#the lack of fics for him is a travesty

[redrobin-detective]

Robin Robin what do you mean Sam killed Danny did she just yeeted him in the ghost machine Robin Robin please I need answers

Ask and you shall receive but be warned the answers may not be what you are looking for. (IE they are dumb).

So there's technically two canonical versions of Danny's accident, the OG and Memory Blank (s2e1).

The OG happened sometime late summer/early fall of the trio going into high school. The group has been friends for some time (its part canon/part fanon that Danny and Tucker were initially friends with Sam joining later on) and were comfortable enough Dan felt ok letting them over to see his parents' "failed" ghost portal. Sam was intrigued, Danny uninterested on the surface level but secretly curious. Sam encourages him to looks inside, he presses the conveniently placed on button inside and boom, ghost boy.

This recap is made light of in the season 2 opener Memory Blank (my beloathed) while fanon reallllllly runs with Sam's guilt and grief over sorta/almost killing her friend. But I digress, the episode kicks off with Sam and Danny arguing leading her to wishing she had never met Danny out loud. The wish granting ghost, Desiree, overhears and makes it so. Because of this, Danny never had his accident and was completely human with no knowledge of Sam.

This is where the episode upsets me. Sam is upset about losing her friendship with Danny (and Tucker to a lesser extent but they make it creepy 🙄) but its framed as Sam being desperate to get Danny his powers back. If you almost killed your friend in the past and magically got a do over, would you really put him through that again??? There is no real external pressure to make Danny become Phantom again aside from Desiree continuing to grant monkey's paw wishes. Amity Park looks much like it always has, seemingly unaffected by the lack of Phantom. Hell, the portal is still not working so there's a chance there are no other ghosts in town to cause mischief and mayhem. All we see is Desiree who hardly is the worst villain for someone, preferably an adult, to deal with.

Aside from the fact its a cartoon series called Danny Phantom there is no reason for Sam to do this again. And yet she persists in badgering Danny - who does not know her at all - into doing something he has no understanding of the consequences. The lack of informed consent was something that bothered me all the way back when I was 12 watching it live. So Sam makes Danny recreate the accident, making him Phantom again (this time with a logo that Sam slapped on without telling him bc she thought it looked cool. Again!!!! No discussion or anything). We get a few deeply uncomfortable segments of Danny relearning his powers before he magically remembers everything and its back to the status quo except now he's got a logo.

The literal whole point of the episode was to give him a marketable symbol to make him more like a "proper superhero". Sam's selfishness (a character flaw we see woven throughout the series but never meaningfully explored), the lack of consent, the stupid ass plot all combine to create what I think is a travesty of an episode.

I have gotten off topic but, yes, in both cases Sam's curiosity and overbearing nature combined with Danny's more passive personality and sense of wonder to pssp pssp pssp him into the death machine. There has been some excellent fic exploring (in an actual, realistic, interesting way) of the trio coping with Sam's casual suggestion leading to complete biological rewiring, a changed life trajectory, trauma and injury.

[sebastianwallows]

Jealousy

Sebastian Sallow x m!reader

Summary - Request from anon for "i saw you’re taking prompts! could i request an NSFW fic with seb x any gender? whatever you feel like writing- i’m actually genderfluid so i have no preference LMAO- although there is quite a lack of male!reader fics. either way, absolutely anything would be wonderful, perhaps some jealous sebastian for the soul?"

Word Count - 1,447

Warnings - 18+, more dominant Sebastian, characters presumed to be aged up

Sebastian was pacing around the dorm, furious that you had blown him off to go out to Hogsmeade with Poppy. He figured you would be back anytime now since it was nearing time to be in the dorms for tonight. It's not like he was the one out with you getting you up to trouble.

He was mad at you and mad at himself for feeling so jealous. He hadn't told you how he felt, but he should have. Now what if it was too late? What if you didn't feel the same.

He huffed loudly as you came walking into the shared room.

"Well, it's about time you got back," he spat, catching you off guard. You stood before him with a bag in your hands, shrugging your cloak off to hang up.

"Excuse me? What bee is in your bonnet, Sebastian?" You took a seat on your bed that was just across from his, now thinking it wasn't the best time to give him the gift you looked all over for.

"You were supposed to come back here and help me study!" He looked exasperated and you crossed your arms, giving him a funny look.

"And that's suddenly a travesty for you not to study? Since when is that something you're looking forward to?"

Sebastian looked away from you for a moment, a blush spreading on his cheeks as he mumbled, "It is when it's with you. And you just abandoned me."

You look up at him with a little bit of surprise, you stand up move in front of him to where there is a only a small amount of space between you.

"So you missed me?"

You're caught off guard by strong hands holding you in place and a forceful mouth on yours. Once your brain catches up you close the rest of the gap, pulling his hips into yours which makes you both moan.

Sebastian backs you up until your up against the bed and he pushes you forward, falling down softly while he stares down at you.

You wonder how forceful he can get with you, so you continue to be cheeky with him, "It took you long enough to kiss me. Do I have to wait a few more weeks for what's next?"

He smirked at you before crawling between your legs, guiding you to the center of the mattress. His hands cage you in as he starts to place heated kisses on your neck, "I've been thinking about this all day. Could've been doing it much earlier if you stayed here with me."

He used his knee to firmly press up against the erection that felt smothered by your pants. You used that opportunity to take a tight grip of his biceps, rutting helplessly against him.

"Are you needy?" He murmured, before suckling hard enough on your neck that you would have to hide it later.

He sat up on his knees and you watched in a trance as his jacket came off, follow by his tie. You watched his thick fingers undo the buttons of his blouse painfully slow. This combined with the hungry look on his face made you whimper.

Your eyes trailed down his freckled chest, over the fine red hairs that made a delicious path down his stomach and into his trousers. You could tell he was big as he strained against the fabric.

"Don't just stare, why don't you tell me what you want?" He pushed his shirt from his shoulders, popping the button at the top of his pants before hovering over you once more.

He kept his eyes on yours as he untucked your shirt, palming your cock through your pants. He could see the rise and fall of your chest quickening as you struggled for words.

"I want you Sebastian. Not bloody Poppy or Garreth or anybody else. I want you to ruin."

"Ruin?" He asked, fingers running over the sensitive skin of your abdomen, ghosting up to your nipples.

"I think you should be careful what you ask for."

Unable to play his game any longer he makes quick work of your pants, tossing your shoes to the side as he drags them past your ankles, underwear and all.

Your dripping cock fully exposed, twitching from the proximity. His hot breath was so close you felt like you could die on the spot. He nestled himself between your legs, holding your thighs up as he licked a stripe from your sensitive taint, up your contracting balls and circling all around your cock.

You moaned at the sight of his spit strung between you and his lips. He shifted an arm to lick his fingers and rub gentle circles around your hole while leaning into you to take more of your cock.

"Shit, Sebastian..." you whined and felt his arms tense up while he held you in place. He slurped hungrily at your length and you couldn't keep your hips from bucking to meet his mouth. It was so warm and soft, but still you wanted more.

You reached your hand down to his head, tugging lightly on his hair. It elicited a moan that sent vibrations through you, making you tilt your head back and struggle for words.

You pulled harder on his hair, urging him back off of you, "Sebastian, want you to fuck me, please?"

He was looking up at you, an absolute mess with a sly grin on his face.

"You're not going anywhere until I do, I just want to make sure your ready."

Instead of going back for your cock, he dips his head lower and pulls your hips forward and starts circling your asshole aggressively with his tongue. He teases you dipping inside and out, letting his spit dribble out to help loosen you up.

He props his head up, making you jump as he rubs pre-cum from your cock onto his fingers before plunging one finger inside of you.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction, "If this is too much, I'm not sure you can handle me," he muses, pumping his finger in and out slowly.

He uses a wandless incantation to add more lubricant into the mix, teasing you with 2 fingers pressed against your tight hole before going back in and stretching you out.

You squirm against him, your cock red and swollen and making a huge mess at this point. As you beg him for release he decides your finally read and shifts himself up to pull his own trousers.

You gulped when you saw his cock for the first time, it was definitely thicker than anything you'd used before. You craved him inside of you so badly that you lifted your own legs for him, holding them up while you waited on him to position himself and come to your aid.

"You're such an eager little boy for me aren't you?" He lined himself up with your hole, applying a teasing pressure that was driving you both crazy.

He pushed himself in slowly, clutching your thighs in a grip that would surely leave bruises. You panted at the ache it was sending through you, forcing yourself against him until you had all of it in your tight ass.

"Fuckin' hell I can't believe you're taking it all," he muttered before he started to lose himself in the feeling and thrusting in and out of you. He started slow, but as he got more aggressive and you could feel him hitting your most sensitive spot you begged him for more.

He obliged, fucking you had and fast. You and Sebastian both a mess of sweat, grunting and searching for words as you rode through the ecstasy. His balls slapped noisily against your ass and you felt yourself about to cum.

"S-Sebastian, I- I'm going to-," your words fueled him to the point where he refused to even let you finished the sentence.

"That's right cum for me, cum when I'm not even touching your dirty cock," like that you ground your teeth together and your eyes rolled back into your head as hot spurts came out and landed on your own chest.

Sebastian was unrelenting in chasing his own orgasm as well, making you feel light headed as he pounded into you. With a loud grunt he slammed into you, rotating his hips as he leaned down for a sloppy kiss while he came inside of you.

He went limp against your chest, breathing heavily with you as you stuck together. He looked up at you, face flushed as he ran a hand through your hear.

"See, this could already be round 2 or 3 if you stayed home today."

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Pretty Cute

Morpheus (Dream of the Endless) x male!reader

So I noticed there was a CRIMINAL lack of male!reader fics for Morpheus, and that’s just a travesty if you ask me. So as the saying goes, when you want something done, you do it yourself. To all my lovely mlm brothers/siblings in the Sandman fandom, this is for you! Love you, dearies. *blows kisses* Now enjoy! 

(If it’s unclear, you work at a library at the circulation desk)

Since you’re dating the King of Dreams, your relationship with him is very private. And you like it that way... but you’d like it more if your fellow library employees weren’t so obsessed with learning more about him. 

There were many things you loved about Morpheus. He was a sweet, loving man behind the cold front. He cared so deeply, despite initially being guarded, not wanting his heart crushed by the person he felt so strongly for. You felt honored, almost, that you got to see this caring side of him. Yes, you loved Morpheus.

The only thing you didn’t love about being with Morpheus…

“Soooo, any plans with your boyfriend tonight?”

… was that your co-workers had become obsessed with him.

Don’t misunderstand, you loved your library job. After a string of jobs with terrible work environments and even worse co-workers and bosses, the library was heaven. Good hours, good pay, and you had become friends with all the other people that worked there. You’d subjected Morpheus to countless regalements of your job, whether it be about the kids you met, your co-workers, or the antics of patrons, and he always listened with a sweet smile.

Your co-workers meant well, you knew that (or at least hoped). You also hadn’t dated anyone in a while before meeting Morpheus, which meant they were overjoyed for you. But that also meant they were curious about the man who, as Tracey the romantic put it, had stolen your heart and carried it with him.

“Don’t you have to go do book drop?” You asked Katie rather than answer the question.

“Caroline’s doing book drop. Now answer the question!”

You sighed. “Yes, we do have plans. He’s going to take me back to… to his place.” You weren’t entirely sure how to say he was going to take you to the Dreaming.

“Oooh, Y/N’s gettin’ some action,” Bek crowed from where they were processing books.

You could feel your face turning red. “Shut up, Bek,”

Bek laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’ll be the kind of disgustingly romantic date you deserve.”

