk to harry #or he’s spying on death eaters but james is calling to tell him that harry ate his first piece of solid food and sirius just has to listen #and of course tell harry he’s so very proud of him for being such a big boy #so. yknow what i mean?#it’s just rly fun lol #also now that i’m reading it over—it’s funny how sirius here is exactly like those dramatic s asks i got a while ago lol #making a big deal out of small things sort of a dude #lowkey this was so hard to write #it just felt so unnatural #i think i’ve forgotten how writing works #everything feels weird #the co wife thing is a not so sneaky reference to wife wars #~lore. if u will 😌#pen’s writing #tumblr works

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alextheavoidant · 1 year

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Blah blah blah

Well, this blog is pretty much just a dumping ground for my thoughts at this point, so I might as well just get as much out as I can. Easier said than done though. Kind of like having to take a real big shit. There's so much of it because you've been holding it in for so long and that pizza just had way too much cheese. But there is no pizza just a moldy block of shitty cheese that was force fed to you by someone else who can't shit out their own cheese. Yeah... that's an analogy.

Forgive me if I don't put too much thought into what I'm saying. I really don't care. This is the first time I have given myself permission to express myself, unfiltered and uninhibited by what others might think. So if I find that I am eloquently vulgar and unpleasant, well I guess that's just me. Hope you don't mind.

One of the most unpleasant things about life is the functions of the body. I often wish I just simply be a mind, unattached to the physical realm, but still a part of it. If that makes any sense. There is so much about life that I love and enjoy. So many things I appreciate and can't imagine living without. So many things I am grateful for and wouldn't change for the world. But there are also many, many things that make living nearly unbearable. I'd be lying if I said there weren't times when I wanted to give up. Many times. But suicidal ideation has never been an issue for me, thankfully. I could never kill myself. I'm far too squeamish when it comes to my body. I couldn't even climb the monkey bars as a kid because I was worried about getting blisters on my hands.

No, my self-harm, rather than coming from action, comes from a place of inaction. Of... well, avoidance. Depression and anxiety caused me to take very little care of myself. As a result, my body has been damaged permanently as a result of simply not taking care of it. In ways that are not only painful and difficult to manage, but embarrassing as well. And it's only recently that I am really starting to see just how severe my mental health has been for... pretty much my entire life.

I was a selective mute in school, starting in first grade. I had a few friends, but none that carried over into adulthood, and I never felt like I was ever able to effectively connect with them or really be myself because I was always so worried about what people would think. Even those close to me, I feel, even to this day, has never really known the real me. The only person I think who has ever really seen me is my therapist. As they are the only person who I have ever really been able to be honest with.

I always felt the need to like what others liked or disliked what everyone else hated. It took a long time to really find the ability to gauge my own feelings about things. This could become very awkward when I found find myself in a situation with two people in a disagreement who wanted my opinion. I would completely short circuit and be unable to answer, as I knew either way I would make someone upset. And that scenario is one of many reasons I found to isolate more an more as social interactions were a mine field of inner turmoil, even with the most minute of interactions.

I am happy to say that today, I am much more connected to my true, authentic self. In a way, as my therapist puts it, I always have been. I've just been too afraid to express it. I never felt like I was allowed to express it because I was taught from a young age that everything about myself was bad and wrong. Every single thing I did and said was scrutinized, scoffed at. Glared at with distain and asked how I could be so stupid. She still does this to me, to this day. My "mother".

It's taken a lot of hard work to try and tune her out, as I am too damn broken to live and exist on my own at this point. I have spent the past ten years trying to "reparent" myself, through therapy and education and a lot of self-help and self-care. I have successfully managed to rewire my brain in many aspects of my thought processes, but it was not easy. And I'm still working on it. It is an amazing thing through, when I stop and realize what I have accomplished. I have achieved things I never, ever even imagined I would.

Like self-love. That's a big one. A huge one, in fact. To know I no longer hate myself. To know I am worthy of being my number one priority. To know I am not exceptionally disgusting, annoying, defective, unworthy. That I am not uniquely deserving of scorn, contempt, hatred and distain. That the agony of loneliness and the despair of feeling trapped does not have to be a running theme for the rest of my life. I can make it. I can change it. I have come this far and I am nowhere near stopping. I have been on this road long enough to know that it won't stop. It can't stop. As I, just the person that I am, am uniquely predetermined to move forward. As that is just my nature. That is the blessing in this hell. The solace in all this chaos.

I understand, now, the many things that have come before me. What lead to all this and where it might go. And while I cannot control the road that others choose to take, I can carve out my own path. Through the brush. Through the jungle to which they fear and dare not venture. To find something better. Something sacred. Something whole.

Thanks for reading. Going back to my cave now. Baiiiiiii

#mental health #health and wellness #avoidant personality disorder #blog #meandering #its whatever #avpd

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write-nerdy-to-me · 4 years

Text

~ destiel fic, hurt/comfort, 1k words, for @castielsdisciple

“Be still,” Dean murmurs to Cas when he flinches away again. He’s tried to minimize how much he pokes and digs, knowing what a bitch it is to be on the business end of pliers, but he can’t help that some of the shards are buried deep. He waits patiently as Cas takes a large swallow from the whiskey bottle he’s clutched like a lifeline, then Dean picks out yet another broken glass piece and drops it into the cup next to his hip.

It couldn’t have just been a cut-and-dry D-list case, because life — this life especially — doesn't work like that. It was inevitable for shit to go sideways on them, and it’s laughable, fucking inane Dean ever dared to think otherwise. (“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas said to him once. Dean’s still not convinced that's true.)

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Cas, but the monster, like, fixated on him. The whole night, no matter how hard Dean fought to get the ugly bastard's attention, it kept going after Cas. Then monster grabbed and fucking bodily tossed him out the window and let out a roar that felt like it shook the whole house; Dean's only felt his heart leap into his throat like that a few times. He didn't get time to even process what happened because the monster, having taken out one opponent, turned and advanced on him. Dean had to finish the job alone, not knowing if Cas was even still alive. He ran to find Cas lying on a patch of wood chips, shattered glass surrounding him like a halo. Those few short moments felt like several lifetimes as he slid to his knees next to Cas, who was winded and aching and breathing. ("You alive?" Dean asked, and Cas huffed out a pained laugh and flipped him the bird. "Yeah — yeah, you're alive, you asshole.")

Dean could swear that Cas has a deathwish or something because the reckless motherfucker refused to be checked out at the hospital. Dean insisted that he needed to go, as only so much could be done with the sparse supplies they had. They argued, and in the end, Cas’ stubborn glare won out. If he was gonna be like that, then Dean figured the sooner they get a move on and save Cas from his own bullheaded stupidity, the better. The last thing they need is Cas getting an infection. And the way he climbed into the Impala, slow, graceless, hiding his winces and grinding his teeth, only further proved that they should head to the hospital, but Dean held his tongue.

The ride back to the motel was, to say the least, unpleasant. In their room, it’s not much better.

For the past hour now, Dean’s painstakingly removed a myriad of embedded glass and wood shards from Cas’ back, wiped away the blood, and applied ice to the welts that have already turned angry and dark. Cas hasn’t said a word since their fight— that disagreement back at the old farmhouse, but Dean's talked plenty for the both of them. He’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated this mantra: Be still, be still. How many times it’s followed by tiny plinks of glass and wood into a plastic cup. Dean would think Cas finds it patronizing — insulting, even — if it weren’t for the way the coiled tension in Cas’ shoulders starts to ease whenever he speaks. If it makes this process easier for him… well, then who’s Dean to deny him?

“Be still. I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Another glass piece. Plink.

The A/C unit in the corner kicks over with a wheeze. Cas says, “I don’t deserve this,” in a voice so hushed Dean would’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting right behind him.

Dean’s hands stop, just for a moment. Plink, plink. “What are you talking about?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t deserve this. Your attention, your care, your lo—” He cuts himself off, arms coming around his middle and shoulders hunching away from Dean’s hands. A soft hiss escapes his lips as the motion tugs sharply at his wounds. He sounds like wishes he could take back the words the second they leave his mouth and hates himself for it. “Your kindness. I don’t deserve it.”

How could Cas think so little of himself? Believe himself so unworthy that he shouldn’t even receive the most basic care? But Dean gets it, maybe more than Cas realizes. “That’s bullshit,” Dean says mildly. Plink.

“Dean...” Cas starts to shift further away from him, and that won’t do, because he needs to listen, needs to hear what Dean’s telling him, and he won’t if he’s already sinking into himself.

“Don’t, I’m not finished,” Dean admonishes quietly. “I’m serious. Don’t move.” He touches Cas’ waist and— and he just stills with a shaky breath. If this were any other time, Dean would dwell on how Cas caves at the slightest touch initiated from him, how he always just lets him.

When it seems like Cas isn’t on the verge of bolting, Dean says, “I know there's something about this case that got to you bad — don’t think I didn’t notice, man.” Hunts aren't easy, and unexpected bodies turning up are never something a good hunter takes lightly, but Cas seemed to take each one like a devastating blow. Dean tried to press Cas about it, and he shook off Dean’s worry and pretended that everything was fine. Dean doesn't have to be a good hunter to know Cas was lying. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Cas turns his face away. “There’s nothing to talk about.” A beat. Then, “I think you’d be better off hunting with Sam again.”

The fuck? Taken aback, heat starts to crawl up Dean’s face. Part of him wants to be angry — hell, he kinda is, underneath the hurt — but he takes a breath and lets it out slowly, for once grateful Cas is facing the other way. “I like hunting with you. Besides, Sam's got his club going on, and anything with Eileen he likes to be involved.”

