#sorry to say you DO have to try and fail in order to learn anything that involves using your hands to Make

[steviewashere]

Thinking about a Steddie meet-ugly where they're rival cafe shop owners on the same street. Like, Eddie was there first and then Steve came along and stole all the thunder. And so, every day, it's just them trying to one up the other with their special drink of the day, changing up their menu, rating each other poorly online—even if they've never tried each other's drinks before.

And then, for some true angst value here:

Steve's cafe is robbed. He had locked up, had the security systems put in place, put the cashbox somewhere it wouldn't be noticeable—he thought he took all the precautionary measures and yet it happened anyway. The cash he had been saving to renovate the cafe, some of his prepped dough, various knick-knacks, a few important smaller pieces of equipment he used to bake some of his goods. All of it—gone.

He ends up needing to close the cafe indefinitely. Isn't sure what to do, who to go to. This cafe was his dream, when he finally found it, this is all he wanted to do with his time—make the same food and drinks that he'd learned to fend for himself with and make these items find warmth and love and meaning. Steve knows he can't go to his parents, they already fielded so much money to him to help make this happen—eventually cutting him off and severing him from the family for not failing like they thought he would; he can't prove them right. Robin wouldn't be able to help him, she's an in debt fine arts teacher and won't be able to give him any sort of money to help replace anything. And so, Steve runs fresh out of options.

He closes. He lets Eddie watch with a satisfied smirk. And he goes home.

Over the weeks that follow—the cafe is closed completely. Lease done, up for sale. And Steve doesn't know what to do, so he just begins walking that same little shopping strip. Up and down when he has to fill his days. Say hi to the regulars he used to serve, let them complain at him—sometimes even berate him for being so careless and stupid with his security, as if he hadn't already felt like dirt.

One day, he leads himself right through Eddie's door. He's craving a hot coffee. Just needs something, he isn't sure what. Just a pick me up. He's short, but he's polite with Eddie when he orders, "A black coffee, no additives. And...and how about a...an apple danish, please?"

He retrieves his order, squares himself away in a corner booth by the window. He'd tipped what was left of his cash. This is the last, big thing he gets to do while in this part of town and then it's...god, he doesn't even know what. Quits, for sure. Time to just face the music, go home to his parents, let them knock him down, take on a retail job or something, send himself through college, and—no, even all that's too ambitious for him on a normal day. He doesn't know what to do. Just sits there, sadly sipping his coffee, peeling bites from his danish as he stares out the window—the For Lease sign in his cafe.

Somehow, he loses complete track of time. So badly that he's there the rest of Eddie's work day. Right up to when it closes for the night.

"Steve, dude, you have to go home. I'm closing up shop."

He sighs. Realizes he didn't even finish his food or coffee. That he needs water. Needs to sleep. Needs...needs. "Sorry, man," Steve huffs. "Shit, sorry, I should go. Just...uh..can I please get a glass of water first? I know it's stupid, but I just—There's no running water at my place now. Couldn't cover the cost." It's mortifying to admit that out loud. Like redden his face and squirm his insides kind of mortifying.

Surprisingly, though, Eddie comes back with a tall glass of ice water. And then he sits down across from Steve. For the first time since they've known each other, there's concern on his features. "I didn't realize that cafe was doing so much for you," he comments.

"Honestly, I didn't realize either." He sips his water. Small things. Lets the ice clink. Lets the condensation drip down his already cold fingers. "I could take out a loan or something...but...no, it's not the same. I didn't earn that money. I don't need more debt. It's over."

"What is, Steve?"

"My dream, man. It's done. Run through. This was my last chance to prove myself." He lets his shoulders drop with his next sigh. Wants to fold into his own body and just cry. "And I fucked it. I don't know what I did wrong. I took every precaution in the book and I'm still out of luck."

"...I didn't realize this sorta business actually...actually meant that much to you."

"Of course it did! It always mattered to me!" Steve exclaims, throwing his hands up aimlessly. There's probably something completely wild slapped over his face. "They stole recipes from me—my nana's recipes! They...they took equipment...money...some of, like, my childhood knick knacks—which, by the way, shows me that maybe I shouldn't be so naive and trusting, I guess...can't trust anybody these days."

Eddie remains silent, thinking over what to do. He knows he's got his own security system. Security cameras...

"Has the police been able to ID this person?" he suddenly asks. And Steve just shakes his head. "We should check my security camera footage. It might've seen a new angle."

"It's no use, Eddie. They took everything. They"—

"But if you find out who did it, then maybe you can get everything back. Or at least most of it. Especially if they stole important mementos?"

"Why are you helping me? I mean...I appreciate it, but...you know that if I just get my stuff back and if I am able to reopen shop that we're just going to go back to the way we were, right?"

"Because this is my dream, too. My cafe, this dinky little shop, the regulars that I know on a first name basis, my uncle's own recipes shared to all these locals...all of it had been my little town dream, too. You should be able to get yours back."

And then, like, after 10k+ words of build-up, they still don't get Steve's robber identified and clued out. But, over the journey of this major mystery, Steve and Eddie have not only become friends, but boyfriends and—well Eddie's cafe because both of their dreams; recipes mixed and shared, Steve in the back baking and Eddie in the front tending. They both find their peace in what they do and the next time somebody tries to fuck them over, they're ready for it.

[strwberrybils]

Hi! I’m not sure if your requests are open, but if so, I have a cute, fluffy idea.

Billie x Black!reader with Billie researching and learning how to take care of and do her daughter’s hair. She’s watching tutorials, reading articles, and trying things out on fake mannequin heads. Maybe you could include a 5 + 1 scenario where Billie tries and fails to do a hairstyle on her daughter’s hair, and finally, there’s one time when she’s successful.

the four times billie tried to do your daughter's hair, and the one she succeeded

contents. mom!wife!billie eilish 𝑥 mom!wife!black reader. fluff/slice of life. one swear.

masterlist ‧₊˚ taglist

gabi's quick thoughts. so i realized right before i posted this that you wanted 5 and i only have 4, im sorry :( but i hope you still like it + this prompt is so adorable gahh. thank you for the request !!

1. the first time

billie’s standing in the middle of the bathroom with five products in her hands, yet she hasn’t a single clue what any of them are for.

curl custard. leave-in. detangler spray. oil. cream?

she vaguely remembers you telling her something about the lco method— liquid first, followed by cream and oil. but you also said that it depended on hair porosity, which she didn’t even know was a thing to begin with.

her brow furrows. “baby,” she calls, not for your daughter, celeste, but for you, voice echoing down the hallway like a white flag, “what order does all this go in again?”

you peek in the doorway with a smile and no real intention of helping. billie had insisted on learning how to do your daughter’s hair, only asking you to help her when needed, and you knew that this was just another opportunity for her learn. “read the labels, honey.”

“i did read the labels,” she grumbles, holding up one bottle like it personally betrayed her. “they all say to use them together. it’s not saying anything about an order.”

she ends up putting too much gel and not enough leave-in, and your daughter’s little coils are crunchy for the rest of the day, which, she had a little fit about layer.

but billie tries, and that’s really all that you could ask for— and celeste still says “thank you, mama,” with a lisp and a toothless grin, and that’s enough to make billie want to try again.

2. the mannequin

you catch her late at night in the kitchen, way past everyone’s bedtime.

you had initially gotten up for a glass of water when you found billie sitting at the island, focus written all over her visage. she’s got a bald-headed practice mannequin clamped to the table like a hostage, a spray bottle in one hand and her phone propped up with a youtube tutorial playing on mute with the subtitles on.

the mannequin has about half a head of synthetic hair sewn into a crooked part, and it looks like it’s been through war— which makes you laugh. the braids were bumpy and rough, but still, you cracked a smile at her efforts.

“you alright?” you ask, trying not to laugh.

“don’t,” she says without turning around, braiding and unraveling the same three pieces over and over again, frustrated. “don’t make fun of me, i’m learning.”

“who told you to buy a fake head?”

“reddit did. since you won’t let me practice on you.” she huffs.

you can’t stop the laugh this time. you’re careful not to wake your daughter up, but it was kind of hilarious that you woke up in the middle of the night to find your wife playing in some mannequin’s head. she glares at you, and the mannequin loses another braid in protest.

3. the ‘puff incident’

“i just wanted to do the two cute puffs,” billie sighs at you, “the ones you always put her in for school. that’s not even that hard— and i still can’t do the shit.”

“swear jar!”

“sorry.” billie grumbles underneath her breath.

celeste is sitting on the floor in front of her, arms crossed and eyes teary from all the tugging. the part is zigzagged and the puffs are lopsided and one of the elastics popped off like a rubber band under pressure, which had really set your wife off.

“you said ‘easy’ in the video,” billie grumbles, replaying the tutorial for the third time, “this is far from it.”

you kneel beside them, smoothing your baby’s curls with gentle fingers. “yeah— easy if you’ve been doing hair since you were twelve,” you murmur. “not if you just started last month. it’s a process to learn.”

“i’m trying to get it right,” she says, quieter now, “i just don’t wanna mess it up.”

you kiss her cheek and help her redo the puffs together. her fingers follow yours, slowly, steadily, make sure to pay attention to every little detail.

4. wash day

billie severely underestimated how long wash day is.

before she started attempting to do your daughters hair, she didn’t really ask that many questions. she was interested, but she often just let you have your time on those saturday’s that you spent doing your own hair.

but now, things were different.

she’s got celeste in the tub with conditioner slathered in thick and a wide-tooth comb in hand, but her arm is cramping by the third section and there’s still a whole back half to go.

“this is actually just child labor,” she sighs, more to herself than anyone, and your daughter giggles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

she doesn’t get all the tangles, and you have to step in halfway through, but it doesn’t matter. she’s learning. she’s present. and your daughter won’t stop telling her how “everything’s perfect, mama, you made it perfect.”

billie looks exhausted but proud of her contribution, and she feels even more secure when you give her an affirming kiss on the cheek.

the one where she succeeded.

it’s saturday now. billie took her time doing the twists the night before, watched three different videos on how to coil properly, and even made sure that your daughter wore a bonnet in solidarity.

the sun’s peeking through the windows and the house is slow and quiet, just morning cartoons and cereal crunches, per usual.

billie’s in the living room with your daughter between her legs, detangling with care, sectioning with clips, and using the right amount of leave-in this time. she parts with a steady hand. twists gently. oils the scalp. seals the ends, all like you taught her weeks prior.

you walk by and pause in the hallway to watch them, peeking out behind the door. your daughter’s humming to herself, and billie’s tongue is sticking out a little in concentration, eyes half focused on whatever is playing on the tv.

she undid the twists and fluffed them out with a wide-toothed comb, then sealed it with a bit of biotin oil she had found underneath your cabinet.

after she was done, celeste got up to go look in the mirror, and she gasped, which made billie a little anxious until she exclaimed, “i love it, it’s so pretty!”

billie exhales like she’s been holding her breath all month.

you peek out from your spot and make your way over to your wife, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and kiss her neck, and she melts a little into you.

“you did it,” you whisper, “i told you that you could.”

“finally,” she breathes out in relief, “i just… i wanted to get it right. for her. for you.”

you squeeze her tighter.

“you always do.”

₊⊹ taglist: @47lake | @hopingforgoodblogs | @zendayasredbottoms | @chrissv4mp | @mseilishmwah | @justtr | @lovelyy-moonlight | @bilsdillldough | @billiesrighthand | @karaaeilish | @billiesbabygirll | @hrts4billieeilish | @drunkinyourbenz | @amara-eilish | @profoundcoffeepeanut | @billsbabydoll | @bilssturns | @lovxlyvee | @stargirl-mayaa | @emilyshortcake | @enchantingesme | @alexawhatstheweathertoday | @dyinbymistake | @ash198458 | @astrcmoni | @diceroll65 | @thefeverburningalive | @bxllxebxtch | @slxtarchive | @zbeaa | @youmademefeel | @billiesguitar | @kittluzbills | @bitchesbrokenpromises

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Mordor It Was

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

The darkness takes hold faster than Eddie imagined. He didn't think one bite, followed by another, and another, could fuck up his whole world this much. But it has, and now he's faced with the reality that he's gonna die here. On the ground, having run in the wrong direction.

Having failed.

And that's something he's gonna have to live with. Just, not for very long. He can feel his pulse hammering, beating in his chest. His neck. As the blood pulses out of him, spilling onto the filthy ground below.

He wanted to do better, wanted to not run away this time, but he still managed to fuck it up. 

Goddamnit.

He's made peace with it, even if Henderson isn't as accepting of what's coming. Maybe it's the blood loss making Eddie feel serene when he should be fighting, panicking.

It doesn't matter.

Steve Harrington is here, fighting for him. 

Eddie kind of wishes he wouldn't. He's floaty, no longer feeling pain, and anything Steve can possibly do will disturb that, surely.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake," Steve's saying, and Eddie tries to open his eyes.

"Eddie!"

His eyes snap open. Steve is hovering, "Good. That's good. I'm going to pick you up. Don't fucking die."

He's definitely gonna die, but he nods. He'll try his best.

Steve tugs on him, and the pain that sears through him is above and beyond anything he's ever felt. He lets out a hoarse scream.

"I know, I'm sorry," Steve says, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, repeating his previous order: "Don't fucking die."

But Eddie thinks he'll do just that.

When he wakes up, he's in a sterile hospital room. Machines are beeping, whirring, and he thinks this has to be the calm before the storm.

