#the way it lights up the stage; the way the fandom falls over itself and curls up and cries with joy

[belligerentbagel]

my chemical romance plays in twelve minutes 

adding my quiet contribution towards manifesting another Gender tonight 

[penelope-potter]

Falling Forever ~

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Owl Hybrid! Reader

Summary: After the rebuild of the hotel, the group and you decided to build an entertaining room for entertainment of future sinners. Alastor and you got picked out by Charlie to be the main entertainer so when the first show came up, you had to improvise...

Warnings: No one just fluff

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Exited you hopped through the Lobby, running around to pick the right color for the tablecloths and to practice your act once more to perfect it. The rebuild of the hotel brought not only new guests like Lucifer and Cherry, it also brought more ideas to lure new sinners inside. One idea you and Alastor came up with was a room for entertainment. Alastor talked about how often he visited a theater in his lifetime and how much he enjoyed it being there and hearing the performers sing. You had a similar idea, because you also loved theater acts and cinema. So Charlie was fast to combine you two ideas and to mold it into one: an entertainment room with a huge stage. Lucifer helped with the technical stuff- his magic was quite helpful- and Alastor and you were about to decorate the room. Since you two were getting along well, it didn't caused this much trouble to pick something. You knew that he liked his old fashion more than anything modern, and you don't really minded. The vintage atmosphere seemed to connect you to him in some way. You started to pull threads everywhere to combine it with him. The old microphone which was standing on the stage, seemed to connect with the radio demon itself and his little songs he always played on his cane or hummed along with it. The red curtains which framed the demon as he was standing on the stage fixing some of the lights - left him like an old photograph from an old time you never got to experiment. Well not really- he always made sure to teach you his dances and to show you Jazz music- his favorites. He took you right into his time, showed you every detail and now you’re left with a bunch of objects from this time and although you would have never made such a big deal of it- you suddenly started to like everything about it. Because of him. Because even though everyone knew it secretly, you never told anyone about your love for the radio demon. He was mysterious and dark, and everyone warned you about him when you first met, but how could he be the same demon who killed several people and also be the men who talks with you so sweetly? How can he hate touch so much when it's only your space he invades the most? How can he be so heartless when he laughed so full out of heart when you tell him funny stories from your life. How can it be so easy to talk with him till late night and how can you feel so safe around him when he's so so brutal and bad? How can it be hard to love his being when it feels so easy? Husk told you to keep an eye on him, he doesn't wanted you to be manipulated by him. Angel told you that he was just playing with you eventually and you should stop being so close with him. You tried your best to keep the distance but you just couldn't shake the feeling off. Your feelings for him would never change, and this was a fact. No matter what anyone would say. But you were also afraid. Afraid of him really just toying with you. So you tried to ignore the feeling. Every time when you were near with him. Every time he brushes your hand, your elbow, your shoulder. Every feeling passes doesn't it?

"(Y/N)!" Ripped away from your thoughts you turned around only to see Charlie coming over to you. "Oh my gosh , oh my gosh you don't know what is going to happen tonight!" She was so excited that she raised both her fists in front of her chest. "What is it?" You smiled, trying to don’t make it obvious you started thinking about him again. "I managed to invite some actual sinners tonight! You and Alastor will be acting and singing - oh it will be so perfect!" Your smile dropped in an instant. You and Alastor? No. No no no no this was not like it was planned. The original plan was you dancing on stage, while Alastor would be playing the piano, not you two acting and singing! "What- what do you mean with sing? Charlie I can't sing and I don't think Alastor would..." "Oh don't worry he already agreed with it!" She smiled so wide it must hurt her. You dropped your shoulders as her smile changed into a worried expression. "Oh (Y/N), You can do this! I believe in you really. Also, you are not alone, you have Alastor! I just thought that you two could maybe spice the thing up a bit? Just adding something special to it?" Shelooked at you and as you didn't answered she turned away slightly. "But if you don't want to-" "No it's alright." You smiled. "I already have an idea to bring more life into the act." Her mood instantly improved as a few seconds later Alastor came in. "I see that you told (Y/N) our new plan Charlie." He said and you heart began to flutter in your chest. "Yes! We can do this I'm sure." You said smiling. His smile grew even wider.No nothing would be good, absolutely not... "Oh of course sweetheart I have no worry for that." You felt your face heating up by the sound of his nickname for you. He only called you this way since a little while and even though you liked it, it didn't helped you with ‘pushing your feelings away’ plan at all. And it was kind of unusual to hear it since he called everyone dear. "Shit guys, we're so fucked!" All head turned towards the door where Angel were standing. "What has happened?" You asked. "Uhh the sinners are already here because shit knows why. Your Dad tried to change their mind coming back later but they start to lose interest already..." "Oh no!"

Charlie looked back to you. "What are we doing now? You two barely had time to talk about your act and-" "It's alright, we are ready for this." You said all of the sudden. All eyes now on you, you could see how Alastor titled his head curious to the side. "But you are not prepared!" "We were already not prepared for this sudden change, so we might just come up with something out of our minds dear." Alastor quickly said, as she just looked at you for several seconds before nodding and heading out of the door with Angel, only for him to throw a warning glance to you both. Well more to you. He’s not angry with you, just protective. But it made your stomach turning around.

"Now tell me dearest, what do you think the two of us should be acting tonight?" The demon gazed down at you, suddenly more close than before. So close your shoulder touching his. "Well we just improvise. Because flying and dancing is all that I practiced, I guess we will just work with that. It’s one of the dances you taught me.” You smiled. “Are you afraid of heights?" He raised an eyebrow. "No. What are-" Loud voices ringing through the hallway making you turn to him, suddenly so close that even he flinched back slightly. "Do you trust me?" His smile grew wide. "Of course! I'm sure you will-" "No. I mean do you really trust me?" He remained silent before his eyes grew curious and somewhat warm. His smile changed into a warm mouth closed smile. "I trust you." The sinners were already about to enter the room as you nodded and waved for him to follow you. "Just do as it was originally planned." You said, standing on the stage and waited for the sinners to enter the room completely. You inhaled and exhaled as you saw Lucifer's apologizing look as Alastor sat down on the bench before the piano, his fingers floating above the keys. You nodded at him and he started playing. You started to sing along with the song you heard a million times by now- so it was easy to remember the lines. You just hoped that your singing skills don’t fear everyone out of the room while you tried desperately to not look in the crowd who's already about to bragging and muttering. How long, how long? The crowd stopped for a second and a few eyes looked back at you, while you're about to step to the piano to sit on it. You had to come up with something don’t you? Are you good at holding on? I know the mind is quick to throw away the moment...

You looked at Alastor who's gaze was locked with you the whole time. You felt your heart racing. How often did you watched old movies from his time only to understand his mannerism better. The way he was such a respecting gentleman you could never find in the human world and even not in this time period. You saw him in every line the actors spoke or in every oldy you listened. He was everywhere, and sometimes it felt like you were there by yourself. Singing with him, dancing... where this takes us, maybe I don't wanna know yet... 'cause for now you're all I want. his ears twitched for a second, while he continued to play, as you hopped from the piano and walked to him placed yourself awfully close to him on the very small bench. You're shoulders touched and you could feel the heat rising from him. they say you got it, then it's gone I don't believe that every flame has to get colder... You stood up and hesitated for a second before you grabbed his chin with your hand turning it in your way anyways. What a bold decision for a shy girl like you- he must have thought. He suddenly stopped playing but the keys kept playing on their own. I hope the feelings that you give me carry over till tomorrow and beyond? For a moment it could be seen as a question for him, not a line from a song you heard so often and never really thought about the meaning behind it. Now it made everything clear for you. A confession. You grabbed his hand and pulled him with you as you two ran to an invisible spot where you created stairs which were going far up. How long, how long? Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? You kept running higher and higher, Alastor behind you followed you quickly, but had to cling on the railing a few times, his other hand in yours, your heart pounding. You hoped he's not going to hate you after that... How long, how long Can we stay like this forever? Can we keep falling forever? Finally stopping on the small platform you created, you turned to him, starting a dance he once showed you. Luckily he adapted your movements quickly and swung you around. You could wake up all alone

So tonight I'll give you something to remember and eternity's impossible to measure But it feels right Where we are He joined you in your sudden change of dance, spun you around and pulled you back even closer than before. Right before his face you came to stop, staring into his crimson eyes which were now filled with something like curiosity and desire. You almost forgot the line and slapped yourself mentally. Your hands were shaking and maybe you only imagined it but you could have sworn he was shaking too- slightly. His look of absolute adrenalin would have been fitting at least. I'm falling deep Deep in your arms baby baby I'm yours to keep Keep me close Till tomorrow and beyond? You took his hands and started to placed your weight towards the edge of the platform for you to fall. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as he tried to pull you back but you're just pulling him harder with you until he tripped and fell. Fell with you. How long, how long You held his hands outstretched before you quickly pulled him closer to you, holding his torso. Your bodies pressed against each other as you could feel him took in every breath and his face incredible close to yours. You could hear the crowd gasping as you suddenly remembered to actually save you both so you spread your wings open and saved you two from hitting the ground. Can it just keep getting better? He's looking at you surprisingly, his eyes wide awake for once and his smile a bit shaky but after some time impossible wider. He titled his head back to take a look on the new view of his before looking back at you. His ears were ruffled up of the wind, just like his hair which looked now so much more messy. You liked it. You liked it to hold him, to be the upper hand for once and he seemed to don’t really mind it. Because it’s you he allowed to be the dominating one, just you. He grabbed your shoulder with his right hand and with the other the spot between your wings but not in a desperate way to hold on- no. Like you two would be lying in bed and he's holding you in a tight embrace. He genuinely looked so happy it made your heart skip a beat. Can we keep falling forever? How long, how long? Can we stay like this forever Can we keep falling forever? You flew back to the stage and placed him on the ground again, still on the high platform as you swung around, he grabbing your hand, taking the lead.

I wanna know Can you ride through any storm? Can you ride from night till dawn? Till tomorrow and beyond? He lead you to the edge while he let go of your hand turning around to you and titled his head, smiling at you sweetly as he slowly fell backwards. His gaze locked with yours and his arms spread wide to his sides. He really trusted you. How long, how long You ran and jumped off the edge, his eyes closed as he heard you coming closer and reached out for you to catch him. Right before he could smash the ground you catched him and flew sharply above the sinners heads, hearing loud 'wow's and gasps. Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? How long, how long Can we stay like this forever Can we keep falling forever? How long? You flew a few rounds around the room, walking on the railing which was pulling around the wall with him. It felt like one of this movies where two souls came closer because of a silly dance choreography. You always thought the idea of such things were quite cringe, too unrealistic. And for the human world it might really be. But not in hell. Not with him at your side. He jumped with grace above the little obstacles you could only hope to keep on it. Finally the railing ended, so you took him close again, as you felt him already pressed you impossible close to him. You steadily flew back on the lower stage, lifted you two straight up rotating around like you would slow dance. Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? How long How long? Your feeds finally touched the ground again as you looked up at him. His heart was racing as fast as yours and he was panting. How long? “I hope you don’t hate me now.” You whispered smile crooked. He let out a chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. “Never sweetheart. I must say, this was quite the experience. A wonderful one.” You almost lost it all because of his sudden action towards you.

The crowd cheered loudly and you slightly jumped, already forgotten about the several sinners who just watched this moment between you both from beginning to end. “Well dearest, look at that. They are all cheering for you.” You shook your head. “No for us both. You did great too.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss on your knuckles, his eyes darting to yours again, his lips warm as his breath as he whispered: “Not as wonderful as you. I just happened to have a breathtaking view…” His gaze trailed over your flushed face, chuckling quietly. He straightened up and turned around the crowd, still holding your hand as you copied him and took a bow. “After this…” He started, his head still lowered, as you two came up again. “...don’t mind finding me in the library.” Your whole body heated up as Charlie jumped on the stage pulling you two apart and already started to scream how amazing you were. “Oh my gosh you did it! You were so amazing!” She jumped excitedly. In the library...he wanted to meet you at the library. Oh Angel would not like this. Husk either. But you? Oh how terrified you were. Terrified about your feelings. What could he possible want from you now? You couldn’t bear one more close moment with him, or you would lose every control and lost it all. What does he want from you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IT’S FINALLY UPLOADED!

I got so motivated right now so I just finished it right away. Let me know if you like this to be continued, because I already have the idea in my mind what Alastor wanted from you ~

And let me know your thoughts about this one shot as well of course! Have an amazing day/evening lovely sinner ♥

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6s8mY0P5xA

Also tagging the most beautiful soul on this platform: @fraugwinska

[manyothermusingsofmine]

Tour Tired || Drabble

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 1666 Summary: Tours are very draining, and Klavier isn't used yet to the feeling of coming home to someone actually waiting for his return. ----------------------------------

He was exhausted.

Touring would always be fun to him, the evenings on stage fulfilling and still just as much a part of him as the days in the courtroom were; two sides of him that at this point he had finally managed to merge together. But even with how much fun it was, that didn't change the nights at the hotels by himself where the unfamiliarity made it hard to sleep, and the only comfort he could get was digital contact with his partner for as long as the time zones between them permitted.

With a small sigh Klavier popped his earbuds back in, resting his head on the interior wall of the jet he was taking home while halfheartedly looking out to inky, star filled night outside. Just about an hour more and the jet would finally touch the grounds of home. He slowly and deliberately scrolled through the photo roll on his phone, a soft smile of affection creeping onto his face as he looked at the most recent picture he had taken of his partner.

It was so early in the morning when they landed that not even the sun had bothered to pull its first rays over the horizon. He stretched, hearing some air pocket somewhere in his body popping. With another sigh he slowly moved his hands and fingers again, trying to not pay too much attention to how sore his hands felt from many, many evenings of guitar playing in a row. Despite the ache in his hands he could still shoot her a quick message that they had safely landed, tucking his phone away in a hidden inner pocket of his blazer. He took his earbuds out, placing them in their hold and tucked those away as well, before finally getting up from the seat that he had comfortably sunken away into for the whole flight.

He left the plane, calmly making his way to some automatic sliding doors letting him into the hallways of Westfield airport. Personally, he loved the silence of this much smaller airport, especially this early in the morning and with no one ever knowing the time or place where he got the plane to touch down. It gave him some brief escape from the media and his fans, which was honestly very welcome after having been all theirs for the entirety of his tour. Well, only a handful of important people needed to know; the airplane staff, security, staff at the airport itself, and most importantly of them all; her.

Klavier noticed her first, the red and blonde hues of her hair making her easy to spot in the wide open halls of the airport. He knew very well she wasn't used to early mornings like this, and yet to her credit she seemed as alert and aware as someone could be when not used to having to roll out of bed at four in the morning. That still didn't stop him from letting out an amused soft chuckle when she tried to toss away some juice box only to completely miss the trashcan and having to repeat the process with a huff.

Then she turned around, spotting him in the process. In the moment their eyes connected he saw hers light up in a way he was sure he had only ever seen in romantic movies, the quickly approaching clicks of her slightly heeled shoes on the cold airport floor being the only warning to brace himself. And he only managed to brace himself enough to not fall over, stumbling backwards for just a step or so when her running up to him turned into throwing her arms around him in a hug. She pulled him back in, closer to herself, locking her arms around him and pressing her face to his shoulder.