“Maybe you should have a different partner. One that doesn’t fuck up.”

“Everyone fucks up,” Dean says defensively. “Cas, if this is about what you did, you’re already forgiven for that—”

But Cas isn’t listening. The dam's busted open. “I’m supposed to— I used to be an angel. My powers, I could... I could help you, I could help Sam, but now I can’t — I can’t even do that.” Cas covers his face with his hands, rakes them roughly up through his hair. “I’m — I’m useless.”

Dean’s heart clenches sharply. He knew that the fading powers and subsequent loss of them had been hard on Cas, but Dean didn’t know it was affecting him this badly. Then he feels like an asshole, because of course this was, for fuck's sake. “Cas…”

Cas turns around, winces as he moves too quickly. He touches Dean’s face with gentle, hesitant fingers. There are scrapes and cuts Dean hasn’t taken care of yet, too occupied with making sure Cas doesn’t get a damn infection. Cas’ eyes grow sad; his brow furrows. “I miss— With a touch, I could heal you. I wouldn’t need you to care for me this — this way.”

“Cas, man, you gotta know that it’s never been about your powers. You’re not a-a tool, Cas. All I want— It’s just you. I told you, man. I’d rather have you. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Cas is quiet for a minute. “Your faith... I've always admired it. How you put your trust in people. You're a good man, Dean."

"Yeah, well." Dean clears his throat. "Gotta make up for all the bad shit I've done, right?"

Cas hums, unconvinced. He grabs the damp rag that held the ice, shaking out the remaining pieces. He doesn’t seem to care where the ice landed. "Let me?"

Dean almost says no, he's fine, but something in the way Cas looks at him... "Okay."

Cas wipes away the dried blood on Dean's face. Lately, he and Cas would be arguing, if they weren’t busy giving each other the cold-shoulder. It’s not the first time they’ve been at opposite ends or had disagreements — Dean refuses to say they bickered — not by a long shot. It’s just... been a while. Dean thought they were past petty fights. Now, though, they fall into a comfortable silence, for once not thick with tension from the unsaid.

Cas’ thumb traces over the scar on Dean's chin, and he says, a hopeless look in his eye, "I love you. Did you know that?"

Dean just breathes and touches Cas' wrist. "Cas..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know."

Dean tugs the rag out of Cas' hand. His mind is taking a second to reboot. But he knows — he knows he needs to kiss Cas right now. "C’mere," he mumbles and cups Cas' face between his palms and presses their mouths together. When they separate to breathe, Dean says, “It’s always you, Cas. You know that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I love you.” The smile Cas gives him is soft and crooked and still sad. Dean’s not stupid; he knows things with Cas are rocky at best, but it’s a start. “Now turn back around so I can get the rest of the junk out, asshole.”

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fishyfod · 4 years

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The Good Conscientious Soldier; Winter Schnee

My government enforces mandatory enlistment to the Army to all citizens aged 18, just after high school. I refused to enlist, and had to officially pass an army committee to prove I'm a "valid" conscientious objector. There are many ways to avoid army service, and many reasons - which as far as I'm concerned, all are valid - but my main reason stems from my pacifism.

In a militaristic state like my own, my lack of servitude in the army - especially as a conscientious objector - is frowned upon. By everyone. I've had to defend my decision to more than just the official army committee (whose definitions of conscience are arbitrary at best), but also to strangers on the street, friends, family, and myself. One of the arguments I had to reason with, is what I call "the Good Conscientious Soldier".

RWBY Volumes 7 and 8 have managed to affect me in some unexpected ways. The show's good for many reasons, but the way these Volumes handle the themes of dismantling militarism and fascism in their very core means a lot to me. It's handled with care and excellent storytelling that are surprising, considering the show's weakest handled arc is the White Fang arc. The most surprising decision to me, was to make the Happy Huntresses - clearly, the very enemy of Atlas's militarism - be the confident heroes, assured that their decision to defect was true. Instead, the various soldiers take the role of the conflicted characters, the ones that struggle with their decision not to defect, but to serve. Most shows would have flipped this around, and RWBY did not.

The spotlight here is reserved to Winter Schnee, who impressed me greatly in Volume 7 with how her innate struggle between her conscience and her loyalty to the army was displayed. I have not seen many portrayals of this struggle that managed to satisfy me in their difficulty while still maintaining nuance.

The Good Conscientious Soldier is a difficult argument to resolve, I find, because it doesn't attempt to call your conscience into question - it weaponizes it against you. "Yes," the enlister agrees, "you've impressed me that your moral sense is great - but wouldn't that make you the perfect soldier? After all, if soldiers are committing immoral decisions - wouldn't it be better if a moral soldier like yourself, stands there in their place to prevent immoral actions from taking place? Isn't it then preferable, that if you wish to take action to fix our wrongs - you must change us from inside, serve in the army and show us the right way?"

Winter's actions in Volume 8, in particular episode 7, are extraordinary in a sense. After a Volume of struggling between her conscience and Ironwood, hurt after being left behind by Weiss and Penny alike, Winter finally listens to her moral compass and takes action. She commits the second worst offense any officer can do after defecting - she goes against orders. In letting Yang, Jaune and Ren go she disobeys Ironwood, her superior, deciding her sense of morality is more justified here. And she is correct, and her decision proves successful not only to the heroes and Oscar, but for the good of Atlas and Mantle. Monstra is blown up, Salem is temporarily neutralized.

The fallacy of the Good Conscientious Soldier argument, is not that soldiers cannot have conscience, or that their individual actions cannot possibly make things better. The fallacy is that the army is designed never to allow conscientious soldiers who would dare disobey orders to ever be where they are a nuisance. If you've proven to have an inflection towards disagreeing with your superiors, they will not put you where that disagreement can damage their plans. If you disobey orders in an attempt to make things right, you will be replaced by those who would follows orders right. You will be sent to trial, you will be judged, you will be punished - because you dared disobeying orders.

When the Army is faced with a conscientious soldier, the system self-corrects itself, and the anomaly will be removed. That is why the system cannot be changed from within, and why my refusal to enlist in the army must be total - I cannot, in good conscience, take any part in it.

In episode 10 of Volume 8, Winter Schnee’s attempt to make the right call - the moral one - is punished. She is caught red-handed, facing Ironwood - a dangerous fascist general who killed councilmen in cold blood, who abandoned a city and attempts to leverage its very existence for power, who imprisons her sister’s friends and just explained to her how he would extort their lives in “negotiation”, who wishes to violate the very humanity of her friend Penny. And she disobeyed his orders. Mark my words, she will be punished for this severely.

Militarism goes beyond the military, and bleeds into every aspect of society. First and foremost - schools. The education of making one a good soldier starts by making the army such an integral part of life, every pupil must coexistent with them as they learn. Servitude of the army becomes servitude of society. Lack of loyalty to your military and their actions, is betrayal of the very fabric of coexistence with your friends. Defection from the military is defection from your people.

Despite what some may think, the fact it was Harriet Bree that ratted out Winter is not what lead to this punishment. If Harriet Bree wasn’t there, someone else would’ve taken her place - and they would’ve done the exact same thing. Harriet Bree has reported for duty, just as she should have. Because Winter Schnee betrayed not just Ironwood, Winter betrayed Harriet, and made Harriet complicit in her insubordination. Winter effectively betrayed Atlas itself.

Winter is an excellent portrayal of the Good Conscientious Soldier, and I do not say this because I pity her. I am lucky in many ways this fictional character was not, and to look into her situation as if we are the same is self-centered. No, I say this because I value this portrayal, it touches me in ways I did not anticipate to feel from a cartoon show made in the US. I feel her struggle, I understand the difficulty, I want to see her overcome it. I’m rooting for her.

[gif by @chittychittyyangyang]

I hate to end this post on a sour note, but I cannot leave this unsaid. Some of you mocked Winter when she followed her conscience in Episode 7, and gloated as you watched Episode 10 and her insubordination was discovered. Fiction does not always reflect back to reality, but if in this case it does - then whatever form of anti-militarism you think you advocate for, it’s not genuine. Get off your high horse. Your anti-militarism is performative at best. I still hope, that this post was perhaps illuminating. Do with it what you will.

#Winter Schnee #RWBY Analysis #RWBY #my posts #fishy.analysis #long post #sorry I didn't put it under the cut #I couldn't find a right place to do it here

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parvulous-writings · 3 years

Text

Nightmare // Liu Kang x reader

Request: I was wondering if I could request a scenario of either Liu Kang or his s/o having a nightmare, maybe of the other dying. Along with the prompt “It’s okay… I couldn’t sleep anyway…”

Requested by: anon

Summary: Reader has a series of nightmares, and goes to Liu Kang for comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of death, fairly graphic descriptions of various forms of death.