But Steve Harrington's sitting in the chair next to him, looking comfortable, his feet propped up on Eddie's bed, reading a book.

Harrington reads? 

Eddie squints, tries to look closer, to see what he's reading, and realizes it's not a new book. No, it's his own copy of The Return of the King. He recognizes his own paperback's well-worn, dog-eared cover.

"My book," Eddie croaks, and Steve startles so bad, the book goes flying, skittering across the tile floor.

"I'm sorry. Wayne left it. I was bored," he starts, then immediately changes direction, "You're okay, it's okay," already pressing the call button, hammering it with his thumb, as if he's convinced Eddie's gonna drop dead in the next five seconds without help. 

The way the room fills, maybe he will. Steve has backed up against the wall, the book clutched to his chest. 

There's poking, and prodding.

Wayne rushes in, and Steve still stands there.

Finally, the crowd thins. Apparently, he's gonna live.

Steve sits back down.

"So, what's new?" Steve teases, and Eddie laughs. His throat is hoarse, dry. Steve pours water from the pink, plastic pitcher, directing the straw to his mouth. 

Eddie takes the longest, best drink of his life, then says, "Not much. You?"

Steve holds up the book and grins, "Learning about Mordor."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

[chronicowboy]

buck and eddie are ❌NOT❌ golfers, they're the least golfy men i have ever laid eyes upon - this is an issue i am incredibly passionate about and have been since 6x17 love is in the air, do not try to change my mind, it won't work. however, there is a way they could fix both of these issues in one fell swoop. so. buck goes golfing with gerard as part of the 118's meticulously hatched plan to get him not only out of their station but the lafd for good. buck is the obvious candidate, he's a cis white man who, in gerard's head, is half straight and that's all they've really got to work with. the problem? buck is truly and terrifically terrible at golf. clearly he'll need some tutoring in order for their plan to work. and buck's like "hey, eddie, you golf right?" so cut to the driving range, a cheesy sports film montage of eddie demonstrating how to swing and buck failing miserably, he looks a little flushed and maybe a bit distracted - wonder what that's about. anyway, sun begins to fade, we're going real campy humour, we break out of the montage and eddie goes to get another basketful of balls for buck to hit. he watches buck practice his swing and shakes his head. "alright, cowboy, this clearly isn't working". no shit. "maybe you should just go instead, show up with your half swedish side". eddie's not giving up though. he gets a little flushed and awkward and shuffles up to buck, scratching at the back of his neck. "it, uh, might be, um, easier? if i could... could i, you know, put my arms around you?" buck's mouth drops open in a little o, he doesn't say anything as he turns pink as the sunset behind them. "sorry, i made it weird, didn't i? forget-" "NO!" buck winces a little at his outburst. "i mean, uh, no, y-you didn't make it weird, that might actually work" so with the face of a man about to be sent off to war, eddie positions himself behind buck and wraps his arms around him, adjusts his grip on the club and leads buck through the motions of a good swing. everything's suddenly very tense and taut. they hit the ball, it's worse than any of buck's previous hits. it lands in the netting and only just rolls over the edge. there's an "ow - what the hell" from below. they freeze, buck begins to shake with silent laughter, eddie cracks slowly, then they're both giggling, trying and failing to muffle it, eddie buries his face in buck's shoulder and laughs, buck suddenly goes quiet, but he's still smiling. "if i knew all i had to do to make you laugh was be piss poor at golf, i'd have tried this the day after chris-" "hey, at least you haven't broken my ankle yet" "it was just a sprain" buck mumbles, eddie grins. "let's try again" they swing together once more, the ball goes soaring. buck whoops and does a dorky little victory dance and eddie looks at him, bathed in the light of the sunset, and oh, he's the most beautiful thing eddie's ever seen. buck runs back over "eddie, we've gotta go again, c'mon, c'mon" eddie breaks out of his trance "yeah, gotta learn to do it by yourself. i don't think gerard would appreciate you showing up with me on your back like a koala" and scene.

[tsukimefuku]

old regrets and guilt ridden pasts (2) ꕥ higuruma hiromi

part 1 → this part → part 3 (soon) | mdni!

summary: you get home, only to find that hiromi is there ready to talk after your failed attempt to open up about your past. he intends to confront you on that, among other things.

tags: +18!, non-explicit! sex scenes, implied smut, f!reader, established relationship higuruma x reader, little to no cursing, reader is kind of emotionally stunted, romance, mentions of death, grief, angst, fluff, hurt + comfort (a lot of comfort, this is healing).

wc: 1.8k

notes etc.: heavy spoilers for "sand and snow" readers. this might be the loveliest thing i've written to date. thank you so much @redlikerozez for betaing it 🧡 written to the sound of running up that hill (kate bush) and heart skipped a beat (the xx) - the second one is the song that inspired the main scene. as always, i write flawed characters that can (and will) sometimes be assholes, but they're trying their best.

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

When you came inside your apartment, there were no lights on. However, from the open door to your bedroom, you could see that Hiromi was laying down on your bed, probably fast asleep by this point.

Defeated, you left your things on the table and silently got in the room, stepping inside the bathroom to wash away all the grime and dirt (and hurt) from a godawful day.

'Godawful day' is definitely a good name for having memories of people long gone stirred up and thrown at your face, reviving your grief all over again.

You were still feeling guilty for not having talked to Hiromi about it, unable to not shut him out, yet again.

Why do I keep doing this? I'm such a jerk.

Upon finishing your shower, you came back into the room, and slid yourself into comfortable clothing before laying down beside him. Hiromi had his back turned to you, but he must've felt you on the bed, because he didn't take long to roll himself on the mattress and look at you.

He seemed upset, and with good reason.

"You could have entrusted me with your pain too, you know," Hiromi began, not giving you much time to muster up anything to say. Not even a good night.

You exhaled slowly, trying to collect your thoughts around it all. This day was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions.

"For you to learn my pain, I’d have to explain it, and I just... It is hard to explain exactly what happened and remembering that day," you offered. "Aside from me, Nanami is the only one who also saw it happen."

Hiromi considered what you said for a moment, but you could see the resolute way in which he softly shook his head.

"Still. I can’t fight you every step of the way for you to let me in. I’m your boyfriend."

The word lingered in the atmosphere around you.

He was, in fact, your boyfriend. You had been dating for a while then.

"We’re supposed to share these kinds of things so that we can be there for each other," he stated, a chide with a plead for understanding, while his thumb came up to press softly against your chin.

"I… I know. I’m sorry."

And you were, truly and deeply sorry, for everything. For pushing him into going along with that stupid idea of letting you inside his domain to get rid of your cursed technique temporarily, for retreating back into yourself when things grew dire, and for not letting him in when he expressly asked you to.

"What are you so afraid of?" Hiromi asked, in earnest.

You took some time to think about his question.

What were you so afraid of, after all, that you couldn't let him in — or at least felt like it, many times? 

Then, you realized.

"I'm scared that… That you will leave me too," you began, "I'm terrified that I will have opened myself up, all vulnerable and shit, and then for some reason, I'm left alone again. That's a recurring theme in my life."

"My love, in case that ever happens, keeping me at arms length won’t make it hurt any less."

You chuckled bitterly.

"Funny you should say that. I said the same thing earlier today."

Hiromi edged himself closer softly under the covers, approaching you gently.

"It takes one to know one, right?" he offered, in a kind and loving voice.

"I guess it does," you answered with a minute smile on your face.

"So, will you let me in now?" he inquired, holding your gaze. "Please."

You knew he'd surely be aware of at least the gist of the story, due to the evidence inside the envelope he never got to open before you confessed to your brother's "murder".

Still, it was different. He had to hear you say it, tell him the whole story.

So, you inhaled deeply, ready to dive in the murky lake of your past, before proceeding.

"My brother. He was…" considering for a moment, there was no word that could really convey it. Not entirely. You settled for "everything."

A sigh.

"He was… The sun to my moon. My brother was the laughter, the joy, the silly jokes, the shoes thrown around the house, the noise, the annoyance, the smell of curry in the kitchen, the helping hand, the coming home to, no matter how dire things got."

Silence.

"And then, in one night, there was… none of him anymore. Nothing, just his cold dead body laying on the ground."

A moment that felt like ten.

"I… We were twins, and a part of me, I guess… just died with him. I don’t think I’ll ever get it back. So here I am, still living with this hole inside me, where some piece used to be. His piece."

Hiromi stayed quiet for a second, pulling your knuckles kindly against his lips.

"My sun is gone, and I'm drifting, untethered. I…" You took a heavy huff of air inside your lungs. Yet, you were still breathless, the ache weighing on your thorax like a hydraulic press.

"This grief is like a tar pit, and no matter what I do, this faceless monster just keeps sucking me under." 

Your last words dropped to the drum of a eulogy, the one you never got to do.

His palm descended lightly on your cheek as the night breeze gently brushed over the window. The room was dark, dimly lit by moonlight and streetlamps bleeding through the curtain, but it became remarkably quiet. Silent.

Cotton filled ears while the world stopped moving for a second, waiting under a muted heartbeat.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

His gaze softened — rather than darkened — as his lips approached, all pacify, and yearning, and empathy, and commiseration. Upon contact, your eyes fluttered into a deeper dimness, letting your mind drift around, away and back again, as he began his first attempt to tether you.

You may have lost your sun, but you wouldn't keep drifting away, not anymore.

He wouldn't let that happen.

My love…

Yes?

Eyes on me.

One. Two. Three. Four beats.

Okay.

Dexterous hands pulled you back to Earth, drawing you deeper into his orbit when they fit themselves securely and unfaltering against your waist.

Warm digits kneaded over the celestial wanderer drowned in the tar pit of painful remembrance.

Your senses thickened, your pupils grew wider, and your touch found the nape of his neck, seeking the halo of his comfort.

He was always so comfortable.

Just like coming home to.

He felt at home in you, too.

Another kiss. Gentler. Kinder.

The dark against your fluttered-shut eyelids didn't steal you away from him again, though. He had placed himself firmly around you, with an inevitable gravitational pull, all understanding, warm and welcoming, with the soft press of his entire body against yours.

Your senses heightened — you smelled him, touched him, heard him, felt him. The rhythm of his breath, now softly hitched. His chest, up and down, pulsing with longing. His skin, silvery glow under the moonlight. 

Hiromi smelled…

Well, he smelled like Hiromi.

The best smell there was.

Earthly bound, finally.

His mouth, teeth, lips, all made their way to slit themselves against the edge of your jaw.

May I?

Please.

One, two, three, four beats.

A sharp exhale leaves your lips as his teeth sink against the softness of your chin, crawling up to your mouth, hot breaths mixing with one another, two stardust clouds melting together.

He bit your bottom lip and let it go, then brushed his own mouth against yours. So feathery. So delicate.

Another kiss.

You lock against each other with little to no exploration — you've walked these paths before. You do so with the soft embrace of familiarity. The velvety reassurance of known lovers.

All to the gravitational beat that surrounded you both.

You grasped each other's hands against your clothes, and gentle as could be, the fabric slowly unraveled itself from your bodies, sliding their delicate way down the floor, forgotten.

Hiromi began nosing his way down your skin, but your hands cupped his jaw, pulling him back.

A pause.

Four heartbeats.

Eyes on me, remember?

A huff, almost a laugh, and the kindest peck.

Okay, my love.

His hand made its way under the duvet, all electric, and liquid, and cold, and hot, pressing the air out of your lungs. He was happy to inhale you in, open-mouthed and muddy, as you hitched and whimpered to his rhythm.

You were quick to fall apart, undoing to him, arching your entire body. Almost losing yourself.

But he pulled you back, the other hand resting over your shoulder blades, remembering you.

Eyes on me.

As you tried descending yourself, he held you back. 

This time, it would be all about you.

Gently pulling you under, his thumbs brushed against your shoulders with tenderness. His eyes flickered with trepidation and affection, as your foreheads pressed to one another. Hiromi pushed and sunk slowly into you, hooked nose snuggled beside yours.

To say he was making love to you wouldn’t be wrong, but paled in comparison to this.

He was loving you tenderly, honestly, just so you could take some of that love he poured into you and give it to yourself, filling the gaping hole left behind by an abrupt absence. The forever and always empty seat in the front row of your life.

He pleaded internally, please, may this be enough.

He was loving you so wholeheartedly, giving you all the warmth you offered to most people but yourself, that you could’ve wept — you probably did, the dampening on his cheek brushing against yours made that evident.

"Touch me." Love me.

"Yes." I do. I will.

Hiromi tried, kind and gentle, loving this grief into vanishing, willing it into non-existence. 

My love. My whole, entire love.

But he couldn't, it was engraved in black all over your flesh, your bones, and your soul.

Each kiss while he wrapped his arms around you, tucking you underneath him, was an attempt at chipping away on your armor of pain and loss.

As he rocked your hips gently, he imprinted on your skin every inch of affection you needed to soothe yourself, but you were finding it difficult to pick up these pieces and ensemble the puzzle.

You found it hard to let all your guilt go, after all. It was already an old companion of sorts.

Drinking your voice in as you tipped over the fall, he thought for a moment, could I steal her pain away?

He'd do it in a single heartbeat if he could, if only to repay you for saving him after he had gone past the point of no return.

Some days after that, coming back to this moment, you would finally understand other people's shortcomings from a deeply personal and subjective perspective.

It was hard, after all, being forgiven without forgiving yourself.