“Is Y/N going out with his boyfriend tonight?” Caroline popped up from coming back from shelving books. “Does this mean we’ll get to meet him finally?”

“No, I’m supposed to meet him when I get home,” you replied. In all honesty, you were glad Morpheus never showed up to your job. You could handle your nosy co-workers, but they would definitely ask him millions of questions and you weren’t sure if he would be ready for that.

“Are you going to have a movie night or something?” Caroline asked interestedly.

“That is classified information,”

“Y/N, when are we going to meet him?” Liv asked as they perched on a surface with their water bottle. “Does he have social anxiety? ‘Cause that’s totally valid.”

“Well… sort of…”

“Ohhh, does he just hate people?” Your hesitant silence seemed to answer their question. “Hey, I totally get that. I hate talking to people I don’t know.”

“But we’re Y/N’s friends,” Bek said as they cleared their workspace. “He’s going to meet us eventually, right?”

“Not if Y/N keeps being so secretive about him,” Katie teased. “We don’t even know his name or what he does.”

“I bet he’s secretly a psycho,” Liv stated as they hopped off the desktop. “Like, he killed a bird once and it released so many endorphins that he’s always wondered how to make it happen again.”

“How cheerful, Liv,” you said dryly. “And no, he’s never killed a bird. He loves birds, actually.” You wondered what would happen if Matthew heard Liv say that. 

“Oh, sweet,”

“So does he work with birds?”

You sighed exasperatedly. “No, Katie. He just likes them.” Before she could say anything else, you stopped her. “Don’t you have MelCat holds to trap?”

“Oh yeah, I actually do. I forgot about them.”

You watched in relief as she went off to take care of the MelCat holds, and went back to checking your email. The Circ Two desk was usually slow around this time of day.

“So… is he a writer?”

“Katie!” You threw your hands up in frustration and turned to look at where she sat at her desk.

“I’m just asking!” Katie defended herself. “From how you describe him, he sounds like a writer!”

“No, he’s not a writer,” you said firmly. “Just like how he’s not secretly a psycho.”

“Hey man, he could be,” Liv argued from where they had replaced Bek processing books. “Or maybe he’s a writer AND a secret psycho like Ric Madoc. You guys hear what happened to him?”

You only knew his name from how many holds had been placed on his books. They were pretty popular. “No, what?”

“Guy had a meltdown at a book reading and wrote on the walls with his own blood, then told someone he had a woman locked up in his house.”

You couldn’t help balking at that. “Jesus Christ, seriously?

“Okay, to be fair, they didn’t find anyone when they searched the house, but still. Crazy. You sure your boyfriend’s never written with his own blood?”

“I’m sure we all want to know more about Y/N’s partner,” Sara suddenly appeared, much to your relief, “but he’ll tell us when he’s ready to.”

“Thank you, Sara,” you said gratefully, nodding and gesturing to her. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“… But it would be nice to know his name,”

You turned to give her a look of utter betrayal. “Et tu, Sara?”

Sara have you a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Y/N. You don’t have to tell us his name if you really don’t want to. It’s your life, not ours.”

It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sure if you even could explain Morpheus to them. How could you say to your fellow human co-workers that you were dating the personification of all their dreams?

“Listen,” you said, trying to be as gentle yet as firm as possible, “I know you guys mean well, and I know you want to look out for a friend, but Sara’s right. I like my privacy, and my partner likes his privacy too. I’ll tell you more about him when he and I are ready to. But I’m happy; I swear, I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been with him. He’s… incredible. Just amazing.” You didn’t realize that a smile was forming on your face as you thought of Morpheus. “Okay?”

Your co-workers were quiet for a moment, then Katie sighed. “Okay.” She smiled at you. “I’m glad you’re happy, at least.”

“Yeah, you deserve it, man,” Liv agreed, nodding.

“Absolutely,” Caroline echoed.

Your smile widened at their response. You really did love this motley bunch. “Thank you, guys,”

“You’re always welcome, Y/N,” Sara said with a kind smile. “Now Caroline, I think you’re supposed to do the book drop?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And with that, your work day continued. You went on your lunch break, shelved some books, manned the front circulation desk, and eventually returned to the back desk. The whole time, your mind was on thoughts of Morpheus and your date tonight. You missed him… even though you’d seen him a few days ago. But you couldn’t help missing him when he got so busy ruling over the Dreaming. Maybe over the weekend you could visit Lucienne and catch up with your favorite librarian (not that you told the librarians at your job that).

You couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if he knew of his popularity with your co-workers. He no doubt knew who they all were from their dreams. Would he be amused, or annoyed? You felt like he’d be annoyed.

It was the last hour of your shift when it happened. Liv was up at the front circulation desk, while you were once more at the back desk, going over your assigned reports and grumbling about how that damn library was dragging their feet putting the stupid book in transit.

“Hi there!” You heard Liv chirp as they usually did when a patron came up to the desk. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I am looking for Y/N L/N.”

You froze. No… that wasn’t… why was he here?

Your heart began to quicken in pace as you got up from your chair. He’d never come to the library while you were working before.

To Liv’s credit, they didn’t realize who it was at first. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Y/N L/N. He works here.”

“Um… I’m sorry, but I don’t—”

“It’s okay, Liv,” you interrupted as you walked out to the front desk. “I know who he is.”

And sure enough, there he was, standing at the desk in a black pea coat, black clothes, and presumably his black combat boots. Morpheus. He looked up, and his face immediately softened when your eyes met.

Your heart raced even faster, and you smiled back. “This is a surprise,” you couldn’t help saying.

Morpheus gave a tiny shrug.

Liv was looking between the two of you in confusion… then realization dawned on their face. “Is he…?” They pointed at him.

You sighed and nodded. “Yes, Liv. It’s him.”

A grin of pure excitement crept onto their face as they turned back to Morpheus. “It is so great to finally meet you!” they exclaimed. “You’re pretty famous around here! We’ve been dying to know about Y/N’s boyfriend that hopefully treats him like the king he is.”

You had to fight back a laugh at the blank look Morpheus gave them. He blinked once. “I…” he awkwardly trailed off.

“Liv,” you came to his rescue and tapped them on the shoulder, “I think you’re overwhelming him.”

“Oh! Oh, sorry,” they apologized. “Actually, I think that guy over there is coming back with some donations, so… I’ll just. Go. Do that.” They awkwardly waved at Morpheus. “Nice to meet you.”

Morpheus dipped his head at them. Liv respectfully didn’t say anything else and went to go get the mentioned donations.

You stepped closer and gave Morpheus a loving smile, wishing you could kiss him right there in the library. “You’re early,”

A smile appeared on his handsome face. “I missed you,”

“I missed you too. But… why are you here?”

“Do you not want me here?”

“No! God no, I am so happy to see you. But you’ve never come to the library before. I thought you were going to meet me at my house.”

“I was.” Morpheus leaned in closer. “But I missed you too much, my love.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “You are amazing, you know that?”

Morpheus’s smile widened affectionately. Then he glanced over your shoulder. “Is it true what Olivia said?”

“What?” You turned around to see Liv’s silhouette in the tinted window that showed the back room. Katie and Corey’s shadows were there too, and Liv was waving their hands around in the animated way they did when they got excited. “Oh,” you sighed sheepishly. “Yeah, they… they’re really curious about you. They get really nosy sometimes, probably more so because I never tell them anything. I’m sorry Liv said that to you.”

“Why have you not told them anything?”

“Well, I know you like your privacy, and I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed by them.” You couldn’t help laughing softly. “They’ve got a million questions about you.”

“Perhaps one day…” Morpheus mused.

You blinked in surprise. “Really?” You couldn’t help the delighted smile. “Great, because I have wanted to brag about my amazing boyfriend for ages now.”

“Is that why you are with me?” Morpheus said in a teasing voice. “For the bragging rights?”

“Well, not the only reason,” you chuckled. You gave into temptation and leaned across the counter to kiss him on the cheek. “I am also madly in love with you.”

The widest smile you’d ever seen so far graced Morpheus’s face. “As I am with you, my love,”

You blushed happily… then remembered where you were. “W-Well, listen, it’s,” you looked over your shoulder to check the clock behind you, “4:40 right now, so I get off in twenty minutes. Do you want to sit and wait until then? Or you can go back to my apartment and wait there.”

“I will wait here,” Morpheus decided. He gave you a soft smile that made you melt. “For you, I would wait for hours.”

“G-Great,” you managed through your wide grin. “Th-The, uh, the mystery section is over there.” You pointed in the direction of the mysteries. “Th-The fiction is before it.”

“Thank you.” He gave you one last beautiful smile. “Perhaps I will ask for a library card.”

You managed a breathy laugh as he turned around and headed for the mystery section.

When you returned to the back desk, you were met with Liv, Katie, and Corey, who all had eager smiles on their faces. “Soooo?” Katie asked.

Your face turned red. “Shut up, Katie,”

“Aww, he’s so red!” Corey teased. “I understand why; he’s cute.”

“Can all of you please stop?” 

“So you admit that he’s cute,” Liv said smugly.

“You know what…”

You trailed off, then turned to look out the tinted window in the direction Morpheus had gone. You smiled, and turned back to your endearingly nosy friends. “Yeah. He is pretty cute.”

[tiniedemon]

WEASLEY TWINS . . . kenny mccormick / reader

movie nights as a friend group were usually a hit or miss. there was always popcorn, snacks, sodas, juices, all taking up table space on kyle’s dining room table. he had the largest house out of the four of you, so it only made sense to hold them there.

tonight’s movie of choice was weeks in the making, the final harry potter movie having finished a few moments beforehand. you and kyle had already seen them, the both of you having been raised on the books and the movies coming out. one of your core childhood memories was going to see the sorcerer’s stone in the cinema when it had just come out.

“what did you guys think?” you asked, practically vibrating with excitement. kenny, your boyfriend of six years, slid his hand into yours, his palm flattened and fingers curled to brush your knuckles.

“in my very, very humble opinion, harry potter reigns superior to all other books and movies,” kyle drawled. it was quite obvious he was an avid lover of the series, seeing as he spent every harry potter movie night clad in his ravenclaw quidditch jersey, the horcrux locket hung from his neck and a lightning bolt scar drawn on his forehead in liquid eyeliner.

you were no better, sporting your house’s tie and matching scarf around your neck, sirius black’s wand replica held tightly in your free hand through the entire series. it was clear which characters were your favorite, sirius’s wand and the locket associated with regulus black being key indicators of both yours and kyle’s favorite pureblood brothers.

“honestly,” stan started, a pair of empty framed round glasses perched on his nose and a hufflepuff sweater wrapped around his top half. “i didn’t entirely hate it. maybe you guys aren’t all that delusional for obsessing over it.”

you roll your eyes, leaning forward to grasp the handle of your mug of butterbeer settled on the coffee table. you and kyle had spent years perfecting your real-life rendition of butterbeer, down to the consistency of the fluid and the fluffiness of the foam. in your very humble opinion, it was perfect. it left the perfect foam mustache, slid down your throat easily, and when spiked with a neutral rum, it was the perfect party beverage.

“of course we aren’t delusional, stan. there’s a reason harry potter has such a big fanbase.” you pause, your mug hiding your smile as you prepared to sip from it. “you should see the amount of ridiculous fanfictions about it. i only wish there were more sirius fanfictions out there.”

“there are fanfictions?” stan practically squeaked, looking rapidly between you and kyle. kyle gave a roll of his eyes, fingering the soft fabric of his handmade ravenclaw quilt.