It took him longer than he thought it would to process it, his mind needing a moment before wrapping an arm around her, placing his free hand against the back of her head as lightly as he could to not make the sore feeling in his hands worse. He was about to say something when she beat him to the punch while finally relenting her grip on him, slightly pushing both of them apart as she half got out of the embrace just to look at him

"I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

"... I'm glad to be back," he replied, that somehow being all he could muster as his mind was still trying to wrap itself around the concept of her last statement. He felt her place a hand to his cheek, her thumb gently trailing his cheekbone before pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home. You look exhausted, and like you haven't slept in an actual decent bed in weeks," she said softly, and he couldn't tell her she was wrong. The hotel beds were fine in the moment, but he definitely yearned for the comfort of his own bed; that was something no hotel bed could ever win against. Getting to her car, she loaded in his personal luggage while he slid into the passenger seat. He would help if he could, were it not for the fact that his tired hands immediately protested at the mere idea.

While it took a bit longer to get to his place from Westfield airport as opposed to the big Roseville airport down town that pretty much every plane landed at, these roads were usually not as full of traffic, and he still preferred it over being hounded by cameras and microphones and endless inquiries he would have to endure if he landed at Roseville instead. Besides, the quiet car ride was comforting as the only sounds were of a song softly played by the radio and the occasional whoosh of a car passing them by on the opposite lane.

As soon as they got to his place, the first thing he did was take a shower in the hopes that the warm water would help his tense and sore muscles. When he got back out half an hour later and in far more casual, soft clothing, he noticed that Mary had just set the luggage in the living room. Fair enough, he didn't expect her to start rummaging through those; he wouldn't have either and he didn’t plan on unpacking until he got some proper rest first.

With that thought in his head, he went to the bedroom where he immediately spotted her on the king-sized bed, hiding somewhere amidst the soft, thick pillows and plum purple satin sheets. She flopped down on her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning her head to look at him, a small smile painting itself onto her face.

"I don't know about you, but I could use more sleep."

While the shower had definitely helped with the aches, Klavier felt exhaustion relentlessly crawl back into his muscles and bones; he could absolutely use more sleep, proper sleep at that. For some reason however, he found himself just standing there in the middle of his room, his eyes following her movements as she made herself comfortable between the soft sheets of the bed.

I missed you.

Those three words lingered in his mind, fluttering around soft as a whisper until they finally came to rest at a deeply hidden part of him. An incredibly lonely part of his core, a part that had always yearned for someone to genuinely and sincerely miss him while he was gone. While he would never want to come home to a sea of journalists and fans he respected but couldn't connect on this level with, that didn't mean it hadn't broken his heart countless times when he had gotten back from a journey only for the very few people he considered his loved ones to not care, and not even show up.

Well; others had, not her. Mary had been someone he could always count on, someone who was always in his corner and ready to help him even at the utter detriment of herself if it had to be that way. All he had to do was ask, obviously, and she would’ve shown up at the airport each and every time even on nights where she had slept horribly and for her own sake shouldn’t be behind the steering wheel of her car, and that had been the case ever since they had been friends. Had he… had he never realised that, before?

And now, with this being the first time he came back from a tour with her as his partner, that very deep seated, lonely part of him desperately yearned to reach out to her; to finally be heard and sheltered in a way he had never fully comprehended he had wanted or needed this badly.

Before she had a chance to start to worry about him just standing there, he moved over to the bed and crawled in under the sheets. He draped an arm over her, lightly resting his head to her chest and hearing her calm heartbeat as he breathed in the traces of her favorite perfume that lingered on her skin. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, running her fingers through the long strands of his hair as she pressed a gentle kiss to his head. He pressed himself closer to her, a shiver going down his spine as he tightened his grip a little while he tried to soak in the comfort of the embrace as much as he could.

She felt safe, familiar… She felt like home.

"Klav, darling, are you alright?"

"... I missed you, too," he whispered against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to the nearest collarbone he could reach. With a deep, tired exhale he closed his eyes, fully focusing on the steady beat of her heart and the soothing motion of her fingers going through his hair until he drifted off to sleep.

[mythical-bookworm]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

(Thanks to @professorsaber for tagging me!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

99,759 (Minus About 13,000 if you don't want to include the Discord Blind Writing game, most of which I did not write)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

In order of amount of fics:

Amphibia

Gravity Falls

Back to the Future

Wings of Fire

The Cyclist

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lost With a Second Chance (Amphibia)

Two Deaths, Five Perspectives (Amphibia)

I've been thinking of our future, 'cause I'll never see those days (Amphibia)

The Fourth Wall (Gravity Falls)

Leaves Fall Just Like Me When It Is Over (Amphibia)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

95% of the time! For one it's always polite. But also it means the world to me when I get a comment! That means someone read my story, and has something to say. They were moved enough to take the risk and reach out. Plus it's a way to meet new people!

The only times I don't is when I legitimately have nothing I can respond with, or if it is a hate message.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Argh that is extremely hard.

At first I would say Don't Try to be a Hero. The fic is overall an angsty introspective character study and ends with the character wallowing. But it's all introspective.

But than there's The Fourth Wall, basically a crack meta fic that does anything but take itself seriously. The entire fic is Dipper and Mabel finding the fourth wall and figuring out their in a fanfiction. It ends with them seeing the end and there is nothing they can do to stop it. Once the fic ends, they do to. Which uh yeah, darker implications than I meant.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This one is hard! None of my posted fics necessarily have a super happy all problems solved ending.

In the end I'd have to go with Leaves Fall Just Like Me When It Is Over. Anne finally reveals the full truth of what happened on her last day of Amphibia and she can finally start to heal. She feels lightened, the burden of the secret lifted.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I've had disappointing ones, more raw ones. I had some criticism comments. And while some of it was very true, other parts just hit me like whiplash as it was put pretty bluntly.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope nope nope, and nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah, usually not to much into that stuff anyways.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really, unless you count the Blind Bttf Discord Writing Game. (Results here.)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Uh, ok so I'm not a huge shipper. Like I'll support the canon ships and all. but I'm not necessarily all gushy about them. And I'm usually not a fan of fanon ships.

If I had to chose one though it would be Flinn. Now I am no Adventure Time enthusiast, but I did really like this ship between Finn and Flame Princess.

A close second would be Marty/Jennifer, because the two are each others biggest cheerleaders and I love that. :)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oh jeez, ok. Probably a Back to the Future Oneshot entitles "Are You Alright?"

Overall, I like the concept. The idea is George doesn't kiss Lorraine. As Marty is fading he runs off stage and collapses by the side of the gym, catching George's attention. George finds him and Marty successfully hides his fading from existence and tells George to tell Doc about him being shot in 1985. George delivers the message and Doc is distraught in realizing what had happened. So he decides to use the lighting strike to go back in time and help Marty get George and Loraine to kiss. George ends up learning exactly who Marty is and goes back in time to get his past self to kiss Loraine. This fails so he does it himself.

Unfortunately there are issues with this:

First is timeline. There is not enough time for all the events to occur before the lightning strike happens. Doc would have totally missed it.

Second, once ensuring Marty's existence, he wouldn't be able to go home. Doc is already using the lightning bolt to go back in time to get George to kiss Lorraine. And I simply don't want that. I want a happy ending for once dang it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

And you have asked the hardest question ever.

I've been told I do some good suspense. Also been told I have good pacing, but others say I don't so who knows on that.

Personally I feel like I'm really good at letting the characters run free. I hardly have any outline when it comes to fics and let my characters make the path. This had lead to some surprising twists that ended up being much better than what I could come up with.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Everything.

Okay real answer:

-Writing cute fluffy moments to be interesting. I'm working really hard on that, in fact I'm writing a BttF fic focusing a lot on that so I can get better.

-Repetitive words. How do I specify the same character without saying their name 5 times? Am I to repetitive? Am I not saying their name enough? AAAAAAAAAA

-Keeping everything in context and connected. My main issue with my Lost With a Second Chance was I made a character have amnesia, which did nothing in the long run. All it did was make drama. So I'm trying to make everything connect, everything have a reason. Plus creating cool loops.

-Show not tell. I'm a lot better, but I definitely need improvement.

-Not make things to obvious but not so unobvious is seems weird. For example, mysterious villain. I'm struggling to not just have something that magically gives the character all the information, but than I'm struggling to get them the answers so the villain doesn't seem shallow cause he's not, you just don't know it yet. Or, oh this character is acting this way because of a, b, and c, but I dropped you in the middle so I'm not sure how to put the point across without blatantly telling you.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Never thought about it. I only know one language so I'd have to put things into Google Translate. I have taken sections of books and Google Translated it a bunch of times to absolutely destroy it though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Amphibia!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Definitely Great Scott! (Doctober 2023) . I had so so so much fun writing it and I truly improved by it!

Tagging @knickynoo @daryfromthefuture @bg-sparrowand anyone else who wants to do it!

[chrism02]

MASTERLIST

UPDATED: 13/02/2024

Other

1. Wilson Fisk

Off the cuff – AU Alpha/Beta/Omega - Completed

Struggle through – AU Twins - Work in progress

2. Big Jack Horner

Right and wrong - Completed

3. Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins)

A double-edged sword - Completed

Rose colored glasses – AU soulmates - Completed

4. Sans

Putting on the Ritz -  AU MobFell - Work in progress

5. Father Brown

Oh, ye of little faith – AU soulmates - Completed

6. Alan Shore

One in a million - Completed

7. William Parrish

Meet Miss Black - Completed

8. Alastor - Hazbin Hotel

Bolt from the blue -  Work in progress

9. Gru and Dru - Despicable me

Double or quits -  Work in progress

Christie Fandom

1. Larissa Weems

The family credo - Completed

Off the mark – AU soulmates, AU twins - Completed

Bah, Humbug – Completed

The Angel wears blue – AU Devil wears Prada - Completed

Always there – AU Christmas Carol - Completed

2. Larissa Weems and Maxim Horvath

Soul-destroying – Completed

3. Lucifer

Corruption – Completed

Gone but not forgotten – Completed

 Molina Fandom

1. Maxim Horvath

Grimhold – AU soulmates – Part 1 - Completed

Remember When... – AU soulmates – Part 2 - Completed

Doc, where's the DeLorean?! – AU time travel – Completed

The dance of the betrayed – AU vampire – Completed

Twin method – AU twins – Completed

The Devil Wears Armani – AU Devil wears Prada – Completed

Losing a Knut and finding a Galleon – AU Harry Potter – Completed

Ruler of the Underworld – AU Greek Mythology – Completed

Schadenfreude – AU soulmates – Completed

Corpse groom – AU Corpse Bride – Completed

A promise – Completed

Sweet Oblivion – AU Addams Family – Completed

Morgana's plan - AU Merlin era – Completed

Love letters - AU selkie – Completed

Summon up - AU Demons – Completed

Third time's a Charm – Completed

Bite back – AU vampire and werewolf – Completed

Catch Your Eye – AU twins and Prime Morganian – Completed

Quick on the Draw - AU Merlin era – Completed

Sugar and Spice - AU No Magic, Sugar Daddy – Completed

Himalayan blunder – Completed

Way to your heart – AU soulmates – Completed

In the end game – AU Avengers – Completed

The Angel of Music - AU No Magic – Completed

Clipped wings - AU No Magic, AU wings – Completed

Fall To Pieces - AU Merlin era – Completed

The Nutcracker King - AU Nutcracker -  Work in progress

 2. Maxim Horvath and Otto Octavius

Double trouble – Completed

Play second fiddle – AU Alpha/Beta/Omega – Completed

History repeats itself – AU Time Loop – Completed

Click the “Keep reading” for more 😈

3. Otto Octavius

A fish out of water – AU Mer!Otto – Completed

Surrender to fate – Completed

On the off chance – Comic Otto - Completed

Wish list – Comic Otto - Work in progress

 4. Boris Plots

The kitten – Completed

Take The Lead – AU modern – Completed

 5. Comte De Reynaud

Chocolat au poivre – Completed

A gust of wind – AU Magic-user – Completed

Heaven's Light -  AU Modern - Work in progress

 6. Manuel Aringarosa

The Holy Grail – Part 1 - Completed

Face off with the Devil – Part 2 - Completed

 7. Hugh Weldon

The LiT Tradition – Part 1 - Completed

Baby steps – Part 2 - Completed

8. Andrés Galan

Valentine's Day auction – Part 1 - Completed

Double life - Part 2 - Completed

Thick as thieves – AU criminals – Completed

 9. Konstantin "Kostya" Dmitrievich Levin

Book character - Completed

Puppy love - Completed

10. Randall Pepperidge

A study in you – Part 1 - Completed

Detective Work – Part 2 - Completed

11. Ricardo Morales

The curious case of Beth Garrett – Part 1 - Completed

A bullet with your name on it – Part 2 - Completed

Under the gun - Completed

Come to heel - Completed

12. Everly Campbell

Painting is an art - Completed

13. Sheik Amar

Princess of Persia - Completed

Tell me a story - Completed

La princesse et la bête - AU Beauty and the Beast, AU magic - Completed

14. Robert Aldrich

Switch Off – Part 1 - Completed

Movie viewing – Part 2 - Completed

Run the show – Part 3 - Completed

Newshound – AU News – Completed

Stage Fright – Completed

15. Frank Burton

Voice over the phone - Completed

16. Chandler Manning

Waltzing with Danger – Part 1 - Completed

On dangerous ground – Part 2 - Completed

Criminal mind – Part 3 - Completed

Above the law - Completed

17. Diego Rivera

The Art of Seeing - Completed

18. George Garea

Passing of time - Completed

19. Gabriel Duvall

Play it by ear – AU innocent – Part 1 - Completed

Truth and Justice – AU innocent – Part 2 - Completed

New beginnings – AU innocent – Part 3 - Completed

Off base – AU soulmates and Canon Divergence - Completed

20. Reverend Leland Drury

Harvest Moon – AU werewolf – Part 1 - Completed

New Moon – AU werewolf – Part 2 - Completed

Father Drury – AU Alpha/Beta/Omega – Completed

21. John King Fisher

Heart stealing – Completed

22. Eric Sanders the Third

Innocent eyes – Part 1 - Completed

Blameless – Part 2 - Completed

Not guilty – Part 3 - Completed

Journal – Part 4 - Completed

23. Jimmy Stiles

Woodwork – Completed

24. Avanti

Missing the train – Completed

25. Baldabiou

Softer than silk – Completed

26. Stephen Arden

Predator – AU vampire - Completed

Alien invasion – AU alien - Completed

Bleeding edge – AU mutant - Completed

27. Boris Blavasky

Bruise up – AU soulmates - Completed

28. Priest from Serena

Cardinal sin – AU demons - Completed

29. Davide Rieti

A blast from the past – AU time travel - Completed

30. Jim Bussey

Written in stone – AU demons - Completed

31. Angel

Maverick gambler – Completed

32. Denis Brabant

Drunk as a fiddler – Completed

33. Cliff Gray

Orchids – Completed

34. Harold Lindsay-Jones

Fleeting glance – Completed

35. Sgt. Steven Dunlop

Lost in translation – Completed

36. Edy Rodriguez

Bow to fate – Completed

37. Juan Raúl Pérez

Happy merry-go-round – Completed

38. Paul Weller

Trip down memory lane – Completed

39. Harding Hooten

The best medicine – Completed

The unexpected always happens – Completed

Twist of fate – Completed

40. Rahad Jackson

Put the Pedal to the Metal – Completed

41. Satipo

Fool me once – Completed

42. Alejandro "Sandy" Stern

The Good Lawyer – Completed

43. Fancast

The Penguin: 

Under Your Wing - Completed

Spur of the moment - Completed

Overshoot the mark - Completed

Botch up - Work in progress

Glimmer of Hope -  AU Alpha/Beta/Omega - Work in progress

44. Snidely K. Whiplash

Rotten to the core – Completed

45. Panos Demeris

Laws of attraction – Completed

46. Jonas Nyebern

Back from the dead – Completed

47. Richard Suskind

Write away – Completed

48. Lou Wheeler

Ghost of a chance – Completed

49. Roger Stephenson

Bouquet of orchids – Completed

50. Big Boss

As you wish – Completed

51. Sir Jeremy Burtom

Ensnare – Completed

52. Martin Morales

Coffee break - AU Coffee Shop – Completed

53. Bram Shepard

Getting to know you – Completed

54. Mike Preston

Things Are Not What They Appear – AU Innocent - Completed

55. Touchstone

Tailor-made - AU Tailor Shop - Completed

56. Hank Spallone

Knock down with a feather - Completed

57. Multifandom

The Zodiac - Completed

58. Armand Gamache

Under wraps - Completed

59.  Dr. Edelweiss

Bete noire - Completed

60. Ares

Caught off guard - Completed

Road to Damascus - Completed

61. Ray Hernandez

Fake out - Completed

62. Mark Rothko

The Mummy - Completed

63. Viggo Grimborn

Here be dragons - Completed

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

sunflower, vol. 6 - a close reading

we love love here in this fandom. harry loves love. he really wants to be that as clear as possible. have you heard about all the love he has for his person, the love of his life? cause he'll keep repeating it if necessary. take my money and my time, my dearest harry, and keep writing these songs. take all the microphones in the world and serenade your lover. gaaaaaahhhhhhhh.......... okay we're getting into it.