Tag list (that I keep forgetting, sorry): @yammy-yammy-yama @g-kleran @otomesass

Reblog divider by @benkeibear

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Drive Me Home (2/2)

Part 1 Content Warnings: Creep at the Bar™, Soft Hotch WC: 2.5K

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。 “Come on. Just one more!” Emily begs you, her voice loud over the constant chatter. She reaches over the unsettlingly sticky tabletop to grab your forearm, then, sensing your vacancy, searches for another target. “Garcia? JJ?”

Two margaritas and four vodka shots is all it takes to unravel whatever illusion of dignity you’ve managed to scrounge together since joining the BAU. Two margaritas and four shots has you giggling at anything said, funny or not, and struggling to keep your eyes open. Now, if Emily has her way — and you’ve come to learn that she often does when the team unwinds at the bar — a tequila shot is in the cards for you too.

“I’m out.” JJ says with a shake of her head, “Any more and I won’t be alive to see tomorrow morning, let alone Monday.” 

“That’s the whole point,” says a now-pouting Emily as she spins in her seat to hound Garcia into agreeing to another round. The first to Morgan’s at the bar making friends, as he puts it. Watching him with a smile pulling at his lips is Reid, who nurses a soda and regales the rest of you every so often with numerical predictions of his chances for success.

Your head is spinning, and it’s got everything to do with the alcohol flooding your veins, not the unfortunate reality of your boss sitting at the head of the table, with those two top buttons open, exposing just a glimpse of his throat. He’s been checking his watch as often as is socially acceptable. Somewhere deep in the haze of your mind, you suspect Rossi, who's long gone, bullied him into coming. Now he nods along with Reid’s tangents, inserts a comment or two whenever the younger profiler takes a breath.

Emily calls your name once more, pinning her hopes onto you. It’s a rookie mistake you make when you nod, having not processed her question properly. By the time you realize what you’ve agreed to, it’s too late to back out. Suppressing a groan, you grab your card and slide out of the booth. You try not to think about squeezing past Hotch as you do it, try ignoring the warmth that spreads into you when your forearm brushes his shoulder. 

You fail. Sweet as ever, Garcia offers to join you, but you shake her offer off with a smile, standing on only-slightly-unsteady legs and making the short walk to the bar.  

As you slot yourself into the crowd waiting for their drinks, you debate whether Emily will notice you taking a water shot instead of the tequila you’ll buy for her and Garcia. You’re about to take the risk and order one when an unfamiliar hand settles itself on your lower back. Brow furrowing, you whirl around, hoping to see Prentiss or Morgan behind you. 

Those hopes are dashed pretty quickly. A stranger presses in close to your side. His fingers curl around your waist in a manner so confident it’d make you laugh, were you sober enough to react with more certainty. Instead, you shiver. And of course he takes that to be a sign, his grin cheshire-cat-wide. 

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” you take a moment to respond as you cover his hand with your own, moving it away from you. 

He’s tall, blonde, what many people would deem attractive. But his smile is too quick to appear and just lopsided enough to look practiced. “Not yet,” he says. “What are you drinking?”

“Nothing more now. Just water.”

Your tone is clipped, impersonal, and you hope he gets the message. 

If he does, he chooses to ignore it and steps even closer, reaching the same hand across your body and resting it against the bar, boxing you in against it. The proximity has your stomach sinking. 

Stephen — really, you’ve no idea what his name is, but he looks like a Stephen, and the type to spell it with a ‘ph’ over a ‘v’, just for the status of the extra letter — raises an eyebrow at you. “Just water? Come on, honey. What do you want? It’s on me.”

The pet name sounds wrong on his lips. You’re an FBI agent. You’ve dealt with the sickest people humanity has to offer, seen more in your short time with the team than most people see in their lives. You’re an excellent shot, giving even Morgan a run for his money. You should be more than capable of dealing with a freak who gets a little too close at the bar, for fuck’s sake. 

But you’re tired and a little dizzy, and the scent of his cologne makes your head spin in the wrong kind of way. Emily wouldn’t hesitate to shove him hard, and JJ wouldn’t get herself into this situation in the first place. You’re not Emily or JJ though. You’re just you. 

“Thank you, but I’m really not—” 

The bartender cuts you off to ask for your order, and you try to forget Stephen’s eyes on you as you rattle it off, opting for an extra glass of water just to spite him. 

He isn’t pleased, though his face says otherwise. “You don’t really want that. No strings, I promise. Just let me buy you a drink. Just one.”

You’ve had enough. “I’m not interested.” 

Now the smile drops from his face, leaving it a blank mockery of neutrality that makes you sure ‘no strings’ is an empty promise. He leans in even closer, and you suppress a wince at the sensation of his breath against your skin. “You know, you don’t have to play hard to get.” Stephen’s tone is rougher now, all of its artificial sweetness abandoned. He looks you up and down, eyes the neckline of your shirt with a frown. “It’s obvious what you’re looking for.”

Your throat constricts. The air is hot. Too hot. It’s all you can do to keep your hand steady as you pay for your drinks. “I told you, I’m not looking for anything. Or anyone.”

When the bartender slides your drinks across the bar, you rush to grab them, nearly spilling them in your haste to leave. You’re not that lucky. Stephen’s arm is still in your way. You don’t like how your breathing speeds up, chest heaving just a little despite your attempts to remain unfazed, but it’s all too much. 

Stephen opens his mouth to retort again. 

He doesn’t get far. 

“Move.”

 A new hand settles itself on your back, and its fingers curve ever so slightly around your hip. If you wanted to back away, there’d be more than enough room. But you don’t. 

Turning slightly in Hotch’s hold, you’re not surprised to see him issuing Stephen with the full force of his glare. The creep’s hand retreats, though he stays put otherwise.

“Here, sweetheart,” Hotch takes the tray from you, not even bothering to look at your ‘admirer’ again. His focus is on you, now, and his eyes are soft, one corner of his mouth curving up. “Thought you could use a hand. I think Prentiss might kill you if you drop another of her drinks.”

You manage to pull yourself together enough to roll your eyes. Of course he picks now to bring that up. “That was one time, Aaron. I don’t think she even remembers it.”

Now Stephen turns and walks to the other end of the bar, and you feel your shoulders loosen at the distance. 

Hotch notices, because of course he does. Instead of walking you back to your booth, he stays put and searches your face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Fine. I don’t know why I didn’t…”

Trailing off, you scan the bar. Garcia is laughing at something Prentiss says (some kind of story, based on the gestures she’s making). Reid watches them with fondness in his features, Morgan back and sitting by his side.

“You shouldn’t have had to do anything,” Hotch says quietly. His arm rests by his side now. “I think I’m going to head back. You want to go home?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna call a cab.”

He tilts his head, echoing your words from months ago with just a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Everyone and their mother is calling a cab. I’m driving you.”

“Hotch…” you sigh. You can’t trust yourself, now, not to say the wrong thing, not to comment on the something that’s changed between the two of you since you gave him a ride home, not to wonder if he’s noticed it too. 

“Let me do this for you. Please.”

His insistence is too gentle to argue with. 

“Okay.”

Hotch takes the tray of drinks, leading you back towards the rest of the team. 

“You’re an angel, honey,” Garcia tells you. She squeezes your hand in thanks as Hotch sets down the shots and hands you your water. If anyone noticed anything wrong, they don’t mention it, and you’re grateful for that small mercy.

“I think we’re going to head out now,” says Hotch. His hand hovers just above your back, almost touching you, as he goes on to explain that you aren’t feeling well and shouldn’t chance a cab.

You’re not too drunk to miss the communal grin passing through the group like the flu, so you file it away for later and hug the rest of the team one by one, giving Reid a tired smile and a wave goodbye. 

Hotch leads you out of the bar and out into the cold in search of his car. You feel yourself take a real breath for the first time in a while. 

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Thank you,” you say, and mean it. The chill in the air helps to clear your head some. At the very least, you don’t feel nearly as drunk as you did inside. 

Hotch hums, unlocking the car. Climbing into the passenger seat, you can’t help but laugh.

“What?”

You look over at him, groan quietly. “You’re a liar, Aaron Hotchner. Your car is so much cleaner than mine.”

It really is. You glance over the interior in search of a coffee stain or a loose wrapper, but come up empty handed. 

“Guilty,” he shrugs. “And it’ll stay that way, if you behave.”

You’re pretty sure your brain short circuits when he puts his hand on the back of your headrest to reverse out of the parking spot. It takes you longer to respond than usual to his gentle taunting. When you do, it’s a little half-hearted. Maybe you aren’t as sober as you thought. 

“Please, Hotch. I’m not about to throw up in your car. I’m not that far gone.” 

“No. You’re not,” he pauses, opening the window anyway. “We’re back to ‘Hotch’, now? What happened to Aaron?”

You give him the most innocent look you can manage and plug your address into his satnav. “You’re right there.”

You’re pretty sure the look he gives you now is reserved for murderers. And clearly, on some occasions, you. 

Eventually, he relents. “You called me ‘Aaron’, earlier.”

“You called me ‘sweetheart’,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Resting your chin on your hand, you turn your head to look out of the window. You don’t want to see the smug expression you’ve come to recognise over the past few weeks, reserved almost exclusively for you. You know he wears it now. 

“Did I?”

You don’t answer. Your fingers move to cover your lips, as if that’ll stop you from making more of an idiot of yourself than you already have. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register his sigh. “Look in the side pocket,” he says, his voice quiet.

“What?”

“In the compartment in the door. Take a look.” 

You follow his instructions, finding a few CDs tucked away there. You’re about to tease Hotch for his taste in kids’ audiobooks when you spot it, and feel your breath hitch. 

“Hotch…” You say, turning over the copy of Carole King’s Tapestry in your hands. It’s still wrapped in plastic, still new. Taking the disc out of its case, you look to him for permission before sliding it into the player. “When did you…?”

“Indiana. I saw it a few weeks ago, and it made me think.”

You press play, and I Feel The Earth Move floods the car. “You really didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to,” he frowns as he says it, determination etched into his face. “I don’t have much of a collection, but it’ll get there.”

A comfortable layer of quiet settles between you as you watch the world move outside, late-night stragglers heading from offices with briefcases in hand, or stumbling out of nearby bars, arm-in-arm and laughing. It’s been a long while since you took that first journey alone with Hotch, since your determination not to think about him in any non-professional way wavered and cracked. Now, weeks later, you take turns to bring each other coffee in the morning. You ask him about Jack and revel in how content he is to talk about his son. You look at him and wonder if this slow, tentative thing you’ve built, this easy friendship, is all you’ll ever share.

If it is, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. But you glance at him now, his hair falling over his forehead, and think to yourself that it might not be.

Three songs or so later, Hotch turns into your street. You point out your apartment and wait for him to turn the engine off, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, simply to have something to say that isn’t an admittal of something you really shouldn’t be confessing to. 

He hesitates. The car stays running. “You’ve got nothing to thank me for.”

You nod towards the CD player, pressing pause. Silence. “Thank you for this, then.”

“It was your idea,” Hotch says, “You’re a lot more thoughtful than you give yourself credit for.”

It’s sweet. Too sweet. 

You laugh at him. “God, you sound like a fortune cookie.”

“I’d make an excellent fortune teller.” 

There’s that tone again. It’s flat, but with something exasperated lingering beneath it, something fond.

“Go on, then. What’s in my future?”

He sighs. “A nasty hangover. And a text or two hundred from Garcia, complaining about hers.”

You snort in acknowledgement. “And what do you see in yours?”

Now he turns the engine off, leaning back against the headrest and turns to study you. His eyes trace from yours down to the curve of your lips, and to where your hands lay intertwined in your lap. For a long moment, he says nothing. Your breath is starting to turn the windscreen foggy. Then, with a gentle grip, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kisses the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. 

“If you’ll have me? Another very uncomfortable conversation with Strauss.”

Your soft, tired smile is answer enough. He leads you to your front door, kisses your forehead, and sees you inside. When that conversation is over, he promises, he’ll be driving you home much more often. 

It isn’t very long before he makes good on it, and Reid is a little richer.

[tomhardystories]

Part 8

Tom stared at his phone for a moment longer than necessary, as if staring at it would somehow prevent Leo DiCaprio from calling Jules. He knew, deep down, that he had absolutely no right to interfere in her life like this, but the mere thought of Leo, with his sultry smile and infamous charm, getting anywhere near Jules made his stomach churn. Maybe it was just the coffee he’d had - who even knew at this point?

He sighed deeply (a dramatic sigh, like a man who's contemplating the meaning of life or his next career move), and finally dialed Jules. The phone rang twice before she picked up, and Tom immediately felt like he was walking into some kind of trap.

"Heeeeeey” he said, trying to sound calm, cool, and collected (but failing miserably). “How’s it going? You know... chill?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old" Jules replied, sounding half-amused and half-bored, like she'd just been through a week-long movie marathon of The Bachelor. "I’m working. Trying to survive.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I wanted to give you a little... warning. It’s probably nothing, but... Leo might, you know, reach out to you."

There was a pause. A very long pause. One that seemed to stretch out for decades.

“Jack Dawson?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

He needed a moment to understand the joke. “Yeah, that one” Tom said, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up. If he calls or texts or shows up at your door with a puppy in hand or whatever, just, uh, you know, be careful. He’s kind of a flirt.”

Jules snorted loudly, and Tom felt his heart rate increase in a weird mix of dread and annoyance. “Seriously? Is that why you’re calling? To warn me about Leo DiCaprio? He’s not the first guy who’s ever flirted with me, you know.”