“of course there are fanfictions, stan, but that’s not important right now. did you just say there isn’t enough sirius fanfiction? he’s got loads. the real travesty is the lack of regulus fics that don’t involve fucking james potter,” kyle spoke, eyebrows furrowed. you rolled your eyes, settled your mug back on the table, and fully leaned into your silent boyfriend.

“kyle, darling, as a moony kin i am absolutely devastated that my moody pureblood doesn’t have as much content as, say, draco malfoy.”

“draco‘s got fanfiction?” kenny asked, finally joining in your conversation. you shot him a disgusted look, curling up your top lip and scrunching your face.

“you like draco?” you asked, highly judgemental in tone. kenny rolled his eyes, pressed a kiss to your cheekbone.

“we all have a type, love. mine just so happens to be beautiful, judgemental people,” he mumbled into your temple, a frown on your lips from the backhanded compliment.

“if it’s any consolation, my favorite pureblood is bill weasley,” stan speaks up, drawing your attention to him.

“that honestly makes sense,” kyle drawled, fidgeting with the tv remote.

“wait,” you interject, a smile on your face. “which harry potter characters would we all be?”

there was a round of silence as you all mulled it over, your question for once taken deadly seriously.

“honestly, you and kenny are very remus and sirius. maybe the weasley twins, in a totally not-creepy-or-incest way,” kyle spoke. you gave a victorious smile, kenny reaching around for a fist bump that you indulged him in.

“kyle, i feel like you’re a mix of hermione and ginny. you’ve got, like, the intelligence of hermione and the snarkiness of ginny,” stan hummed, tossing a grin towards the ginger huddled on the couch. kyle seemed pleased, his eyebrows lifting as he acknowledged the statement.

“stan is so snape. he’s got the brooding ass attitude and the hidden romance for his best friend,” kenny mused, laughing boisterously at stan’s pink cheeks and scowl.

“i am always so nice to you,” stan whined. “and you’re always such a fucking asshole to me.”

“i’m just telling it like it is,” kenny defended, raising both his hands to protest his innocence.

“i changed my mind,” kyle hummed. “kenny, you’re draco. you’re an asshole and you don’t feel bad for it.”

kenny guffawed, looking to you for support. you shrugged your shoulders, giggling at the betrayal unfolding before your very eyes.

“i can’t defend you if they’re right,” you said through giggles. kenny huffed, blowing a few hairs away from his face. you pressed a kiss to the pout on his lips and leaned into him, knowing that by the time you got home, he’d have completely forgotten the events that transpired that night.

movie night was a disaster, as it usually was, but at least you could walk away knowing you were a weasley twin. in your books, that was an absolute fucking success.

[multiverse-imagines]

I didn't even know Vash exist (via anime not reality ( T^T)) until I read your fics, and I'm blaming you for making me fall for this sweet dork 😤💘

So I want to make a request as compensation, if it's alright with you 💌👌😌

Military Nurse Reader, goes on a camping trip as a break/vacation, but wakes up in a desert.

Military Nurse Reader, seeing someone bleeding and immediately goes to duty mode.

Vash wakes up confused in a blanket fort with his wounds disinfected, and stitched/patched up. (He doesn't know what a tent is)

Military Nurse Reader, finally remembers/recognizes Vash and is currently holding back from fangirling/fanboying loudly outside the tent.

How would their interaction/adventures/relationship be?

Any headcannons???

I'm a sucker for isekai fics and love stories 😩💗

A/N: Welcome to the Vash Cult, Home of The Vash Simps! I'm also a sucker for Isekai tropes, so long as I fall into the arms of this man ❤️ this concept is so cute!

S*A*S*H: Stampede's Assistant Surgical Hospital

Ah, the sweet open air of the mountains! Crisp and clear of the pollution of the world! The sun was warm on my skin as I left my jeep behind, and made my way up to the trail, backpack and tent slung over my shoulder. I made my way to the little spot I always went to, where I knew I wouldn't be disturbed. I habitually scanned through the forest for possible predators and intruders. A flinch snapped across my face as my memories recalled a particularly dreadful wound I stitched up last month. I shook the thought away as I found my spot next to a river and set up camp. I heated up a can of spaghetti-o's over the fire, and did some light reading before I went to bed to the sound of the crickets. The hike up here and decrease of oxygen had taken a lot out of me today.

At some point after gaining consciousness, I noticed the lack of bird calls. The rolling gurgle of the river was gone. The tent was incredibly toasty, and I peeked out of the little window as I peeled my now sticky sleeping bag off of my sweat drenched body. A desert as far as the window allowed me to see.

Except…. A red spot in the sand. Rubbing my eyes to clear the sleep from them, I saw the outline of a civilian. A red coat draped on their body. They weren't moving. I unzipped the entrance to the tent, giving a quick glance for additional assailants before scrambling out towards them.

Despite the scent of the desert, the smell of blood rose above it. The civilian was a blond man, 6'2 probably, didn't look too heavy. A pool of blood was forming under his left side. I had to treat him.

Lifting him up, he whimpered in his unconscious state. I hauled him twenty, maybe thirty feet, back to my tent. So much for my new sleeping bag.

In my nurse driven mindset, I hardly noticed the complex clasps in his coat as I unbuttoned them to locate and access his wound. Peeling a complex vest piece off, I found it within seconds.

A bullet wound, a 9mm round, it looked like. Good thing I brought my med pack with me. I wondered how much blood he'd lost. I couldn't just do a transfusion. I didn't know his blood type, or have any transfusion equipment. Not the priority here. I gotta get that bullet out, and stop the bleeding. Stitch him up.

The next few minutes were a blur as I fixed him up. Once I was certain the bleeding had stopped, I could finally take a moment to look at the resting man before me. His ruffled blonde hair was plastered to his face, and his face was peaceful. No matter what a patient went through, they always looked so peaceful while they slept, their mind blissfully unaware to what it would awaken to.

The exposed chest of this man was… a travesty. Riddled with scars and outright disgustingly unintegral patch up jobs from what appeared to be previous injuries. And yet… these scars looked familiar to me. From the inside pocket, a pair of wired sunglasses poked out. Gently removing them, I unfolded them to see a very familiar pair of w wire, orange lens sunglasses.

"V-Vash the Stampede…." I felt myself whisper. Quickly returning the shades to their rightful place, I got up and left the tent. The sands of my new desert surroundings and newfound patient were confirmation enough. I'd been brought to the planet Gunsmoke, or No Man's Land. What was the difference again? Didn't matter.

I was finally in his presence. The man who inspired my career as a nurse. The man who insisted on fighting for love and peace despite the war he waged. The man who had such futile efforts on making sure everyone lived in the end. Vash the Stampede.

-

Vash awoke with a start, unaware of where he was. He was in some sort of building made of a cloth mesh. A few netted windows allowed the wind to pass through, easing the heat inside. He reeled in pain, feeling the bullet wound he'd taken in his side.

Through the pain, he noticed a large backpack, some cooking dishes, and large jugs with water in them. They had labels on them of… mountains? Something he'd only heard about from Rem. The wall of the building unzipped, and a beautiful person stepped into the building, their eyes full of emotions he could only describe as sadness, or loneliness. Something that those who have seen true pain and heartache can emote. They kneeled down to his bedside, as the tent was too short for them to stand to full height in.

"Hey, you're awake. I was worried you'd lost too much blood." Their voice seemed relieved. Didn't they know who he was?

"W-Where am I? What's this… building?" He asked, feeling the material of the floor.

"My tent? I suppose you don't have tents here. Not sure where we are, though." They shrugged. They introduced themself as a lieutenant from a military medical hospital.

"I found you out there in the sand with a pretty bad bullet wound. I managed to patch you up with what I had though."

"Thank you, lieutenant, you really saved my skin." He smiled gently.

"It's my job, Vash. No one deserves to die alone in a shitty place like this." They shrugged.

"A-ah, so you do know who I am." He seemed to sweat more.

"Don't worry, you're safe here. If anything, I'm on your side." They smiled. His side? No one had really told him that before, "Please rest for a bit. I'll get us some food. Good thing I always over prepare for my camping trips." They chuckled to themself. They pulled out cans of food with labels Vash hadn't seen before. Spaghetti-o's, peaches, pears, green beans, soups. These foods were all very perplexing to Vash. They popped open a can of peaches. They took a metal extending fork out of a pouch on the side of their bag. They stuck the fork into the open can and handed it to me.

"If you don't like them, I can give ya something else and I'll eat those." Their face was kind. He took a little crescent shaped piece onto the tines of the fork before slipping it into his mouth. It was quite sweet, and it was slimy in a tasty way! He gave a hum of satisfaction and kept eating. The lieutenant opened a can of pears with a smile, grabbing another fork for themself.

"Here, try this." They held a dripping pear slice in his direction. He happily chomped down on the fork. Pears were definitely less flavorful than peaches, and they had a funny, almost grainy texture. It was good though! He nodded and returned to his own can of peaches.

"I guess they didn't have these on the seed ships… Did they?" Their voice was a melancholy whisper. Vash lowered the can, and peered over at them. How did they know about what would or wouldn't have been on the ships?

"S-sorry, I didn't explain myself." They dipped their head as they explained their situation so far, and the fact that Vash and his world was a work of fiction on their planet.

"Ah, so that's how you know me. Well, I wouldn't mind showing you around, and helping you adjust. It's the least I can do since you saved my life."

In the months after that, The Lieutenant joined Vash on his adventures as his personal doctor. The Humanoid Typhoon didn't do a good job of taking care of himself, so The Lieutenant opted to patch him up when he got hurt, and make sure he was in good health, always. They got to meet Vash's friends, Wolfwood, Milly, Meryl l, and any other along the way, and would patch them up as needed as well.

There'd been many times where The Lieutenant would slide in to bandage up the enemy that Vash had just fought, only for them to take The Lieutenant hostage. Thankfully they were no snowflake, and were proficient in many combat tactics. In addition, they were also adept to being on the constant move. Vash was often quite relieved to see that they were able to handle themself. It seemed to lift a little bit of the weight off of his shoulders.

In the mornings, The Lieutenant joined Vash in his morning workouts. Though The Lieutenant didn't carry a firearm, the two of them often sparred with hand to hand combat, something that Vash often enjoyed, believing it was a nice change up.

Their interactions weren't always sunshine and patch up jobs though. Some nights they took turns holding each other as one cried about various things. For Vash, it was his inability to save people, the people he'd lost, and his broken family. For the Lieutenant, it was their homesickness, missing their comrades, and the nightmares of the blood and guts they'd waded through in their own attempts to save those dying around them. The two were purely cut from the same cloth.

"I don't usually like people to see my scars. They aren't very sexy." He dipped his head as the words left his mouth. They were patching up a wound in his upper back, his shirtless torso exposing the gnarly scars underneath.

"Scars are plenty sexy, Vash. I've got mine too, ya know." They said, nearly taking the insult for themself. After they finished dressing his wound, they removed their top layer of shirt, revealing a large scar that trailed down the length of their right arm. Vash spotted another that went from their right side of their collarbone over to the left of their chest. They lifted the left leg of the basketball shorts to reveal another that spanned from hip to knee.

"Also had my head split open at some point, but thankfully my hair still grows there." They returned to Vash's side, cradling his face.

"I see the way you look at me, Vash. If you think I'm sexy, even with my scars, then you're a billion times sexier with all of yours. Never forget that."

It was nearly 6 months before the two shared their first kiss under the light of the stars and the moons. Vash was ecstatic that he finally had someone he could truly call his companion.

"Please stop making swiss cheese out of my boyfriend. There's gotta be enough leftover to marry someday, ya know." The Lieutenant tutted as they pressed a kiss to Vash's bruised cheek.