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

fine line, track 9

intro: "sunflower" backwards

symbolises the sun: life and its cycles, longevity

in art: happiness, devotion, loyalty, love of life (the flower always directs itself towards the sun)

～ golden: another song about his sun(flower): “bright”, “you wait for me in the sky”, “brown my skin just right”

～ watermelon sugar: “summer evening”, “summer feeling”, “end of june”: the sun is definitely out

～ adore you: “your wonder under summer sky”

～ canyon moon: “sky never looked so blue”

so there’s definitely something about the sky and the sun going on here.

vol. 6:

sixth song on the album about the love of his life (so every song besides lights up, cherry and she)

sixth stage of the growth of the sunflower: pollination (smh harry)

LYRIC ANALYSIS

Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody

he’d rather look at his sunflower than figure out a melody. love > career

melody: “and it sounds just like a song” from watermelon sugar: i want you for more than just sex

Let me inside, wish I could get to know you

～ golden “i know that you’re scared because hearts get broken (…) because i’m so open”, ～ adore you “just let me adore you”

～ or even ⟷ mmith: “i’ll be at the door” waiting for you to let me in again/you to come out

Sunflowers sometimes keep it sweet in your memory

echo of “memory” in she: “lives for the memory” - huge part of life is led internally

missing the other person when they’re not there, but it’s still sweet; seeing sunflowers remind harry of them and how bright they are to him in his mind

sweet = a feeling + a taste (like berries, for example…….)

I was just tongue-tied

first verse = first stage of their relationship, meeting

echo of two ghosts: “tongue-tied like we’ve never known” - same word, new perspective/context

～ golden “you were way too bright for me”

～ to be so lonely: “wasn’t ready for it all”

I don't wanna make you feel bad

But I've been trying hard not to talk to you

Sunflower

it’s not their fault, harry is intimidated - knows he won’t be able to prevent himself from falling ～ tbsl

I couldn't want you any more

desire

Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor

～ two ghosts: “the fridge light washes this room white, the moon dances over your good side” - again, sad older song about their relationship turned on its head

domesticity

I couldn't want you any more

Tonight

physical desire (early on in their relationship)

Wondering, headshake

“wondering”: still getting to know one another, wondering about the other person

can’t believe his eyes, his luck ～ adore you “would you believe it?”

Tired eyes are the death of me

waking up together, h is swooning

and/or: seeing them in bad shape is the worst feeling ever

Mouthful of toothpaste before I got to know you

could mean any inside joke; sharing a bed, spending the night in the early stages of the relationship ⟶ get out to brush teeth before the other wakes up

(stretch) echo of “keep it sweet” earlier: before he met them, he made sure to wash the sweetness out of his mouth: avoided love, this one took control over him and it couldn't be stopped

I've got your face hung up high in the gallery

adoration, but: a work of art hung up high, so in a place where you won’t actually be able to properly admire it, is a strange choice. 

⟶ other interpretation of “gallery”: balcony. harry placing his lover up on the highest balcony at his shows, so he can look up and see them

⟷ cherry’s “gallery”, purposeful echo to highlight the contrast in meaning and context

I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower

a specific color, or silhouette: in the darkness of a concert hall, only the silhouette of someone sitting in the balcony would be visible

Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody

ups and downs of life, but they get through it; it’s just the flowers that died, the plant was always alive still

repeat of “melody”: their song is being written as they go

motivation: go and bloom, take that hurt/struggle and let something new grow from it

Let me inside, I wanna get to know you

no more wishing: i’m here and i want this, let me in. OPEN

could def be sexual as well

I don't wanna make you feel bad

But I've been trying hard not to act a fool

Sunflower (Sunflower, sunflower)

harry the fool in love: ～ golden “i’m out of my head”, to be so lonely, adore you, etc etc etc

doesn’t want to get it wrong but this person makes h lose his mind

(…)

I couldn't want you any more

Kids in the kitchen listen to dancehall

another reference to their young age: longevity, long-term relationship ～ tbsl “i was just a little boy”

they’re also still kids now ～ sweet creature “we’re still young”

dancehall: popular jamaican music genre: where harry wrote/recorded a lot of hs1, which he described as one of the happiest times of his life (behind the album from 4:40, especially 7:00) - he shared that happiness with his loved one

I couldn't want you any more

Tonight (Tonight, tonight, tonight)

Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody

Let me inside, wish I could get to know you

Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory

I'm still tongue-tied

no matter how long this relationship lasts, he’ll always be tongue-tied, baffled, lovestruck. his love for this person takes away all his self-control, he’s still full of disbelief

[Bops and Intense Throat Noises]

SYNTHESIS

Sunflower, Vol. 6 is the song on the album that ties in everything about Harry’s one true love, the love of his life, the one he writes too many songs about. There are references to almost every other song on the album and even hs1, with clear echoes of Two Ghosts. We’re here for personal growth, for supporting your loved ones, for patience, for being stupidly in love after all these years, for wanting them in every way, for sharing your happiest moments with your lover.

This person symbolises the sun for Harry, and he’s made it very clear to us by now, like in Golden, Watermelon Sugar and Adore You. Again, this album tells the story of one love and one love only. These songs are all about the same person, the same relationship. The use of “tongue-tied” is also a deliberate reference to Two Ghosts, illustrating how songs from hs1 were also about this love story. The mention of dancehall, a well-known Jamaican music genre, ties in hs1 even more: that album cycle and the experiences sung on that record are part of Fine Line too. That Two Ghosts, a sad song about a time in the relationship where they were a bit lost, is echoed twice in this gloriously happy love song is Harry telling us that they fucking made it. They were kids when they fell in love and their love has only grown stronger and deeper. They’ve shared many lives together, many cycles of the sunflower’s bloom. A lot of their struggles have clearly been centred around them not opening up, not communicating (well or at all), as illustrated in literally every single song this kid has ever written about love like MMITH (“we don’t talk about it”), Two Ghosts (“tongue-tied like we’ve never known”), Sweet Creature (“it’s hard when we argue, we’re both stubborn”, “I always think about you and how we don't speak enough”), From the Dining Table (“we haven't spoke since you went away”), Golden (“and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken/I’m so open”), Adore You (“you don’t have to say you love me, you don’t have to say nothing”), Falling (“forget what I said, it’s not what I meant”, “it kills me ‘cause I know we’ve run out of things we can say”), TBSL (“and I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry”) and that song is also pretty much Harry being honest because he’s drunk so those are also not exactly top-tier communication skills. BUT here, Harry takes that phrase, “tongue-tied,” and turns it on its head: there is no sadness anymore, they’ve learned and grown, and it only involves a cute feeling of being stupidly in love. Harry is still tongue-tied because he can’t believe his luck, he doesn’t know how he could put it all into words so he gives us some riddles and boop boops. 

A sunflower symbolises longevity, love of life, devotion, adoration, loyalty, etc; in short, anything that a good long-term relationship thrives on. Like in a sunflower’s cycle of growth, there are ups and downs in life, but one thing is for sure: the flower will bloom again. This person Harry keeps serenading is strong, optimistic and bright. And any struggles they might go through, Harry will be there to support them. The ‘Vol. 6’ in the title could mean a number of things unknown to us, as always, but some small theories are interesting. When I looked up the growth stages of a sunflower, “stage six” is described as either “flowering is complete and the ray flowers are wilting,” which isn’t the best visual and probably not the one aimed for in the context of this song, or the stage when pollination takes place. So, this might as well be Harry and his dirty mind once again, always finding a way to express his love for that sweet sweet nectar. (you’re welcome)

did harry write that blog post about sunflowers or

Just like in Golden or Adore You, the love Harry has is so strong that he just wants to shout it out. He can’t stop writing songs about his sun, his source of life and happiness. It makes him go crazy. He would do anything for them. Walk through fire, or even give up on writing songs altogether. (Which calls back If I Could Fly (“I think I might give up everything, Just ask me to”).

Yes, it’s sappy, yes we also can’t get enough. YES THEY ARE IN A LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIP DEAL WITH IT

read my other lyric analyses here

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us! 

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries. 

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse​ / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams​ [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon​ / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic​ / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer​ / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

--

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

--

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16​ [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons​ [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt​ / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire​ / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight​ [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

-

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy​ [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright​ / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis​ / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics​ / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​ / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

Sometimes, people are in each other's lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn't even know he's into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There's something more to their friendship but it ain't gonna be smooth sailing.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit​ / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester​ / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry​ [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.” His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

Or

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou​​ / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose​ / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis​ / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence​ [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421​ / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog​ / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender​ / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns​​ / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28​ / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl​ [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992​​ / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou​ [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface​ [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.  

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon​ / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond​ [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood​ [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles​ [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain​ / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway​​ / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment​ / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus​ / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh​ / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts​ / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff​ / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf​ / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28​ / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou​​ / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome​ [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon​​ / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Choke

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Virgil, Scott, Tracy Brothers

Can’t be bothered to come up with a neat title and summary for this right now, so calling it one of my drabbles even though it’s 2k words and longer than a bunch of my published fics, oops.

Was not what I had envisaged writing - I was actually poking through my inbox to look at prompts - but the idea stuck in my head and wanted writing, so I let it happen.

Sound was an important part of Virgil’s life.  Strains of music, ivory piano keys, needle on vinyl.  Machinery roaring, murmuring, humming along as oil stained his sleeves.  His brothers, too many of them for silence to ever be an option, and even the quietest loud enough to fill his life.

He was familiar with so many sounds, could tell from the first vibrations what sort of attention it deserved, so when a throttled squeak sounded from next to him, he was moving before any of his other senses had registered the cause.

“Scott!”  His brothers, all gathered around the table, added to the cacophony as they too scrambled to their feet, ingrained instincts pulling them towards their eldest brother like moths to a flame.  Virgil was closest, and had moved first, so he was the one that won the dubious prize.

The throttled squeaking didn’t stop, somewhere on the wheezing scale, and hands were wrapped around his brother’s neck in an instinctual desperation Scott would never normally let show.  Not if he had any real control over his actions.

They were first aid trained, and something like this was right in the heart of the basics, taught at school, let alone Rescue Scouts or on their professional courses.  From the heaving of his brother’s shoulders, Scott still remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

It just wasn’t working.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil promised, muscles straining against flannel as he tugged the stool Scott was perched on backwards, away from the table.  Dimly, he was aware of the others hovering in his periphery, not crowding the two of them but there if needed.  “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Hands still around his own throat, body taut as he tried and failed to cough up whatever had jammed itself in his windpipe, Scott didn’t fight Virgil as he pulled him upright.  Already, his lips were changing hue, gaining a tint of blue that suggested it wasn’t going to be as simple as just coughing up the obstruction.

At least they were all trained first responders.

Virgil nudged Scott until he was leaning forwards, at least partially propped up by Virgil’s own strength as his hand supported his brother’s chest.  There was no point in standing on ceremony; Scott was still conscious enough to know what was going to happen.  He gave a warning out of habit; almost before he finished speaking, his free hand was moving, the heel of his palm driving into Scott’s back.

No change.  Scott was still scrabbling at his throat, his lips still changing colour.

Virgil did it again, and again when all he got was a strangled noise that was clearly Scott trying his best to dislodge the obstruction.

Two more hits continued to be useless, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his brothers moving away – dispersing to get more equipment, he vaguely registered with the little concentration he had to spare.

The next stage, then. He bundled Scott into a pseudo-embrace, biceps pinning him in place as his hands arranged themselves, palm over fist, just below his brother’s ribcage.  This was going to hurt.

In and up, a fluid yet sharp moment that jarred the entirety of the body in his arms.  He got a faint wheeze in response, still nowhere near good enough.  Scott’s weight was increasing against him, and Virgil knew he didn’t have long before he passed out.

Another thrust, powerful enough to raise his taller brother onto his tiptoes momentarily, failed to dislodge the offending blockage, and Virgil started mentally running through the steps he’d have to take if this failed.  Steps that Scott would hate with a passion.

He pulled back sharply again.

The noise it pulled from Scott’s lips was painful, but a relief all the same as something resembling a strangled cough was accompanied by a chunk of something black and charred dropping onto the table in front of them.

“Th-” his brother wheezed. He was trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through his body, and Virgil immediately guided him down to the floor – less of a distance to fall if he lost his balance.  Scott’s hand was back at his throat, but fingers massaged rings into the skin, rather than clutching desperately.

Virgil didn’t let go.

“Water?” John offered, face still pinched with worry as he carefully knelt down in front of Scott, plastic cup in hand.  Scott’s hands were still trembling as they massaged his throat; if they needed a sign to tell them how shaken their big brother was, it was in the way John held the cup to his lips for him, tilting it just enough for a few drops at a time, and Scott accepted it.

Behind him, next to Virgil, who still had both his arms firmly wrapped around Scott for support, Gordon crouched down.  A tanned hand ran lightly over the site of the back slaps, making its own tracks up and down and round and around in another gesture that was supposed to be comforting. Scott didn’t make any moves to pull away, so Virgil assumed it was giving him what he needed.

“Alan’s gone to get a scanner,” John explained after a moment.  Scott gave a miniscule nod of acknowledgement as Virgil lightly rested a hand over his abdomen, hoping the thrusts to clear the obstruction hadn’t done any more damage, but knowing Scott would definitely be at least bruised.  He hadn’t had the luxury of holding back his considerable strength.  “How are you feeling?”

Slender fingers rested on Scott’s shoulder, not far from where Gordon was still rubbing his back lightly.

“’M okay,” Scott rasped, his own hands finally falling from his throat to rest in his lap.  “Thanks, Virg.”

As though Virgil would have done nothing while his brother choked.  “Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, and was rewarded with a slightly pained chuckle.

“Don’t plan to,” Scott promised.

“So, which part of Grandma’s cooking was it, anyway?” Gordon asked, leaning forwards a little as if he could make out the culprit if he squinted hard enough.

Scott gave a shrug, his whole body shifting.  Virgil saw the warning for what it was and tightened his hold on his brother before he could try and clamber back to his feet.  With John and Gordon both joining in as well, Scott’s bid for freedom was scuppered before it began.