“Well... he might be the most dangerous” Tom added with a deep sigh. “Like, world-class level flirtation. Like... one smile and you might just accidentally end up on a yacht in the Caribbean or something. And who needs that, right? You’re a busy woman.”

Jules let out a laugh that made Tom feel a little less ridiculous, but not much. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tom. But I think I can handle it. I’m not some naive damsel waiting for Leo DiCaprio to come sweep me off my feet, okay? I’ve got standards.”

“Oh, I know” Tom said quickly, trying to backpedal. “I mean, you have way better taste than that, obviously. I’m just saying, he’s not the ‘settle down and get a dog’ type. You know?”

Jules paused, then said, “Not exactly looking for that kind of relationship at the moment, Tom, but... thanks for the unsolicited warning. I’m fine. Really.”

“Right. Right. Of course, you are” Tom said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Anything else, or do you need to text me a list of other Hollywood men I should avoid?”

He was about to say something when suddenly he heard the sound of someone entering Jules' office. The soft click of the door opening was followed by a hushed voice speaking to her.

"Hold on a second, Tom" Jules said quickly, her tone shifting to professional mode. "I’ll be with you in a minute."

Tom listened as Jules spoke, her voice crisp and controlled.

"Whoever did this needs to fix it, and I’ll be there to watch over it. Tell them I’ll attend the next meeting and we’ll go through everything, line by line. I don’t tolerate mistakes like this. They’ll learn the hard way if they think I won’t notice."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but be impressed. There was no hesitation in her voice, no second-guessing, just pure authority. It was clear she wasn’t the kind of boss anyone would want to cross. He found himself both a little awed and, if he was honest, more than a little intimidated.

She came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Where were we? Ah, yes. I have to wrap this up now, Tom. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to get a few things in order before I go.”

Tom could hear the efficient way she handled things. “Of course” he replied, his voice a little quieter now, still processing the tone of authority he’d just heard. “I’ll let you go. Catch you later.”

Jules sighed lightly, but there was something almost affectionate in her tone. "Talk soon, Tom."

When Tom hung up, he was almost certain that Jules had already completely forgotten what they’d been talking about.

For the next few nights, Tom couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with a series of increasingly ridiculous and gut-wrenching nightmares about Jules and Leo. What had started as a mild annoyance had now spiraled into a full-blown psychological siege.

First nightmare began in the most disarming way, as dreams often do. He found himself sitting at a candlelit table at some impossibly chic restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wore tuxedos and the menus didn’t have prices. Across from him sat Jules, laughing at something, her smile lighting up the room. It was nice. Comforting. Until Tom realized that she wasn’t laughing at him.

No, sitting beside her, looking infuriatingly dashing in a perfectly tailored suit, was Leo. Tom watched helplessly as Leo leaned in, brushing a strand of Jules’ hair from her face with that infuriating movie-star charm. Jules looked up at him with that sparkle in her eyes and giggled. Jules. Giggled.

Tom opened his mouth to interrupt, to say… something, but no words came out. Instead, the restaurant morphed around them, the soft clink of glasses and murmured conversations dissolving into the sound of cobblestones underfoot.

Now they were walking hand-in-hand down a sun-drenched Parisian street. Paris. Of course. Jules was wearing some effortlessly chic outfit Tom had never seen her wear, and Leo had his arm slung around her shoulders like he owned the place. Tom trailed a few steps behind, inexplicably barefoot, and holding… a baguette? He tried to catch up, but every time he moved closer, they seemed to glide further away, laughing like he wasn’t even there.

And then, things took a sharp turn into the absurd.

They were at one of Leo’s infamous Hollywood parties now, all shimmering lights and clinking champagne glasses. Jules, now wearing a gown that could pay off Tom’s mortgage, was surrounded by impossibly glamorous people. She was laughing at something Leo said, her head thrown back like he was suddenly the funniest man alive. Tom, stuck on the outskirts of the group, awkwardly held a plate of snacks that kept replenishing itself no matter how many crab cakes he tried to eat.

He cleared his throat, trying to join the conversation, but Jules turned to him, her eyes twinkling with something that looked like pity. “Not now, Tom” she said lightly, before turning back to Leo, who draped an arm over her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then came the final, gut-wrenching blow.

Leo leaned down, kissed Jules, and she kissed him back. But it wasn’t just a kiss - it was the kind of kiss that made rom-com audiences swoon, with orchestral music swelling in the background. Tom stood frozen, the plate of crab cakes slipping from his hands.

Then, as if this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Jules broke the kiss to look straight at him. “Tom” she said sweetly, her voice echoing in that bizarre, distorted way dreams sometimes have. “Don’t look so shocked.”

Leo smirked, raising his champagne flute in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, man. There’s someone out there for you too.”

The crowd around them erupted into laughter - deep, mocking laughter that grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else. Tom tried to shout, to defend himself, but the sound wouldn’t come.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

The room was dark and silent, save for the muffled hum of the city outside his window. For a moment, Tom just sat there, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

The second night of Tom’s nightmares started at a red-carpet event, the kind where everyone looked airbrushed in real life. Jules was there, wearing a gown so stunning it seemed to have been spun from the stars. Tom’s brain immediately short-circuited, but the feeling only worsened when he noticed Leo standing beside her, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.

A camera flash went off, capturing the perfect moment: Jules, grinning like she’d just been named the new face of luxury toothpaste, and Leo, looking every inch the smug movie star, as though he’d simultaneously won an Oscar, saved a panda, and discovered the cure for world hunger.

Tom, who had been standing somewhere in the background like an underdressed extra, felt a hand on his shoulder. A reporter turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed. “Hey, buddy, could you step aside? You’re blocking the shot.”

The scene morphed without warning, plunging Tom into a sun-dappled garden brunch. Naturally, Jules and Leo were at the center of it, sitting at a rustic table that looked like it had been ripped straight out of an influencer’s Instagram feed.

Jules, now in oversized sunglasses and a breezy linen dress, was laughing at something Leo had said. Leo, with all the swagger of a man who had personally pressed the orange juice they were drinking, poured her a mimosa.

Jules sighed dramatically after a sip. “God, Leo, you’ve ruined regular orange juice for me. It tastes like sadness now.”

“Right?” Leo leaned in closer, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Once you go fresh-squeezed, there’s no going back.”

Tom found himself seated awkwardly at the far end of the table, inexplicably holding a plate of scrambled eggs. He tried to cut in. “So, Jules, remember when we found that diner with pancakes the size of....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules interrupted, not even glancing his way. “Leo and I are gluten-free now. You should try it. It’s life-changing.”

Leo nodded sympathetically, giving Tom the kind of pitying look that only Leo DiCaprio in a nightmare could pull off. “Yeah, man. It might help with the… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward Tom’s midsection.

Tom looked down and, to his horror, saw that in this dream, he was wearing a shirt at least two sizes too small.

The scene dissolved again. Jules and Leo were hosting their dinner party, in their Malibu beach house, which Leo had apparently purchased for them because of course he had.

Jules, seated at the head of the table like the queen of Malibu, was effortlessly charming a group of impossibly attractive people. The breeze wafted through the open windows, candles flickered dramatically, and everyone laughed at exactly the right moments, as if choreographed by a Hollywood director.

Tom, stuck at the far end of the table next to “Guy #4” from The Avengers, tried to contribute. “So, Jules, remember when you accidentally spilled an entire coffee on my....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules said, waving him off with an indulgent laugh. “Nobody’s interested.”

The table erupted into laughter, except for Tom, who stared at his plate like it had personally insulted him.

Leo leaned back in his chair, raising his glass. “To Jules” he said, his smile gleaming. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone cheered, while Tom sank lower and lower in his chair, feeling like a punchline to a joke he didn’t understand.

He jolted awake in his bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. It was 2:19 a.m. He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. This was the second night in a row of this madness.

The third night brought with it the most absurd and soul-crushing nightmare yet. It began with Jules and Leo on a yacht. The kind of vessel that made you question whether its owner was a billionaire, a Bond villain, or some unholy combination of both.

Jules was draped in a flowing white sundress, the fabric fluttering in the breeze like it had its own wind machine. Perched on her head was a massive straw hat, the brim so wide it could’ve doubled as a sunshade for the entire deck. She reclined on a deck chair, holding a cocktail that sparkled in a way cocktails had no business sparkling, probably because it was infused with crushed diamonds or some equally ridiculous ingredient.

Leo stood beside her, shirtless, because of course he was, handing her the drink with that casual movie-star charm. “Anything for my muse” he said, flashing his million-dollar smile.

Jules took the glass with an effortless laugh that somehow echoed across the open sea. “Tom who?” she said when one of the impeccably dressed crew members asked about her former friends. “Oh, you mean my old life? I don’t do ‘old life’ anymore. It’s all champagne and sunsets now.”

Cut to Tom, miles away, struggling to paddle a sad little kayak that looked like it had been borrowed from a children’s summer camp. He wore a life vest that seemed too tight, a bucket hat that was too big, and a look of desperation. “Jules!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Jules! It’s me!”

Jules didn’t even flinch, as if his voice was nothing more than the ocean breeze. Meanwhile, Tom’s kayak seemed to have a mind of its own, veering wildly off course no matter how hard he paddled.

And then, the kicker: a massive sea lion surfaced beside him. It stared at him with an unnervingly judgmental expression, let out a bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and promptly rammed the kayak with its blubbery body.

Tom toppled into the water with a strangled yelp, surfacing just in time to see Jules clink glasses with Leo as the yacht sailed off into the horizon. The sun set dramatically behind them, casting them in a golden glow as if nature itself was rooting for their happiness.

As Tom splashed helplessly in the waves, the sea lion circled him like it was considering whether to nudge him toward shore or let him figure it out himself.

Tom woke up in a cold sweat. He groaned, pressing a pillow over his face. “This has to stop” he muttered. 

By the fourth night, he was actively avoiding sleep, afraid of what fresh humiliation his subconscious might conjure up. He’d started drinking more coffee than usual, pacing around his apartment at all hours, and muttering to himself.

“This is insane” he said, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “They’re not even dating. You’re making this up.”

But the thought of losing her, of her forgetting about him, of becoming just another story she told at parties with Leo - was unbearable. He didn’t even care if she dated Leo or anyone else (okay, he did care, but he wasn’t ready to admit that). What he cared about was the idea that their bond, their easy friendship, could disappear just like that.

By the time the fifth night rolled around, Tom had reached his breaking point. He had another nightmare, this one involving Jules, Leo, and a tropical island where Tom had been relegated to the role of their personal butler - but instead of waking up in a cold sweat like before, he shot upright in bed and said out loud:

“That’s it. I’m losing my mind.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. At 3:17 a.m., Tom, teetering on the edge of panic, grabbed his phone and dialed Jules’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times. No answer. His heart sank. But then....

“Hello?”

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin. Jules sounded groggy, as if he’d dragged her out of the deepest corners of dreamland. Her voice was soft and concerned, not annoyed, and somehow that made him feel both infinitely better and profoundly worse. He hadn’t even thought of an excuse for calling.

“Jules” Tom began, his voice cracking slightly in a way that only made him cringe harder. “Hey, it’s me. Tom.”

“I know it’s you.”

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” He winced. Of course, you woke her, genius.

There was a pause. Tom’s mind raced, bracing for her to sound cold or irritated, like in his recurring nightmare - or worse, like she did when she was talking to her assistant. Instead, she let out a sleepy chuckle.

“What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

Tom hesitated, scrambling for a safe response. “I couldn’t sleep. Just… had a weird dream.”

Jules yawned audibly. “Was I in it?”

Tom laughed despite himself. “Yeah, you were there.”

“Oh no.” Her voice brightened slightly, amused. “Was it one of those dreams where I’m a serial killer? Because, for the record, I’d make a terrible criminal. Too chatty. I’d spill everything during the monologue.”

Tom chuckled, the tightness in his chest easing a little. “No, not quite that dramatic.”

“Damn. Missed opportunity. So, what’s up?”

He hesitated again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How could he explain without sounding like a complete lunatic? He couldn’t exactly say, I called because I’m terrified you’re going to run off with Leonardo DiCaprio and leave me to live my days as a rejected kayaker?

“I don’t know, Jules” he finally admitted, “but it felt real, and… I just needed to hear you still… you know, like me. As a friend, I mean. Still friends, right?”

There was a pause long enough for Tom to feel like the dumbest person alive. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she processed his bizarre, unnecessary late-night confession.

“Of course, you dork” she said, her voice light with affection, punctuated by another yawn.

Tom exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Right” he murmured, feeling both embarrassed and relieved. “I just… uh, needed to hear that. And, Jules?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu?” he blurted suddenly. “Or, like, go live in some tropical place, and I never see you again?”

Jules laughed - a genuine, sleepy laugh that made him grin despite himself. “Why would I move to Malibu?”

“That’s what people do” he argued. “One day you’re just doing laundry and buying groceries, and the next thing you know, you’re on a yacht with some really talented Hollywood actor.”

“With you?”

“What?”

“You’re the first person I think of when I hear ‘really talented Hollywood actor’ at three in the morning.”

“Oh…” For a moment, he forgot that he was an actor. “No, I wasn’t talking about me. Just, you know, in general. Never mind. Just… no Malibu, okay?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jules, sounding both amused and exasperated, said firmly, “Tom, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I once dated someone who thought spaghetti grew on trees.”