"Sorry, I just didn't want anyone else to get hurt." He blushed at the implications of getting married someday.

"You failed that mission since you got hurt, dummy." The Lieutenant inspected the bandages of Vash's latest wound, "You matter just as much as anyone else does." They insisted for the millionth time.

[ddarker-dreams]

the lack of monster fics on every platform i know is tragic i fear

you're right, it is a travesty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

... although, i can admit that monster's a tricky series to write for. naoki urasawa is a master at creating characters, coming even close to depicting them in a way that resembles their canon iteration is no easy feat. i rewatched scenes with johan multiple times to try and get his speaking pattern down, but i still nitpick the dialogue i wrote for him to this day 😭 the visual and audio aspects really helps in adding the enigmatic air that makes johan so special. lighting, framing, background music, his calm, soothing voice; replicating that strictly with words is a challenge.

while i've read about some interesting/mysterious characters, i think that the only one that's come close to giving me the uneasy impression johan does whenever he's present is the judge from blood meridian. that book gave me a lot of ideas for how to better depict a character that intrigues the reader. i'll have to try using what i learned the next time i write a johan fic.

it's sad that there aren't more fics for monster, but at least the fanart is absolutely stunning!! some of the works i've seen of johan and tenma look like they belong in an art museum. it's insane.

[hausofmamadas]

NO MAMES KITTEEEE | Bc here we stan a side character with moxie y moda tan shingona

═

✴︎ Good morrow, mi gente 💃🏻💃🏻 ✴︎

Can you actually believe someone asked me to dump summore gifs out into interwebs instead of me unsolicited shoving them down everyone's throat. I know, revolutionary. One for the books really and truly. But I did get an honest to goodness gif request from my df, dear friend @cositapreciosa (with additional support and screaming in caps from @narcolini)

cositapreciosa: *beeeep* hi Kay it's meeee, you said i could send some request your way, may i have a small gif set for our Kitty 👉👈 they can arrive whenever because i don't think i have another kitty fic for the moment, but i'll make sure to do one to baptise the new gifs 😌

narcolini: honestly… there are so few gifs of him that any would be a dream..

Am I woefully behind on react reblogs because I decided to make these??? and work this other Javivid instead Why yes, yes I am!!! I'm so glad you asked you didn't but as my dfs so thoughtfully pointed out, there is a distinct lack of Kitty Paez gifs in these here interwebs, the supply is abysmal, and it was a historic injustice that needed to be corrected esp because there are quite a few bomb ass Kitty fanfics in existence (see ⇢ here and ⇢ here for examples) and any future fics are in desperate need of visual aids and by visual aids, I do mean Bad Bunny shirtless and smiling and laughing like he is literally the sun itself and feeling fucking fine about it

᪥

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Como La Flor

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Los Juniors

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, Boots on the Ground

⌁

Narcos: Mexico - Season 3, La Jefa

⌁

And yeees, yea, I know you said "small gif set for our Kitty," and liiiiike I don't think.... it's not every single scene Kitty's in...? but ngl 👉👈 once I got going 👉👈 kskskskksksksk i couldn't stop. So instead of making 10, I made like 30. I just love him so much, enserio Bad Bunny estaba en una in this role and it's a travesty he wasn't featured more tbh like literally if we could just take every part rat-faced Romeo you know the one i'm talking about, the one with the Beetlejuice jacket, c'mon I'm not the only one who thought it, it's okay, this is a safe space is in and replace him with Kitty, it would satisfy a fraction of my need for more Arturo Kitty Paez. Like mans isn't even really a full blorb for me? Like he doesn't consume my every waking thought I only have so many thoughts and we all know the blorbs those are tied up over skskskks but every time he's on screen, I can't look away and I can't stop smiling?? yes, even when he's doing terrible thinks like street terrorism. So yeah in conclusion, Romeo was a waste and in this here house, Kitty is the one true narcojunior okay.

᪥

PS. some bonus Món gifs that just idk magically found their way into the mix somehow, i have no idea, not sure, no tengo ni idea como han llegado esos ahí, mis cabrones, lo siento pero era impotente pa detener esto

↑ and this was the exact look of satisfaction on my face when i finished all these ↑

═

taglist(have some gifs): @ashlingnarcos @cherixrosa @purplesong1028 @criatividad-e @tinylittleobsessions @cigarettesaftersunset @artemiseamoon @narcos-narcosmx @thesolotomyhan @mandaloria314 @bellinitini @narcosmx @alreadywritten @drabbles-mc @complete-nonsequitur @narcosmx @dashavau

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

I saw that u made a post asking for prompts/just to talk about fandoms. I was meaning to send an ask when I saw it but I forgot 😭😭 heres something different for you: I'm so happy to see that you like futurama as well, that show has such a special place in my heart 😭😭 and the lack of fics (especially freela fics) is actually maddening 😤😤😤 if you want to, could you throw us some freela relationship headcanons?😳😳💖

The original girlboss and malewife! 👏👏

Fry and Leela were probably the first fictional couple I shipped, before I even knew what shipping was. I just knew I really wanted them to end up together

(The lack of fanfic is a travesty, justice for my disaster couple)

Headcanon time!

When Fry and Leela are officially engaged (y'know, without time being frozen in the process) Bender gives a rather dramatic monologue about how he can't believe Leela didn't ask his blessing. Fry's protests that he proposed go unheard. Bender demands (somewhat jokingly but mostly seriously) that Leela asks for his blessing

No, Bender does not tear up when Leela goes along with it and asks, shut up

No one's sure who cried more at the wedding: Leela's parents, or Zoidberg

They get a dog, damn it! 👏👏

They have two kids: a girl and a boy

Fry remembers how much Yancy hated his name, so while he doesn't name his son Yancy, he returns the favour and uses it as a middle name

Their daughter's middle name is Munda, after Leela's mom

The entire Planet Express crew absolutely adores these kids. Everyone has babysat and they all have very different ways of handling the kids

One time, Leela and Fry came to collect the kids to find them doing paperwork with Hermes. They actually seemed to be enjoying it

Cubert just thinks it's low-key weird that the babies whose diapers he's changing are actually his aunt and uncle

Fry tries to imagine his parents babysitting his kids and shudders in horror. He misses them and wishes every day that his parents could have met them, but letting his parents look after them could only have resulted in utter chaos

One time, someone hits on Fry in front of Leela, despite the obvious wedding rings. Everyone expects Leela to lose it and start a fight. Her usual "I'm gonna kick her ass" attitude. Instead, she surprises them all: she grabs Fry and straight up dips him in a kiss instead

Fry loves it

Fry has also surprised everyone (and horrified Hermes) by starting a fight when some drunken idiot wouldn't shut up about how "weird" Leela's eye is

Fry, drunk: "That's my girlfriend!" Kif: "Fry, that's your wife." Fry: "My wife!? Even better!"

Leela: "I wasn't that drunk last night." Amy: "You hit on Fry." Leela: "So? That's not weird, he's my husband." Amy: "You asked if he was single." Leela: "..." Amy: "You kicked over a table when he said he wasn't."

It takes Brannigan a solid year to realise Leela and Fry are married. Kif has tried to tell him, but Zapp never listened and just never noticed the rings. He nearly crashes his ship when he finally notices

What follows is a long, dramatic sob-fest about how he can't believe he wasn't invited to the wedding

He was. He just never read the invitation and tossed it

Overall, Fry and Leela are just an adorable couple. They're not all over each other in public, but they're always seen holding hands or sitting together. The amount of inside jokes they have is ridiculous. They always smile when they see each other

They are going to live a long and happy life together, so help me god

This got way longer than I anticipated, but that's what happens when you have headcanons for years 😁

[slytherslyth]

The Task - OminisxMC

Prologue

.

It was arduous work, being a Squib. Or at least, practically being one. Until Davina's fifteenth birthday, that was all she was to the people who mattered. The family disgrace. The potential cuckoo in the nest.

Or so her father called her, regardless of whether he thought she was listening. For there was no conceivable way she could have been his. A powerful wizard such as himself could never produce such a travesty.

It wasn't for a lack of trying. Davina tried with all her might. She would steal her brother's wand while he was sleeping and try to cast simple spells like Lumos. But it never worked. And they never let up.

Mr Rosier worked at the Ministry of Magic as an Auror. He was very well-known, though not necessarily for his successes. Mrs Rosier was a thin blonde witch with a short temper and hardly any motherly instincts. Both were in all the right social circles and only associated themselves with other Pureblood families.

The Rosiers were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—the highest order of Pureblood families. It was of the utmost importance that they maintained their status; both in blood and in power. They could not tolerate a potential Squib in the family.

When Davina didn't receive a letter from Hogwarts, Mr and Mrs Rosier sent a barrage of nasty letters to the school demanding to know what mistake they made. They got their answer. There was no mistake. "She simply isn't magical enough." Or magical at all.

No matter how much her sister teased her, no matter how much she made her cry; Davina simply could not make anything happen. Mrs Rosier once levitated her, so she was level with the highest roof of the manor, then dropped her to see if any magic would show. She caught her only seconds before she splat on the asphalt with a look of disgust.

They barred Davina from social events. She was forgotten by most and dismissed by all the rest. Mr and Mrs Rosier gushed about their precious Evan and Celine, but never mentioned Davina.

Even from Evan's wedding, she was kept away. She had cried and begged, but to no avail. The answer, as it was to everything in Davina's life, was "no". And that was that.

.

Blindness also proved to be a difficult task—particularly as a member of the Gaunt family. Another family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Gaunts could trace their lineage all the way to Salazar Slytherin himself. They were quite proud of this. Although some thought the amount of snake motifs around their manor to be a bit much.

The Gaunts were a cruel and frivolous family. Mr and Mrs Gaunt did not work. They did not contribute much to society save for their opinions and generous donations to the economy through their unrestrained spending. In their spare time, they enjoyed torturing Muggles for sport with the family's favourite spell. Crucio.

Those without pure blood were believed by the family to deserve death or severe punishment. Muggles were the worst of the lot. The three eldest Gaunt children shared this sentiment, and were proficient casters of Crucio by their second years at Hogwarts.

The youngest Gaunt, however, held a different view. The tortured screams of his siblings' victims brought him no pleasure. Oftentimes it was he who was his siblings' greatest victim. When he would not torture Muggles, they would instead cast Crucio on him. They would knock him over and scream in his ears. They hid his belongings and moved furniture around so he would crash into things.

While the Gaunts were cold and cruel and greedy, Ominis was gentle, and occasionally shy.

And while he and Davina had similar upbringings; there was one thing they had in common that would bring them closer than ever.

The task.

See the next chapters of this fic (already posted) on Wattpad. 

[blackwell-academys-airdrop]

For the ask game 6,8 and 25

6. which ship fans are the most annoying? uh. No offense intended whatsoever, but I simply do not vibe with Grahamscott (the gay one). I mean, I guess I see the appeal? But it just kinda rubs me the wrong way a little. I think it's cuz it's a very popular (I might even call it overrated) mlm ship in a very wlw-oriented game and fandom. It's like, there's 5 times more mlm on AO3 as opposed to wlw last I checked. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with mlm; it's just not for me, and it's something that gets hyped up a LOT in fandom spaces, often to the detriment of wlw, het, and other ships.

Anyway. Very popular ship for what I would go so far as to call a crack pairing. (The inherent homoeroticism of, uh... beating a guy up so hard he has to go to the hospital?) Want proof? Here are the most popular relationships (platonic inclusive) in the Life Is Strange fandom on AO3 as of the time of writing:

There are more Grahamscott fics than there are Marshfield fics (admittedly not by a lot), and that's a travesty.