“There’s no rush,” Virgil reminded him pointedly.  “Stay put until Alan gets back with the scanner.”

Scott groaned, but surrendered.  Against three brothers he had no chance, and they all knew it.

“He won’t be long,” John reminded him.  “More water, Scott?”  The plastic cup was offered again; this time Scott took hold of it with his own hands, no longer visibly trembling.  John obediently let go, but his hands hovered in catching range as Scott took another drink.

Alan appeared just as he lowered the cup again, medscanner clutched in one hand.  He looked openly relieved to see that Scott was breathing again, but still deployed it as soon as it was in range.

The light flickered over their brother, and a moment later a holographic representation of Scott was hovering in the air in front of them.  Superficial bruising, it declared, but to Virgil’s great relief there was nothing more serious than that.

All in all, Scott had escaped more or less unscathed, and with the scan proving it, they had no reason to keep Scott pinned to the floor.  Virgil still insisted on helping him to his feet again, to a fond eyeroll that said Scott was humouring him, and as a unit all of the brothers returned to the table.

None of them were particularly keen to continue eating dinner.  The black lump sat innocently on the table, a reminder of what their grandmother’s cooking was capable of, and after a moment of staring at their half-finished plates they unanimously decided not to risk any more of it.

“Takeout?” Gordon suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil agreed, pushing the plate in front of him away.  The rest of his brothers followed suit.

“I’ll go get pizza,” Scott volunteered, making his way to his feet.  Virgil’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could take a step – on Scott’s other side, Gordon had apparently had the same idea.

Opposite, John had already brought up a menu and started placing an order.  “It’ll be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes,” he said.  “It’s the usual place, Alan.”

Scott made a noise of affronted protest, but their youngest brother beamed and darted out of the kitchen with an “F.A.B!”

“Give yourself a bit longer to recover before you break the sound barrier,” Virgil told Scott, amused. His eldest brother huffed at him, but reluctantly conceded the point and sat back down again.  “So, who’s clearing this up?”

John and Gordon looked at each other warily.  For his part, Virgil pressed his shoulder against Scott’s, making it perfectly clear that he was needed on observation.  Just in case.  Neither of his other brothers seemed particularly pleased with the silent declaration, but didn’t argue.  Instead, they sprung into a game of rock-paper-scissors.

John won, and settled back smugly where he sat, tablet seemingly taking up all of his attention as Gordon whined.

“It’s not so bad,” Scott told him.  “Look, I’ll help.”  He was halfway to standing by the time Gordon clutched at his shoulders and pushed him back down again.

“No, no,” he said.  “It’s fine.  You need to stay put, otherwise Virgil’ll get grumpy.”  Virgil rolled his eyes; he wasn’t the only one that would protest, and they all knew it.

As Gordon started gathering up the abandoned plates, the blast shutters slid across, shutting out the retracting pool before the silver rocket launched into the sky.

Virgil saw the longing glance Scott sent his ‘bird as she rapidly vanished from sight and squeezed his shoulder.

“Food’ll be here soon,” he promised, knowing full well that that wasn’t the reason behind the look. They all got angsty whenever someone else took their ‘birds out instead, after all.  “Try not to choke on it this time.”

Scott swatted at him as Gordon barked out a laugh.

“We’ll make sure to cut it up nice and small for you,” the aquanaut grinned.  “After-”

In one swift motion, Scott scooped up the now-empty cup and hurled it at him.  Gordon lunged to the side as it sailed past him.

“Hey!”

“Just helping you clear the table,” Scott said sunnily.  His hand crept towards one of the plates and Gordon jolted forwards with another yelp to snatch it up first, even though they all knew Scott wouldn’t actually throw something breakable.  Grandma would kill him if he did.

“I don’t need help from someone who couldn’t swallow his food properly,” Gordon retorted, ducking away from the swipe that comment earned him.  “Why don’t you go sit by the pool for a few minutes?  We’ve got half an hour until pizza.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil chipped in, taking hold of Scott’s elbow.  “Let’s leave him to it.”  Scott smirked in agreement and stood up, leading the way out through the once-again open shutters.  Behind them, John muttered something about burning, and Virgil surmised that he wasn’t planning on becoming as crispy as whatever Scott had choked on.

Scott sprawled onto one of the loungers, and Virgil would have thought it nothing particularly out of the ordinary for the times Scott did use them, except for the hand that briefly rubbed at his throat again in passing.

It seemed to be a subconscious gesture rather than a point for concern, but Virgil pointed the scanner at him again, just to be on the safe side.  Scott jumped as the light flickered over him again, and sighed when his eyes focused on the device.

“Didn’t you already do that?”

“No harm in checking twice,” Virgil pointed out.  The result came back the same as before, to his relief.

Scott hummed at him, but didn’t dispute it.  Then again, the result was in his favour, so he had no reason to.  Content that his brother would be fine soon enough, Virgil let the conversation lapse into silence.  In the kitchen, Gordon was grumbling about clearing up by himself, and every so often John sniped something in return.  Normal sounds, at least when John was dirtside.  Beside him, Scott was also silent, seemingly content to listen to their brothers without interrupting.

There really was no such thing as silence in their home.  As long as it didn’t herald something worrying, Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

[spade-riddles]

Submission: Adjusting expectations

Okay, guys. Wading in here where it’s possible no-one wants me, but … here goes. 

We - Kaylors - are in a hard place right now. People feel hurt, they feel hopeless. They feel like they were led on by the likes of Spade. I’m not here to invalidate any of the feelings that come from seeing Karlie and Taylor play out this charade.  

But I think we (collectively, as a fandom) need to take a breath and ask if any of this is really as bad or unfixable as we think it is. Because, for me, the recent stunting is hard to stomach but not truly surprising. On some level this is how I expected Karlie and Taylor to handle both the birth of the baby and the launch of the rerecorded albums. As much I wanted to believe in the idea of spring breaking loose and bringing with it a fervent revolution … I could see the pieces still in play on the board and I doubted it was coming. 

I think the problem is that there was a split between the optimist and pragmatist sides of the fandom, over the last year or so. To be clear - I’m not judging the optimist side of the fandom. Not at all. Taylor has pulled wildcard moves before, and emotions run so high in all this, especially with a baby involved now, that I don’t blame people for wanting to believe the best. But it reached a stage where some of the things people were trying to talk themselves into were just wildly unrealistic. And when that happens, of course you’re going to get hurt. It’s inevitable. 

But let’s really look at this for a second. We should have known that neither Karlie nor Taylor was going to be shaving her beard in March. Ditching Jerk right after or just before the birth would have been too soon for Karlie. It’s not unusual for a celeb marriage to fizzle out within a year of the birth, but before the baby even arrives? That would be weird, and would draw attention just when it seems Kaylor don’t want it. They just had a baby. That’s an adjustment in itself, and Karlie is suffering enough social media hate on top of that. I wouldn’t blame her for just wanting to take a break and lie low during this difficult time. And unfortunately, for Karlie, that means maintaining the status quo of the situation she put herself in with Jerk. She may be doing the bare minimum to maintain it, but if she wants to avoid attention, she has to make it seem like everything between her and her “husband” is normal. And that she’s trying to make it work, which I believe will be important later. Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships. 

Toe wasn’t going anywhere either. Taylor had relied on him so heavily during the promotion of Folklore, with the William Bowery narrative, that she was almost backed into a corner. She had to give some allusion to his air quotes “creative input” and their so-called happy relationship, or her failure to do so would have become the story and overshadowed her night. The headlines would have either been break-up speculation or complaints that she didn’t give him his due. We think the cutesy coverage after she named him in her acceptance speech was bad, but negative headlines have a far longer shelf life and can take on a life of their own. They would have been worse. Whatever we might think of Taylor’s actions, Folklore is one of her best albums and she deserved to have her night. 

So, on to the announcement of the birth. This is a tricky one, and again, I completely understand why people reacted so badly against it. It was everything we as a fandom said we didn’t want. It was Jerk using the baby for personal good PR. But I have to be honest here. I always thought we were kidding ourselves believing he would NEVER be seen with the baby or implied to be the father. I do believe Karlie is doing her damnedest to minimize the digital footprint of his involvement and keep her actual baby out of it. But he was always going to get to bask in the glow of playing daddy for a while. It’s the trade off Kaylor made when they used him to shore up their closet. 

This is also why I increasingly suspect the timing of the announcement got the green light from Kaylor too. If Jerk was always going to be assumed to be the father of Karlie’s baby, then there was always going to have to be a birth announcement that incorporated him somehow - unless the girls were ready to answer awkward questions, and it doesn’t seem like we’re there yet. So the best way to minimize the damage is to have his moment of glory overshadowed by a bigger win for Taylor. It worked pretty well actually. Even on Kaylor blogs the stunt was mostly buried by Taylor content.

I know a lot of fans feel gaslit by all the hints, but I do think there’s a possibility Taylor really didn’t grasp how hurt Kaylors would be. From her perspective, she “fed” fans three times over that night. She gave us a beautiful performance, a gorgeous red carpet moment, and a win to celebrate. I think it’s possible she really didn’t realize the double whammy of stunting that night would make it all feel worthless for many.

Taylor is in an awkward position. As a consequence of Kaylor retreating into the closet, the support base for them has shrunk. (When I use the words “Kaylor fandom”, I refer to this support base.) I would say Kaylor fandom consists of two parts. There is a silent portion, who observe events and comment anonymously, but don’t say anything “on main”. And then there are the small corps of true believers, who think Karlie and Taylor are still together and the baby is theirs. This latter group do most of the actual talking about Kaylor, but they tend to be pretty battle-hardened. They’ve been around for years, they never believe any of the stunts and their capacity to be hurt by them is, as a result, pretty limited. These Kaylors criticize sometimes, but they tend to fall back in line eventually and mostly adopt a “let’s wait and see how this all shakes out” approach. The problem is that I would say these “chilled” Kaylors are the minority. For their own sanity they curate their blog experience and often don’t post the more negative anons they get. Which is fine, but if you were looking at it from the outside, I could see how it might create an impression that the fandom as a whole can roll with the punches. And for a lot of the silent majority, that’s not the case. 

But again, I can see how Taylor might not necessarily know that. She went quiet after the Grammys, when I might have expected more celebratory posts from her. If I had to guess, I’d say she didn’t expect the backlash. I’m especially noticing a backlash against her for allowing Karlie to take so many hits while her own reputation has never been better. And I can’t defend her on that one, except to say I hope she has a plan. But I understand where people are coming from when they say the songs aren’t enough and actions speak louder than words. It’s tough to watch. 

Still, we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming. We should have known Jerk wasn’t going to be out of the picture immediately after the birth. This is one of those things nobody likes, but maybe we all just have to be patient on. I don’t see Karlie busting out of the closet to admit her marriage was a fake, or testifying to the FBI. I think she’ll just let her marriage quietly fall apart, as many real marriages did during the pandemic. And for that to work, she needs to make it look like didn’t throw away a family unit lightly. Hence the “I tried” post, the social media break, and the suggestions of spending time with Jerk’s family. All of this can be spun later into a narrative of Karlie having tried to make it work, only to never really be accepted. The hate online affected her mental health and she gradually realized how unhappy she’d become and decided she needed to break free and find her old self again for her baby’s sake. This is the most likely narrative for Karlie’s freedom and it’s one that could work - but it’s going to take time to unfold. Personally, I’m giving it a year. If we don’t see a separation by then, and definitive moves to a reunited Kaylor, I’ll be bowing out. I’ll still know what I believe the truth to be, but I won’t see the need to devote my energy to defending it. ,

Meanwhile, the masters rerecords are about to be released, and Taylor has invested a lot in their success. Because of this, I can’t envision her coming out until at least the big three (Fearless, 1989, and Red) have dropped. She might drop hints, but I don’t expect anything earth-shattering. Even the order of the album releases seems to confirm this. She’s breaking out the big guns first. 

I’ve seen people speculate that because Rep can’t be rerecorded until 2022, Taylor will hold off on any coming out until then. And I’m not so sure of that. Yes, people listening to the album for clues would give Scott and Scooter money, but if we’re being honest, a fair amount of people are probably listening to those albums already, regardless of the drama. Those sleazeballs are profiting from Rep, full stop. But if Taylor profits more, from her bigger albums, she still wins. And she can still put out a Taylor’s version of Rep with vault tracks and collabs, to seduce people away from the Big Machine version in early 2022. Honestly, I think there’s a good chance Taylor would consider this is a worthwhile trade-off anyway, if it meant she got to live a more open life with Karlie - and most crucially, begin to repair Karlie’s reputation. As children get older and the world begins to leave the pandemic behind, it becomes harder to live behind closed doors. I guess we’ll find out how Taylor finds the reality of such a life, and what she considers worth sacrificing to step away from it. 

All this to say: I can’t predict the future more than anyone else, but I don’t think the situation we’re in now is irreparable, and if we’re being really objective, I don’t think it’s even surprising. I do think Taylor should give us something, if she wants to keep us around. No-one can live on a complete absence of hope, and as I’ve stated, letting the fandom dwindle to this extent has its own dangers. But I think we also need to keep our time frames realistic, even if it means rejecting lifelines like the Spade riddles. We shouldn’t expect Karlie to be free of Jerk for around a year, and we shouldn’t expect Taylor to do anything much beyond general music promo until at least the big three have dropped. Sucks to say it, I know. But at least this way we won’t be disappointed, and if Kaylor do pull a wild card and move towards freedom, we can be pleasantly surprised. 

Just my two cents. 

___________________

Well written and fair arguments on our reactions and expectations. I had typed up more, but I will let others post their comments before I chime in.

[when-a-humble-bard]

what my heart just yearns to say

Word Count: 5575

summary: Jaskier’s a romantic at heart. So you would think he falls in love at first sight. But... when he falls in love with Geralt, he falls very, very slowly. Or, ten moments where Jaskier falls a little bit more in love with the Witcher, until he's really not sure when it started in the first place.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, injuries, vomiting, mentions of death, nonconsenual almost-groping by a patron, shipping lens on a canon scene, near-drowning, cursing (of course), first kisses, feelings confessions, Jaskier yearns so much oof

A/N: In which I continue to be amazed by the other creators in this fandom, inspired by them, and also wanted to further explore these two. I hope you enjoy it! A companion piece is in the planning stages already... Heh. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3

...

I.

“They said it’s a water nymph?” Jaskier asks the Witcher one evening.

A fire crackles in front of them, sparks shooting up into the night sky. Stars peek between the breaks in the forest canopy above them. Geralt glances at the bard, then sighs and turns his attention back to the fire.

“That’s what they said.”

“But you don’t buy it,” Jaskier says. It’s not really a question. He can tell from Geralt’s tone.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line. “Rusalki and some bruxae share a number of similarities in terms of appearance. The rusalki they described has pale skin and dark hair.”

Jaskier’s fingers twitch with the sudden desire to grab his notebook. “And… rusalki don’t look like that?”

“They can,” Geralt replies, glancing at him, “but so can bruxae. They also have similar tastes in prey.”

Jaskier purses his lips as he remembers what the townspeople had told them. “Men.”

Geralt nods. “Which is why you’re going to stay here with Roach tomorrow.”

Jaskier glances over towards the horse grazing a few yards away, then looks back at the Witcher. “So what’s the difference?”

He doesn’t know if the question tumbles past his lips because he’s genuinely curious about the answer or because he just really likes hearing Geralt talk. The Witcher’s subdued cadence was stubbornly persistent. Often when Jaskier made a concerted effort to engage Geralt in conversation, his responses were brief, clipped, and straightforward. A staccato drum against Jaskier’s lilting melody.