Words: 1.7K

Notes: My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

not my gif

Nights in Raiden’s Temple had always been peaceful, even in the most troubling of times. The blanket of darkness only truly fell in the early hours of the morning, when the torches finally fizzled out in their mounted sconces, with no one left awake to tend to them. The only light left to illuminate the hallways of the ancient structure was that of the moon and her many stars. For you, tonight though, it was not a very peaceful night. It had started off as one, the same as any other. You had adhered to your schedule as you religiously did each evening- you washed your face, ridding your skin of the grime of the day, you folded your clothes to take them down to the washroom in the early morning, like you did every day with your fellow champions. You had nestled yourself into the sheets of your bed, curling up to rest, falling asleep quite quickly. You were not wrapped in tranquility forever, though. In the very early hours of the morning- perhaps two or three hours past midnight- you awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in your bed, a slick sheen of sweat adorning your skin. Adrenaline coursed through your veins and you were short of breath, as if you had been training or sparring with other champions, rather than sleeping. You wiped your hands over your face in an attempt to calm yourself, as disturbing images flashed through your mind. They were burnt beneath your eyelids- scenes of Liu, scorched by his own flame, his flesh bubbling and blistering as he cried out in pain. His skin turned to char, and he collapsed, slumping over on his knees as his body finally caved in to the injuries he had sustained.

Then another- Liu engulfed by an emerald green light. It snaked around his limbs, bathing him in the eery glow of the streams of light as several strands shot down his throat, choking him, drawing the life from his lungs. You were forced to watch as he began to decay, the muscles beneath his skin wasting away, leaving him as nothing more than skin and bones- if you could even class it as that, as even from a distance his skin now seemed as thin, and as delicate as rice paper. He was not given a peaceful last breath in this vision, it was forcefully ripped from his lungs. A third- a disagreement between himself and his cousin and closest friend Kung Lao. Ordinarily, the pair would either agree to disagree, or they would work out his differences, but it was not the case this time. The two were in the fight pit, lashing out furiously at one another. Liu was hailing down a rain of fire upon his closest of companions, whilst Kung Lao expertly slung his chakram hat back at the monk. Though Lao was suffering many, many burns, it was Liu who was taking the majority of the hits. There were gashes on his face, his gi was slashed open in several places, exposing his torso which was littered with bruises. After a particularly harsh throw from Lao, Liu stumbled, losing his footing for a moment. Kung Lao took this as an opportunity to take advantage of Liu’s weaknesses. He hurled his hat towards his cousin, the blade of the brim running through Liu’s shoulder, creating a fountain of blood. The fire wielding monk fell to one knee, choking on the fluid, and Kung Lao started to approach him, calling his hat back to his hand. The descendant of the Grand Champion of the Order of Light approached the Chosen One slowly, an almost smug smirk on his lips. He gave a quiet chuckle, but had chosen not to gloat, kicking Liu Kang on to his back, watching him squirm and struggle. Without wasting anymore time, Lao threw his hat into the sand above Liu’s head, using his arcana to make it spin like the blade of a buzzsaw. Grabbing his cousin’s arms, and dragging him along the ground, until he had been split in half, his blood and his organs spreading out and drenching the sand.

You wanted, so badly, to look away from this monstrous sight, but you couldn’t. Your tried to close your eyes in this dreamworld, but it was of no use. It was this final segment of the dream that had caused you to wake up in your cold sweat. Your eyes darted around the dark confines of your room, trying to find something that could provide you with some sort of comfort. But beside your blanket, which felt more vaguely restrictive than anything, you had nothing. Though perhaps, that wasn’t strictly true. There was something, or rather someone, that could comfort you. You shakily got to your feet, getting dressed in something that covered you a little bit more than the typical night wear, padding out into the dark hallway, heading down as quickly as you could muster, given the lack of light. Eventually you wound up at the door you desired, or at least you hoped so. You raised your hand to knock timidly on the door, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the others nearby, but loud enough to catch the attention of the dweller within those quarters. You wrapped your arms around yourself, waiting patiently. You didn’t have to wait long, as the wooden door creaked open slightly. Before you stood Liu Kang, his eyes just barely open from sleep, his hair tousled slightly from tossing and turning, as he told you he often did at night. He rubbed one eye with his hand, his prayer beads slowly sliding down his arm with the movement. He mumbled something inaudible, as he registered you standing just outside his doorway. He noticed your slightly disturbed expression, and became much more alert. “Are you alright?” Were his first words to you, and you gave him an almost sheepish look. You wanted to throw your arms around him, to spill out thanks to the elder gods for him being alive, but you restrained yourself. “I did not mean to wake you... I was more wondering if you were awake.” Your voice is soft, just above a whisper; the thought of him dying in your dreams underlying your every words, although he was unaware of it. You could tell he had only recently gotten to sleep, something he didn’t often get much of. The monk shook his head at these words. “It’s quite alright… I couldn’t sleep anyway…” He offered you a brief smile. “You seem worried. What seems to be the matter?” He asked you, moving aside and beckoning for you to enter his room. You step inside, rubbing the back of your neck as he closes the door carefully behind you. “I... Had a nightmare.” “Oh?” Liu replies, moving to sit on his bed. “May I ask about the nightmare? It is alright if you do not wish to divulge what you dreamt.” He told you, “Though perhaps it will relieve some stress from your shoulders.” He encouraged, and you sighed gently. How were you to tell him this? Sure, it may not have been a reality, but it had felt so real.

“I saw you dying.” You say it bluntly- why sugarcoat something that blatantly troubled you so? Liu is stunned to silence, just staring at you, unsure of what to say to comfort you. You decide to continue, hoping this will help him comfort you more effectively. “I saw it happen several times... You were burned, then you decayed, and...” Your eyes glaze over for a moment, and you swallow a lump that had formed in your throat. “And Kung Lao killed you.” This shocked Liu even more; what had provoked such vivid and horrific dream sequences? He didn’t know, and he thought that perhaps it would be better for him if he didn’t know, it may not have been his place. You didn’t come to him to have your problems solved, you came to be comforted. He remained quiet for a moment more, as his arm slipped around you, pulling you closer to his chest. “It’s okay.” He soothes, moving you both so that you laid on his bed, facing up at the ceiling, “It was nothing more than a dream. It’s gone, now.” He told you. You glanced to him for a moment as you settled onto his chest a little more. “But... It felt so real. Everything about it. The sounds... The sights... All of it. Even the way you fight- all of your inflections, and even Lao’s smirk. It was all there and-” Liu shushed you as you started to babble. “It was a dream. I will not deny it has clearly had an impact on you, but I will remind you of the fact.” His voice was soft as he spoke, “And I will remind you that we are all safe here- from death at least. I will not get injured from flames, I can control them well enough to defend myself from them. Decay will certainly happen eventually, of course, but it is many years away I am sure.” He paused for a moment, letting you just process his words. “And as for my cousin... You know he will not let loose all of his skill on me.” He’s right, the relationship between Kung Lao and Liu Kang was a tight knit one, rife with humor and playful jabs, but at the same time a sincerity that they will both be there for one another. You nod slowly. He starts to gently trail his warm hand up your upper arm, soothing you a little more.

Liu falls silent, and the pair of you just lay there on his bed for a while, his hand still carefully gliding over your skin. You start to feel drowsy, and your eyes weigh themselves shut as your body succumbs to the exhaustion your adrenaline had staved off. Liu didn’t move you, he just smiled down at your sleeping form, shuffling slightly to settle down himself. He finally finds sleep with you in his arms, finding the same sort of comfort in you that you had found in him.

#liu kang #liu kang x reader #liu kang fluff #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat movie #ludi lin #requested #please request #requests open #x reader #x reader requests

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fuckit-hero-of-trains · 3 years

Note

Write about Tongs you coward

Some Tongs content for the many people that requested her!!!! I'm so glad people seem to like Tongs because oh boy do I have plans for a fic.

Four would like to say that the sound of shattering glass at dark o’clock at night is an unusual occurrence. He’d like to say that the sound is unexpected. Suspicious. Odd. He’d like to say that the sound sends him bolting upright in bed. That it sends him stumbling down the stairs to check on his shop.

Four would like to say those things. He really would.

They might have even been true at one point.

Now?

Now the sound of shattering glass disturbing him in the middle of his sleep cycle at bullshit o’clock merely sends him rolling over so he can muffle a groan into his pillow.

One night.

One peaceful night.

Was that really too much to ask for?

The sound of continued, muffled scrabbling from downstairs answers that question with a resounding yes, yes apparently that is too much to ask for What a couple of assholes Hey We happen to like those assholes Speak for yourself!

Four waits for the sound to die down before rolling back over and staring at the ceiling.

All is quiet for a blessed moment.

...Maybe they’re done?

…

The sound of something long and metallic hitting the floor with a resonant CRACK says No they aren’t God damn it That’s our queue!

Four rolls back over and mashes his face more fully into his pillow and groans a little louder for a second before slowly dragging himself into a sitting position. He blindly fumbles with a candle and matchbox on the nightstand– usually used for late night reading but which have gained this new almost nightly use– eventually managing to get the thing lit.

It's not a particularly strong candle. Not nearly as efficient at lighting up a room as their lantern but it does its job well enough, creating a five foot bubble of light around Four so he can see the stairs.

Based on the way the footsteps and clattering and muffled cursing comes to an abrupt halt, it also does its job in telling the other tenants of the house that they’ve been caught. Four takes the last couple of stairs at a stomp, just to drive home just how not happy he is about having to do this again.

Once at the bottom of the steps, the smithy takes a quick survey of the storefront. Nothing broken or out of place. Not that he had really expected otherwise. The last time these two got into one of their “late night disagreements” as Red called them in either the shop or the forge, Four had split, giving them not just a piece of his mind, but every piece of his mind. They weren't done lecturing and yelling and guilt tripping and sneering until the sun had peeked over the horizon. No doubt the deviants wanted to avoid a repeat performance.

Which just leaves the kitchen.

Four shoves open the door with probably more force than is necessary while pushing the candle forward so he can survey the damage.