Tom let out a startled laugh. “I’m serious, Jules.”

“So am I” she replied. “Look, you’re stuck with me. Even if you send me one more playlist titled Melancholy Rain on a Tuesday Afternoon.”

Tom smiled, warmth spreading through his chest as the knot of anxiety loosened. “Hey, those are curated playlists.”

“Sure they are” she teased. Her tone softened. “I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous you sound right now. But here’s the thing, Tom: I’m definitely not moving to Malibu. So chill.”

“Because if you did, I’d probably just move into your closet and live there until you remembered me.”

“I’ll ask you one last time: are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But at least I’m not calling you in the middle of the night every week to ask if we’re still friends” he said, then quickly added, “Not that I plan to do that. This is a one-time thing.”

“Oh, I know. I’m going to remember this forever” Jules replied, her voice playful now. She chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m cute?” he repeated, his chest swelling with a mix of disbelief and pride. “You said cute? Not ‘acceptable’ or ‘fine,’ but actually cute?”

Jules laughed again. “Oh, absolutely. Don’t get used to it, though. It’s three in the morning, and I’m half asleep. Tomorrow, I might start calling you ‘average.’ Now, go to bed. No more bad dreams, kid. And don’t call me at three a.m. unless it’s an emergency or you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.”

Tom chuckled. “Got it. Goodnight, Jules.”

“Night.”

He stared at his phone for a moment after she hung up, feeling like he’d just made the most ridiculous call of his life. But at least he had one thing to hold onto: she still liked him.

[chrysanthemumgames]

I have a perhaps personal ask, and at the same time struggling with how to phrase it. I've been looking into making an interactive story myself, however, I... cannot code. For the life of me. I can tell one hell of a story, but coding it beyond my grasp, and the system I currently use, while it ought to be simple enough even someone like me could do so, isn't exactly working for how I want it to. Do you perhaps know anything anywhere that I might start looking for someone who would be willing to work with me? I am so sorry if this is a bothersome ask.

Hi anon!

I'm probably not the best person for advice on this, because I've never been in that situation before. I've put some thoughts under the cut, with the caveat that only a small portion of them actually address the question you've asked, with the majority being related but perhaps not helpful for you, depending.

So, I think where you'd go to find a coding person depends on what language you're using. If it's ChoiceScript, probably the forums. If it's Twine... I honestly don't know. Maybe the subreddit, though you'll want to double-check that such requests are not against the rules there.

I sincerely doubt you'll have an easy time finding someone, though. Most folks who code in the systems used for IF are IF authors who taught themselves the coding techniques in order to tell their own stories, not someone else's.

That said, and this is the part you can ignore, because you know yourself better than I do, but... I'm pretty sure you can learn to code. It's not easy, necessarily, and it doesn't come intuitively to everyone, but there are resources out there to help you. Again, this will depend on what system you're using, but the CS forums are very useful for figuring out CS (as is the wiki, once you know enough to parse it). For Twine, there are loads of archived posts on their forums and on the subreddit for specific questions, but for general ones, the documentation for your preferred program (e.g. SugarCube), the Twine Cookbook, and similar resources will break things down into smaller, more digestible chunks. I personally recommend the Twine Grimoire (volumes 1 and 2), for basic interface aesthetics, once you get to that point.

Here on tumblr, @/nyhelism, @/cerberus-writes, @/manonamora-if, @/idrellegames, and others have all answered questions about Twine coding or even in some cases made templates that take a lot of the work out of it. Most have a masterpost regarding things they've answered about Twine or made for others' use, but be sure to check that they're currently accepting coding questions before sending them any, of course.

Learning to code may be slow and incremental, and lots of people manage better if they start with a small project just to learn how to do the basic things in their language of choice. I'd really recommend figuring out what you need your game to be able to do, and learning those functions one by one—it's less overwhelming than trying to tackle everything at once while also writing a huge project.

If all else fails, my most esoteric suggestion is to familiarize yourself with the basic principles of symbolic logic. I took a class in it as part of my degree, and have since also taught that class, and I think understanding things like the logic of conditionals (if statements) as they're used in coding (rather than natural language) really gave me a leg up in learning to code. Not that I'm an expert, but I know enough to make a basic game, at least.

Most (all?) of these things should be findable with a google search; I know there are at least some Twine tutorials on youtube as well, though I'm unsure of CS or any of the languages I'm less familiar with, like Ink, etc.

I do apologize that the section where I encourage you to do the thing you don't think you can do is longer than the one where I answered your actual question, but that's the part I might actually have something useful to say about. If you're absolutely certain you can't do it, I'm sorry for banging on about it, but if you're not sure or on the fence, maybe give it another go before trying to find another person. I've seen a lot of writers looking for coders in the past, but maybe only once was a coder offering their services to writers (and that was a long time ago).

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Lies liveblog

I always forget Romana just hung out in the vaults in school

But more importantly, "are you questioning things again?" yes, yes she is

OK, HOW DO CHAPTERS WORK ALREADY? I am getting conflicting messaging on this

Sorry, she will never get common sense

"I should deliberately fail so the others will like me" is so autistic

It's even more autistic when you know it won't work

If her Academy plan worked, would the aliens be Time Lords upon graduation? Or just privy to some of their skills? Do they get tardises? I would love to read her legal briefs

Oh, hey, it's Wynter! I forgot he showed up in this one. Honestly, I didn't really notice him the first time because I didn't know he'd be important

Darkel's utter horror at the idea of changing laws, this society is so messed up

She's sooooooo dramatic omg

"Do I not wear the sash of Rassilon- figuratively?" I knew she had better fashion sense than that!

Don't be mean to Wynter, Ma'am!

Honestly, "President Know-it-all" is a more apt mean Academy nickname for her than "Ice Maiden"

Awww Brax is her best friend (even if she'd never say it) <3

Andred confuses me at this point--he was married to Leela for decades, how could he possible disapprove of opening up Gallifrey?

Leela and Romana find the vaults peaceful, everyone else hates them <3

I saw the argument that Pandora turned down the creepiness to lure them in because Romana II thought they were eerie again, but I like the idea that she naturally likes them but is uncomfortable now because of the echoes of what she learned last time that Brax hid

Ooh, bonus Leela being suicidal

K9 sputtering indignantly

President "I can't be seen doing nepotism while I do nepotism" Romana

Ooh, I didn't notice last time that there are now tutors from the other Time Powers. So is Romana trying to move towards a sort of joint time travel Academy?

Oh, Romana, expressing affection is difficult, isn't it?

I love the idea of Narvin being the visible CIA while the real agents operate quietly

Yes, that sounds like the sort of thing Romana would sigh and allow

Poor Wynter, he's so baby

What a time to be pedantic, Romana

Narvin, are you jealous of Brax? Is no one giving you attention and power?

(never mind that he hates power and responsibility every time he gets it)

She's so relieved to see Leela

WOOOOO I WAS RIGHT: "known across the continuum as the Imperiatrix" means cause and effect are indeed out of order!

"Oh, it always comes back to Rassilon"

"I have met Rassilon, he was NOT a man of honor"

You know, a lot of later issues could have been avoided if the events of Neverland and Zagreus were made public

Also, first female President should have little meaning on Gallifrey (I reject the "men are just more fashionable to regenerate into" thing), so I take this to mean she was only like the third or fourth ever President

She "never existed" but wasn't oublietted and records still exist and she's in the Matrix...so which is it?

Time Lords really did just forcibly turn their fantasy reality into a sci fi one

Like, Romana is sooo offended that Leela suggests ghosts, but the answer is basically ghosts with a computer vibe

I don't mind the overarching Pandora plot, but I don't like the baked-into-genetics thing or that it had anything to do with her becoming President; it messes with the idea that she ever had any free will and I hate that. Romana is perfectly capable of dooming herself without destiny doing it for her!

So last time I didn't question the e-space mentions, but since then I have both watched and read Warriors' Gate and...she didn't actually stay trapped in e-space. Like, at all, whatever every mention in this series would have you believe. She stayed at the gateway, but she was with the Tharils, who were never stuck in e-space, and seems to have planned to travel around n-space and across time to help free more of them

Unless I deeply misunderstood something

Romana is like "Let Leela speak! (Only I get to be impatient with her)"

tbh "never breaks the rules" Narvin seems like a weird choice to frame here

"No one ever tells me anything exciting" pouty Leela my beloved

@daughterofheartshaven I saw you say something about having to reconcile the implication that she regenerated right after The Armageddon Factor, but I read it as a little more ambiguous, like maybe the conditioning started slipping then but it took a while for her to notice and then longer for it to become a problem

The implication is that the Matrix basically tells the future by using the minds inside it to look at all variables and make an educated prediction, just like a computer

Oh I don't think I realized just how selfishly ruthless Brax is being here the first time. I am going to have so much fun playing with him on the Axis

[anothercrisis]

could we possibly get some more civilians au hcs? i read through all of them and now i’m invested

Wake up! I’m alive and still brainrotting about the civvie au!

What I would like to talk about today is the way I managed to include the callsigns and ranks :)

-

During their childhood in the foster care system, Johnny and Kyle didn’t have many constants, apart from each other. Every situation was different, every home had a different set of rules. In some, they weren’t allowed to watch television, which was one of the rules they hated to discover the most. Stories were oftentimes the only times they got a break from the reality they lived in. And their abilities to read were still developing at this time, so turning to books didn’t always work.

Johnny learned to read before Gaz, who struggled then explained to Johnny that the words never stayed in the right order when he was trying to read them, so Johnny took to reading out-loud so his brother could enjoy the stories too.

They often read the same book, one that Johnny lifted from a particularly horrible man who’d had custody of them for a grand total of six hours (which was six hours too long in Johnny’s opinion, which is why he quickly evacuated Kyle and himself from the property) and that he’s kept with him ever since. It was a collection of military stories that told of brave men fighting hard battles and overcoming difficult situations. The book had been in the children’s room Johnny and Kyle had been locked in, on the small shelf stocked with similar books for the foster children to read. Johnny had impulsively shoved it into his bag before climbing out the window simply because of the way the cover made him feel brave.

Those stories allowed Johnny and Kyle to adopt the mindsets of soldiers, helped them cope and make sense of their difficult situation.

“Kyle is a soldier and I’m his Captain. ‘Tis ma job to look after ‘im and I can’t do that when this fucked system keeps separatin’ us.”

By this time, Johnny was building himself quite the reputation. The social workers started to refer to him as “Soap” because of how efficient he was at slipping himself out and then in to homes whenever he was separated from Kyle and how he never left a trail behind him to follow if he didn’t want to. Johnny accepted the nickname with pride. From then on, whenever a social worker said, with a deep sigh, that Soap was back into their hands after another failed placement, he would grin and say, “Tha’s Captain Soap to ye.”.

Shortly after, Johnny decided Kyle needed to have a nickname too; he wanted them to sound like the package deal they were and the nicknames would further connect them. So Kyle decided on “Gaz”. He didn’t want anything elaborate or goofy like “Soap”. And Johnny doesn’t know it, but Gaz is what Kyle’s little brother had called him before the accident. And then, since Johnny was the one looking after Kyle and therefore the one of higher rank, they decided Kyle was to be Sergeant Gaz.

Maybe it’s silly and stupid, maybe they don’t outgrow it as soon as they ought, but it quickly became the best and most effective way they have ever found to cope. It becomes something like a mantra, a prayer: we are soldiers, we are brave, and we will handle whatever is thrown at us with strength and courage.

A few years later, Johnny meets Simon. Simon, the boy who walks so lightly that his footsteps can’t be heard even by Johnny who long ago trained his ears to hear footsteps. Simon, the boy who starts to show up on Johnny’s doorstep unannounced, pale, and quiet, simply looking for better company. Simon, who becomes “Ghost” when Johnny accidentally points this behavior out to him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, Si. I happen to like the Ghost too. He’s a good listener, and ya know how I run ma mouth.”

In further attempts to comfort, Johnny decides Simon might also need the absurd bit of comfort that comes with pretending to be a soldier. Because if you can pretend you’re brave for long enough, maybe it will come true. So Soap decides Simon will be Lieutenant Ghost. (When Kyle asks why Simon has a higher rank than him, the answer is because Simon is older, has fought harder battles for longer, and because Johnny will need his skills to keep them all safe.)

Once Johnny and Kyle’s coping method has been brought to the attention of the group, they all insist on getting callsigns and ranks too. Johnny, as the captain and therefore the man in charge, comes up with both for their other two friends. Alex Keller, their next door neighbor, and Gary Sanderson, Alex’s school friend who lives a few minutes away by bicycle that immediately got adopted into the group, are both dubbed sergeants too. Johnny had secretly filed away nickname options for both boys because he was hoping for an opportunity like this. They come to the decision that Gary will be “Roach”, for the way he can be relied upon to be in the kitchen cooking or snacking and for the way he likes to sit on the tops of surfaces, and that Alex will be “Echo”, for the way he is always repeating Gary’s sentences for him because he speaks so softly that Alex, who has years of training, is usually the only one who hears him enough to decipher the words.

They take to using the nicknames pretty quickly, enjoying the bond it represents between them all. But the ranks are understood to be more of a joke until the anniversary of Kyle’s brother’s death comes around and he shuts himself up in his room. Johnny simply explains to their friends that “Sergeant Gaz is on leave for the time being,” and they easily understand that to mean Kyle is battling something and isn’t ready to share it with them. No more further explanation is needed, easy as that. So, from then on, whenever one of them is struggling with something, simple phrases like that alert the others without the pressure of having to explain if they don’t want to or aren’t sure how. It’s a code among them, a slow developing language that allows them to express themselves and their struggles to each other when they aren’t capable of using plain language.