But apparently, Geralt was a fountain of willing knowledge when it came to monsters. And Jaskier could listen to him for hours.

Geralt’s brow quirks in surprise at the question. “To start with, bruxae are of the vampire family. They lure men to their death so that they may feed on their blood. Rusalki are, usually, much more amenable. They lure men to them for procreation, and rarely intend death.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “Which is why you think it’s not rusalki. You think it’s a bruxa.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier feels something twinge in his chest. “How do you kill a bruxa?” He tears his gaze towards the fire as he feels Geralt glance at him.

“They’re susceptible to silver, like most monsters. Igni is also useful. Bruxa tend to hunt in packs, so its unusual that the villagers here have only seen one.”

“Have you fought them before?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nervous? About tomorrow?”

A pause. “No.”

Jaskier huffs and offers a faint, uncertain smile. “That makes one of us.”

“I told you you’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, but that’s quite beside the point, isn’t it?” Because Jaskier isn’t nervous about himself.

Geralt’s head snaps over to the bard in surprise. “Jaskier—”

Jaskier waves him off. “So tell me, dear Witcher,” he says, because he just wants to hear Geralt talk as much as he can tonight. “Why does silver work so well on monsters?”

 II.

Jaskier watches him. The early spring air tugs gently at the loose strands of his white hair. Birds twitter happily in the canopy above them. The stream nearby is still. Mid-morning sunlight filters through the leaves and branches, leaving a mosaic of light around them.

Geralt breathes.

Kneeling in a patch of grass with his hands resting on his thighs, the Witcher has his eyes closed and just… breathes. Jaskier watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way it expands with each inhale, the way the ever-present tension in Geralt’s shoulders eases just the slightest bit with each exhale.

Jaskier knows he’s not asleep. Sleeping and meditating are different things. But he thinks that Geralt actually looks more peaceful like this. Jaskier had spent many nights in the bedroll near the Witcher and knew all too well that when Geralt slept, it was usually fitfully. But when he meditates like this…

Geralt is still.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like he’s getting a rare glimpse at who Geralt was—is—beneath the layers and layers of training and mutations. He knew Geralt didn’t regret what he went through to become a Witcher. At least… not exactly. Can you regret something that wasn’t your choice to begin with? Had been his rhetorical response when Jaskier had been brave enough to ask him one evening. But the bard knew that no amount of trials and training could erase the parts of Geralt that was still—sometimes painfully—human. Geralt held within himself a carefully balanced dichotomy that seemed, at least to Jaskier, to be a storm built on regret and guilt and (in his darker moments) self-loathing.

But watching Geralt meditate—the steady breath, the perfect stillness—makes the bard wonder if the storm metaphor isn’t quite accurate. Because really, when Jaskier thinks about it, Geralt’s humanity is perhaps more like the coastal waves. Relentlessly returning to the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

Jaskier watches Geralt meditate and feels something tighten in his chest. He’d follow that tide to the end of the earth, he realizes. He’d call the waves back to shore for as long as Geralt would let him.

Geralt’s eyes blink open and Jaskier unapologetically meets his gaze.

He arcs his eyebrow. “Composing, Bard?”

Jaskier offers a small, sincere smile. “Something like that.”

 III.

“I’d rethink that move.”

If he’s being honest, Jaskier is almost as surprised as the patron when Geralt seems to materialize out of the crowd and grab the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip. The man’s other hand is still fisted possessively in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers, uncomfortably close to his crotch.

“What,” the patron spits with a sneer full of rotting teeth, “unwilling to share your whore, Butcher?”

Jaskier grimaces. Butcher made his skin crawl, and he knows that Geralt didn’t take kindly to that term either. The bard had learned that very early, and very quickly.

Geralt growls low in his throat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Call him that again and I’ll slit your throat.”

The threat makes Jaskier freeze instinctively. Call him that again… Him.

As in Jaskier.

The patron roughly lets go of the bard, who stumbles a step from the suddenness of the motion but still hasn’t taken his eyes off Geralt. In truth, Jaskier really hadn’t been particularly bothered by the term itself. He’d been called it before, and been called much worse than that several hundred times over. But Geralt took issue with it, evidently.

Geralt was defending him. He’d never had someone who’d done that before. Not even his own family.

“Not worth it,” the patron says gruffly. Geralt releases him with a shove to send him stumbling away from Jaskier. He staggers a few steps, muttering something under his breath. Jaskier doesn’t hear it clearly—something about his voice and screaming as pretty as he sings—but Geralt evidently does hear it, quite clearly. Something bright and furious ignites in his gold eyes.

“Geralt,” he says quickly but quietly. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

For a moment, the Witcher looks torn. Jaskier places a hand on his forearm, and Geralt levels a withering gaze on the other man. He rushes through the crowd and out the tavern. It’s not until the door closes behind him that Geralt turns his attention back to the bard. The hot anger in his eyes evaporates slowly into something that Jaskier almost wants to call… soft. His gaze flickers—quick and calculating—over Jaskier’s form. Looking for signs of injury.

Geralt’s gaze meets his again in a silent question. Jaskier offers a reassuring smile and slight nod in answer. I’m okay.

Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier doesn’t think he’s imagining the tinge of relief under the veil of exasperation. “You really ought to learn some self-defense, Jaskier.”

Jaskier offers an affronted scoff. “I can defend myself perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.”

“I can! I’ll have you know, he is hardly the first over-enthusiastic fan I’ve dealt with.” Jaskier tries not to wince at the way Geralt’s expression darkens, and rushes of add, “And I’ve fended off unwanted advances just fine. He just happened to be particularly, ah, insistent.”

“Hm. And what happens when you can no longer talk your way out of such situations?”

Jaskier’s flippant smile wavers, then stays in place. “Are you offering to teach me, Geralt?” He’s mostly joking.

“Yes.” Geralt’s answer is immediate and unflinching. Jaskier tries not to think too long about why that sends a flutter through his stomach.

 IV.

The kitchen of the small house on the outskirts of the town has barely enough room for the three of them. Geralt, beside him, reeks of death and decay and monster guts. In front of them, the young boy—who couldn’t be older than 16 by Jaskier’s best guess—hoists his baby sister up further onto his hip.

“Truly, Witch—ah, Geralt?” At Geralt’s slight nod, the teen smiles. “Truly, Geralt. Thank you. I, um…” he trails off, turning to rifle through a drawer behind him. The middle sibling, a young boy of about six, runs around the corner and nearly barrels straights into the two of them in the entryway.

“Oi!” the teen snaps. “Slow down, will ya?”

“Sorry,” the younger boy mumbles, and then is off like a flash the moment Geralt takes a step to the left to let him through.

His brother watches him with a certain fond exasperation, even as embarrassment colors his cheeks. “Too much energy for his own good,” he says. Jaskier realizes then that he has a small pouch in the hand that isn’t supporting his baby sister’s weight. He extends it out to the Witcher. “It’s not much. Certainly not nearly enough for disposing of the monster that took our parents, but...”

Geralt shakes his head, making no move to take it. “No payment necessary.”

Jaskier glances at him and feels something unexpectedly soft warming in his chest.

“Please,” the teen says. “I insist.”

“Keep it.”

“My father taught me to never accept charity.”

Jaskier thinks of the empty cupboards around them in the kitchen and feels a small tug in his gut. He remembers all too well singing for literal scraps. Barely surviving. He knew desperate times. And he also knew that some people still ranked their pride higher. The bard figures he can’t really fault him for it, and besides, the poor kid had just lost the very father he’d spoken of. Grief did funny things to people.

Geralt stares at the boy for a long moment. Jaskier sees the tension work in his jaw before he holds a hand out and lets him deposit the coins into the outstretched palm. Twenty ducats fall from the piece of cloth.

“It’s all I have—” he begins apologetically.

“It’s plenty,” Geralt interrupts, folding his fingers over the paltry sum. It does not escape Jaskier’s attention that he doesn’t slip the coins into his own pouch.

The infant in the teen’s arms shifts and makes a distressed noise. “I… I should put her down for a nap, I think.”

Jaskier can hear the uncertainty in the boy’s voice and offers an encouraging smile. “We’ll see ourselves out. I’m sure a bit of rest is exactly what she needs. As a matter of fact, I could use a nap myself.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but Jaskier sees the relieved smile pull at the boy’s mouth. “Right. Well… Thank you. Again. I… thank you.”

He disappears up the rickety wood stairs. On their way out, Jaskier sees Geralt discretely drop the ducats into a partially-opened drawer by the entrance to the kitchen.

That soft, warm feeling in Jaskier gives an aching, happy tug.

 V.

Jaskier watches, fascinated, as Geralt’s eye twitches. The music that fills the tavern is not coming from Jaskier, and while the other bard is clearly less experienced, Jaskier seems less bothered by the amateur display than the Witcher. Which is odd—really odd—to Jaskier. Because he had been certain that Geralt really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about music.

Jaskier looks at the Witcher over the top of his wine glass as he takes another sip. “What’s troubling you, Geralt?”

Geralt settles an irritated golden gaze onto Jaskier as the bard (the other one) starts another song. It takes only a few seconds for Jaskier to realize it’s the same simple, mundane chord progression and structure as the last song played. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s gaze flickers lightning quick to the lute beside him.

Jaskier stifles a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re already missing my serenades.”

Geralt isn’t looking back at him, instead watching the other bard parade around the room with a look that is very nearly a glare. “At least your songs have some… complexity.”

That sends a very unexpected surge of warmth through Jaskier’s chest. He sits up a bit more, leaning forward. “Musically or lyrically?”

“Music,” Geralt replies, almost absently. “The… chords?” The Witcher’s gaze flickers uncertainly to Jaskier, who can’t help but feel like he’s clinging to every word. He gives Geralt a slight, encouraging nod. Geralt shifts. “They’re better than this shit.”

Jaskier stares at him. Sure, the Witcher didn’t have the same musically-inclined vocabulary, but even that couldn’t hide the fact that Geralt listens to his music. Really listens.

Geralt tears his gaze away from Jaskier’s after a moment, taking a long pull of ale from the tankard in front of him. “Your lyrics,” he continues, “are little more than inaccurate stories.”

“Ah, my dear Witcher, ordinarily I would balk at such a baseless accusation—”

“It’s not baseless.”

“—but you cannot hide the fact any longer.” Jaskier cannot contain the grin that pulls at his lips any more than he can contain the surge of a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. He points a finger at Geralt. “You listen to me.”

Geralt looks back at him and—though he knows Geralt would deny it—Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Impossible not to,” Geralt replies dryly, “what with you filling every damn second with song.” He takes another swallow.

The thinly veiled deflection does nothing to diminish Jaskier’s smile. “And you like it.”

This time, Geralt can’t quite contain the tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Jaskier knows it’s a hum of agreement.

 VI.

Jaskier’s heart still hasn’t stopped pounding, even though they’d finished the treacherous part of the shortcut around an hour ago. The image of Borch, Téa, and Véa plummeting—their bodies disappearing into the mountain mist below—still leaves Jaskier with a slight roll to his stomach and an ache in his bones that had nothing to do with the long day of foot travel.

It’s close to dusk. The chill of evening mountain air begins to stiffen the bard’s fingers as he sets his lute down beside his bedroll. The dwarves busy themselves with setting up camp and starting to prepare a meal, but Jaskier can’t help the way he keeps watching Geralt.

Geralt, who hadn’t said a thing since Borch let go of the chain.

Jaskier kneels by his bedroll and pretends to adjust it, but he watches the Witcher sitting on a boulder a few yards away. He gazes out over the jagged terrain off the cliffside. He is still. But Jaskier feels his chest knot with concern.

Geralt was perhaps the single most selfless person that Jaskier had met in his 40 years of living. But that came with its pitfalls too—especially as it related to how Geralt tended to view himself. There had always been splintered shards in Geralt’s soul that Jaskier didn’t know how to begin to dig out. But he can still picture the way Geralt had stayed kneeling for a moment on those wooden planks, his head bowed like the weight of the world had—for just a moment—dropped on top of him.

Jaskier fears he knows that body language, and the weighted silence that had followed that moment. He fears that his 22 years of traveling with the Witcher means that he really does know Geralt. And that Geralt feels that he has let them down somehow, despite all he did to try to save them. Even at great risk to himself, Jaskier remembers with a bit of a wince, hearing the creak of those boards under Geralt’s feet.

The Witcher could never catch a break, it seemed.

With a sigh, Jaskier stands and crosses to him. Geralt makes no move to acknowledge his presence, not really, but his stillness is a sign of recognition in and of itself. The bard sets himself carefully, gingerly, on the boulder beside him.

“You did your best,” Jaskier tells him softly, the words managing to push through his slightly tight throat. “There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt as he says it. The Witcher had spent more years constructing a mask of passivity and stoicism than Jaskier had been alive, but the bard knows him. And when he sees Geralt’s gaze drop by a few degrees, he knows he’d been right about where Geralt’s thoughts had been.

Something in Jaskier’s chest pulses with an ache that he cannot name. Geralt has carried too much for too long and Jaskier desires fervently to ease that burden. To find a way to let Geralt breathe and be and exist without quite so much heaviness.

“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?” he offers, his fingers fidgeting in his lap against the sudden desire to take Geralt’s hand. “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion.”

It’s a weak, flimsy attempt for a smile. Geralt doesn’t, but there’s just the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth when he hums in response. Geralt glances at him briefly, and though Jaskier doesn’t meet his gaze, that aching in his chest gives a sharp lurch with hope.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while,” he adds softly. He’d never said the words aloud before, but they resonate with a certain familiarity. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? ‘Life’s too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.’”

Jaskier swallows, setting his hands on his thighs because they are only getting more fidgety with each pulse of that sharp warmth in his chest—more insistent now. Harder to ignore.

“Composing your next song?” Geralt rumbles quietly.

Jaskier looks down at his hands. “No, I’m just, ah—” I love you, he thinks without daring to look at him. “Just trying to work out what pleases me.”

 VII.

They’re half a mile out of town when it starts to rain. The starting sprinkle lasts just long enough for Jaskier to think he’s glad he invested in a case for the lute before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. Then he’s also glad he bought some decent boots at the last town they were in.

“Fuck.” Jaskier knows that tone. Geralt is annoyed. The bard glances at the Witcher beside him, a faintly amused smile pulling at his lips and a teasing quip on his tongue, but… it dies on his tongue .

Because Geralt meets his gaze, and for a moment, Jaskier forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t know why, really. The rain soaks Geralt’s white hair, causing some of it to fall into the man’s face in damp, loose strings. His dark shirt is quickly becoming plastered to his broad shoulders from the downpour, having left his armor to be cleaned during their quick trip to the woods to collect some medicinal herbs. Jaskier thinks it’s something about the Witcher’s eyes. Maybe it’s something to do with the way water droplets cling to his lashes. Or the way his golden eyes seem so much brighter in the downpour. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Jaskier is a man of many words and many metaphors. But he finds words failing him entirely now, and he can’t explain why. Except that he’s left with the sudden, clear sense that looking at Geralt feels a lot like being called home.

Geralt tilts his head slightly, the way he usually did when he was about to ask a question, but Jaskier blinks and jumps in before he can.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt? We still have half a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” Jaskier shakes his head. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looks away from Jaskier then, squinting briefly up at the sky. Not squinting, Jaskier realizes after a beat. Glaring.