Though the candle barely lights up the room, it shows Four exactly what he needs to see: the bright gleam of several pieces of silverware on the floor, glinting amongst the shards and dirt of a now destroyed potted plant.

It also shows him the culprits: two pairs of eyes, one at the height of the counter top, wide and round and flickering between green and orange in the candle light, and another pair floating up by the ceiling, glowing a deep crimson.

“She started it,” says the crimson eyes.

“I didn't ask,” Four replies blandly, setting the candle on the floor beside the mess. He grimaces at the sight. The casualty was his mini cactus. One from the Desert of Doubt that Zelda had given to him, stating that even he couldn't kill it.

How long did this one last Three weeks New record It might not be dead One of its ‘arms’ are off But the roots look to be in alright shape We’ll repot it tomorrow With what pot Well–

“She broke that too,” Sounds above Four’s head.

A hiss crackles from the counter top.

“Hey, no!” spits back the first voice, “That doesn't matter! You touched it last which means you broke it!”

A responding hiss followed by a grumbling meow.

There is a scandalized gasp from overhead followed by a spat out, “Why don't you come over here and say that to my face, you overgrown throw pillow!”

“Shadow,” Four cuts in, voice as tired and exasperated as he can make it,“You’re arguing with a cat.”

Four doesn’t need the candle to know that a scowl accompanies Shadow’s annoyed tisk.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Shadow grumbles, finally lowering himself from the air and stepping into Four’s bubble of light so the hero can see his glower. “You talk to her all the time. How you managed to find such a smartass of a cat is beyond me. I swear, she says the worst shit when you can't understand her.”

There is a soft thump from behind him and then a large, warm body presses itself into Four’s side, purring already.

“Kissass,” Shadow mutters, crossing his arms.

Tongs merely cuddles closer, sweeping herself across Four’s side until she can push her head beneath Four’s chin, trilling happily.

Four rolls his eyes at the both of them, gives Tongs a quick scratch behind her ears, and straightens up, taking his candle with him.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s downright vulgar,” Four says, not even trying to sound sympathetic as he walks over to the fireplace to grab the broom, Tongs threading between his legs with every step. “Just like I’m sure she’s the one who suggested… hmm, what was it again?”

Four takes hold of the broom and turns back to face Shadow. He folds one hand over the top of the wooden handle and rests his chin there, letting a faux thoughtful expression cross over his face.

Below him, Tongs sits, her posture tall and perfect, her tail curled around her paws smugly.

Shadow sticks his tongue out at her.

Four clears his throat and Shadow's attention snaps back toward him. This time, Four simply raises an eyebrow which sends Shadow’s eyes all around the room, like he's looking for any other words than the ones Four is thinking of.

Eventually, he admits defeat, throwing his head back petulantly with an exaggerated sigh.

“...Night forging…” the shade mutters.

“Night forging!” Four repeats brightly, sarcastically, striding past his shadow back towards the mess. “That's what it was.”

“She did actually suggest that though!” Shadow insists, exasperated. “She thought if we did some of your work in the night, you would have more free time during the day. It’s not my fault I didn't know how to run your forge!”

Four pulls up short at that, turning to glance at Tongs, who had leap back up onto the counter to supervise their cleaning effort.

“Did you actually suggest night forging?”

Green-orange flickering eyes blink at him slowly as she tilts her head with a purr, the picture of innocence.

Four sighs with a crooked smile, holding out the broom for Shadow to take, which he other does after only a moment's hesitation.

Tongs is much too big to be picked up anymore. Has been for most of the time she's been with him. But if there's one thing his adventures and occupation are good for, it's maintaining strength.

Though she would stand only a head shorter than him if she were to be on her hind legs, Four hefts the massive cat into his arms. And boy, is she an armful. He can barely contain her length and mountain of long, grey fur in his arms, but even with the second it takes to adjust his hold on her, Tongs simply relaxes into his hold belly up, staring at him.

“You’re supposed to be making sure he doesnt get into trouble,” Four tells her with fake solemnity, ignoring the Hey, I resent that! that sounds from behind them.

Tongs stares at him for a moment, as though considering his light scolding.

And then reaches up and gives Four’s nose a lightning quick bop.

Four laughs.

“You're a brat,” he tells her, turning and beginning to walk back out of the kitchen .

Tongs responds by shifting her shoulders slightly, snuggling more firmly into him even as she smacks him in the mouth with her feathery tail.

“Uh, hello?!”

Four pauses in shouldering open the door and turns to see Shadow, broom in hand, other hand on hip, eyebrows high, and eyes wide.

“Aren’t you going to make her help clean up?”

Four glances down at Tongs in his arms.

She stares back up at him.

Against his side, he can feel her tail flicking mischievously. He sends her an answering smile.

“She's a cat, Shadow. I’m not sure how much help you expect her to be without opposable thumbs,” Four reminds with a shrug and a grin that only gets smugger as Shadow’s face goes from expectant to disbelieving. “I’m sure you’ve got this. See you in the morning.”

The door swings shut behind Four, muffling any response Shadow may have thrown at his back, leaving the boy and his cat to head upwards, laughing as they head back to bed.

#lu four #lu shadow link #lu Shadow #tongs the benevolent #finally some tongs #after this next chapter of AT I think ill start working on the official Tongs fic #but for now here's a quick preview of her personality #summary: she loves four and is a little shit to everyone else #train writes

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true-blue-megamind · 4 years

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FAN THEORY THURSDAY: Megamind’s Connections Beyond the Film

Before we get started, it’s time for the obligatory SPOILER WARNING!

In case this hasn’t been made sufficiently obvious by the fact that this is a post about Megamind written in a fan theory series about Megamind and published on a blog dedicated solely to Megamind, please let me just assure that this article is, in fact, about Megamind.

If you haven’t seen the film yet yet, I have to question why you’re reading this in the first place. As well as your taste in animated movies. I’m definitely questioning that.

Over the years I’ve heard several fan theories concerning connections between the film Megamind and various other forms of media. Today, let’s delve into just a few.

The first one is so obvious it’s almost painful, but it has to be mentioned. Megamind is a Superman spoof. Metro Man is clearly based on the Man of Steel himself, with a hefty dose of Elvis Presley and a larger range of character flaws thrown in for good measure. (He also seems to contain quite a lot of the Popular Jock archetype.) The character of Megamind is more complex still, combining elements of Alice Cooper and a nineties Goth theater kid with several comic book supervillains. The best known of the last include alien genius Brainiac and mad inventor Lexx Luthor, but they aren’t the only ones. Some of Megamind’s engineering and technological inventions call to mind Spiderman villain Doctor Octopus even more than Lexx Luthor, and he also shares some parallels with the mad inventor Dr. Sivana in the SHAZAM comics.

Megamind’s most notable of the latter is the similarity of attitudes toward society. Both Megamind and Dr. Sivana started off trying to use their inventions for good—the first in the classroom and the second for the betterment of mankind—but both became bitter when people mocked and shunned them. For Dr. Sivana, this led to a desire to conquer all of Earth while for Megamind, in a sort of microcosm, it led to a similar drive to take over Metro City. Both Lexx Luthor and Dr. Sivana have, perhaps, the strongest connections to Megamind as share, deep down, a desire to help or protect mankind, and as Lexx Luthor, like Megamind, harbors a secret love for the reporter damsel in their respective stories. (This desire to do good, especially in the face of corrupt officials, ties into another Megamind fan theory that I will likely discuss in more detail in a later post.)

The connection between Megamind and Alice Cooper, by the way, was extremely intentional. The creators stated in an interview that, like Alice Cooper, Megamind’s dark, evil self is, in fact, a stage persona. (Even their clothing, consisting largely of black leather and spikes, is similar.) That fact is illustrated in the film as we can see that Megamind’s behaviors on- and off-camera tend to be vastly different. Even as a villain, he is merely playing a role, although in the case of Megamind that role has begun to merge with his self-identity.

There are, however, hints within the world of DreamWorks that Megamind has other connections as well. The first is fairly recent and intensely interesting. In the Rise of the Guardians, Jamie Bennett, a young boy who still steadfastly believes in the seemingly impossible, mentions “aliens in Michigan,” only to be scoffed at by his friends. Because Metro City is located in Michigan, (as can be seen briefly when the Death Ray is fired from space,) many fans theorize that the “aliens in Michigan” are none other than Megamind, Minion, and, perhaps, Metro Man.

This would indicate that the two stories take place in the same world, and that Megamind’s adventures, while well-known in Metro City itself, have been covered up and kept secret from the rest of the world. (Imagine moving to a moderately-sized city only to discover that—surprise!—there’s an extraterrestrial supervillain in residence and, oh, by the way, if you live downtown homeowners’ insurance is ridiculous!)

The second inter-film connection is less clear, but has spawned some interesting fan theories as well. The idea is that, like Rise of the Guardians, Monsters VS. Aliens also takes place in the same reality as Megamind. It’s not too far fetched—after all, both films involve extraterrestrials and amazing inventions—but there is one specific theory that really ties the two together. Consider this for a moment: Megamind is a blue alien with incredible intelligence who hails from a destroyed planet. Does that sound like any other DreamWorks character you know? If you’ve seen Monster VS. Aliens, the antagonist, Gallaxhar, probably springs to mind.