And maybe others would think it juvenile, this coping method and way of communicating, but that doesn’t matter to them. Life has tossed them around in ways no one should have to be tossed around and these boys create a safe space for themselves in the ways they find work best for them. It just so happens that their biggest comfort comes in the shape of their military personas and one another.

[eluxcastar]

The little brotherfication of Scaramouche

── ୨୧：scaramouche & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: you and scaramouche have gotten quite close since your transfer to his sector of the fatui. it's quite the bond, not one most people tend to expect from him.

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, soft scaramouche, probably ooc but my scaramouche is out of practice (I'm sorry 💔) (this is really embarrassing actually because I'm a Scara main 💀)

୨୧﹑words :: 1.2k

something tells me I will be staying in the mood for these types of headcanons for now because I'm having a lot of fun writing them (*￣︶￣) it's family fluff hour

all little siblingification posts

Transferring to a different sector of the Fatui at the request of a Harbinger is either a sign you're doing a really horrible or a really good job. Yours is the result of an excellent job, it seems, as the Balladeer has taken a liking to you and, with no use for you, your previous supervisor gave you up to him at his request.

It was nerve-wracking at first, unsure of how to adapt to such a different work environment. The way things used to go, even look, changed, and you tried to adjust, but you found yourself confused more often than not. Even worse, it was making you fail in your work, but you tried to fix the issue quietly and turned to fellow underlings for help. It helps a bit, and you become more familiar with this. With a couple pointers from his old assistant, you learn his preferences. It doesn't go unnoticed, apparently.

Scaramouche seems more pleased with you, surprised at some of the things you know. He's particular and not in the same way as Pantalone. He's a bit fussy, but being a bit fussy is better than being rich man fussy.

The more you became accustomed to him, the more he would open up to you, slowly but surely. It began with little things, entrusting you with jobs he usually wanted to be overseen by nobody but himself. Then came the willingness for an ounce of vulnerability, followed by him hardly wanting you to leave his side under the excuse that he might need you to do something.

Of course, he can't keep this up and relaxes a bit to let you do your work a little easier. He's not trying to smother you or give away that he's worried you'll get into trouble, after all.

Scaramouche asks for your help with things he doesn't even need help with, asking that you either sit and watch or take a menial job in whatever he's doing. Hold the supplies, supervise, anything he can justify. He's just becoming comfortable with having you around and uncomfortable with being apart. It's lonely in a way.

In a sense, he is vulnerable, allowing you to do things he wouldn't allow anyone to do, even just work. Scaramouche lets you cross his guard, push his boundaries, and he gets nervous when you seem unhappy with something until he finds out what. He's touchy with you, not openly, but privately. He lets you do the same, too, as he's less put off by you touching his shoulder or patting his head. It's purely by habit at first, and the first time you did it, he looked shocked that you would dare, but he shook it off and didn't say a word.

What's more, you get to question his orders and assign yourself jobs if you want. Scaramouche doesn't lecture you for that part, only sometimes changing the person doing it if he doesn't want it to be you. However, he will readily lecture anyone who tries to do the same and will not accept being babied by anyone else either. He doesn't want someone else to see him fall asleep doing his work or to calm him down when he gets worked up, and he doesn't want anyone else to have the same hold over him. He thought he wanted the love and care of anyone who would give it, but now he'd…really like it if it was you.

It's not the desire to be with you romantically or want for you sexually. Scaramouche would just be willing to spend all day with you and fight with you sometimes, only to make up the day after. He would be inclined to see you as many days as possible, let you see him like no one else is allowed. It's not about the time but the gentle and caring kind of love you show him. It's about the fact that you stay.

It's about you somehow managing to make him comfortable enough to cry in front of you, which he does not want to do around another person, and you quietly hold him and let him make a wet spot of his tears in your clothes. You stroke his hair and calm him but show no sign of leaving or running off. Many years have been spent treasuring you, and many more will be spent this way. He is so desperate for someone to remain with him, whose life is not fragile, who he is able to trust, and it makes him happy to know that you will stay.

Many find him off-putting, rightfully, but he feels like he cannot push you away but only bring you closer. He doesn't want to be so snappy or crass.

He wants to enjoy the things he felt he couldn't, to let you care about him and tend to him. He doesn't want to stifle your tenderness toward him, having seen it before, and now he wants it. He wants to pretend you've always been there and always will be, that the two of you were meant to be this way since he was born.

He's not going to shake his callous attitude, still denying these things and not eager to share them publicly. He doesn't want people to know that he lets you get away with far too much or that he lets you throw paper back at him after he throws a scrunched-up ball of it at you. Something about these things makes Scaramouche feel giddy, as if the two of you are children playing around in a classroom. He's not sure why. It just makes him playful and far too tolerant until someone knocks on the door or, in some cases, walks right in, like the teacher turning around that makes you both scramble to look like you're working as usual.

He likes to take you out to places outside of work, dragging you off to go with him to various events and taking you out just about everywhere he thinks you'll enjoy when you both have to travel abroad, especially in Inazuma, which he is most familiar with. He wants to dress you up and picture you that way in his fantasy where you have always been with him, a fitting image for the place and time. It's fun to him, making him feel excited even more to be around you now and to take you to see what has become of the places he used to wander.

Scaramouche wants to imagine you knew even Kabukimono, then Kunikuzushi and have been with him until now, even knowing you haven't been there all that time. It's nice to just pretend, though he knows it isn't real. He wants to imagine it when you were younger, helping you navigate the land with him and protecting you. Scaramouch likes to imagine a world in which he used to look after you, even knowing you are the one who tends most to him.

He's very aware that you call him Scaramouche and always have, but that doesn't matter.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[formosusiniquis]

“Try again.” Steve orders.

Sweat is pouring down Eddie’s face. He’s reaching for something, he thinks, some power that is supposed to live in him. Channeling it feels like trying to summon his liver or kidney. He’s reaching for something that is supposed to exist in him innately. And he’s having as much luck forcing that power as he could trying to get his stomach to digest faster.

But they keep trying. Hour after hour, day after day. He comes and he meets Steve in the empty throne room. He goes and he fails again and again and again to find anything that so much as hints at the spark they insist is there.

Make the ball stop, make the shirt move, alright fine just try to stop yourself from falling. Not like that, like this. It’s easy Eddie, are you even trying? Fine, no it’s fine, something easier. Change your form. Change your face. Change your eye color. Can you at least change your goddamn hair? No, sorry, sorry. Something easier. Something easier. Something easier.

Steve flicks his wrist and another new orb appears. They stack in the corner like dewdrops on a door frame spiderweb. Something easier. Steve creates something from nothing. Something easier. He doesn’t remember much from science, but he knows you can’t make something from nothing. Something easier. Breaking the very laws of physics.

It’s one of the first things Steve learned how to do. Just make the orb. Just make the orb. Just leave. We don’t need this. We need more. We need to take from this place.

“Just try. It’s kids stuff.”

We hunger. Hit him, draw blood.

“I am trying,” he bites out. Teeth catching his hunger, the blood lust.

“It should come from your chest. Draw out the want.” A hand tossed up into the air sends a toddler’s bubble wand's worth of crystalline spheres floating all around them.

He wants. He wants . What is hunger but want? Visceral and primal.

They've been at this so long he doesn't know what day it should be anymore. He has been reaching. Has reached. If he tried any harder he would have his intestines in his hand. They would burble and gurgle in his fists, starved and wanting. Something physical to show Steve that it is not a lack of want keeping him from making that shitfucking orb.

The deeper he reaches the more he wants. Deeper and deeper until the hive singing chorus of his wants filters down into a singular voice again.

Take. Take. Take.

Eddie flicks his wrist again an easy, though less graceful, mimicry of a gesture he’s seen too many times. He might as well be jerking off the air for all it produces.

Just do something. Anything. You have to want it. If you don’t want it enough you’ll never be able to do anything more powerful.

The threat hangs unsaid over top of them.

“I’m trying.” It feels like the only thing he’s capable of saying. Straining to find a muscle that doesn’t exist, sweating while standing still. The flouncy shirt that has become his uniform here sticking to the small of his back, bangs stringy and sticking to his forehead.

“Try harder,” Steve insists. Eddie can see his mouth continue to move but whatever he was saying gets drowned out by the too fast thumping of his heartbeat in his ears.

You’re better than he is , the voice Eddie dug so deep to find says. It doesn’t sound like himself but maybe it’s the real him. Maybe he should have listened a little closer to Dustin’s half-assed attempts at psychoanalysis.

He needs you , it says, he can’t do this without you. All this place knows how to do is wait and wish and steal from the people who have the power to do actual things. 

Steve is watching him, the hand of his good arm on one hip, brow raised in kingly expectation. Waiting for Eddie to do something. Answer a question he didn’t hear or to continue failing at the impossible task that had been set for him.

He isn’t sure he has powers. But he knows what someone looks like when they want to take. When they want to seal a moment to laugh or mock

“I’m done,” Eddie says. His whispering Id is cheering him on as he drops his arms to his sides, the cold, damp of his shirt under his arms the only real sign he has for how long he’s been holding them there.

Steve nods, something relaxing in his face. “You’re right, let’s take a break.”

“No. Not a break. I’m done. ”

“Done? What does that even mean done? It’s still, well mid-afternoon isn’t early but it’s too early to just leave. We’ll break from lunch and then get back to it.”

Take and take and take. Your time, your energy, your free will. That is the problem with the wishers, they take from the willful and think they are powerful.

“No, Steve. I’m done. I’m leaving.”

They’ve maintained a careful professorial distance during these lessons. Steve never comes as close as he did the first time when he stopped Eddie from falling. But he steps closer now, face screwed up in something Eddie can only assume is anger as he opens his mouth to no doubt say some bullshit that we’ll force Eddie to stay here and keep working. To keep trying. As he takes and takes and takes more time and more of his will to resist, to get home.

“ Stop.” The command leaves him with a force he has had trouble finding in this miserable place. Powerful enough to freeze a king in his tracks. And Eddie doesn’t want to wait and see what Steve will do when he snaps out of it. Doesn’t want to hear whatever spell he’s going to cast in revenge.

Get out. Go deeper into the labyrinth. You’ll find something there that you can use against him later.

He doesn’t think. Just listens to that voice that feels so entwined around him. He turns and runs, knowing from experience that whatever creature he may stumble on in the maze will be less trouble than their king.

Read the rest on AO3

[revserrayyu]

3.2 Amphoreus thoughts [part 1]

**Spoiler warning** for everything up til Dan Heng & Hyacine’s trip to the Grove as well as any other minor details I may or may not mention from later scenes. Who knows what my mind will end up focusing on and rambling about.

Well that’s procrastination at its finest. I remember a few essays and projects I delayed in the past and how quick my mind had to work in order to finish them last minute.

Huzzah, our Pokemon friend evolved. Having us become a demigod is concerning but not that big of a shock with how often we’ve been flipping time around since we landed here, but after we learn later that demigods sorta become the next Titans, does that mean we’ll be bound to stay in Amphoreus? It might be weird for one of their Titans to just roam across the stars on the Express, yea?

Oh bless her soul. Castorice is really trying her hardest to send us off with some good vibes.

We can always count on the Trailblazer to diffuse the tension with some simple, silly comment.

How many times are we gonna wake up and have someone or something looming over us like this? And for everyone complaining about all the mem mem mems we heard from our pink companion in previous patches, y’all can shush now. They speak perfectly fine now it seems.

Pardon the fuck me? What do you mean we have no future because we should’ve been dead the moment we crossed the sky?? The very end of 3.1 had me thinking we were going to die, especially since Castorice was planned to have major story focus during this patch; I didn’t even begin to think we were already dead.

Hello?? Danny boy, that seems like something you probably should’ve mentioned WAY earlier than this! Sure we seemed to walk around and act perfectly fine after we crashed landed here and that probably diminished his worries, but dang. I’m gonna assume he used his cloudhymn magic to heal us.

I originally thought Castorice was able to touch us without any danger because we had the stellaron instead of any normal heart or something that made us like a typical human, since we were sorta created out of nothingness by Kafka & SW, but that’s clearly ain’t the case.

Aw, poor girl really thought she was no longer cursed for a moment. I’m sorry to haven given you false hope, sweetie! You’re pretty though!

Conversations between Anaxa and Cerces never fails to be amusing. Shame it seems we won’t be getting any more after this patch. We need art of young Anaxa sleeping with his droma doll. For science.

Learning that he sacrificed his eye just to get a glance at his departed sister one last time is some fullmetal alchemist type stuff if I ever heard of it. Why’s it always the sisters too, huh? We lost Aventurine’s, Hanya’s (even though Xueyi still “lives” as a puppet), and now Anaxa’s. Hoyo, you better keep your grim, little hands always from the Landau siblings, I swear to god.

There’s not one ounce of remorse in her voice when she says this. Time really moves quick in game considering that day does inevitably arrive at the end of this patch, huh?

What a joy to hear Gnaeus again, as well as getting a glimpse of normal Cerces and being introduced to Polyxia, who we can easily check off as Castorice’s sister thanks to that one trailer. Really is a shame that such kind souls have to take the trial of the death titan of all things.