“Not a fan of the rain?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. Geralt rarely vocally complained—usually Jaskier did it enough for the both of them—but the slight crease between his brows is a familiar look of displeasure. Jaskier pulls the lute case off his shoulders and shrugs out of his doublet.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he slings the lute case back around his shoulder. “You left your cloak back at the inn, and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He hands the purple doublet out to him, looking very pointedly down the road where they can just barely make out the silhouette of the edge of the town.

“Jaskier…” A hesitation. A surprisingly heavy one.

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier looks back at the Witcher then to flash him a smile.

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, then takes the garment. As he does so, Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

The bard quickly spins around and rushes a few steps in front of him, arms outstretched to welcome the rainfall, feeling a little breathless again.

 VIII.

Jaskier jolts to awareness with a desperate, strangled gasp. Bile surges up his throat and he barely has the wherewithal to roll away from the person beside him—whose presence is more sensed than seen. Jaskier groans and shuts his eyes against the rolling nausea and the oddly briny taste it leaves in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels a hand rest between his shoulder-blades, so gently it almost seems hesitant.

When Jaskier takes a breath, it trembles. More bile—salty and acrid—rushes up his throat. When the second round of nausea abates and the coughing that wracks his lungs eases, Jaskier feels something cool and smooth pushed against his lips. He instinctively jerks away.

“Damn it, Jaskier,” snaps a rumbling voice. It’s weirdly familiar, even if the strain in it sounds foreign to the bard’s ears. “There’s not—”

Whatever the voice was saying is drowned out by a beautiful, echoing melody. It whispers promises of safety and warmth and love, and something in Jaskier’s chest gives a near painful lurch towards the sound. It’s also not until then that Jaskier gets a sense of his surroundings: the lake in front of him, the grainy sand sticking to his sopping wet clothes, the slate gray overcast sky above him. There are ripples in the lake and that song is calling to him from the water.

Overcome, Jaskier scrambles towards it.

“Fuck—”

Something thick and heavy grabs around Jaskier’s torso and pulls him back. The bard’s back hits something solid and firm but Jaskier’s chest is still pulling, pulling, pulling towards the water, towards the song.

The cool, smooth thing is pressed to his lips again. Jaskier wrenches his head away. But then he can hear something, barely, rumbling like distant thunder beneath the lilting song.

“Drink it, Jaskier. Please.”

The “please” sounds… odd to him. Strained and choked.

Jaskier lets his lips part in response, and a cool liquid floods into his mouth. It tastes of honey and cotton, washing away the briny taste that had been lingering in his mouth. He swallows it down.

A second later, the song fades away. So does the sound of the lake and the dusk breeze brushing past his ears. Just… silence. Jaskier feels the pulling in his chest release and the bard nearly goes boneless from the sudden relief.

He blinks a few times as clarity starts to trickle back into his thoughts. He’d been… traveling. Tracking a siren, or a mutation of one anyway. Yes, that was right. But he’d been with someone. Specifically…

“Geralt?” he asks, his own voice sounding odd in his head with the rest of the world muted. He realizes as soon as the name leaves his lips that Geralt is the thing that’s holding him in place. Jaskier cranes his neck to look at the Witcher, who still hasn’t relaxed his grip. Bright gold eyes meet his blue ones, then flickers over his form with panicked speed.

The stoic, collected look the Witcher usually wore has splintered, just a bit, and Jaskier thinks he can see a glimpse through the cracks that Geralt is frantically trying to piece back together.

He’s… afraid, Jaskier thinks. Or he had been, a moment ago.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier tells him, if only because he has the feeling that maybe Geralt needs to hear it.

The Witcher doesn’t reply, instead swallowing thickly and sinking his head to where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. And if Jaskier traces Geralt’s arm around him to find his hand and lace their fingers together, well. Geralt doesn’t seem to protest.

 IX.

Jaskier is about halfway through the song about the vampiress when the door to the tavern ricochets open with a loud crack. Geralt staggers a step into the room—and it’s the fact that he staggers that makes Jaskier stop mid-song. The Witcher’s entrance is less than graceful, but Jaskier watches closely as Geralt grits his teeth, straighten his spine, and step fully through the threshold. Geralt’s eyes flicker over the room like he’s looking for something, or someone—perhaps the woman who had hired him—when they settle on Jaskier.

Oh.

The bard gracefully, if quickly, jumps to his feet and slings the lute in his hands around his back. Geralt is hiding it now behind sharp eyes and a rigid posture, but something is wrong. Jaskier can tell.

“I hate to cut a performance short,” he says to the crowd as he maneuvers through them towards the Witcher, mostly in an effort to break the sudden silence in the room, “but alas, I must bid you all adieu for the evening. Geralt, shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hum. But he follows Jaskier as the bard carves a path through the crowd towards the stairs. Jaskier flashes patrons reassuring smiles despite the way his own throat is tightening with concern.

They make it to the room—barely—before Geralt’s steps falter again. Jaskier steadies him by grabbing his arm and bracing a hand against Geralt’s chest.

“Easy,” he says softly.

“Fuck.”

“Here. Let’s get you sitting before you end up face-first on the floor, because if that happens then we’re both out of luck because—Melitele’s tits—” Jaskier yelps  when he staggers for a second under Geralt’s sudden weight. “Okay. I’ve got you. Here we go.”

Jaskier is rambling as they cross the small room to the bed. He helps Geralt sit, kneeling in front of him as the Witcher sinks to the edge of the mattress. Geralt grimaces tightly and pitches forward into the bard, his head landing on Jaskier’s shoulder. His weight sinks a bit more, as if too weary to pull away. This close, Jaskier can feel the echoes of faint tremors wracking through his body.

Jaskier swallows the rising panic down. “Potions?” he asks in as level of a voice as he can manage.

“Out,” Geralt answers. “The venom isn’t lethal just—” Another shudder and a tight grunt. “—hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Jaskier releases a faint breath. He supposes he should feel relieved that it’s not lethal, but he can’t help that the tightness in his throat doesn’t quite ease. “What can I do?” he asks, because of all the things Geralt could have done and all the places he could have gone, he chose to find Jaskier when in immense pain. He wants to live up to that display of open trust.

He feels Geralt fist a hand in his shirt. “Just… stay.”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier says thickly, and if his voice breaks just a little, at least Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 X.

Jaskier doesn’t think about it. He sees the mage thrust a hand out in Geralt’s direction when the Witcher’s back is turned and Jaskier lunges on nothing but instinct and the acrid taste of fear on his tongue.

A bolt of sharp green slams into his chest. Something cracks when Jaskier hits the forest floor, something that the bard doesn’t think is magic. His head snaps against the ground, his vision swimming. Heat and sharpness tears through his chest.

Someone screams. Maybe it’s Jaskier. He thinks he hears his name shouted, but it sounds far away.

He is drowning. Can you drown without water?

The bard gasps, desperately, searching for air that he can’t seem to drag into his burning, burning, burning lungs.

His eyes sting. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

There’s a hand on his shoulder—and Jaskier tries very hard to let that tug him from his haze of thoughts. When the hand pulls at him, rolling him onto his back, Jaskier can’t quite contain the choked whimper that releases in the back of his throat. He grimaces, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Jaskier.”

He definitely knows that voice. Jaskier blinks his eyes open, setting squarely on Geralt above him. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Geralt’s eyes quite so wide.

“Fuck,” Jaskier wheezes. He grimaces again. Is he dying? He doesn’t know.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Geralt’s voice very nearly breaks. Jaskier voice is tight with pain—his lungs are throbbing—but soft. Unapologetic. “You’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

He’d never said those words aloud before—I love you—but he means them. He thinks perhaps he’s meant them for quite a long time. Long before even the thought had occurred to him on that mountain all those years ago.

And he thinks Geralt knows this, from the way his eyes widen, and then his whole expression crumples.

“Jask,” he says, a hand cupping the bard’s jaw, his thumb skimming Jaskier’s cheekbone. “You can’t—you… fuck.”

Jaskier takes a breath to reply but cuts off with a wince at the sharp jolt it sends spiking up through his ribs. But he realizes then that the burning in his lungs is easing—gradually, but quickly—and the bard’s next exhale trembles with relief, even as his vision blurs with tears. Whatever spell the mage had sent at Geralt, it seems like one meant to briefly incapacitate and not kill outright. With a quiet grunt of effort, Jaskier presses a hand against the wet leaves beneath him and pushes to sit up.

Geralt looks startled, but he helps nonetheless. The hand on Jaskier’s jaw slips back to cup the back of his neck and the other grabs his free hand to ease him up. The bard sees Geralt’s gaze flicker over his form.

Jaskier tosses him a shaky, wan smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

“You didn’t know that,” Geralt snaps, like that should have made a difference in Jaskier’s decision to jump in front of it.

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

Something bright and pained flickers through Geralt’s gaze. He takes a breath as if to reply, then stops. A crease appears between his brows a second later. “You’re still hurt.”

“Some broken ribs,” Jaskier replies dismissively. The fact that Geralt is still gripping him like he’s afraid Jaskier might just dissolve into smoke in front of him doesn’t escape the bard’s attention.

“Hmm.” He sees Geralt swallow. Watches the way his pupils flicker over the bard’s chest and refuses to meet his eyes.

“Geralt.” The gaze snaps to his own, wide and splintering. Jaskier takes a shallow breath, his gaze as steady as the words that leave his lips. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Though Jaskier can’t be sure—his ears are still ringing a bit—he thinks he hears Geralt’s breath catch.

“Jaskier,” he says, and the bard doesn’t know why his name sounds choked in Geralt’s throat. The Witcher leans forward until his forehead rests against Jaskier’s, and he’s clutching the bard’s hand to his chest like it’s a lifeline. “I… fuck. Fuck.”

And then Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips brush against his own—soft and careful, warm and asking. And Jaskier kisses him back with answers and promises on the edge of his lips.

It feels like coming home.

[popwasabi]

“End of Evangelion” and the tempting nature of oblivion

(TW: Suicide, Self-harm, Pain, Depression, Mental Health, Death)

“End of Evangelion” is a perplexing movie to say the least.

Not that the original classic anime “Neon Genesis Evangelion” series ends on exactly the most conclusive note itself, but “End” takes everything that transpired in the series and literally destroys it.

The films ends with Earth experiencing the long foreshadowed Third Impact and all of the planet returning to the primordial “soup,” as fans call it, with its main protagonist Shinji Ikari and comrade Asuka Langley Soryu as the only remaining humans left. A pseudo, twisted rebeginning of Adam and Eve’s Genesis.

The film is fairly divisive among the fans to say the least. Some fans consider it a masterpiece for its nihilistic tone and mind-bending illustrations of body horror and others despised it for being too dark and confusing with no clear explanation of anything that happened in the film’s events. Hell, even the movie’s fans have a difficult time explaining what exactly happens in the narrative.

I was somewhat in the middle with it after I watched it the first time not super long ago. It was certainly abstract, and I like plenty of stories that don’t make it easy for me to understand. The animation is definitely the franchise’s best and I enjoyed the character moments between Shinji, Asuka, and Misato. But it was also, as stated before, dreadfully confusing and still to this day hard to makes heads or tails out of with its plot.

But, as with more than a few movies I have revisited this year, 2020 helped me contextualize one aspect I think the story is concretely trying to get across.

(We’ll save discussion of “Rebuild” for another day...)

At my lowest points not long ago, I had this frequent vision that would crawl across my mind.

I imagined being up in the clouds on a beautiful sunny day, but I wasn’t floating or flying. I was plummeting, falling like a bird without wings at a speed that would definitely kill me once I got to the ground. But I never imagined actually hitting the Earth like a meat-bagged, human sized asteroid. I only ever imagined the falling part. The wind reaching a terminal velocity and the air rushing past my body and you know what look I had on my face?

Happiness.

I was confused a bit by why I kept imagining this moribund fall into oblivion over and over again. I wasn’t suicidal, though I certainly have had thoughts of self-harm plenty of times before and general detachment from life. But why the fuck was I so happy? I’m about to die after all!

What I have come to realize in recent years, as I’ve developed a better understanding of my mental health and what makes me tick, it wasn’t that I wanted to die so much as I wanted the freedom that comes moments before it. The feeling of finally letting go and letting fate/gravity do the rest.

Years of my life failing at various aspects of societal expectations and career obligations from not being able to get the girls I wanted to date so badly, relationships ending poorly, not quite applying myself the way I should’ve in college, and working a plethora of unfulfilling jobs since graduation made me yearn for that release. Just that feeling of saying “fuck it all” and giving in to the void.

I wanted to stop feeling out of control. The way the world is structured often feels like you are on a wild, rapid river flowing in one very stark direction but you desperately want to go the other way. You keep fighting and fighting it and realize after a while you are just swimming in place, you tire out and either float where the river wants you to go or you drown. I wanted neither of those things, I just wanted control and unfortunately part of life is accepting that a very large percentage of it is beyond your power to alter.

2020 made this feeling starkly apparent once again as we were hit with a once in a lifetime global pandemic that has killed 2.21 million people and counting. As common people struggle to find ways to handle the loss of loved ones and the fallout from economic instability those tasked with protecting us have more or less ignored the cries of needy. Hell, they’re fucking miffed that we would even have the audacity to ask for $2000 of our own fucking tax dollars to put a band-aid on the situation. Combine this with an extremely volatile two-party system and late stage capitalism, we are about as out of control as ever in terms of how much we actually can course correct our destinies in a period like this.

It is why so many irony-pilled millennials and gen z-ers are posting dank memes about meteors colliding with the earth over the course of the year. We’ve lived through two recessions, two forever wars, and now a pandemic in our lifetimes while paying off our crippling debt with slave wages and yet boomers still wonder why we are near universally depressed as a generation.

(Seriously, everybody needs a fucking therapist right now...and also to dismantle the fucking system that’s making us depressed!)

This is what I feel is the real heart of “End of Evangelion.” The movie is a lot of things, obviously, but, after the events of this year and looking back on the more depressing parts of my life, I feel this film is about the tempting nature of oblivion. Giving up when things are clearly beyond your control so you can get that sweet but twisted, fleeting sense of freedom from it all.

Director Hideaki Anno didn’t feel too entirely different about the state of life when he made this series and certainly by the time he made “End” he was in a very dark place.

So, quick history lesson, “Neon Genesis Evangelion” debuted in 1994 and quickly became a classic among fans of anime and the giant mech vs monster genre. Critics loved it for its exploration of mental health and depression and of course plenty enjoyed the hell out of it for its giant monster/robot escapism as well. Fast forward to the conclusion of the series, critics and fans especially are far more polarized. I won’t try to explain exactly what happens in the ending and frankly I don’t think anyone can, but that confusion led to quite a bit of outcry by the fans.

Hideaki Anno, the series’ director, received tons of hate mail and death threats following the series conclusion. The fans hated how abstract it was, how it had an undecisive ending and chose to dive into the mind of Shinji instead of conclusively describing the events of the Third Impact with plenty going as far as to say he had “ruined” his own series for them. This made him unfortunately quite depressed himself over the ending he felt creatively fairly content with.

(I think it should be clear who Shinji is mostly likely a stand-in for in this anime...)

The fan reaction was toxic to say the least and all too familiar for many creatives who didn’t adequately satisfy the insatiable vapid needs of their fandom. Anno did not take this well to put it lightly. A man who was known as a delinquent in high school and expelled from the Osaka University of Arts much earlier in his life, and dealt plenty with his own bouts of depression, Anno had plenty of his own demons to sort out and quite clearly wanted to explore that mental state in “Neon Genesis Evangelion.”

I’ll be honest and say that I myself was not fond of the ending either when I watched it the first time as a freshman in college, and even went as far as to describe it as everything that was wrong with anime to friends in the years that followed for a while. I felt it was confusing and “fake deep,” existential for no reason other than because it just wanted to and people were “dumb” if they liked it.