FANDOM-WIDE CHALLENGE: Write >17 Marshfield fics so we can knock Grahamscott out of 4th place!

I reiterate: I do not hate Grahamscott, nor do I hate those who ship them. It's got a lot of (non-uwu softboy, mind you) potential. It simply isn't for me.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about Bae or Bay Before the Storm is not a bad game. Actually no wait I'll save that one for 25.

Hm.

How bout this: William was NOT a perfect dad. He was a good one, for sure, but remember: our idea of his character is rose-tinted with Chloe's and Max's overwhelmingly positive memories of him. "That's one thing he left us: wonderful memories." (I paraphrase) I'd like to see his flaws explored a bit more.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing I've said it already and I'll say it again: Before the Storm is not a bad game. It's not a great game, and it definitely doesn't live up to the original, but it's a good game.

High points of the game (keep in mind I haven't watched/played the game in about 4 years):

Steph

Interesting take on a young Nathan

CUNSn

The SMASH scene (brought me close to tears. The controllable helplessness of it all, God)

Steph and Mikey

Skip

EN FUEGO UTERO

I LOVE what they did with Samuel actually

The take on Rachel was really interesting, especially the whole backstory thing and the actress mindset

FIRE POWERS FIRE POWERS

I'm intrigued by the drawing of an older Max hanging from a noose in a tree in Chloe's journal. WHAT does that IMPLY, WHAT does that MEAN

Steph

Barb the Barbarian (I named one of my DnD characters that and made her a She-Ra expy)

Chloe's dream sequences and general sleepiness (reminiscent of depression)

PUTTING AN ENTIRE CAR BATTERY INTO HER PANTS POCKET

The snitch straight-up admitting to Damon that he snitched was not at all realistic but it was very funny

The play scene, especially if you get all the lines right

Victoria drinking the drugged tea

Farewell, especially the little choose-your-own squirrel story ^w^

Low points:

"tHe StArS aRe DeAd" THAT IS NOT ASTRONOMICALLY CORRECT (I have ranted about this before)

Damon. Everything about Damon. His character, his impact on the plot, everything.

The whole James and Sera backstory was really hackneyed

I am ambivalent about the Backtalk mechanic

The whole third episode was just such a letdown. So much wasted potential

Much like LIS, there are a lot of different subplots, but LIS wove them together well while BTS didn't.

I've reblogged a rant about this before, but Chloe has so very little agency while Max has loads of it! Admittedly, the game is a prequel so some things have to happen no matter what, and Chloe's lack of agency (and unwillingness to acquire it) is a big point of her character, but it does not make for a fun video game protagonist. There are way too many But Thou Must! moments in the story.

The friggin' end scene with Frank fighting off Damon

do NOT retcon that Pompidou was a gift from Damon. do NOT

I'm also ambivalent on the whole Max and Chloe text exchanges retcon. Like, I think Chloe miiiight have reached out to her, but Max would not have responded. The anxiety is simply Too Great.

I am also ambivalent about the Sam & Nathan thing. I wish she'd gotten more characterization than just "sweet kind girl who loves books".

Megan Weaver didn't show up. I wish she had, cuz she was evidently important to Chloe for at least a little while, and we know so little about her

I know there was a strike going on or something but I am sad we didn't have the original VAs :( (but they came back for Farewell, so rejoice!)

Chloe's VA's performance was kinda lackluster

Okay THAT got longer than I anticipated. Sorry. Anyway. There are a lot of good points to BTS. There are a lot of bad ones, too. But hey. Canon is a construct.

[olderthannetfic]

Aaah, I saw the sane-best-friend syndrome ask, and I felt I needed to chime in. And yes, I realize why it's a problem when almost all of the characters suffering from it are black, but I am conflicted because those characters are my favorites 99% of the time. In Sandman fandom specifically, Lucienne is absolutely my favorite, and when Dream basically gave her free reign to run the Dreaming at the end, I jumped on AO3 hoping there will be a 'Queen of the Dreaming' fic with them, only to be so dissapointed when I found there are literally zero fics with them at all.

I made do with Dreamling fics, because Hob does have the sane-best-friend energy to a lesser degree, and the same degree of patience and devotion as Lucienne, but STILL, the lack of interest is a travesty.

(Call me a loser, but I'm an absolute sucker for the 'quiet but strong devotion, patience, and deep mutual respect but takes no shit' relationship, and they fit this perfectly, though Dream has his asshole moments he gets points for working on himself post-fishbowl. It's a work in progress, and I love him for it)

And when Death came for Dream, and was like 'I live you and support you but will give you a kick in the pants because you need it' I was like 'I no longer fear dying if this is the person who will greet me in the afterlife'.

So yeah, that curse of the black-sane-best-friend is absolutely a thing, but GOD I wish it was viewed as a blessing instead.

--

I usually like these characters too, but you're not going to change that most people like ships with more built-in tension that lends itself to obvious fic plots.

These characters and relationships can be harder to write sometimes unless you're just going for tiny slice of life scenes.

[edeniansys]

I need him. absolute travesty the lack of fics for him

look at him

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus part 4

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3

“I will grant them handsome features and beguiling voices,” the maiden whispered, her own voice dripping with honey “that all who great them will be blessed from the meeting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Remus grinned smugly when Romulus was deposited back in in their room, their nanny shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Urghh.” Romulus whined as he hurled himself face first onto Remus’ bed, making his giggling brother bounce from the impact. “But it should have! It always does in the stories!”

What was the point of having a twin, Romulus wondered if they couldn’t even switch places to get him out of boring geography lessons?

Remus poked him until Romulus rolled over onto his side to pout at his brother.

“It’s because I’m better lookin’ than you.” Remus told him cheerfully.

Romulus thwacked him with a pillow. “We’re identical!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus grabbed a second pillow from the floor, “I’m still the cute one!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“Are to – oof!”

The pillow fight soon descended into a wrestling match, their shrieks and giggles echoing through the bed chamber.

Eventually they ran out of breath and Remus flopped back down on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Romulus collapsed on the floor amongst the fallen pillows, batted Remus’ foot away from his face and gazed up at the family portrait hanging above their fire place.

They were identical. The artist had taken care to draw the crown prince a little bigger than his brother, closer to the forefront of the picture, but even so; their hair, eyes, nose - everything was the same.

Romulus glanced up at his brother, who was currently digging snot out his nose with every sign of enjoyment. Romulus gagged. They were not the same -Remus was gross!  

Except.

Everyone said what a handsome young man Remus was growing up to be. How brightly his eyes sparkled.  How confidently he held himself, even as a child. They never said that stuff about Romulus.

Remus shone, even when he was being gross.

“Your voice is better.” Remus said suddenly, snapping Romulus out of his sulk.

“What?”

“Your voice.” The older twin lent over the bed, staring his brother in the eye “It’s nicer than mine, ‘specially when you sing.” Romulus beamed, showing off his gap toothed smile. Their parents had hired teachers to drill both boys on the lute and harpsicord, but Romulus’ talent for singing was all him.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Remus smiled back at him. He’d lost a baby tooth that week too – one of his canines, giving him lopsided fangs. “And you’re way better at crying.”

“What! Well – your feet are stinker!”

“You’re worse at pranks!”

“Well you’re worse at fencing!”

“But l I’m the best at tickling!” declared Remus and leapt from the bed, pinning Romulus with his knee whilst his fingers attacked his brothers armpits.  The younger prince’s peals of laughter and cries for mercy were so loud nanny came rushing back to check on them, finding the future rulers of Notaleveale wrapped around each other on the floor, covered in dust and wearing matching smiles.

“I will grant them strength and creativity.” The mother smiled, she had a thousand eyes and all of them twinkled under the halls many candles “so that their rule will never be questioned.”

“Lord Venchi?”  Romulus asked.

The royal treasurer, normally one of the more composed members of his father council, was pacing the entrance hall alone, what little hair he had left sticking up in all directions as he tugged at it.

“Oh, Your Highness!” The he gasped when he caught sight of Romulus, “oh thank goodness! He-“

Romulus sighed. “What has my brother done now?”

Romulus had spent the morning on a rare visit into town, missing the days council meeting. It was completely unfair -  Romulus attended meetings almost daily, under Julius supervision, as part of his training to one day take over managing whichever aspect of the kingdom bored the future King Remus the most. They were mind numbingly dull sessions and it was only Julius’ steady glare that kept Romulus’ eyes open and his face attentive.

But today, visitors from the far south were attending. Which meant the session might actually be interesting. Which meant Remus got to go, and Romulus was immediately barred from entry. Instead, his father had asked him to represent the family at the ceremonial graduation of the latest batch of city watch recruits. So, instead of hearing tales from beyond the kingdoms borders, he had spent most of the day on a podium waving dispassionately at a crowd of braying onlookers.

It was always daunting, being around so many common folk. They lacked the decorum of the nobles at court. Whilst most seemed content to gape and sigh at him from a distance, there was always one who would shout out ‘my prince, look at me!’, ‘come here!’, ‘kiss my baby!’

Even with his fathers voice ringing in his ears – “no matter what you hear, stay by your guards side until you are back in the palace.” – Romulus had spent the day tense and unhappy, pinpricks of pain dancing in his skull. By the time he was allowed to speak he had quite forgotten his prepared speech and been forced to make up a quick poem on the spot. The crowd had seemed happy enough – the watch captain had tears in his eyes - but he knew neither Julius or his parents would be happy with his improvising once his guards had reported in.

He had hoped to get a few hours alone before the inevitable lecture, and were it anyone else he might have tried to sneak by without getting pulled into whatever chaos Remus had caused.

But Venchi was an old ally, one who had served his father wisely for years and who always took the time to compliment Romulus on his few measured contributions to the councils discussions, or to explain carefully any point he had missed.

He had also seen Remus at council. There shouldn’t have been anything left that the older prince could do to shock him to this extent.

“He-“ the old man looked like he couldn’t quite believe his own words, “He flipped the table.”

Romulus stared at him. The council table was ancient and enormous, made of a stone so old it’s real name has been lost. Moving it was impossible, the palace had practically been built around it.

“The Arkazeii  ambassador is being seen by a healer.” Venchi continued, “but I believe his foot Is broken, I-“

The side door behind them slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the hanging portraits shake. “I said.” Remus roared, a snarl on his handsome face, “Leave me alone!”

His voice was so forceful Romulus found he had taken three steps towards the main door before he stopped himself, face flushing. The order hadn’t been meant for him. Julius, who had clearly been chasing after the young crown prince, was now openly glaring down at Remus, two spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Your highness I must insist-“

“Seriously?” Remus cackled, “You’re insisting?  Juju, honestly, I am not interested in what you have to say.” He barred his teeth at the King’s advisor, eyes wild,  “If my father wants me he can come get me himself but if not you can go and -oh.”

“Hello Remus.” Romulus sighed, giving the shortest bow he could get away with, “I hear your meeting went well.”

Remus eyes narrowed “Hello Romy, have fun getting your butt kissed in town?” he slug his arm around his brother’s neck, adopting a high pitched, sing song tone in apparent impression of the townsfolk “Oh Prince Romulus, you’re sooo clever and handsome and perfect. Won’t you pretty please sign an autograph and let me suck your di-“

“Your highness, please!” Venchi looked disgusted “There is no need for vulgarity.”

“Aww hey Vee! Wow, your hair is really going, you know the balder you get the more you look like my ballsack? Romy – I’m serious, picture him with two heads”  he held up his thumbs and index fingers and positioned them in front of the red-faced treasurer like a frame “I can’t be the only one that sees this.”