At first I thought this wasn’t true, because I explicitly remember Strife’s large lance or whatever striking us down in our train car upon arrival, but nah, she means we can’t escape this world because of Aquila. Jokes on you, Titan, you can’t stop me from doing my dailies somewhere else!

Dannie cares about us so darn much, awwww! He’ll do anything to prevent himself from losing anyone precious to him. I remember during the 3.2 livestream that they mentioned March & Dan Heng “will go far this year”, and somehow that planted the idea in my head that perhaps he’ll also get a new form, like we all assume March will get. Perhaps he’ll be Abundance. Just a thought.

Hyacine trying to intimidate Anaxa’s voice was comical, as well as us somehow answering Dan Heng’s question from somewhere else in the universe and having him commit to the bit.

So we learn from Hyacine that Anaxa left for the luminary throne to try and fuse himself with the titan’s coreflame before the black tide hit the Grove, which is all fine and well I guess, but makes me wonder if he could’ve possibly saved anyone else if he wasn’t so focused on himself and proving his theories. Seems like Cerces isn’t the only one he has his eye on however.

So.. this might somehow end up as four parts, which is surprising because I didn’t nearly enjoy this patch as much as the previous one, but yeah. Just to prevent them from being too short or too long I suppose.

[auberge13]

These two moments are taken from the conversations Jon has with each of his parents before joining the Legion of Superheroes. There is one particularly interesting difference between how Lois and Clark each view the decision.

(Lois Lane 2019 issue #4 and Superman 2018 issue #16)

"doesn't leave you much of a choice, does it?" vs. "I am jealous of... the choices in front of you"

Now, if you're like me, this is the kind of thing that makes you very excited about characterization and storytelling so let's get into it.

Clark is a character who never really felt like being good was a choice that needed to be made. He was raised to be good by Ma and Pa and he is so inherently good that he can't imagine being anything else, let alone choosing to be anything else. Meanwhile, Lois intimately understands that being good is a choice that you have to make over and over again, even when it's hard. Doing good the way she does is constantly challenged, particularly by her father. Her choice to do good costs her that relationship with him, and she isn't able to fully reconcile with him before his death, which is explored intimately in this book (read Lois Lane).

As my friend @fae-morrigan put it while we were discussing this, "I feel you could easily read it in a way where Clark is jealous that Jon's been shown he could be Other Than Good and make an informed choice about Being Good. Where Lois knows that choosing to be good often comes at the expense of other good things (in her case, her relationship with her father)"

There's a key moment in the issue after the above screenshot that really showcases this.

(Lois Lane 2019 issue #5)

It's important to acknowledge that there is no part of Clark that would choose not to be Superman. They're the same guy. Clark would do good anyway in whatever capacity he could, he just happens to have a really large capacity. When he says he is jealous of the choices in front of Jon, it is less about doing or not doing good, but rather about how he's going to do it.

(Superman 2024 issue #1)

My friend @ultfreakme explained this really well. "comparing LOSH to college works like that because Jon's going to college (learning to be a hero), but he gets to pick from a million different majors and fuck around for a bit with a support system to fall back on if he fails. Clark went from high school (regular dude) and straight into a job (being a hero) with no ability to like....try something different."

So that's what we can learn about Lois and Clark from this, but what about Jon? The comics do a really cool thing where they break up Jon's complex thoughts about this choice into multiple conversations with different people. With Lois, Jon expresses the sense of obligation he feels. With Damian, he's able to share his hesitance, even telling him that he doesn't think he wants to accept the invitation at first. Finally, with Clark and Imra, he's able to feel his excitement about this new step in his life. It is all very college! I felt all of these things before I left too! But beyond that, this is also a great example of the way Jon will compartmentalize his issues and limit his vulnerability depending on who he's talking to. He has a tendency to minimize his own feelings in order to make other people more comfortable, which you can really see in the different things he's willing to express with each person.

Anyway, I think there's more to be said here and I'd love to hear what other people think about these moments, but I'll call it here. Moral of the story, read Lois Lane 2019 and then create something for the Jon Kent Week Mama's boy prompt- the Jon and Lois in that book are top tier. Also, if you've gotten this far you clearly like this kind of analysis so here's my post about why they aged up Jon. When I posted it Tumblr had put me in jail and turned me into a robot (wow Absolute Power is so immersive!) so it didn't show up in the tag. Sorry for the plug but I'm a little bitter about it lol.

[drpoisonoaky]

Azula is training with the rest of the group cause her therapist ask her to do it. And she’s a great patient

disclaimer: this is years later (at least they’re in their twenties) bc one azula is in therapy; two i’m not comfortable doing some dynamics with literally children even though is nothing explicit

——— Aang

Aang: So let’s start with breathing exercises.

Aang: This helps to have a clear mind.

Azula: I usually do it too.

Aang: Really? That’s so grea-

Azula: Doesn’t help at all. But hey we need to breath in order to bend.

Aang: Meditation?

Azula: See awful things.

Aang: Aromatherapy?

Azula: The smell is awful.

Aang: What did you do then to have a clear mind?

Azula: You’re so funny avatar.

Aang: *looking at her worried*

Azula: So funny. So what’s next?

Aang: Call your therapist.

——— Sokka

Sokka: So first thing first you get a boomerang.

Azula: I would rather not.

Sokka: I hit you with a boomerang before, you have to learn how to use it. At least as signal of respect.

Azula: Just cause something hit you doesn’t mean you have to respect it or like it.

Azula: My father used to hit me and I don’t really respect or like him at all.

Sokka:

Sokka: I gonna hug you and then we’ll spare bare handed. Come here.

Azula: DON’T YOU DA-

——— Toph

Toph: *hit Azula with a rock*

Azula: *throws a blaze of blue fire to Toph*

[Keep doing this until both are clearly exhausted and dirty]

Toph: That was fun.

Azula: Indeed.

Toph: Let’s do it again sometime.

Azula: Sure.

——— Suki

Suki: You have to wear the kyoshi warriors’ makeup.

Azula: We’re training not on a mission.

Suki: I’m wearing it.

Azula: And I admire your bravery for wear that but no thank you.

Suki: To train with me you have to wear it, end of the discussion.

Azula: The last time I wear that filthy makeup I conquered Ba Sing Se.

Suki, raising one eyebrow: The last time I wear this filthy makeup I was trying to train with an ungrateful bitch.

Suki: So?

Azula: Ugh, but if I get a pimple I swear-

——— Zuko

Zuko: No dirty tricks.

Azula: You wound me Zuzu. I would never do something like that to you.

Zuko: You bend lighting at my butt to make me fail in front of dad. So sorry if I don’t trust you.

Azula: *sighs*

Azula: You were already failing, doing that father would laugh at the prank and not punish you for not knowing the forms.

Zuko: I-

Azula: And I admit it was fun. But that’s the truth. And my therapist says I should share my truth of that little moments, especially with you.

Zuko: I didn’t know…are you going to do it again?

Azula: Nah, now you won’t be punished if you mess it up. I’m going to do it while you are eating or something. Like a good sister.

Zuko: We are pretty fuck up, aren’t we?

Azula: At least we’re pretty.

Zuko: *smiling*

Azula: Wait no.

Zuko: Lala did you say we?

Azula, completely red: “I” I said “I” CLEAN YOUR DIRTY EARS!

——— Ty lee

Azula: You don’t going to force me to use the Kyoshi makeup, right?

Ty lee: Nope, that’s Suki’s policy I don’t really care.

Azula: Thank Agni.

Ty lee: I’m going to make you flex baby.

Azula: As if you didn’t know I’m very flexible.

Ty lee: Well we will see. Let’s stretch.

Azula: Do you usually use this as a first move or the flirt start after?

Ty lee: Nah, after. You will see it when we get to the-

Katara: DROP IT RIGHT NOW BOTH OF YOU.

Ty lee: Whao you were right she’s jealous type.

Katara: I am not!

Azula: Then why are you here?

Katara: To train with you, Ty lee’s training looks what I need right now.

Ty lee: Sure. It’s gonna to be awesome. But I’m going to focus on Azula. She asked me first.

Azula: She’s focused on my, sweetheart.

Katara: AND I’M TOO SO WATCH OUT.

Ty lee, whispering: And I don’t even try to make a move.

Azula, also whispering: And she knows I wouldn’t do anything. This is going to be fun.

Katara: STOP WHISPERING I’M HERE.

Azula, ignoring Katara: So what’s next?

——— Mai

Azula: So you throw knives and that’s all?

Mai: What do you want me to do?

Azula: I guess exactly that.

Mai: Maybe we could spicy up?

Azula, raising one eyebrow: I’m listening.

Mai: We need a target.

Azula: Living creature?

Mai: Why not.

Azula: Male or female.

Mai: Whatever.

Azula: Easy or hard?

Mai: Who’s on the hard level?

Azula: Ty lee or Aang.

Mai: And on the easy?

Azula: Sokka or Zuko.

Mai: I guess it’s Sokka’s turn.

Azula: Sure.

Azula: Hey Boomerang boy! If you stay in front of Mai with an apple on your head for 20 minutes lunch is on me.

Sokka: Steak?

Azula: Two steaks.

Sokka: But the good ones.

Azula: Of course.

Sokka: Deal.

Mai: Let’s have fun. Do you want to start?

Azula: I’m going to throw him a boomerang. So you first.

——— Katara

Katara: So listen.

Azula: I’m listening.

Katara: I want to see your hands clearly, not funny business.

Azula: But I am a funny person. And you love my funny business.

Katara: ‘Zula.

Azula: Ok. I’m focus.

Katara: I’m gonna to attack and you going to doge.

Azula: No warm up?

Katara: *throws her a warning splash of water*

Katara: There you go.

Azula: That wasn’t necessary darling.

Katara: No pet names, we’re training.

Azula: Of course. Master Katara.

[two hours later]

Katara: That was good.

Azula: I’m wet and partly freeze. All in a bad way.

Katara: As I said. Good. But you know the better part?

Azula: What?

Katara: I don’t want to see your hands now.

Azula: Why do you don’t…my hands…oh.

Azula: Yeah yes let’s do that.

Katara: You’re a less smooth than you think you’re.

Azula: But I’m hot.

Katara: And very humble.

Azula: Whatever…let’s the funny business begin.

[sofasoap]

Lastochka AU - Seven Seas - 1

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Going against the odds of society's expectation and prejudice, you made a name for yourself as Lady Fortuna of the sea. but one day ....

AU to my Lastochka series

WARNING: Mature Theme. swearing. violence. inaccurate period/historical depiction. or languages. or facts. everything.

A/N : Well, I started another AU. Thanks to @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot's mouth frothing render of Buccaneer!Nikolai. Please go check out her wonderful renders and story :D and oh... this was suppose to be part of the 141 challenge ooops I was tooooo late. sorry @glitterypirateduck! oops.

Main masterlist

Credit : @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

“Pirate! Starboard!!” 

“Captain! They are getting closer!!” 

You knew this wasn’t going to be an easy journey. You had a hunch about it the moment you boarded the ship.  And usually your hunch never fails you. 

“That’s a Schooner. They might look small, but they will catch up to us no matter what we do. We will never outran that ship.”  you heard the Captain mumbling, as he looked through his telescope, trying to identify the ship.  

Putting down the telescope he sighed. “The only chance of escaping is to face them.”

Treasurer might be a government commissioned ship, but being a merchant ship and designed to carry cargo and goods, it was never equipped with the heavy cannon or artillery like the naval battle ship. A chill runs down your spine. They have no choice but let the pirate board the ship and fight them in close combat. 

“Arm yourself! Ready for battle!” The Captain yelled at the crews,before he turned around and escorted you back to your resting quarter. “Lady MacTavish, you will be safer down there than up here. Go.” 

You wanted to argue with him but you know better than disobeying a Captain’s command. 

This is probably the first time you have met with real danger on the sea after years of sailing. 

You started sailing with the merchant ship from the day you became of age. 

You have begged and bribed your father for years to be a passenger to sail on one of the merchant ships that sails from Port Inbhir Nis to London, delivering the orders of whisky and woven goods from your parent’s distillery and farm to the clients down south.

“Please Da! I have never been to London before! Besides, Johnny will be there too, you have nothing to worry about.” you begged. 

Lord MacTavish sighed. Putting down the document he was reviewing, he leaned in, clasped his hand and frowned. He looks straight into your eyes, tries to reason with you. 

“You know how superstitious the crews are about taking women onboard a ship…” he started.

“I can pretend to be a man!” you countered. 

“Not that easy you know..” 

“I got an idea!” you clap your hand together, as another excuse comes up. “Social season is starting soon in London, So…”

“You can get there by land….”

“Will be too late. You know how long it takes! Plus my bottom will be so sore by the end of the journey…”  

“Language, Mini.” your father warned. “You've never been on a ship or boat before..” “River boat Da, I've been on a river boat once.” “Fine. once. But the open sea is a totally different business. The unforgiving waves, the danger…” 

“Da. After growing up with Johnny, do you think anything will faze me?”

“... True.” 

“Just remember to behave a bit more like a lady….”  not waiting for him to finish his words, you surge forward and give him a big hug. 

“Oh thank you Da! Thank you!” you pepper kisses on your father’s face, all excited. You knew your father wouldn’t say no to you. You have always been the jewel in their eyes, their precious little gem. You were brought on in a very unconventional way compared to the other noble ladies. Sure, you have learn how to read, write, etiquettes, languages and sewing like other girls, but you also run around like a wild goose with your older brother Johnny, learning how to fight, use swords and roll around in mud, climbing trees, all the un-lady like things you can think of? You’ve done it. 