When I rewatched it again as a much older adult when it came on Netflix last year, I found it much more fascinating and interesting. A sort of abstract introspective into the mind of a troubled teenager, who I had written off many years prior as a “whiny baby.” Though I wouldn’t say I completely understand it still, I get it much more now and I think it has a lot to say about depression and mental health.

Unfortunately, most fans did not have that reaction back then and as a result Anno made his true conclusion “End of Evangelion” as a response to that negativity.

(You’re welcome, nerds.)

As mentioned before, “End of Evangelion” is an extremely nihilistic film that seems to one up each dark moment as you traverse its spiraling narrative. It’s a film where things never get better. If you go into it blind expecting that big last minute heroic save the day moment, it’s always teased and never comes. Things just end very badly for everyone. Nobody gets a “happy ending.”

While the ending to the original series is strange for sure, it does end on a light note that can be interpreted in a number of different ways but ultimately positive. With the way fans reacted to it Anno decided to write a big “fuck you” to them by, in many ways, smashing his toys so no one could play with them again. He even went as far as to splice in the actual hate mail he received into the movie to quite clearly show to the audience, as their favorite characters met their grissly ends, that this was their fault.

(“Gee, I wonder what that was all about.” ~ a fan walking out of the theater back in 1997.)

In a way though, Anno created something strangely beautiful from that reaction. “End of Evangelion” is about giving up in some ways and accepting our inevitable doom. There are no easy answers, no workable solutions to achieve a happy ending because sometimes in life there isn’t one. Despite last ditch efforts by Misato, Shinji, and the crew of NERV the world still ends through the Third Impact. But tonally it’s not quite pessimistic; it’s actually positive, in a very twisted sense of course.

Set to the song “Komm Susser Tod” by ARIANNE, the film’s apocalypse can almost be described as a celebration. With people “popping” and turning into the primordial soup they all largely have smiles on their faces as they kind of get what they want whether it’s a desire to reunite with loved ones, to be with people they have crushes on, or happiness that they have sought for so long in the embrace of others. Everyone’s depressed! But now they are happy because it’s finally all over, they don’t have to give a shit anymore.

As the planet lights up like a Christmas tree, there are images of suicide and death that rapidly cross the screen in the form of the Angel’s final transformation but again, nobody is truly sad about it. They all have some kind of twisted smile or joy that they get from it. It’s a shocking film, if you’re not already prepared for what’s going to happen, and provocative to say the least.

(Can’t decide if I recommend watching this high or not...)

I had no idea what any of it meant at the time when I watched it several years ago (I watched it well after I had seen the original series), and to be fair there are many ways fans have interpreted what exactly took place in the film and have debated endlessly on its meaning for decades now. But at least in my interpretation, after everything we’ve been through this year, “End of Evangelion” to me is about the sweet release of not giving a fuck anymore.

Whether it’s about Anno feeling that way about his own life or the expectations of his fans or both, the film quite clearly doesn’t care about what people may or may not have wanted for Shinji and the NGE characters and is perfectly fine with the way it all comes “tumbling down.”

(He just wants to be with his boyfriend, guys.)

This past July 4th, city fireworks shows were prohibited in my area because they wanted to limit mass gatherings due to COVID but this didn’t stop people from buying plenty of their own to fire off. In what amounted to a collective “fuck you” to everything and 2020, beginning pretty much exactly at dusk people started firing off their at home lightshows like they were mortar gunners in World War I and did not let up until well past midnight. The entire Southern California night sky was lit up not to unlike the thousands of crosses that filled the screen during the Third Impact of “End of Evangelion” and though it could certainly be interpreted as a moment of people patriotically going “Yea, America!” that night, my head canon was much different. It felt like tens of thousands of people across the region just saying “Fuck it” into the night sky at everything; COVID, our horrendous government, police violence, pending World Wars, environmental disaster, and our collective impending doom from it all.

As these fireworks hit their zenith around 9pm I broke out my phone and started playing “Komm Susser Tod” from the movie and it felt perfect. Everyone just wanted to feel that freedom in the moment, that freedom of not giving a damn anymore. To be removed from expectations, from control, from hatred, from pain and it was kind of beautiful in a sick way.

And that’s what “End of Evangelion” feels like to me now; kind of beautiful in a sick way.

(Not saying the LA skyline looked like this exactly but it felt like it haha...)

There are still many ways to interpret Hideaki Anno’s cult classic, and it’s part of its charm but I think the take away fans should have is definitely not that suicide is ok but that we get it. We understand why people have those feelings and why it feels freeing to desire the void and oblivion. It’s a pity that the series most toxic fans didn’t get that clue through the original finale but Anno, not a person who likes  being shoved around, clearly created perhaps the most twistedly beautiful “fuck you” to that in anime history.

As we enter 2021 all I can say is it’s ok to feel like this, it’s ok to desire freedom from the relentless gloom and doom of the world and people’s prying expectations of what they think you “should” be. No one blames you. At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to survive the apocalypse we have zero control over, so the least we can do is be a bit nicer and considerate of one another. 

At least it’ll make the Third Impact more pleasant whenever it eventually comes...

Happy New Year, everyone! 

Congratulations on surviving 2020! Have fun in 2021...

[saiilorstars]

The Serpent

Fandom: MCU // Pairing: T’Challa x woc!OFC

Chapter Summary: **One shot. Agent Citlalli Del Rio struggles to keep her professionalism in check whenever she visits Wakanda and its King. If she paid attention, she would notice that T'Challa has the same issues with her. Only he will know how to eventually get through to the woman who was once known as the warrior Serpent to her own people.

A/N: This is just a one-shot of an OC I'm currently drafting. I always like sampling a new OC with a few one-shots before I post an actual story and since I already did an OC/Steve and OC/Bucky one-shot series for each, we're going for the last OC I had in mind for now! A little context, she's a descendant from the Aztecs and, thus, from Mexico! The pronunciation of the OC's name is 'Seet-la-lee'!

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet​ @perfectlystiles​

Citlalli’s Masterlist // Masterlist to my other OCs

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

"You certainly look as sharp as ever," Okoye remarked in her rigid stance when T'Challa walked up beside her. She didn't even look at him completely, she had enough sight from the corner of her eyes.

"As King of Wakanda, I have an obligation to look my best," was the very King's response. Had they not been surrounded by the Dora Milaje, awaiting for a scheduled visitor, perhaps Okoye would've snorted at the weak excuse. She may also be holding that snort out of sheer pity. She knew well enough why he was taking extra care in his appearance today.

As agreed upon, their visitor arrived a short moment later. Okoye could see T'Challa straightening himself up when the jet landed a safe distance from them. It was frankly bemusing.

The jet opened up and in a few seconds, a tall woman dressed in a traditional black pant suit with a white buttoned up blouse stepped down. Her caramel brown eyes met the awaiting group across from her. She walked towards them in a purposeful stride. It wasn't the first time she was lucky enough to visit the King in Wakanda itself.

"Your majesty," she said. Even the slight Spanish accent in her tone wasn't enough to hide the overwhelming sarcasm.

If Okoye hadn't already met her plenty of times before, she would've been outright offended with the sarcasm.

"Don't you dare bow," T'Challa warned the woman as soon as he caught one of her legs already bending.

The woman chuckled and straightened up that leg. "Caught me," she put a hand over her chest. "One of these days, you won't."

"I will keep my eyes sharp and open when you are around," T'Challa promised her. Beside him, he could see the tight-lipped smile Okoye was battling on her face. He had half a mind to send her away but that would out him in a second. Instead, he put all of his attention on the woman standing in front of him.

She was waiting for him with a polite smile on her face. Her curly brown hair was neatly laid on the left side of her neck but the light breeze in the air would occasionally pull loose strands.

"Agent Del Rio, welcome to Wakanda," he said, making her smile widen.

"It is beautiful as always and, just as always, my name is Citlalli. I beg you to use it," she glanced at Okoye with a polite smile. "Nice to see you as well."

Okoye gave a dutiful nod. "Likewise."

Citlalli put her hands together in front of her. "I am ready to start whenever you are," she said to T'Challa. "But I need to return to Virginia by the end of the day."

"Of course," T'challa gave her a nod. She was always on a schedule given her work in the C.I.A. but he always managed to stretch out her visits a bit more than what she always scheduled for them.

Citlalli motioned him to lead the way back to the palace. She assumed their meeting room was already waiting for them.

"Actually, I thought we could do something different," T'Challa said, much to her surprise. "It's just you and I this time so I thought we would have more time, you know?"

"Ah," Citlalli slowly nodded, "O-okay. Where would you like to have the meeting?" T'Challa set his eyes on the city beside them. Citlalli didn't quite understand until she followed his gaze. "Oh." She blinked.

T'Challa smirked. "Shall we?" he motioned her to walk first. Slowly, she did. T'Challa followed behind her but he met Okoye's smirk on his turn.

"Hardly a place for a meeting," she mumbled as they began to walk.

"Shh," he promptly told her.

~ 0 ~

"This is hardly a place for a meeting," Citlalli would unknowingly repeat Okoye's words later on in the day. She and T'Challa walked side by side down the bustling city. "I am not wearing the right clothes, either." She fanned herself with her hand every now and then. It was a warm day today.

"Nothing wrong with a change of air," T'Challa shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed watching her curious eyes gaze over the many stalls lining their sides. Despite being one of the people allowed in Wakanda-the only agent allowed for that matter-she'd never gone out of the palace during her visits.

"Of course not," Citlalli agreed, "But, as I said, I am here to talk business." She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Dora Milaje walking a good distance from them. Privacy reasons and whatnot. "And besides, we could save the Dora the walk, couldn't we?"

"They are fine. Trust me, Citlalli," T'Challa insisted. "What are we supposed to be talking about?"

Citlalli sent him a flattened-expressed glance. "Did you not read the file I sent you prior to this meeting?"

"Of course I did, I just wanted to make sure you read them. Have you?"

Citlalli couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. For a King, he was rather funny sometimes. She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "Alright," she conceded with him. They could discuss their potential plans outside. It was actually rather beautiful outside anyways. "It's regarding the center you recently opened in Oakland. Stark is interested in aiding with the funding."

"I am very thankful for it but Wakanda is more than capable of taking care of the finances of the program," T'Challa said, purposely stopping in front of a stall.

Citlalli was forced to do the same without noticing what the stall was offering. She was focused on the conversation. "Of course, nobody doubts that. I certainly don't but the idea is-"

"Would you like some?" He offered her a small piece of bread.

"What?" She blinked at it, having been thrown in the middle of her conversation. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, what kind of person do you think I am?" He offered the bread again.

Citlalli sighed. "I didn't exactly bring money to go shopping."

T'Challa smiled at her. "My treat."

Citlalli raised an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean you will pay?"

Before T'Challa could explain to her how it usually went, the seller herself told her that it was really her treat. How could the King pay and much less a friend of the King?

With that, Citlalli had no choice but to accept the bread, or whatever it was. She took it from T'Challa and dropped it into her mouth. As soon as she started chewing, sweet flavors of honey and nuts flooded her mouth. "Oh, that is good," she covered her mouth as she went through the several stages of divine tasting.

T'Challa chuckled at her. "I thought you would like it. I remember you mentioning your like for honey."

"Mhm," she nodded. "You remembered that?" It'd been an off-handed remark in a conversation she could barely remember.

"Of course," he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her pause for a moment. She studied him.

"What is it?" T'Challa asked her when the studying lasted minutes.

"I am just trying to figure you out,"Citlalli shrugged. She began to move again, prompting him to do the same. "I never considered you to be the type of King who walks through his own city."

"Is that bad in your eyes?"

"No," Citlalli smiled at him. "It's humble."

"I am glad you think so. Can I show you something else? I think you might like it." T'Challa picked up his pace to reach another stall.

Citlalli had to sprint a bit to catch up. They ultimately stopped by a stall full of flashy jewelry. She was delighted at the sight-he knew that she loved accessories. Her favorite, though, were the...

"I thought you might like this one," T'Challa took one golden snake-head bracelet. She was always drawn to the serpents because of her background.

Citlalli's smile faltered at the sight of it. "Um..." she swallowed hard. "That's very beautiful but...I don't wear that stuff anymore, you know that."

T'Challa nodded. "Because you haven't found your people yet, but I have no doubt that you will."

Citlalli never knew whether or not she regretted telling him the story of her lost village. She trusted him to keep the secret to himself but she wasn't sure if she was alright with the fact that someone else knew about her personal mission, a personal mission that she was failing miserably at. "You are kind with your faith but my personal agendas should not be any of your concern," she offered him a polite smile. "You are King. You have enough on your to-do list."

"I will always make time for a friend." T'Challa suspected that if Okoye could hear the conversation, she would've scoffed for sure. He was guilty of wanting to offer Citlalli a lot more than friendship.

Citlalli lowered his hand with the bracelet to the stall. "Please," she whispered, eyes falling low with distinctive pain. "Can we go back to the meeting?"

T'Challa was alarmed with the hurt in her eyes. That was never what he intended and the fact that Citlalli even showed that type of feeling meant she was truly hurt about something. No doubt it pertained to that personal agenda she had. Ever since he met Citlalli, which had been under the worst circumstances due to his own pain with the death of his father, she always gave the aura of strength. She hadn't been nicknamed the Serpent in her village for nothing. She was strong, brave and best of all, a mediator. She liked solving problems and providing the justice that most people didn't get. But it appeared that her solitude was slowly getting the best of her.

Anyone would if they were separated from their people for as long as she'd been.

"Citlalli—" He tried to mend is mistake but she simply asked him if they could talk about the meeting again. He didn't want to make her feel any worse so he had to agree.

The rest of the day was, lamentably, all about the kinks of the outreach program and a few other potential programs they could start. At the end of the day, they returned to where they started. The jet was already waiting for Citlalli.

"Before I go," she said, "This was from Stark." She produced an envelope from her pocket.

"Do we have any idea what it is?" T'Challa raised the envelope to the sky to see a few words through the paper.

"I might," Citlalli rocked back and forth on her feet. T'Challa gave her an odd look until she answered, "I may have gotten one myself."

"Gotten what?"

"It's an invitation. Stark is throwing a birthday party for Miss Potts. Very nice place, very sunny place, so if you go, you should take that in mind for clothing preferences."

"Will you be attending?" T'Challa curiously asked her. He had no idea where that act of bravery came from but he thanked Bast that it came.

Citlalli sheepishly shrugged. "My relationship with Tony Stark is terse at times but I do appreciate what he is trying to do for people after, uh, what transpired with the Accords. Plus, Pepper is a good friend."

T'Challa had all the information he needed. "I will see you there."

Citlalli half smiled at him. He always spoke so easily, she envied it. For all her experiences with people, royalty, he always made her feel like she wasn't doing enough. He simply made her forget things she knew how to do, like talking. Why he kept such an open friendship with her, she had no idea. Surely there were other agents he could speak with.

You're the only agent allowed in Wakanda. What's that about? She ignored the warmth in her chest each time she remembered that detail. He'd chosen her to do Wakanda's business with whenever it came to speaking with the C.I.A. Why? It was an answer she never got an answer to and truth be told, she was a little afraid of what the answer was anyways.

"It was lovely visiting, as always," she spoke up after realizing she spent a lot of time thinking silently. "Your city..." she glanced at the city's landscape on their side, "It really is magnificent."

"Hopefully next time I will be able to show you much more of it," T'Challa said, really having faith that the next time she visited, he would get it right and be able to show her everything.