“You are.” Romulus snapped, shrugging his brothers arm off of his shoulders, “Did you really break the Arkazeii ambassadors foot?”

“The Arkazeii ambassador deserved it.” Remus snarled, good humour vanishing instantly. “They want to dig up Orenlla till it’s hollow. Use the rock to turn their sky black. Have you heard the stories outta that place? All the chickens are dying, ’s a travesty.”

“The chickens are- what? Just. Whatever. Not liking his trade ideas doesn’t mean you can hurt him!”

Remus eyes were always sparkling. Like a man on the brink of madness. “I can do whatever I want little brother.” He grinned at him with too many teeth, “you should try it sometime.”

“Your sons have all the makings of rulersss” the final fae smiled, her one golden eye glinting in the depth of her cloak. “My gift is for you. I give your children honestly and obedience.” She smiled sweetly, “May they bring you joy.”

“Your father is sick” Julius told him.

I know that Romulus thought but didn’t say. Watching the old man carefully.

They were in Julius practice room, at the top of the northmost turret, where Romulus had spent so much of his childhood.

“There is of course, still hope. And we have the finest healers, from every corner of the Kingdom.” Julius was pacing as he spoke, wringing his hands. It was profoundly odd, to see the old man so unsettled. But he had known Romulus’ father from when they were both boys. He loved him, as much as he was capable of loving anyone, and he loved the kingdom that he helped rule.

So Romulus found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been with what Julius said next.

“Your brother cannot be allowed to take the throne.”

Since Romulus curse had been recognised, his parents had taken great pains to limit the brothers’ interactions, for both of their safety.

Remus could not keep a secret.

Remus was honest. He was honest at their mothers funeral when he’d announced to the mourners that she was ‘a bitch by anyone’s definition’ and honest later than evening when he’d sobbed into Romulus’ shoulder and cried that he would miss her.

He was honest when he announced to Romulus causally, over are rare shared meal, that he dreamed about killing him. “I’d do it with a morning star” he told him, slapping his spoon down onto the head of a roasted tomato and watching the red pulp fly about his plate. “Just like that.”

He was honest when he forced his way into Romulus’ room at night, shook him awake and told him, shaking, that the palace was haunted. That voices whispered to him from every corner - so loud that he couldn’t sleep.

He was honest when Romulus asked him, baffled, why are you telling me this. “I trust you.” Remus admitted, his voice thick, “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Just because he was honest, didn’t mean he was right.

Romulus gazed at Julius, his face carefully blank – a skill he had perfected over many council meetings.- and said “I don’t think you can order me to change our birth order.”

“No.” Julius smiled, and had the decency to look pained. “That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

In this room, Julius had tried every trick to strip Romulus of his curse. And when he failed, he’d dedicated himself to learning every possible way it could be exploited. In order to help protect him, of course.

“Sit there and listen to me until I finish.”

If Romulus didn’t hear an order in full, even if he could guess it, it could be ignored. As a child he’d sometimes escape his teachers simply by running away before they could give him the next task.

“The next time you lay eyes on your brother, kill him. Ensure no one can trace it back to you.”

Vague orders were still orders, and often more effective than those that were too direct. If he couldn’t prevent someone from seeing him, then he would have to kill the witness too in order to obey the instructions in full.

“Let no one know you did it. Tell no one of our conversation”

There was, by now, a long list of things Romulus was forbidden from talking about. It was one of Julius’ favourite orders to give.

“If anyone contradicts this order, ignore them.”

Contradictions were tricky. Normally the most recent order would take precedence, but often enough once the newer order had been completed, the old one would return.

“Do you understand me, Price Romulus?”

Romulus nodded and some of the tension left Julius’ shoulders.

He smiled at Romulus then, and lent over the bush back a strand of hair that had fallen across the young man’s face. He left his hand on Romulus cheek and gazed at him like he really was a kindly old mentor and Romulus his favoured pupil.

“This year, it will be the rise of King Romulus. You will be a just and fair ruler. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

As the second son of a King, Romulus future had never been certain.

His parents discussed it often. He should have become a commander in the army, or a leader of the church or married off to a neighbouring princess and become king in his own right. With all options too likely to lead to discovery however, it had been decided he would stay home, construct a reputation of studious detachment and become his brothers distant advisor.

Help him. Protect him.

Like Julius protected them.

Instead, Romulus ran away and became Roman.

Roman was loud and confident and sprouted poetry and song without hesitation. He basked in the attention from crowds and flirted  with every pretty face who crossed his path. He worked and earned for himself and argued back with anyone who disagreed with him and never sat still if he could help it. He kept Romulus and his memories of home buried so deep sometimes he forgot he’d ever had another name.

Even so, there had always been, at the back of his mind, the paranoia of this day. When he would be found. Recognised. Forced back to Romulus life.

He just didn’t think when it happened it would be so embarrassing.

They’d reached a fork in the road. The Marquis paused and whipped his head from side to side, presumably checking for witnesses although it looked more like he was trying to shake water free from his ears. He stepped in front on Roman.

“You.” He enunciated slowly and loudly “Turn left. Okay? Le – e -e f -t”

Roman stared at him.                                  

He had been kidnapped by an idiot.

With great deliberation he rested all his weight on one foot and turned left. And then kept turning, spinning in a circle a few times until the Marquis hissed “no!” and grabbed his arm.

And then dropped it immediately, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

“You. Just – follow me, alright? This way.”

Roman rolled his eye but did as he was told.  The man could have just told him in the beginning to follow him to wherever their destination was, and Roman would have done so. There was no need to give him a new instruction every few paces. But if the Marquis – what was his first name? Romulus must have known at some point – didn’t know the ins and outs of his curse then Roman wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

They continued on, the Marquis stopping every three feet to stare at him, or repeat some instruction, or glare at a crumpled map in his hands. Roman despaired. Romulus had had a crush on this man.

At first, Roman assumed he would lead him towards the Royal Palace and present his find to the Princess or to whatever other Notalevealian nobles were already here for the coronation. But instead he tugged him away from the wider streets, back down hill towards the main sprawl of the city.

“Where are you taking me, villain?” Roman asked after twenty minutes of marching “because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that street lamp three times already.”

“Somewhere where your little friend won’t be able to help you.” the Marquis muttered, glaring at the lamp in question.

Roman felt his heart freeze. His friend?

He supposed it made sense. There was no conceivable way they could have been followed in the woods. Not without Patton or Virgil noticing. The Marquis must have spotted him in the market and followed from there, which means he would have at least seen Logan, perhaps the others too since he had been at the tavern…

Although why would a noble be at the Stevangie street market?

He tried not to let his anxiety show on his face, puffing his chest out and summoning his most haughty glare.

“Listen to me, lordling, if any harm should come to them I will personally-“

“Them?” The Marquis stumbled, map fluttering to the floor. When he spun to glare at Roman his eyes were enormous. “How many are there?”

Roman blinked, haughty glare ruined by his genuine confusion. “Erm,” he tried “lots?”

The Marquis audibly gulped, but before Roman could even attempt to interpret that the man’s face brightened, his gaze caught on something behind Roman. He smirked, some swagger returning to his step.

“No matter.” He said and grabbed Romans arm, dragging him towards a nondescript building in the centre of the street, unlocking the door and shoving the bard through.

It was a bath house. The back entrance, perhaps, but the damp in the air and smell of scented soap was unmistakable.

Roman tried, in his sleep-deprived, underfed, over-stressed state, to come up with a reasonable explanation for this.

He had nothing.

“Why-“

“Shut up” The Marquis snapped. “Walk that way.” He pushed Roman down a long corridor, past arched doorways through which he caught a glimpse of the bathhouse proper, and into a dusty looking stairwell. He had produced a candle from somewhere, but the dim light did very little to illuminate anything as they gingerly picked their way down.

When they finally reached the bottom floor Roman squinted to see boxes and crates of empty bottles– a storage room? But he had no time to take it all in before he was being dragged through another pair of doors. Two more rooms and another set of stairs later and the Marquis finally stopped.

The room he’d led them to was hot and humid. Sweat dripped down Romans nose after only a few seconds. At first he couldn’t work out what the noise that filled the room was, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the tubes running from the floor to ceiling.

“You’re lucky to see this.” The Marquis had to raise his voice over the rush of running water to be heard “This room is a modern miracle – the lifeblood of the city!”

Steveange’s heated bath houses were famous. So much so even Virgil had heard of them, and he seemed to take pride in knowing nothing about the outside world. Roman had assumed the city must have been built on hot springs or some other natural source, but this was something else.

“The furnace is below us.” The Marquis explained, as he propelled Roman towards the back wall. “The pipes bring water from the river, it’s heated and pumped up and out to every bathhouse in the city.”

He grinned with something like pride as he tapped one of the  pipes above Romans head, making it sing, “Arkazeii engineering and Orenllan iron. Lined with Orenllan copper of course…give me your jacket.”

“But. Notaleveale doesn’t trade it’s ores” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to remove the sweat from his eyes, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Jacket was a generous term – it was a silken red thing, better suited to performances than travelling. But he enjoyed the way it billowed as he walked. The Marquis took it and without so much as a moments respect for the garment, ripped one of the sleeves clean off.

“Hey!”

“You’ve been away a long time.” the Marquis snarled, “you little fae touched traitor.”

Roman gaped at him, even as the man grabbed his right arm and began attempting to tie it to the nearest pipe.

“I used to look up to you” the Marquis continued, “you were everything a Prince should be. But you betrayed your father and put a curse of madness on your brother - all because of your own petty jealousy!”

He squeezed Romans wrist with enough force to leave bruises. And stepped back to admire his handywork. The silky material had no grip and it was painfully obvious the man was not used to getting his hand dirty. The resulting knot looked more like a bow. “You are no prince of mine.”

“Lucius.“ Roman knew he’d known his name. “That’s not true. That’s- that’s not even a clever story! Who came up with that?”

“Shut up.” Some of the panic from the journey had come back to Lucius’ eyes but it faded quickly “And don’t think you can scare me with my name, there is more iron in this room then anywhere else in the city.”

He grinned at Roman nastily. “Your little friends aren’t coming to save you.”

Roman stayed quiet, mind whirling. They thought Remus was cursed?

Well. He was. But not in the way Lucius seemed to believe.

They wouldn’t send a mad man to another kingdoms coronation would they? Had the seller actually been certain Remus was coming?

Tied up, exhausted and with a man who seemed to hate him glaring down, Roman started to giggle in giddy relief.

Lucius stepped back, looking unsettled, before reaching out, roughly grabbing Romans chin and shoving the remnants of his jacket into his mouth. “Stay here,” he told him, slowly and clearly “until I come back with your transport.”

He stood, taking the candle with him to the door. He paused for one moment before leaving, the flickering light illuminating a cruel smirk. “You had better hope I can arrange it before the furnaces come back on.” And he was gone.

Roman glanced above himself into the darkness, where his wrists were strapped tight to the currently cool metal. A rush of fear went through him, finally bringing him down from the giggling hysteria.

Alone In the dark, tried to think.

Roman was a bad friend. He lied to his companions as easy as breathing and took his own fears out on them.

Romulus was a bad prince. He had abandoned his kingdom and his subjects and allowed some sort of conspiracy to spring up in his wake.

But he was a good brother. Remus was alive. And he would stay that way.

After all, this afternoon he thought that Remus was here. That he would have to confront his past, escape the city, evade every member of the Notalevealian court and his  own friends and steal a horse.

Now all he had to do was get out of this basement and outwit one idiot who could barely tie knots and hadn’t even thought to pat him down to check for hidden daggers.