According to Fandom.com, Gallaxhar’s official backstory is that he “destroyed his home planet” for the implied reason that “he experienced bad childhood and unhappy marriage.” The fan theory is that that Gallaxhar’s planet was, in fact, Megamind’s home world, and that the former created or harnessed the black hole which destroyed it. This would explain why Megamind’s people—as well as Metro Man’s—didn’t have time to escape despite being space-faring. You see, black holes take millions of years to develop, and even a rogue black hole would take about a million to shift and swallow an entire solar system, so if the event had occurred naturally, there should have been plenty of time to build an entire fleet of spacecraft and leave for Earth or another safe planet. (The fact that Megamind’s parents set his escape pod’s navigation system for Earth indicates that they knew of its existence.)

Of course, despite their large heads and blue skin tones, there are quite a few physical differences between Megamind and Gallaxhar. The first is humanoid while the second has four eyes and tentacles instead of legs. Fan theories have explanations for that, too, however.

There appear to be two schools of thought on the subject. The first is that Gallaxhar was another breed of alien living on the planet, possibly a servile race different from Minions, and the second is that part of Gallaxhar’s “bad childhood” involved being experimented upon, thus giving him his bizarre appearance and his seeming obsession with experimenting on others. (There is some disagreement in the Megamind fandom about exactly why Gallaxhar was subjected to such treatment, ranging from falling into the hands of an unscrupulous scientist to being part of an experimental medical program. The latter fan theory suggests that Gallaxhar was both blind and paraplegic, and that his additional eyes and tentacle “legs” were meant to rectify that, but that those physical differences made him an outsider, thus leading to his unhappy life and ultimate hatred for his own planet.)

If that were true, many may wonder what, exactly, Megamind might do if he ever found out about Gallaxhar. Well, good news! Just like there’s an app for everything, there’s a fan theory for that, too! I will warn you, however, that this one is, frankly, build upon pretty thin evidence. However, it’s interesting enough to be worth relating.

There is a character in Monsters VS. Aliens named General Warren R. Monger who, on the surface, is exactly what he appears to be: a high-ranking military man. However, there are a few things that fans point to as possible evidence that Monger isn’t what he seems.

The first is so simple that, alone, it would be inconsequential. Monger rose through the ranks uncommonly fast, so much so that it caused some comment among others. The second is significantly odder; Monger claims to be ninety years old despite looking like he is in his late forties. Now, of course, this may have simply been the character exaggerating or messing with the “monsters” under his care, but some fans say it’s more than that, and claim that Monger chose that age because he was unfamiliar with human lifespans. Next there is the fact that Monger is so intelligent that, despite one of the beings in his containment facility. Doctor Cockroach, being a super-genius, Monger outwits every escape attempt the monsters can make. Then, of course, there is the fact that, despite his brusque manner, Monger seems to actually sympathize with the inhuman people he is charged with containing, and even pushes for them to be given a chance to prove themselves. There is the oddity that, although he is assigned to the secret military base at “Area Fifty-Something,” Monger seems to disappear a lot, often for days at a time. Finally, there are a few key physical and technological attributes: Monger has some odd and incredibly energetic facial expression—including a nearly maniacal smile and a dark scowl—as well as a jet pack that he appears to have constructed himself and green eyes.

I’m still not certain I see the resemblance, but maybe there are some similarities? What do you think?

If you’re familiar with Metro City’s resident blue alien, you can probably see where this is going. Although it’s not a popular theory, I’ve heard it suggested in the Megamind fandom that Monger is, in fact, Megamind disguised using his holowatch. (This is why the green eyes are significant; Megamind’s eye color is the only aspect of his appearance that the holowatch doesn’t change. However, I feel compelled to note that the shade of green appears to be different.) Fans insist that it would have been easy for someone as incredibly brilliant as Megamind to hack government systems and forge documents such as birth certificates thoroughly enough to dupe even U.S. Military Intelligence. The two jet packs, some have contested, look different either because of the disguise or because the one featured in Monster VS. Aliens is an older model. I’ve even seen the fact that both Megamind and Monger begin with M being pointed to as possible evidence that the latter is no more than an invention of the former.

The argument is as follows: as Monsters VS. Aliens takes place in 2009, one year before events in Megamind, it’s possible that Megamind, still being a villain, created an alter-ego which he could use to help him search for and deal with other alien life. (He is shown to be painfully lonely, and the Megamind comics reveal his desperate desire to find other survivors from his home planet.) Upon figuring out who Gallaxhar was, and more importantly what he had done, Megamind wanted to be part of taking him down. But he couldn’t be too open about it; he was, after all, still a “Bad Guy.” This theory explains Monger’s frequent long absences—during those time Megamind was back in Metro City taking care of his regular business— as well as why Monger had a secret soft spot for the “monsters.” Megamind, having always been treated like a monster himself, would naturally want to give them a chance, but wouldn’t dare behave in too overtly friendly a manner as it would have aroused suspicion.

As I said, support for that particular theory is, perhaps, a little thin, especially given the fact the Monsters VS. Aliens preceded Megamind, so character designs from the former are unlikely to have been influenced by the latter. Nonetheless, I admit to appreciating the complexity and creativity of it. It’s an undeniably fun theory. If they haven’t already, maybe someone will write a fan fiction about it one day.

Those are only a few of the theories out there connecting Megamind with other fandoms. One could go on and on about the subject, but I won’t torture readers by doing that. Nonetheless, it illustrates once again the immense love and original thought that Megamind fans put into developing their theories! I dare say that few other animated movies have earned a following so dedicated and inventive… But, then, any of us who love the film Megamind will tell you that it has more than earned the consideration!

#Megamind #Megamind fan theory #Megamind movie #Megamind fan theories #comic books #comic book #superheroes #supervillain #DreamWorks #DWA #Monsters vs Aliens #Rise of the Guardians #Rise Guardians #Monsters #Aliens

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blu-joons · 3 years

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DATING PENTAGON A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Yang Hongseok

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Being so tall, Hongseok was always able to make you feel safe and protected in his hold. He towered over you whenever he hugged you, making sure that you were as tight against him as possible so he could look down at you.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you met abroad when you were both travelling and exploring. You ended up spending the day together at a sightseeing event, exploring a part of the city before exchanging numbers, sharing your stories and where you came from, vowing to adventure in each other’s homes one day when you could.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

When the time came for you to visit Hongseok in Korea, he knew that he had to confess to you and tell you how he felt. He’d waited for the moment to see you in person again for so long, and the fact you’d chosen to head to Korea just to see him meant a great deal to him. The night you landed, he took you out to dinner, excited to show you his home, telling you how he felt, so that you could enjoy the rest of your trip as a couple.

D ⇴ DATES

The two of you would often go on late night drives together for your dates, basking in the quiet streets and the beautiful landscapes that the night sky showed off. Hongseok would always make sure he had plenty of food in the back of the car for the two of you to enjoy, often driving up to the mountains so that the two of you could overlook the city. The escape was something that you both enjoyed, and the adventure that came with it was the icing on top of the cake, with plenty of memories made.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

He’d noticed his name pop up in rumoured articles before, and so Hongseok was incredibly careful with you. He knew the attention a foreign girlfriend would get him, and the last thing he wanted was for you to get caught in the crossfire of it all. He was always incredibly conscious of being seen out with you, and whilst he never denied knowing you and being close to you, Hongseok was always careful with his words, knowing the wrong thing could land him, and you, in plenty of hot water with several people.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

The two of you never tended to argue, learning to be pretty understanding of each other. When you were apart, calls were too busy spent with telling stories and checking in on each other that you had no time to argue with one another, and when you were together, you were too focused on making the most of the time that you had together to even let the smallest of disagreements bubble up into something that it didn’t need to be. Time with each other was far too precious to ever argue, learning to talk things through was one of the biggest skills you had in your relationship which definitely worked to your advantage.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

As soon as he came home from his travels, Hongseok couldn’t wait to tell his family about the girl he’d met exploring, and so as soon as they heard you were making the trip to Korea to see him, they were desperate to be a stop on your tour of Korea and meet the person that they’d heard so much about.

H ⇴ HOME

Once you finally settled and decided to call Korea home for at least a little while, Hongseok moved you straight in with him. There was no way that he was going to let you go anywhere else, he was the one that was going to take care of you, and that started by making sure you had a roof over your head.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Hongseok was the first of the two of you to say those three special words on a call one evening. It had been a while since your time zones matched, and Hongseok was desperate to talk to you. Although he wanted to say it in person initially, he couldn’t wait any longer to tell you how he felt about you.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He would always go a little bit quieter whenever he was feeling jealous, Hongseok was incredibly protective of you, especially knowing that you were living in a foreign country, and so he was always very observant of any situation that you found yourselves in. Whilst he appreciated that many people were interested in finding out about where you came from, he couldn’t help but get jealous when someone got a little too invested, drifting out of conversation until you pulled him straight back in again.

K ⇴ KIDS

Before either of you could think about starting a family, you truly had to sit down and discuss where you’d end up calling home. Whilst you loved being in Korea, a small part of you always thought about whether it was where you saw yourself forever, but with Hongseok’s career, you doubted that you’d ever be able to make anywhere else in the world work, especially if kids were something you were going to have.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Hongseok always managed to make you laugh, that was by far one of the highlights of being in his company, but best, or perhaps worst of all, the dad jokes that he had always had you doubled over in stitches. For the most part, they were terrible, but it was the cheesiness in them that somehow had you laughing most of the time. Whilst he knew he wasn’t the funniest member in the group, Hongseok knew exactly the kind of humour that you liked, and always knew exactly what he needed to do to get you laughing if you’d had a bad day or if you were feeling a little homesick, he’d always cheer you up.