“I hope I am making the right decision… Now just try to convince your Ma…”He mumbled as he patted your back. 

He manages to find a merchant ship that is willing to take you onboard, after paying a nice sum of money to the Captain and the crew to take a young lady and a few of the servants onboard with them.  

When you reached London at the end of the journey, the Captain was amazed how smooth sailing the trip was.

“I have been going up and down this stretch for the last fifteen years, I have never,ever had a more uneventful but smooth sailing journey than this!” 

Second, third, and fourth journey was the same. Rumours started to spread that contrary to the superstition, you were a lucky charm, a sure guarantee for a fast and safe journey.

Suddenly everyone is fighting to take you onboard. To your parents’ surprise. They would have thought you will be giving up on the “sailor’s game” by now but instead you have come home with your brother blabbering how much fun you had and all the invitations you have received from various Captains for more journeys in the future. 

They reluctantly let you continue on after they discovered people were willing to pay good money to have you onboard. You were also helping to manage your father’s business by dealing and expanding clientiles in London, also sometimes going across the channel, into the continents. 

You slowly made a name for yourself not just being Lady MacTavish, but Lady Fortuna, lady luck, the one who brings good fortune and safety for anyone who travels with you. 

Gossips spread within the social circles. Good gossip, bad gossip.

Good gossips of how other ladies are envious of you, how much freedom your parents gave you despite being a lady, being a woman. 

Bad gossips of how you must have slept around to gain so many favours and names amongst the merchants and sailors, how you were only just a northern barbarians 

But you ignore the rumours. You were just happy you have become an independent woman. Even with reassurance from Johnny he would look after you in the unfortunate event of both of your parents passing, you don’t want to be dependent on anyone. You don’t want to be a burden. What if Johnny’s future spouse hates you and kicks you out of the house? 

How many times have you witnessed yourself the stories of young ladies with not a penny under their name, ditched by their siblings after their parents passing, nearly ending up on the street. You were glad she was in the position of wealth and social status to reach out to help resettling those girls, helping them to find a respectable job to bring in some income.

You are proud of what you have managed to achieve. And you are thankful for your family’s support, no matter how reluctant they are at the beginning.

And for years, things have been peaceful… until today.

Well, if your father knows the dire situation that is happening right now, he probably regrets the decision he made way back to them to let you step onto ships. 

The sound of crews yelling and running around on the main deck was getting more frantic as the minute went by. 

Your poor young maid huddles in the corner of the room, shaking and sobbing. This was the young girl’s first time on a ship, after hearing your reputation, she eagerly volunteered to accompany you on the journey, never expecting to be in such a dire situation. 

“Aye, to hell. I cannot just sit here like a damsel in distress…” you came to the conclusion after pacing up and down in the small room while listening to the yelling and screaming up on the deck. 

You open your trunk and throw all the clothes onto the bed as you dig right to the bottom. 

“Ah here it is.” you dragged the Claymore out from the bottom of the trunk. You never thought this day would have come. Johnny had insisted you pack the sword for each of your travels (to your Ma’s aghast). 

“I just wish I never have to use this thing…” 

“Neither do I, my dear sister. But, if anything happens, I wouldn’t be there to protect you, but it comforts me that you will be well equipped, and show those enemies what a Scottish lass can do.” 

“Here, take this.” You shove the fork and knife that was left on the table from meal time into your crying maid’s hands. “Lock and block the door after I go out, and go hide under the bed or closet. Understand??”

“But my Lady…” 

“That’s an order. Follow it.” you gave her no room to argue and marched out the door.

You storm up the staircase, dragging the sword behind you. You pushed open the double door that leads towards the upper deck. 

You were greeted with the chaotic sight of yelling, screaming and the metal sound of swords clashing together. No one seems to have noticed you emerging from the door as they were all focused on fighting their enemies. You would be lying if you said you aren’t scared witless. But what else can you do? You are in the middle of the sea, nowhere to escape, instead of hiding in the cabin and crying about your imminent death. You are a MacTavish! Proud Scottish! You will fight until your last breath if you have to.

Qui audet adipiscitur, Audeamus. 

The family motto that has been drilled into your brain. Make your ancestors proud. As your grandfather repeats day in and day out when he was still alive.

Quickly scanning through the deck,you were relieved to see everyone is still alive, if not only slightly injured. Maybe your Lady Luck magic is still working, but for how long you wondered. It wouldn’t be long before a casualty appears if you don’t do something.    

Following the sound of the familiar voice, you spotted the Captain, towards the quarter deck, currently in a deep battle of what seems to be the Captain or the Commander of a pirate ship. 

Quickly mumbling a prayer under your breath, gathering your courage, you hauled the sword up onto your shoulder, silently thanking Johnny’s insistence of dragging you into training with the sword everyday until he ran off to London after purchasing himself an officer position.  

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and automatically parted ways as they spotted you, a noble lady, with a broad sword that is nearly as tall as you, marching towards the front of the ship, full of purpose, like a highlander marching into her last battle. None of them dared to stop you. 

“Stop the fighting at this instance!” You bellowed out the order. Your Captain’s eyes widened as spotted you over the shoulder of the enemy, dodged out of the way just in time as the enemy tried to aim at his neck. 

The whole ship came into an eerie silence as the fighting came to a halt. Only the sound of crashing waves and seagulls screeching could be heard as everyone turned their attention to you.

You stab the claymore onto the deck floor in front of you, resting your hands on the end of the hilt. 

“My Lady… I told you…” you hold up a hand, silencing the Captain. Giving him a look. I’ll handle this.  

You just hope the plan you have formulated in your brain will work. Even if it comes at a cost. 

The tall man, who you assume is the Commander and Captain of the pirate ship, slowly turned around, while swinging his sword around at the same time, taking aim at your face.

Don’t back down Mini, Don’t back down. You keep reminding yourself as you shuffle your feet wider, standing firm. 

For a second you could see a flash of surprise from his body language. “A noble woman, a Scottish one too.well, that is something new.”  The man smirked, while scanning you up and down. But not in a leering way. You have been enough men to distinguish the difference between someone who is looking at you like a common whore and someone who is trying to suss you out. 

You took a quick glance at him yourself, trying to guess his origin. Eastern European? You deduced from his slight accent. Possibly well educated, for commanding fluent English. Tall, well built with strong arm muscle, slightly dark skinned as all the sailors have from long voyages under the sun, black sleek hair with a slightly rugged beard. 

Quite a handsome man, you have to admit. 

“Where are my manners?” he took off his traveller's hat, taking an exaggerated bow, all the while still keeping his eyes on you. “ Commander Nikolai, Captain of Chimera, Privateer, at your service.” 

“Privateer..” you mumbled. “sleekit basturts.” Trying to make himself sound more grand than a pirate is he? 

“What was that?” He smiled, but you know the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Nothing.” you rolled your eyes. 

You returned the greeting, announcing your name and clan name. “... of Clan MacTavish.” you said proudly. You could see a flash of confusion followed by recognition in his eyes. Has he heard of your family before? But where could he have heard it from? 

“I have a proposition for you.” you tilt your head, ignoring that question you have in your head, and putting your plan into motion. 

He cockily raised an eyebrow as he lowered his sword, suddenly taking interest in what deals you have to offer. 

“Take me instead. And whatever cargo you want. All I ask is for you to let my crew go, with enough food and water for them to sail to the nearest port.” 

“My lady!!!” Your Captain and any crews that were close enough to you gasped, shocked by the idea and protesting. You turned your head to look at him for a few seconds, giving a stern look. Please trust me on this. You pleaded with your eyes.

“Keeping a woman onboard? Bah! That will certainly bring bad luck! I mean look at what happened.. “ one of the pirates with .. what seems to be a sack or cloth over his head, waved his hand and laughed. Your crew booed and jeered at the idiot who clearly hadn't heard of your reputation and the luck you have brought for them. 

You ignored his jeering and took a step closer to the Pirate’s Captain, “Give me one month, and I can prove to you, I can bring you more money and luck you wish for. If not, feel free to go ahead and ask my parents for a ransom.” you tilt your head up confidently. Or try to act confidently. You were actually panicking and formulating alternative plans if he doesn’t accept the offer. Maybe you should have just swung your sword and chopped his head off just now when you had the chance. 

But some weird part of your heart told you not to do it. That intuition you always trust. 

This man might have some use to you later on. You decided. 

“So, what do you think?” you pushed him again. 

Nikolai stared at you with a serious expression on his face, calculating all the odds. 

“Alright.”

“You.. you agree?” you replied, with surprise in your voice. 

“Why are you so surprised?” he laughed at your shocking expression.  

You made an unlady-like face, “Because you are my enemy? The one who attacked us? A pirate?”

“You never have to be scared of me, Lady MacTavish, I might be a Privateer…”

“Pirate.” You reiterate it again. “You just ransack a merchant ship that is technically owned by The crown, so you are not a privateer.”

“Fine, Pirate. I might be a pirate, but I do have a set of  morals and standards I follow.”

“Is that so? Maybe you should be weary of me instead, Captain.” you smirked. “You never know if I might just poke your eyes out during your sleep.”

“You are not brave enough to do that.” he taunted. 

“Watch me.” you smiled, taking a step forward and jabbing his chest with your finger, deliberately digging your nail into his flesh. “What MacTavish promises, MacTavish will do.” 

Xxxxx

Johnny MacTavish waited at the port with excitement. He hasn’t seen his sister for a few months, and was quite eager to see her again. 

But what shocked him and his friends and fellow soldiers when they saw the Treasurer finally docked at the port days behind schedule, with no cargo to unload, only with a very dejected and injured crew walking off the ship.

Without you. 

Johnny rushed towards the Captain of Treasurer, who looked at him with an apologetic expression as he pushed a letter and ring into Johnny’s hand. 

“Please give this to Johnny, along with the letter.” You pushed the gold ring with the family signet along with a hastily written letter into the Captain’s hand. “You and the crew should be alright until you reach the port. The luck should follow with my ring. Not a worry there.”

“My lady…”

“Go. I will be alright. I’ll make sure of that. Oh, please make sure my poor maid is well compensated. I wouldn’t be surprised if the poor girl decided to run away from the job the moment she arrived at the port.” 

Johnny gripped onto the letter with a shaky hand. Pirates!! Pirates have taken his precious sister!!! 

“What is going on here? Where is your sister Johnny?” A gruff voice behind Johnny made him 

“Captain Price..”Johnny took a deep breath and turned towards his own Captain,with the rest of his crewmates following behind him. Johnny took a deep breath in, as calm as he could and slowly explain the situation to him, along with Captain of Treasurer. 

“... Did you say Nikolai?” Captain Price frowned when he heard the name mentioned.

“Of Chimera. Who claims he was a privateer for the Crown.” Captain of the Treasurer added.

“ … Shit.” Captain Price lowered his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That muppet…” he mumbled. 

Johnny’s eyes flashed with surprise, but before he could ask the question, Kyle Garrick, the young soldier who became fast friends with Johnny since the day he joined, perked up, “Captain.. You know this Privateer.. Or the Pirate that kidnapped Mini?” he asked.

“Worked with him a few times actually. Under the command of the Crown. He is an extremely capable sailor and soldier. People often underestimate how destructive he could be. I am surprised Mini managed to strike a deal with him to let the crew leave with just losing the cargo. ” Price commented.

“Also with her.” Johnny growled. Glaring at the Treasurer’s Captain as he speaks.

“Not his fault Johnny. She made a valiant effort to try to reduce the casualty and losses to minimum. You should have seen her on the deck. Swinging the Claymore around like a true Scottish woman.” one of the crew walked past, trying to defend their Captain. 

Johnny let out a faint smile as he heard the crew describe how you challenged the pirate, the bravery, that's the stubborn Mini he knows.

Johnny shook his head. No, this is not the time to admire his sister’s bravery. Her life and also her… her virtue is in danger here! He looked pleadingly to his Captain, hoping he would come up with a plan or help him to rescue his sister, with or without Crown’s permission. 

“I want to say you should be worrying for your sister but..apart from that muppet shouldn’t have attacked a Crown owned ship.. It’s Nikolai that might be in more danger here.”

“.. HUH.” Everyone looked at Captain Price with confusion. 

“ I am actually more worried for Nikolai…he might have met his match.” Price mumbled cryptically. 

“... I .. I don’t understand, Captain?” Johnny asked, perplexed by his Captain’s words.

“Trust me on this one, Mini should return without harm.” Price patted Johnny’s shoulder. “But we still need to go chase after them.. Stupid idiots need to be reined in before this gets into further trouble with the whole British Isle.”

Oh Mini, what mess have you got yourself into? Johnny wondered. All he knows Ma and Da and their ancestors will be half proud of what you have done but also twist his neck off if he doesn’t get you back to safety fast enough. 

prompt used for 141 challenge:

Alternate Universe/AU

Enemies to Lovers

Dare/Bet

You never have to be scared of me

Tag list:

@homicidal-slvt @nrdmssgs @siilvan @roosterr @preciouslittlecreature @gamergirlbones @whydoilikewhump @alypink @ashwasherelol @okayyadriana @liyanahelena @miyabilicious @caramlizedtomatoes @celshideout @merkitty49 @abbeyrjm-blog @shyravenns @okamimarta @gazs-blue-hat