Easy-peasy he thought, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Part 5

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Pasteles de Gloria (part 3)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: T for mature themes (mentions of sex and violence)

Summary: Javier thanks you...appropriately, this time. Connie and Javier have a chat <3

Tags: Mention of blood. Reader starts to have Thots (same, girl)

Word count: 3,740

A/N: So their POVs in this chapter overlap a little bit...sorry if that throws anyone off, I’m still getting used to writing reader insert fics. The dessert and the Spanish are explained at the end :) Enjoy!

Masterlist

--

You hadn’t seen Javier in over a week. The first few days after that conversation had been a whirlwind of emotions- worry over whether you’d said the right things, hope that he might feel the same (plus fear that he wouldn’t), and eventually anger at his total lack of response. Until Connie told you that he and Steve had been sent on some mission.

“Nothing dangerous, but they’ll be gone for a few days. Javi must not have gotten the chance to say goodbye.” Uttered without a second’s hesitation, like it was unthinkable that Javier wouldn’t have explained himself to you if he could.

Maybe Connie knew something you didn’t.

So another several days had passed, with worry becoming the dominant theme; all your other initial feelings faded into the background as you wondered how ‘not dangerous’ DEA work could really be.

You’re settling in for another restless evening when there’s a rap on the door. Your nerves leap and jangle- you aren’t supposed to being seeing Connie again until tomorrow, so who…?

You peer through the cracked door before wrenching it open the rest of the way, your heart roaring in your ears. Javier Peña stands before you. He holds a bottle in one hand and a paper bag in the other, and looks uncharacteristically nervous. You forget you’re theoretically supposed to be upset with him as you stare at each other, wide-eyed.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Uh, sorry I disappeared on you. Boss sent me and Steve on a mission, I had to leave from work.” So Connie had been right on both accounts. He hadn’t had time to call you, and he would have if he could.

When you wait, he continues. “I thought, since I interrupted your evening the last time I was here, I could make it up to you.” He holds up the bottle, which you’re surprised to recall is indeed the same wine that you had opened the night he came to your place after reopening his wound.

You look at him in wonder, but he’s not finished. “Also, well...I can’t bake for shit, but I know somewhere that can. You ever had a pastel de gloria?”  He lifts the paper bag, cracks a small, still-nervous grin.

“I haven’t,” you confirm, an answering smile growing on your face, touched by the sweetness of his gesture and the implications it holds.

“Well, you can try them tonight, because-” his confidence apparently bolstered by your response, he holds the bottle out to you, brow quirking in request. You take it, bemused at the prospect of there still being more to his plan, and he digs something out of his back pocket with an air of presentation. “-I found the sequel to a certain movie while at a market recently. I was going to bring it to Steve and Connie’s but...now seemed like a better time to watch it.”

You almost laugh out loud as you take in the cover of the tape in his hand. It’s the sequel to that movie night travesty, all right. That Javier would do all of this...you hardly know what to say.

You hope whatever expression is on your face is saying it for you, though, as you look up at him. “Thank you, Javier. This is...amazing.” And it is, much more so than would have been necessary to thank you for helping with his leg, or to make up for his unplanned disappearance after you turned down his proposition.

He chuckles, looking down in embarrassment. “You don’t actually have to watch this shit movie if you don’t want to. That part was just a joke.” You could swear he’s blushing, the faintest tinge of color in his cheeks beneath the white hallway lights. “But you should try these pastries, because they are something else.” He offers you the bag, his body shifting sideways slightly, as if he intends to hand off his gifts and then disappear. As if his wide, guileless, puppy dog eyes and the unconscious pout to his lips weren’t begging otherwise.

Well. “Of course I want to watch this shit movie, Javi. As long as you watch it with me.” You give him a teasing grin. “It was much more fun with a spoilsport.”

Relief spills over his features, washing the tension from his shoulders and the breath from his lungs. Turning away toward the kitchen, you miss the true extent of it, leaving the door open for him as you head back inside. “Bring those to the couch, I’ll get us some plates,” you call over your shoulder.

Javier follows more slowly, collecting himself. By the time you join him in the living room, carrying, plates, wine glasses, and napkins, he’s fiddling with your VCR. You pour the wine while he sets it up, although you find yourself distracted by the shifting valleys of muscle in his back beneath his tight-fitting shirt, the bottle in your hands suspended uselessly above a glass. You curse as you almost spill.

“Everything okay?” Javi joins you on the couch, a careful, hesitant distance away.

“Of course!” You’re quick to assure him. “Now, tell me about these pastries,” you urge, eyes sparkling. He unloads them onto a plate, stacking rounded pastries into a rough pyramid, each one golden brown, sprinkled with sugar, and the size of a small fist. His voice softens as he tells you about the bakery and the older woman who runs it, who insists everyone call her ‘abuela’, even grown men and gringos like him. How he discovered it entirely by accident one day, following his nose.

“The filling is usually pasta de guayaba- guava paste- but they can also have arequipe, or cheese, or all three. She gave me a some extras, so I’m not sure which ones are which here,” he says, suddenly brusque. He gestures for you to take one first, a look on his face you can’t quite identify.

You’re definitely at risk of drooling as you pick up a pastel, Javier watching you intently. Puff pastry flakes over your plate as you take a bite.

And close your eyes in relish. A trio of flavors oozes over your tongue, each complementing the other, all of them ensconced in a sheath of sugary, flakey pastry. The creamy, neutral tang of the cheese mellowing the tart-sweet burst of fruity guava, both flavors coated in the thick, sticky-sweet burnt sugar taste of dulce de leche.

Swallowing, your eyes pop wide to look at Javier again. It’s a near-physical reaction he has to your sudden attention, an almost-flinch away from it as he awaits your verdict.

“Javier.” Your voice is serious. With slow deliberance, you lean toward him intently, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. You let the anticipation s t r e t c h.

“You have got to tell me how to make these.”

The breath leaves him in a rush, a huff of relief and and laughter at your dramatics. He’s hyper-aware of your hand on his skin- the casual touch reverberates through him in a way he should probably be more concerned about. It’s the first time you’ve touched him for non-medical reasons, but it heals him all the same; he feels warm, something inside him yielding in your presence.

He clears his throat. “Like I said, I can’t bake for shit. But...I can ask the abuela.” His free hand rubs at his neck, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze continues lower, to the two buttons he seems to perpetually leave undone. The smooth, flushed skin beneath. Was it warm in here?

You stand abruptly. “Is it warm in here? I’ll flip the fan on. You want to press play?” You throw him a quick smile as you cross the room to the wall switch. You flip off the overhead light while you’re there, leaving just the tall floor lamp casting a bright but cozy glow.

Javi obliges, the space dimming briefly as the opening sequence begins. You plop back down on the sofa, deliberately settling slightly closer to him- friends distance away. Handing him a wine glass, you raise yours expectantly. “¡Salud!” you beam.

Despite your cheer, you feel a trickle of nervous anticipation. What shape would your relationship take with only the two of you to guide it? You’d never been alone alone together for the express purpose of just hanging out.

Javier clinks his glass with yours. “Salud,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling upward slightly.

You order yourself to stop getting in your head. Humming around a mouthful of plum-purple wine, you set down the glass in favor of your plate, loading it with several more pastels. Blissful satisfaction fills you as a second bite confirms their perfection, and you lick sugar off your lips with a happy sigh. Beside you, Javi’s empty fingers twitch. He takes a large gulp of wine.

The movie rapidly proves to be of the same ‘quality’ as its parent. Just as quickly, you realize you didn’t need to worry about getting on with Javier. You end up having great fun at the film’s expense, frequently pausing it so Javi can explain in more detail why this or that would never happen in real life. It’s fascinating hearing him speak with such confidence, observing the minute ripples of his face as it contorts in thought. Despite his superior knowledge, he’s never condescending toward you, listening patiently to your questions and trying to answer in ways you can relate to. He sneers freely at the characters onscreen though, and you can completely picture him sitting at a one of those government conference tables, telling some poor bastard how bad his ideas are with his trademark dismissive, deadpan attitude.

There are other fascinating things about him, too. Like the way his short shirtsleeves to stretch over his arm muscles, subtle but visible, highlighted by the room’s long shadows. Like the tempting cords of his neck when he tips his head back to drink. Like more of his self-conscious glances, when he bites into a pastel and crumbs and sugar cling to his mustache. He hurriedly swipes his palm down the hairs, but you’ve caught him from the corner of your eye. You press your lips together to smother a giggle, but when he glides his tongue over his lip to catch any stray bits, your smile fades as your stomach swoops. You can sense him regarding you again as you fix your gaze on the tv. You wish you knew what was going on in his head.

Too soon the movie ends. The credits roll, but Javier shows no signs of leaving, leisurely taking out a pack of cigarettes and tapping it against his hand. “Do you mind?” he checks.

You wrinkle your nose but allow it. “As long as you do it at the window.” You stand, leaving Javi still seated, and spread your arms in a stretch, attempting to blink away some of the sleepy wine haze. “Be right back,” you tell him, taking the opportunity for a bathroom break.

After, however, before crossing the kitchen to rejoin him, you pause on the threshold of the hall. Your head tilts as you run your gaze over his unguarded stature. Javier leans against the window’s edge, his head and torso turned to exhale smoke out into the night. It doesn’t all escape immediately, gray twisting in the air around his profile, and you lose yourself in the brooding picture he paints. He believes he’s alone, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying a peaceful smoke break- more like he’s weighed down by his thoughts, his eyes sweeping over the street without taking it in. Doesn’t he have anyone to share his burdens with?

You shuffle your feet loudly before you turn the corner, revealing your presence so he can react accordingly. As you approach, he stubs out his cigarette on the narrow sill and turns to face you, his shoulders relaxing.

“I thought of something else about that last scene,” he greets, and you’re happy to let him go on about the film, savoring the rich timbre of his voice. You talk for a little while longer, lounging by the window. He asks you more about yourself now, and you haltingly tell him about your background, how you came to arrive in Columbia. He drinks in every word, and you get the feeling he’s storing this all away, ready to reference later. As if he intends for there to be a later.

Finally it comes up. Your last interaction. “Look, I’m sorry about last time,” Javier begins. “When I, you know-” he nods jerkily in lieu of saying “tried to seduce you” out loud. “I, uh. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His gaze drops the same way it did when he was withholding how he got the cut on his leg.

You thought you had understood some of his thought process, but maybe there was more to it. “I think you do,” you disagree wryly. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “But it’s okay, Javier. I just...didn’t want you to sleep with me just because you felt like you owed me.”

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze, yours ranging over his face and chest, searching for a reaction to what you’ve left unspoken. That you may well want him to sleep with you, but only because he actually wants to, wants you, specifically. Javier is smart, and clearly experienced with women- there’s no way he’ll miss the implication.

The longer you hold his gaze, the more clearly you see his thoughts churning, turning over everything that’s occurred between you and what it might mean, with all the analytical precision his career requires. That’s who you’ve been seeing, you realize, every time his provocative persona misses its mark with you- Agent Peña, the man who puts up a shield of derisive disdain so no one gets too close, so no one wants to. Until someone comes along who says fuck that, for whatever reasons of their own- like Steve, who demanded that Javi let him in as much as he could stand to because they’re partners, damn it, for better or for worse. Like Connie, who informed him that your well-being is important to my husband’s, so by god, you’re going to let me care about you. Like you- his neighbor and wallmate who, despite being faced with Agent Peña's rakish side, could see that there was more under the surface than just blood oozing from a knife wound.

As if realizing the window this moment is giving you, Javier shakes himself free of it, pushing off the wall. “Well, I won’t keep you up any longer,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for...this.” He gestures to the coffee table behind the couch you’re leaning on, the silent tv static jittering on the wine and pastries.