M ⇴ MISSING

The two of you had very quickly gotten used to missing one another with the long distance you found between you both. It was a feeling that never got easier for either of you, but it was definitely something that you learnt to live with. Although when Hongseok went on tour, and you were in Korea, it felt strange to begin with, it oddly made things easier for you knowing that at least you were at his home, and that you wouldn’t have to wait so long to see him because of that. You both always celebrated little milestones, like you always had done, to get you through time that was spent apart.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

He loved to give you nicknames that were in your language that he’d learnt, very few other people would understand them at home, making them personal, and private, which Hongseok absolutely adored.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Hongseok was obsessed with your voice, for a while it was the only contact that he had with you, and so he always made sure to treasure it, no matter whether he was near or far.

P ⇴ PDA

He would always make sure to take care of you more than anything else whenever the two of you were out in public. Hongseok was well known for how soft he was when it came to being with you, and the gentle touch in which he always made sure to hold you with when you were out and about definitely showed that.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Hongseok loved learning about your home, and your language especially, and so he’d often ask you questions about new snippets of information that he’d learnt, or a question that he wanted an answer to.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

The two of you were always taking photographs wherever you were in the world. Hongseok particularly loved to take selcas at all the different places you visited, making up album after album with photos from the numerous countries the two of you went to. They were the perfect things to look back on and remember the many adventures you’d had and the numerous memories that had been made too.

S ⇴ SEX

Intimacy with Hongseok always focused around one thing, love. He always made the mood one filled with a lot of love and passion, taking care of you, especially if he’d gone a long time without seeing you. Your hands would almost always be resting against his abs, his body never failed to make you speechless, you couldn’t help but get lost staring at it most of the time, leaving Hongseok feeling very shy too.

T ⇴ TEXTS

For a long time, texts were your best way of communicating, and so even after you moved across to Korea, you’d always find yourselves texting each other, sometimes forgetting that you could actually see each other in person.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

You were everything to Hongseok, there had been difficult times for you both, but neither of you ever wanted to give up on the other, knowing a time would come when you could be with each other properly.

V ⇴ VACATION

The first time Hongseok had the chance to go on holiday, he invited you with all of his other members so that you could really get to know them all. The others had heard plenty of stories about you, they were just as keen as Hongseok to meet you and find out as much as they possibly could about you.

W ⇴ WHINING

He was always understanding that not all of your time could be spent with him, and so Hongseok was someone who would very rarely whine at you.

X ⇴ XXXXX

You’d often feel Hongseok kissing you, forgetting sometimes that you were sticking around and that he didn’t have to let you go. A small part of him would always worry that a kiss would be your goodbye kiss, just like it had been for so many months before you visited Korea. Sometimes he had to pinch himself that he was even able to kiss you properly and not having to blow a kiss into the camera of his phone.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the most important thing to him, Hongseok had worked so hard for you.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

He’d always hold on tightly to you at night, having to remind himself that you really were there with him. Just like when he kissed you, Hongseok would always worry that time with you was far too good to actually be true.

---

Masterlist

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hutchhitched · 4 years

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The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

“Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

“What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

“Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

“What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

“Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

“I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

“I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

****

Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

“Hello?”

“So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

“Ms. Everdeen?”

“Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

“Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

“I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

“I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

“Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

“That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

“Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

“You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

“Your bone marrow?”

I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

“You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

“I am.”

“Oh…”

“So, you want my bone marrow.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

“Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

“Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

****

I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

“Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

“How do you feel?”

“Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

“I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

“A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

“I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

“I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

“He’s also an arrogant ass.”

“Speaking of arrogant asses…”

“Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

“Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

“I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

“Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

“He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

“Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

“He’s not—”

“Give him a chance.”

Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

****

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

“Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

“I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

“Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

“Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

“Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

“No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

“Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

“I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

****

It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

“Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

“Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

“If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

“I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

“Lucky you.”

“I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

“No! I can meet—”

But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

****

“And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

“No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

“You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

“Thank you.”

I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“I— I need to check my calendar.”

“I already did. No school activities.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

****

I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

“Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

“Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

“Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

“I think we burned dinner.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

“Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 17 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the marrow of the story

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

Text

Contending the Flame IX

Author’s note: Happy New Year everyone! Let’s start it off right with positivity and no looking back on a bad 2020. Can’t wait to continue to write for such excellent fans, you guys/gals are the best!

Masterlist

Word count: 2741

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Warnings: The usual, nothing new to add.

Since your unexpected kiss with Ivar in that dark corridor, you had avoided him. It was no simple task, as he seemed hell-bent on getting you alone if he could, and that made you feel like a mouse living with a cat. You double-checked every corner before turning, and you tried to finish your work before sundown. Audhild had been an additional ally to you, whether intentionally or by happy accident, you weren't sure. She kept you by her side even with tasks she could have accomplished without your help. You weren't certain of her relationships with the sons of Ragnar, only that she acted independently of them. That was something that still took getting used to; women operating on their own accord.

While you continued to ponder over Ivar's pursuing you, you also tried to make sense of your feelings. Men in general were something you had always been fearful of. You had seen rape and abuse from an early age on the streets of Rendlesham, and you learned quickly not to trust an innocent face. Ivar's face was fair when not screwed up and twisted in rage, and he had the shyness of a boy when he kissed you. But you could not forget he was a heathen. His affection had been severe, clutching and pulling with desperation you thought you would drown in.

Your feelings were beginning to frighten you. You had returned the kiss without struggle, and you had been tempted to give in to more before a heightened sense of self had kicked in. This Viking had murdered your priests and his own brother, yet you were having lustful thoughts. God would be disappointed in your lack of restraint.

You needed guidance. When you had been in the abbey, you would often go to the senior Sisters for advice. Audhild was patient, but she would not understand the inner turmoil of a Christian. There was only one other in the encampment who you could speak to, and the moment you were no longer needed by the healers, you snuck off towards the courtyard where Bishop Heahmund was being held.

Only one guard was posted now, as the Bishop had given them no more trouble since you had been brought to him. He was still fettered in chains, but he wore a serene look that would have angered the devil. His faith could not be shaken, and you envied his composure.

As you approached from the building across the way, the guard glanced at you. He did not dismiss you from coming closer to Heahmund, instead seeming to lose interest in you entirely.

"Bishop Heahmund," You called softly, creeping nearer.

His eyes shot open, but he did not appear surprised by your intrusion. Giving you a smile, he indicated for you to sit. "Hello, Sister Mary Catharine. I wondered if I would see you again, but I had hoped. You are the bright light of York in this nest of heathens."

He couldn't seem to cease with the flattery, and you remembered the rumors about Heahmund being led into temptation by widows. Ivar wasn't wrong when he had accused you of having desirable thoughts for the man. Hearing stories of the Bishop, he had sounded larger than life, like a hero from a story. You used to envision him coming to take you away from your lonely days in the convent, this handsome and brave warrior. Those had been the daydreams of a young girl. Seeing him captured by the same heathens who had enslaved you, the glass had shattered, and what remained was just a man.

"How have you been?" You asked while tucking your dress behind you as you sat on the ground.

"My head is clear, and my resolve is set. They want me to fight for their cause, and I see no alternative to this request. If I want my freedom, I'll have to go along with whatever the Boneless one commands."

You frowned, not understanding why Ivar wanted Heahmund on his side. He was a devout Christian who wouldn't stray from his path and could turn on the heathens at the opportune moment. A part of you worried for Ivar.

"Are you certain this is what God would want?"

"I do not see this as a defeat, rather that God has a new plan for me and this is the way I must follow," Heahmund said, and the chains rattled as he readjusted his position to look at you. "But you did not come here to discuss my fate, Sister. You are still bothered by what we spoke of the last time we met. The youngest son of Ragnar is still giving you trouble."

You ducked your head in a penitent gesture. "I feel lost, and in need of guidance. You keep calling me Sister, but shamefully I no longer think of myself as a nun."

"You have forsaken our Lord?"

You were surprised by how there was no venom behind his question, just bald-faced curiosity. "No, I still have my faith, but my station is misplaced. I would like it if you called me (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)? That was your name before you took your vows?"

"Yes, and though I haven't gone by it in years, I feel more like that abandoned little girl than I do Sister Mary Catharine."

"Their people are changing you," Heahmund said, appearing thoughtful. "Your heart is growing restless, and you are curious about their ways. The youngest son of Ragnar is trying to steal you away, but look sharp, for God would never allow one of his children to be pried from his embrace."

"Ivar he…he frightens me, but I am also excited when I am with him," You confessed, and your heart thundered at the admission. "I come alive when he's near. He sees me in a way that no one else ever has."

"(Y/N), look at me," Heahmund demanded, and you did, startled by his tone. "You cannot fall in love with this heathen. He will lead you astray, and leave when it is of most convenience for him. You must pray for forgiveness, and honor God by respecting the vows you have entered into."

His severe expression was marred by what he was preaching, and you felt your hand clench tight in anger. You surged up onto your feet, standing over him like a scarecrow in a field.

"And what of you, Bishop? Were you honoring your vows when you were between the legs of those widows?"

Heahmund turned away with a stiffness to his face, as if he couldn't believe you had spoken such a thing. You had surprised yourself as well. "That was different, and you wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that. Unless you were hoping to find God in the arms of those women, I couldn't possibly understand your reason."

"You are young, and you have yet to learn that life is often complicated."

You threw your arms up in the air, a wild gesture that probably resembled an agitated bird more than that of a rational woman. "Then let it be complicated. Hurt, and lust, and pain, and hunger; these aren't terrible things. They let us know that we are alive, and I've felt more of that here with these heathens than I ever did back home."