You stand too, unhurried. “Thank you, Javier. For the company, as well,” you say with sincerity.

He nods, seeming torn, perpetually caught in some internal struggle around you. Finally, he says a single word in farewell, his voice a low caress: “Vecinita.”

He starts for the door without waiting for a reply. Blinking in surprise, you spin in place. “Buenas noches, Javi,” you call, hoping your understanding reaches him.

You think it does, because he pauses for a second with his hand on the doorknob; before, with a last glance, exiting, leaving the hope kindling in your chest as the only proof it really happened.

--

Javier has a hard time focusing at work the next day. He and Steve have a lot of paperwork to get through, mostly material from their recent mission, but every time he shifts in his shitty desk chair he remembers how comfortable your couch was. How at ease you seemed sitting next to him on it. How badly he wanted to reach out to you, see if you felt as soft as you looked in that setting.

“Fuck,” he swears. The paper in his hand is the same one he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes.

Huffing, he shoves his work aside, snatches up his jacket, and heads home early. But his apartment offers even fewer distractions, so with a growl of frustration, he downs a whiskey and stalks back to the door.

Only to be stopped in his tracks by Connie, standing on his stoop with a coffee pot in hand. She looks startled by his sudden appearance, her fist still raised to knock.

“Hi, Javi. I heard you get back a little while ago, and I haven’t seen you since you and Steve returned. I thought we could catch up.” She speaks tentatively, clearly wary of his black scowl and riled energy.

“Did she send you?” he asks, eyes narrowing, jutting his chin to indicate your door.

Connie frowns in confusion. “No, I won’t be seeing her for a a day or three. She’s got an intensive-care patient at the hospital who needs around-the-clock attention.” Her own eyes narrow. “Should she have sent me? Did you do something?”

“No,” Javier retorts curtly. “Just- didn’t know if this was brought on by some of your gossip, is all.” Resigned to his interrogation, he steps back, opening the door for her.

Connie continues to glare suspiciously as she passes, but heads into his kitchen nonetheless, getting out sugar and mugs in a familiar ritual. She knew better than to bother checking the fridge for milk.

Once seated in the dining room, however, she doesn’t pry any further about you, or what he may have done, only continuing a previous line of conversation from their last chat. It helps, but as she gets caught up telling some work story, Javier’s attention drifts again.

He inhales from the cigarette between his fingers, remembering the taste of the one last night, filtering through the flavors of cherry-dark wine and sugar-encrusted pastry. He had tried to keep some figurative distance between the two of you, but you didn’t seem to want it, closing the gaps with questions, always looking so damn interested when the answers pertained to him or his life. Were you that fascinated by all your ‘friends’?

Javi doesn’t notice that Connie is scrutinizing him again, just like he hadn’t noticed that she’s been silent for the past minute.

“What’s she doing up there?” Connie asks loudly.

Javier chokes mid-drag, and a wicked smirk overtakes her face.

“What,” he croaks, trying desperately not to look guilty.

“Your neighbor,” Connie clarifies. “That’s what you’re thinking about, right?” She looks far too smug with herself.

“Hah,” Javier scoffs, trying to ignore the shivery goosebumps at someone calling you ‘his’. Buying time, he takes another long drag, letting it numb the sting from his cough.

Sometimes he wondered why he let himself get sucked into these coffee chats. They so rarely seemed to go well for him.

“Come on, Javier,” Connie coaxes. “I know there’s something between you two. Do you wanna talk about it?” A genuine offer, not just merciless teasing. She’s managed to wipe most of the mirth from her face, leaving a sympathetic expression behind.

He rubs his thumb along his mustache as he sighs a long stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what’s between us,” he finally says. “I’m not- I don’t do relationships.”

He isn’t sure he remembers how to. Nothing about his life here is suited to them- it’s intense, harsh, dangerous. Not to mention his network of CIs, who he pays for sex as well as information.

“Why not?” Connie asks simply.

A glance at her face tells Javier that it’s a serious question. He snorts. Lounging back in his chair, he raises a contemptuous eyebrow at her. “You can’t honestly tell me the DEA lifestyle is helping your marriage.”

Her face tightens, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he resolutely pushes it away- Connie knows who he is, she asked for this conversation- “My marriage isn’t up for discussion here,” she says evenly. “And besides, don’t you think that’s something for her to decide? She knows what you do, she sees you almost every day. She told me she was helping you with something- do you think she’d let herself get close to you if she was scared of your ‘lifestyle’?”

He doesn’t let it show how deeply her word affects him; but like ink dropping into water, he feels a ripple of shock. The change of color as his thoughts cloud, churn with sudden optimism. Because Connie was right, you had helped him- with a fucking secret stab wound, for christ’s sake. You’d already seen the blood and the secrets, understood that his life came with risks- and helped him without further explanation.

Javier brings the cigarette to his lips again without tasting it, unseeing gaze fixed ahead. Possible though it is that you’re not put off by the danger which hounds him, it still doesn’t mean you want to be more than friends. That was what you’d said, right? ‘Friends are a thing people have.’

But there was also what you hadn’t said last night. That- as long as it was for reasons other than feeling like he owed you- he was allowed to want to sleep with you.

Suddenly he slumps forward onto his elbows, sighing. The wrinkles on his forehead ache as he smooths his thumb over them. “I don’t know how close she wants to get,” Javi mumbles. He might be experienced at sex with women, but forming conections based on what was beneath the skin...well, not only was he rusty, but it required a frankly terrifying amount of vulnerability that he wasn’t sure he was up for.

Connie softens. “Listen, Javi, I saw the way she was looking at you during movie night. She’s interested in you, no matter how much you think she does or doesn’t know. Just- see what happens, or…ask her.” With her last words she shrugs matter-of-factly, content to drop the subject now that she’s delivered her thoughts.

His lips twist, the only begrudging acknowledgement he gives as he reflects on this. He picks up his mug and swirls the dregs of the coffee his friend had poured for him- black, like he usually takes it. He takes a sip.

For the first time, he thinks it could use a little sugar.

--

A/N: Get it, because he needs some of READER’S sugar AYOOOO...I’ll leave now lmao.

Spanish note for the less linguistically inclined: ‘Vecinita’ is the word ‘Vecina’ (Neighbor) plus the suffix ‘-ita’, which is attached to words as a way of describing them as ‘small’. So literally translated it says ‘little (feminine) neighbor’, but! This suffix is also used to say things in an affectionate way, so you could put it on the end of someone’s name (ie Pedrito <3), or on the end of another noun to indicate a nickname. (Disclaimer, I only speak Italian, but it has this same concept, so I think I did it right. Someone pls tell me if I did not). It’s used very casually, so it’s not really as deep as it sounded in Reader and Javi’s moment, but it was deep for Javi okay!!!

The dessert this chapter is named after translates to ‘Gloria pastries’, which according to Google, is a popular Columbian pastry. I have not actually ever encountered one of these personally, but I’ve had all the ingredients individually, so I cannot imagine them not being DELICIOUS all together. Here is a recipe I fully intend to try (it uses mozzarella cheese, but other sources say you can use any plain/white/farmer’s cheese). Guava paste is a really yummy, thick puree (think jam, but thick enough to stay in slab form at room temp) of guava fruit (obvs), which I’ve used in recipes before! I found it in a regular Weis market in central Pennsylvania lmao so I would guess it to be a thing you can find across the US. Arequipe is just another name for dulce de leche. I gotta get me and my sweet tooth to Columbia!!

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese

[vickyvicarious]

ship asks: for a throwback, captain swan?

Yesssss, my old love!

Who buys flowers for the others: Killian buys flowers for Emma for special occasions. And also, he will give her flowers fairly often on a whim, but those tend to be stolen from peoples' gardens or random wildflowers. He sees something pretty or that reminds him of Emma, and he will give it to her.

Who makes the others coffee/tea: Killian makes coffee. He has a French press and makes individual servings. Emma doesn't have the patience, and left to her own devices will have a coffee machine set to a timer, which Killian considers a travesty of the worst kind. Neither of them drinks a lot of tea on their own, so most of the time it's actually Snow preparing it if either of them end up drinking it. But they both will sometimes. And Emma had dibs on making hot chocolate. It's basically the only thing in the kitchen that Killian isn't allowed to make, because she does it better.

Who eats the most candy on Halloween: Emma does! She really likes going along trick-or-treating with Henry/her little brother/whatever kid happens to be available. It's something she never really got to do as a kid, and she loves the whole experience. She also shamelessly filches candy the entire time. Killian is not so attached to that part of the holiday, but he doesn't mind dressing up and handing out candy at the door. He does take the "trick, or" part seriously though and will prank some of the people who come by.

Who tries new recipes all the time: Killian. He loves all types of cuisine, and has collected them for all his years traveling. One of his favorite things about living in Storybrooke is access to so many varieties of ingredients, and he is determined to see what he can do with basically all of them.

Who genuinely likes pineapple on pizza: Killian. He lacks the cultural context that it's a travesty or whatever, and it's actually his favorite type of pizza. Emma is disgusted by this.

Who wears hats on special occasions: Emma wears beanies sometimes, especially when it's really cold out, but special occasions? Well, Killian does in fact have a pirate hat. Let's just say it gets busted out every now and again.

Who likes ‘90s R&B: I think Emma? She has some old mix CDs that she sometimes plays while driving around in the Bug, and Killian thinks they are horrendous. That isn't music, Swan! Turn it off! Emma sings along louder on purpose.

Who likes long walks on the beach: They both do! They both have always loved the ocean, and like to be nearby it. Emma especially likes to watch the waves when she is feeling upset or thoughtful, and Killian feels unsettled if it has been too long that he hasn't seen the ocean. One of their favorite quiet little moments is dates that end with them just walking along the beach in silence, holding hands.

Who buys wacky picture frames: Henry gave Emma a terrible macaroni art picture frame as a joke, but she was actually deeply touched by the gesture. It reminded her of the kind of thing she always wanted to do, and even though she knows it was a joke she treasures it. She also got a couple of tacky ship/pirate themed frames for Killian that he despises on a decorative level but is reluctantly fond of because Emma was thinking of him and gave him an unprompted gift.

Who compares themselves to fictional/celebrity couples: Emma does sometimes, pretty much just with fictional couples or characters. This is all well and good until they actually meet the fictional couple in question, which she secretly dreads. Killian has seen the Princess Bride, Star Wars, etc., since she first made those comparisons/references. He actually finds it kind of charming, and especially the Princess Bride comparison.

Who can solve a rubix cube: Killian can easily figure it out. It's a little annoying to actually move around, because he has to kind of brace it in his hook while trying to turn it with his hand. Because of this, Henry is able to finish a rubix cube faster, but it's only because of that. Emma is hopeless at them and relatively quickly switches to just randomly spinning things around without much attention put into it.

Who would wear Hawaiian shirts on vacation/during the summer: David does, and he tries to get Killian to at one point. Killian refuses though, because he has a very developed sense of personal style that doesn't bow to whatever he's being told is the fashion where he happens to be.

Who wears mismatched socks because they can’t keep up with the pairs: Emma, sometimes. She likes to laze around in the morning when possible, and in fact goes hard on making laziness happen on the weekends. This is necessary because Killian is an early riser and can't stand to just sit around usually. (I wrote a fic about this in fact.) Anyway, sometimes when she's sleepy she just pulls on whatever. She also seems to lose left socks in the laundry a lot. Killian has no such problems, and nothing ever gets lost in the laundry when he's doing it. Somehow.

.

Send me a ship and I will answer with who does what!