"You cannot possibly understand what you are saying," He argued back, and you thought he was going to lecture you further, but he took a moment to collect his breath. "My apologies. You sought my counsel, and I have only offered judgement. We should cling to each other in this desolate place if we are to survive the Northmen."

You didn't want to fight with him any longer either, but you could see that as far as Ivar and his people were concerned, you were not of one mind with Heahmund. Coming to him had erased some of your doubts, but you did not realize how much your tolerance towards the Vikings had shifted. There were bad men among them, but nothing anymore abhorrent than what you had seen from Saxons.

"I'm sorry as well," You said, shifting back and forth on your feet. "I was quick to anger. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit in my heart how I have begun to change towards them."

"May I inquire something else about you? Seeing as I've already insulted you, I don't believe it is too bold to ask."

"You may," You said, permitting him.

"If we were to be liberated by the King and his army this very moment, and brought back to Wessex, would you return to the Church?"

You came to your answer quickly and without trepidation. "No."

"I see." Heahmund didn't let on about how he felt about your answer, and you didn't want to know. Disappointing him seemed about the worst thing you could have done, and you didn't want to dwell on that. "(Y/N), you shouldn't have come here."

You frowned. "Why not?"

"We've been careless. Ivar knew you would come here. See there, the guard is gone."

You looked to where Heahmund's watch had been stationed to find the spot no longer occupied. The guard had taken his leave the moment you two had been engaged in your disagreement. Ivar must have known you would seek out Heahmund eventually.

"It's fine," You said with more confidence than you felt. It was to be expected that Ivar would be waiting to speak with you again, and you knew he could have done so whenever he desired. He had held back on forcing you, but you didn't know if it was kindness or another manipulation on his part. "I think I'm ready to face him. There will be no more running for me."

"Go with the grace and strength God has given you. Even if you have turned from your path of the Church, God will never stop fighting for you."

You knelt before Heahmund. "Thank you, Bishop. I hope I am granted with clarity to see my true path."

You placed a parting kiss on his forehead and offered him a smile before standing. Taking a look around the courtyard you did not spot Ivar waiting for you. You knew he would find you though, and you began making your way back to the small room that you had been sharing with the other slaves who aided the healers.

For such a short walk, one you had taken many times, it seemed to have grown in distance. You kept expecting Ivar or one of his guards to pop out and grab you, but nothing so substantial occurred. The faces you passed paid you no mind, and you arrived at your destination relieved and a little bit let down. You had been ready to get the confrontation over with.

You opened the door, ready to be met with the company of some of the other slaves. None of them spoke with you outside of your duties, and it bothered you. It was an act of self-preservation. They knew you held the attention of Ivar, and so that meant he spared them little mind. Better you than them was probably what many of them thought, and you couldn't fault them for that. It seemed you were fated to be alone. The only other slave who had gone out of her way to speak with you had been a spy, and you hadn't seen her since. Something about that felt deliberate.

When you entered inside of the cramped quarters, you did not find any of your bunkmates. You were alone with Ivar, and that meant his guard couldn't have been far behind. He had kept hidden, luring you into a false sense of security.

"Hello," You greeted dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You kept tight by the door, not taking a step further in. Ivar was looking pensive, with an air of despondence clinging to him.

"How is the Bishop fairing?"

"Resilient," You said, relaxing a bit that he didn't immediately discuss something of a more delicate nature. "He says he will fight for you."

"He doesn't have a choice. Either he fights or he dies, and I will need his strength soon enough," Ivar said, his severe tone causing you to flinch. With stiff movements, he maneuvered himself to stand, but he did not try to encroach upon your space. "The time to leave York has come, but some of my people have chosen to stay behind. Our army needs allies, but this business with the spy has made me doubtful of who I can trust."

"What will you do?" You asked, feeling out of depth to be having this conversation. You knew little of wars and alliances, and you didn't understand why Ivar was sharing this with you.

"It's been decided that Ubbe will return home to Kattegat with a handful of warriors, under the pretense that he has abandoned our army. The woman ruling there murdered our mother, and it is likely she sent the spy."

"Where will you go then, if not home?"

Ivar hesitated, and you had never known him to look away when speaking with you. "I need to meet with Harald Finehair. He could be a potential ally to retake Kattegat...but I also suspect he sent the spy. The sons of Ragnar losing control of the Great Heathen army would benefit him in his bid to become King of Norway."

There was another man with lofty ambitions. The world must look different when you wake up as a Viking. You took a step forward, garnering Ivar's attention.

"And where does he live?"

"In Vestfold, but you will not be going there," Ivar said, and he looked overcome with guilt. "I'm sending you with Ubbe to Kattegat. It is safer for you there."

"But I'm only a slave. What difference does it make where I go?"

"Harald and his men do not exercise restraint when it comes to Christians, and I can't have my eyes constantly on you nor can I keep a guard around one slave without arousing suspicion," He explained, but his reasoning was flawed. You had no doubt Heahmund would be going with him, and you knew Ivar didn't hold back when it came to murdering your people. "Ubbe will keep you safe, and Audhild will go with you as well."

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling any control over your life seeping through your fingers like sand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do in Kattegat."

"I need you to stay alive," Ivar said with a fierceness that made it sound like an order. He crossed the short distance of the room before you could blink, and took your hands together to place something cold in your grasp. "Take this. It can take a life if you wield it right."

You looked down at the sheathed knife he had gifted you with. It was a heavy weight compared to the ones in the kitchen, and the hilt was carved into the shape of a wolf's head. You gave him a startled look before beginning to protest. "No, I cannot take a life Ivar."

You tried to return it to him, but he was forceful in making sure it stayed with you. "You will if someone wants to take yours. I won't let you die because of your stupid Christian beliefs about hell and perdition."

He squeezed his hand over the top of yours to secure your grip on the knife, and with the other he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you together for another kiss that you had been fearfully longing for. You didn't want to fight him, and you returned the kiss with all of the words you couldn't say. It wasn't a goodbye, you refused to believe that your time with this violent and vulnerable man was at an end. It was an 'until next we meet', and you cradled his jaw in your free hand, while you both still held onto the knife in the other. You don't know when you began to cry, only that the tears were silent as they slid down your face and transferred onto Ivar's cheeks. This caused him to hold you tighter. Even as the fire in the kiss dwindled, you clung to one another knowing this was the last moment you would share before you were to be parted.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #vikings #history vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine

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annamaximoff24 · 3 years

Text

Bruises

Wanda x Reader: Mentions of smut

WC: 1k

Description: After a few racy nights alone with your girlfriend, Nat questions the “bruises” left on Wanda.

“Come in,” you said upon hearing a knock at the door, not looking up from your phone as you scrolled through instagram. You were laying in your bed at the Avengers compound. The whole team, except you and Wanda, your girlfriend, had been called away on a special mission for a few days. Needless to say you and Wanda took full advantage of having an entire building to yourselves. It was almost noon on the third day, so it made sense that the others would be back by now.

“Hey Y/N,” Natasha opened the door and looked at you, still sprawled out across your sheets.

“Hey,” you put your phone aside. “How did the mission go?”

“There were a few...mishaps but everything turned out alright,” She said.

“Let me guess: Tony and Steve got into a disagreement about the plan and things went awry?” You raised an eyebrow at her.

She nodded, laughing to herself. “Someone really needs to stop putting those two together on missions, it never ends well. For anyone.” You felt the mattress sink as she sat down next to you.

“I can’t argue with that,” you said, smiling.

“So, how were things here?” Nat asked. She knew how excited you were to spend some time alone with Wanda.

“All quiet on this front,” you said, withholding satisfaction.

“Oh Y/N, I’m sure if we had next door neighbors they would be adamant in saying that’s not true,” she teased.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” You feigned innocence.

“I think you forget that I sleep down the hall from you. I don’t know how many times I’ve been woken up by Wanda screaming your name.” You had to keep your jaw from dropping as you were overcome by embarrassment. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about it for a while,” she added.

“I-” you stuttered.

“C’mon, I want details. But you can skip the part in the kitchen.”

“How do you know about that?” Okay, yeah, you and Wanda had spent each night on a different floor of the compound, taking full advantage of every fuckable surface, but as far as you knew, there wasn’t any evidence left behind.

“I found Wanda’s bra and underwear on the countertop.” Dammit. You immediately felt your face redden. The one place you forgot to clean up last night.

“Fuck, really?” You said.

“Hey, you’re lucky I’m the one who found it. I don’t think Steve would be able to eat for a week after thinking about what you two did there. Don’t worry, I won’t tell any of the guys.”

“I really appreciate it.” You could barely keep back the sarcasm that dripped from your voice.

“Where is Wanda anyway? She’s not still sleeping is she?” Nat asked.

“No, She’s taking a shower.” You tilted your head towards the bathroom door where the sound of running water could be heard.

“Okay, cool. Now spill.” Natasha patted the bed in excitement, eager to hear about your relationship.

“There’s really not that much to say. But, uhhh, maybe wipe down the mats in the gym before you work out. And the glass table in Tony’s lab.” You struggled to remember every place. “Oh, and if you see any restraints on Wanda’s bedposts, no you didn’t.”

Natasha gave you an impressed look. “A glass table? Really Y/N?” You smiled meekly at her.

“What, we just wanted to try it.” You heard the water shut off in the next room.

“And?”

Before you could respond the bathroom door opened. “Hey babe,” Wanda walked out. “Sorry, I left my towel out here.” You looked up, and to your horror you saw Wanda walk naked across the room. She didn’t seem to notice Nat sitting on the bed next to you. “Do you know where my underwear is? I couldn’t find--” She let out a terrified yelp as she turned and found Natasha in the room with you.

Wanda crumpled to the floor, grabbing a blanket off of your bed and wrapping it around herself. “Hi Wands,” Nat chuckled.

“Hi Natasha. I didn’t realize you guys would be back already.” She said sheepishly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry honey. I should have warned you.” You looked at her apologetically.

“Hey Wanda,” Nat spoke up. “What are those?” She gestured to Wanda’s neck and chest. You both blushed severely. Wanda was covered in hickeys, most from last night. They trailed down the front and sides of her throat and there was a particularly large one over her right breast. You might have gotten a little carried away.

“Oh, we were just going through some training and…” Wanda tried to come up with an excuse.

“Don’t bother baby, she already knows.”

“And she’s very impressed, but the guys might kill both of you if they find out what you did and where you did it, so Wanda, you might want to put some clothes on and cover that up with some concealer or something.” Wanda nodded silently, looking like a child who had just been caught stealing candy. God she looked adorable.

Wanda moved to grab some clothes from your dresser. “Your underwear was in the kitchen by the way. I put it on your bed.” Nat told her.

“Y/N! I thought we cleaned everything up last night.” Wanda scolded you.

“Evidently, we forgot one little thing.” You sighed at her, refusing to look at Natasha, who was loving every second of this.

“I should make myself scarce. I have some unpacking to do.” Nat got up and walked out of the room. Before she left she turned back to you. “Are those bite marks on her shoulder?” She whispered.

“Go!” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her, narrowly missing your girlfriend.

“Next time maybe you hide these,” Wanda pointed at her neck once Nat was gone, “a little better. I don’t enjoy wearing turtlenecks in May.”

You got up, looking into her green eyes. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I was giving them.” You smirked at her, giving her a quick kiss. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs for lunch.”

“Looks like our little vacation is over,” Wanda sighed.

“It was fun while it lasted.”

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #scarletwitch #mcu #marvel #marvelwomen

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ectonurites · 3 years

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My least favorite type of fic!Tim is when he’s portrayed as depressed/very mentally and emotionally unstable, but also at the same time as someone who is like lauded as being super dangerous/the most skilled or something like that?? Those fics where Tim is chugging caffeine and barely sleeping, but characters are still like “oh I wouldn’t wanna piss off Tim he is Dangerous” and that’s annoying enough but then there are fics that at the same time as that portray him as like on the edge of a breakdown. It’s very irritating even if I’m not sure I can articulate exactly why, it just really rubs me the wrong way. Like, I definitely do think Tim has some issues with depression and stuff, but in fics like those it’s treated more like a quirk sort of instead of a serious issue

LMAOO I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT i’m not a fan of that either. I’m apologizing in advance if I sound mean in any of this critique i’m about to give of that fanon version of him. I want to preface this by saying that people can write whatever the hell they want, like, they’re allowed to! And I’m not referencing/calling out any specific works here. Just trends. But I’m gonna bitch about some things I’ve noticed that annoy me, personally. (so again, not saying other people can’t enjoy this stuff! just. not for me)

so like sorry if im mean but this is just me ranting and also this is my blog anyways so:

(nobody take this as an attack on them please because it’s really not)

The problem is a lot of those fics seem to interpret Tim’s behavior in Red Robin (& especially like that last whole arc of his Robin run also by FabNic) as if that’s his normal, rather than the result of a few years of CONSTANT traumatic incidents pushing him to a breaking point (because while all the shit he went through with his Dad, Steph, Kon, Bart, and then Bruce dying was spread out over several years for us as readers, it’s regarded as like within two years in canon! It all happens when he’s 16 and 17. According to the Batman comic right after War Games, Jack was murdered only days after Steph died.

(Batman #634)

That’s a LOT to process for one kid jesus christ)

I love Red Robin honestly, I do, but it is about Tim at the lowest points in his life. It’s the grand finale of Tim’s story, and everything crumbles, that’s kinda the point! The end leaves him in a position to either rebuild himself or fall apart. It’s all about how he chooses to continue after this point!

(Red Robin #26)

The way he acts and the things he does in that comic should be regarded as such. He can’t live the way he does in Red Robin forever or he will literally burn himself out/become something unrecognizable, like, jesus it’s kinda even acknowledged in the comic when he thinks about what his potential futures would be if he keeps it up like he’s doing:

(Red Robin #25)

He sees himself as dead, as Batman (which he has countless times said he doesn’t want to be and at this point in his history almost every time he’s seen a future he became Batman in he had become a killer), or needing to retire and taking over an Oracle-esque role, likely because he exerted himself too much to continue.

When you look at him around this same timeframe when he’s not isolating himself/too deep into the mission and is instead working with his friends back on the Titans, you can see that he is starting to heal and work in a more positive direction. He’s choosing to work on coming out of this rough period by being together with his friends who he loves.

(Teen Titans (2003) #100)

Not to say that you can’t write about situations in which he doesn’t start to come out of it, but if you are doing so it’s something you should be taking seriously because that’s the idea you want to explore, not just acting like it’s perfectly okay or normal? (And again, there are a lot of works that do explore it in good ways, there’s just also a LOT that don’t)

Like, so much content I see just make any sadness and depression and tendency to over-work himself that’s rooted in his traumas (which! those do have a basis in canon!) into a quirky personality trait rather than a response to trauma. Acting as if he’s always been this way and it’s normal for him. That’s what bothers me. If people want to seriously explore the effects of all these incidents and how that plays into his ability to do his job as a hero, then hell yes do it! But when it all gets brushed off as ‘oh thats just tim, he just doesnt eat or sleep or feel any happiness but like its fine he’s just always been like that’ I feel my blood boil.

This also often strikes me as related/tied to fanon’s seemingly never-ending quest to make Tim into this victim of so many things he really wasn’t. They make his childhood 10x worse than it actually was (yes he was lonely because he was sent to boarding schools rather than having his parents around, but he was NOT just left home alone all the time as a child.

(Batman #441)

He snuck away during a school vacation week to follow Bruce one (1) time and to then track down Dick. This is established in his introduction story! PLEASE read Lonely Place of Dying!) and it just... going with those fanon assumptions as being true changes so much of how people characterize him!

Some people will also (not to call out tim/kon shippers especially because I literally am also one but) vilify the shit out of Steph and make their relationship out to be some abusive thing rather than just... a messy teen relationship between vigilantes because they had really complicated lives and baggage with one another? Which they both acknowledge they made mistakes in!

(Red Robin #10)

Or people will vilify the shit out of Dick in regards to the situation at the start of Red Robin, or literally just make anyone who Tim ever had a disagreement with out to be the bad guy despite the actual situations always being way more complex and multi-faceted than that.

And then on top of all that, aside from making him into this ‘im broken 24/7 and not doing anything to fix it also everyone around me is terrible to me’ type of character, because he’s a lot of people’s favorite, they also want him to be as cool and strong as he is at his high points. So they’re projecting all this stuff onto him that makes him what should be a barely functioning person but then also act like that’s fine and he’s able to be a dangerous badass on top of it.

Like I’m sorry but someone who is going out and actively acting as a vigilante like that which is incredibly physically taxing is NOT surviving on coffee alone and no sleep. That’s literally not possible, he’d fucking collapse. (And like, again, if you want to explore him pushing himself to that point, that’s one thing! but acting like he can manage all of that for more than a few days at a time/maybe while working on one really tough case is nuts!) and like, even canon can be a little guilty of this type of thing particularly since the New 52 (Detective Comics 2016 had more than a few references to him barely sleeping, but at least they also made references to him eating normally/healthily and he wasn’t completely self isolating or anything) (and also that comic had him be so self sacrificial he was ready to die to save everyone and only didn’t die because of Mr.Oz’s interference, he’s definitely not in his best place there) but usually it’s still within some realm of possibility.

Also like. The fanon ‘chugging coffee to survive thing’ just annoys the shit out of me because, like, yes there’s a few moments in canon where he’s under a lot of pressure and pushing himself further than he normally would and had some coffee (one of the only times I can even remember him having it on panel is... oh... during that last Robin arc I just mentioned a little while ago shouldn’t be where you source your normal characterization of him because it’s a very difficult situation that pushes him further than he normally would go! huh!) But the thing is like, people play it off for laughs, or like it’s a normal thing he would do at any time in his life! If you want to explore him pushing himself and using coffee as a crutch, like, there’s ways you can write it that takes it seriously, but almost every time I see it come up in fics it is like a core part of his personality and just ‘oh haha silly tim always with his entire pot of coffee he must chug every morning or he’ll die :^)’ And that bothers the hell out of me.

In general it’s just... people treat Tim so weird. They want him to be so many different things that he’s shown himself to be at different times for very specific reasons, except they want him to do all of it at the same time which just doesn’t work. A person can’t function like that, and it’s not even close to who he is in canon.

Again, people can do what they want, and this is just my opinion obviously, but yeah. My two cents on the matter. Read Lonely Place of Dying, read Young Justice, read his Robin run. Read his comics and get a feel for who he was before all the rest of his trauma, and see how he canonically reacts to it along the way. I know reading comics can be tough for some people but so much stuff just echo chambers and becomes barely recognizable in this fandom and it’s just... a shame when it happens with a character ya love.

#Anonymous

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