Citlalli nodded. She held a hand out to shake with him. T'Challa took her hand and shook it but just as Citlalli would pull her hand from his, he gripped it. She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. Had they forgotten to talk about something?

T'Challa would then raise her hand in his hand to press his lips over it for a kiss. Citlalli felt a deep warmth over her face. T'Challa looked at her from under his lashes, smiling at her in a way that spread the warmth down to her stomach. Butterflies would even arise.

"I hope to see you at that celebration," T'Challa lowered her hand between them but without letting it go.

Citlalli had to catch her breath before even thinking about speaking. "See you..." She swallowed hard, immediately feeling the cold when T'Challa let her hand go.

Very unprofessional! The voice in her head scolded. She turned to leave as soon as her feet responded. She couldn't trust herself if she stayed another minute.

T'Challa was left to watch the jet disappear in the sky. In a matter of seconds, Okoye had stepped up beside him. "Well, will you really be attending that celebration?" she curiously asked, eyes wondering over the invitation T'Challa held tightly in his hand.

"If it is my only chance, why not?" He countered, smiling to himself. He wasn't all that into the idea of being surrounded by unknown people but if Citlalli was there then it wouldn't be that bad.

~ 0 ~

Stark's choice of scene for the party was, as usual, a grand site. Even Okoye would admit to it, but everything else was irritating.

"This dress is far too uncomfortable," she grumbled to T'Challa as they walked in through the entrance. He wanted no Dora Milaje around today and the only way that would happen is if Okoye accompanied him.

"You could go back..." He said far too innocently for anybody to believe him.

She threw him a sharp look. "What for? Agent Del Rio has no quarrel having me around. Do you?" T'Challa purposely kept his gaze ahead of them. Okoye's smirk wasn't something he wanted to face.

They eventually came to the backyard, a large place for the party. There were far too many people around, none that really concerned T'Challa. He saw a few familiar faces amongst the crowd eventually, like Rhodey and Pepper. As politeness went, T'Challa moved towards the latter to wish her a happy birthday.

"Thank you for coming," Pepper smiled wide, especially when Okoye handed her their gift. "You really shouldn't have."

"I hope you like it," T'Challa sincerely said. His eyes swept over Pepper to see if he could finally spot Citlalli. Maybe she wasn't here yet.

"Tony!" Pepper called, motioning him to come over from wherever he was.

"The King!" They soon heard Tony's exclaim.

Okoye rolled her eyes as the man headed their way. To T'Challa's surprise, however, he was not alone. Citlalli was walking beside him, looking like she'd just entertained something no doubt Stark "funny".

"Nice of you to make it," Tony greeted the pair of visitors. "A change of sights doesn't hit bad, does it?"

"No," agreed T'Challa. He met Citlalli's gaze, brain racking to say something good to her as a greeting. The way she looked, though, would prevent much of that from happening.

Her curly hair had been tamed to one side again, braided to the tip. She wore a spaghetti-strapped white maxi dress with a bright turquoise flower pattern. There was a beaded necklace of browns and turquoise sitting around her neck with a large shiny brown stone in the center. With little makeup, she boasted her natural beauty, whether she realized it or not.

"Your majesty," she beat him to the greeting, just like she typically did.

T'Challa wondered when he would be able to say the first word to her. Probably when you stop staring at her. Perhaps then...or perhaps not. He tended to lose air when he was around. "Citlalli," he managed to say her first name this time around. Baby steps.

"Okoye," Citlalli flashed a smile at the woman. "I love the dress today. Red is your color."

"Thank you," Okoye pressed a hand down her side. "But I can't keep wearing this all day. How do you do it?"

Citlalli and Pepper laughed together. The former then admitted that she wasn't all that used to wearing dresses anymore. "When you're a C.I.A. agent, you don't really get a down time for leisure. But Miss Potts over knows her way around pencil skirts." Okoye's face might as well have said there'd been a murder.

"We are not going to stand here and discuss skirts, are we?" Tony pretended to be oh-so-tired already. "There's music, there's dancing, food, amazing drinks. Please enjoy."

"Please do," Pepper said in a much kinder manner. "And thank you for coming." She headed off with Tony.

"I must admit I thought you would not come," Citlalli said to the pair when the others had gone.

"Why?" T'Challa curiously asked her.

"I don't know..." she shrugged, suddenly looking shy which was one thing Citlalli Del Rio was not. "I didn't think you and Stark were that close, that's all."

"We are not, but it is a good idea to be on a amicable terms for both sides."

Citlalli nodded with an understanding that only they would understand. After the Accords, everyone knew that the ties between Stark and most of the Avengers had been thoroughly severed. "I am glad that you can do that," she said. "And I am also happy that you came."

Now that brought a good smile from T'Challa. "Really?"

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side, hoping to calm that warmth in her face again. "Yes, I...I need to speak with you, actually."

Surprising given the location they were in, but T'Challa would take it. He glanced at Okoye, not needing to say it out loud. She could barely hold the struggle to not roll her eyes.

"I will be over there..." she excused herself and walked away.

"You look beautiful today, agent," T'Challa said as soon as they were alone for fear that he would lose his courage. It was all worth it when she smiled bashfully. Did he make her shy?

"Thank you," Citlalli found her voice a few seconds later. She couldn't help look him over—ignoring how utterly unprofessional it was—and concluded that he was as handsome as ever in his casual dark suit. If he moved, she would get a flicker of purple. "You look good," she returned when she was sure that she would be able to say it in one go.

"Would you like to dance?" T'Challa made a gesture to the ongoing dancing behind them. It wasn't quite his style but he could only dream of being that close to Citlalli and today he might just get the chance.

Citlalli's eyes flickered past him towards the dancing. "I was just dancing with Stark..." she started, already sounding weary as she began to remember it.

T'Challa chuckled at her expression. "I will not be like Stark."

"I doubt you could be," Citlalli said. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"Does it pertain to business?"

"No, not really."

"Then can we dance first? After that, I promise I am all ears."

Citlalli bit on her bottom lip as she considered the implications of a dance with him. It wasn't a slow dance but it did require for arms to be around each other's. Could she handle that? Whether or not she could, did she want to? Absolutely, she answered herself on the spot.

She finally gave him a nod. "Okay."

T'Challa reached for her hand, raising it first and foremost to kiss the back of it. She awarded him a soft smile in return. "Beautiful bracelet," he remarked as he led her towards the dance by the hand. Citlalli could feel his thumb grazing over the feathered jade-colored bracelet he mentioned as well as her skin. A ploy she wasn't really against.

"Thank you," she said once they stopped together. He turned to face her, picking up her hand against to hold on their side. "Hand made," she would say as she moved her free hand over his shoulder. She swallowed hard when his free hand slid behind her back. He had the gentlest touch.

"You don't say?" T'Challa sarcastically asked, making her chuckle.

"My aunt made it for me a while ago. She tried to get the most precious stones to make it," Citlalli explained as they started swaying to the music. "She tried to make it like home," she added in a quieter tone. Her gaze fell for a moment. Home was a raw subject even years after everything had occurred.

"That was very kind of her," T'Challa's voice would pull her out of her moment. He didn't know how he did it but he was glad he did. Citlalli met his eyes. "I have heard terrible stories of adoptive parents and their respective families. You have no idea the relief it brings me to know that it was not your case."

Citlalli half-smiled at him. "You shouldn't feel anything," she told him. "You've only known me for a year. Everything that happened to me was a long time ago."

"If it pertains to your well being, I will," he clarified.

"You simply care too much but I suppose that's what will inevitably make you a good king," she shrugged. "And a good friend."

Friend. It stung even though she used it so kindly on him.

T'Challa surprised her with a twirl. It had her laughing when she came back to him, leaning on him. He was smug when he grinned. "I can be many things, Citlalli."

She had to agree there. She peeled herself off him and continued to sway kindly to the music. "A good dancer, amongst those. Did Shuri teach you some of those moves?"

"The fact that you think I could only be a good dancer is if my baby sister taught me is quite offensive," T'Challa bobbed head as if he was doing his own little dance to the song. Citlalli giggled. She hardly did that too so when she did, T'Challa relished it. He may replay it in his head a couple times too.

"I would never offend you, your majesty," she drummed her fingers over his shoulder. "...but did she?"

T'Challa's face fell flat. When Citlalli started laughing again, he surprised her with another twirl. This time when she came back to him, he made it so that they were closer than before. Their foreheads would nearly press with their inch gap. She smelled sweet and floral, intoxicating and addicting. How dare she walk around like that and expect him not to fall for her? Because that's exactly what happened to him. He craved her presence whenever she wasn't around, and it was unfortunately like that most of the time. Her visits to Wakanda were sporadic just as his were to America.

Citlalli was very aware of their closeness and as much as she told herself to step away, her feet were only responding to the rhythm of their dance. If she were to move just an inch, maybe half an inch, something would happen that should not...but it was something that she really wouldn't mind either. "Uuh...can we talk now?" she thought to ask. Her question, though asked in a whisper, was still enough to break their moment.

T'Challa stepped back from her and nodded at her. She took his hand, an act that made things a little better for T'Challa, and led him away from the dance. She found a nice place on one of the garden sitting walls.

"What is troubling you, Citlalli?" T'Challa asked as soon as they were comfortable.

"I was thinking about the last time we saw each other and...T'Challa, I am so sorry for the way I behaved what that jewelry stall."

"What—"

"You were being kind and no matter what, I should have appreciated it. I know I have a hard attitude and sometimes I don't realize it then but I'm really sorry."

"Citlalli," T'Challa touched her cheek, an act that left her frozen while he spoke, "There was no problem there. My plan simply didn't result, but it wasn't your fault."

"Plan?" Her face scrunched. "What plan?"

"My plan to show you the city, of course, and see your smiles."

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side in thought. "I...do not understand. I thought I was apologizing, it's been gnawing at my head since it happened."

"Please let it go, I hold no resentment. As if I could ever do that with you," T'Challa flashed her a smirk. "You do not see it, do you?"

"See what?" Citlalli watched him carefully. Her nerves were rising and she wasn't even sure why. Nothing was happening.

T'Challa's smirk faltered and soon it turned into a sad smile. "Nothing. This conversation did steer us towards something I wasn't sure how to best introduce."

"What do you mean?" T'Challa motioned her to give him a second. He shifted to better face her then reached for something in his inside pocket. Citlalli watched him pull out a small box. She was startled when he held it out for her. "For me?" she pointed at herself with wide eyes.

"Yes, I chose it with great care. Open it."

Citlalli was hesitant at first but who could say no to him? She couldn't. She took the box from him and pulled it open. Her eyes widened even more when she saw a coil, double wrapped, snake bracelet tucked inside. It was golden with the stones of the snake head in her traditional color of turquoise. "This is beyond beautiful!" she gawked. "Where did you get this from?" It was hard finding those two colors together, she would know.

"I had this made for you," T'Challa explained, earning her fully stunned face. "I know that you always have a hard time finding things that are close to your home. Wakanda may be a place far away from where the Aztecs lived but I hope that this makes home feel a little closer."

Citlalli didn't know what she felt except for the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Oh...this is...T'Challa, you really didn't have to do this. I-I can't take this." She closed the box quickly and tried handing it back to him but he wouldn't take it.

"It's yours, Citlalli. The Serpent," he reminded her of her old name.

"I used to be," she corrected him.

"No, not 'used' to be. You were a warrior for your people and you're still a warrior today. You're just a little lost."

"A 'little'," Citlalli said bitterly, more to herself than anyone else.

"There is nothing wrong with being lost so long as you try to get back on the right path." T'Challa reached a hand over to her cheek and cleared off her tears. "I would like to help in any way that I can."

Citlalli sniffed. "Why?"

T'Challa tilted his head at her. "Because I want you to be happy. It could be selfish of me but...I would like to be the reason you're happy. Whatever it is, I'd like to be it." Citlalli softly smiled at him. That smile counted for millions. "May I?" He motioned to the box. She nodded and opened the box for him. He pulled out the bracelet and took her wrist, gingerly sliding the bracelet down her skin. His hand caressed her skin as he secured the bracelet around her wrist. Citlalli felt the shudders from his touch and wished time would slow so that his fingers could stay over her like that.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. She could thank him for everything and it would still feel like it wasn't enough.

T'Challa was on the same page as her. "Thank you." He would never have the right words to express his gratitude for everything she'd done for him since the moment they met.

Citlalli shyly met his gaze, lips quirking into a small smile. Words weren't enough, but actions were. T'Challa's fingers came to her chin, gently pulling her forwards a bit. He leaned the rest of the way and pressed his lips against hers. Citlalli's eyes fell shut with the contact. Time did stop for them in the end. Her lips easily moved with his, discovering how truly soft he was. Everything about him was, even when those same lips were used to make sarcastic little comments every now and then. Little did she know that he thought the same thing of her. She was always professional, never saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, he wished he could get her to do loosen up and that was coming from him. Either way, however she was, he wanted her to stay just like that.

T'Challa pulled away first. He lowered his hand from her chin to her hand. He found her fingers to interlace with his and to his delight, she gripped his hand in return.

"You know, in my village, our stones were so beautiful and valued that we would use them in our conversations to refer to anything that we found precious." Citlalli's lips stretched into a wide smile. "To me, you're as precious as any one of those stones, even more." She touched his cheek, her fingers stroking a few gentle circles over his skin. "It's just hard to admit it with my hard attitude and all..."

T'Challa chuckled lightly. "You keep that hard attitude. I don't want to change anything about you." Citlalli chewed on her bottom lip while her insides desperately fought off the intense heat when T'Challa wrapped an arm around her waist. "My Serpent," he whispered fondly.

Citlalli brought her hands to her shoulders. "We're at a party—" Her laugh was muffled by another of his kisses. "Hardly the way a King would act, no?"

"I think I'm doing exactly what I should be doing," T'Challa said proudly. Citlalli playfully rolled her eyes at him. "Would you like to dance again?"

"I...guess..." The party did seem a more cheerful suddenly. Citlalli ended up nodding.

T'Challa let her go to stand up then offered her his hand. This time there was no hesitation when she reached out to take it. He pulled her up to her feet then kissed her hand.

She smirked. He saw her knees bending but this time, he couldn't stop her. She bowed. "Your majesty!"

"You did not—Citlalli!" He exclaimed. "Stop that!"

She giggled as she straightened herself up. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to catch me one day."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded proudly. "Oh..." He pretended to accept his defeat only to snatch her body and pull her up to him. She yelped with the sudden yank. "Look at that, I just caught you," he said innocently.

Citlalli took in a deep breath and rested her hands on his shoulders again. "Game on, your majesty."

"Game on..." T'Challa laughed. He cupped her face and planted another kiss on her, a longer one that would leave them both in need of air.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Corrupted Angel

For twitter user @/EnEssTimesTwo bc I fell in love with her vampire Bloodhound art and this is based off one of her art images which I can’t seem to link back to!

Summary: Essentially a monster au where human Elliott is a burlesque/exotic dancer who has caught the eye of a owl masked person who tips very well yet is too damned polite when Elliott just wants them to grab him and make him a meal. Not knowing, well, what kind of meal they’d really want.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Mirage

Warning: NSFT/R18+, monster au involving vampire Bloodhound, Bloodhound has body mods so if you don’t like those!, Elliott has a fang kink, Bloodhound’s nasty oral fixation, basically Mirage’s dick is a caprisun and Bloodhound is Hungry, nothing really like ‘terrible’ in here as far as kinky just oral and some dirty dancing.

Words: 7k

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In a world like this, getting clients that were of inhuman breed wasn’t so uncommon.  

Other folk, or commonly known as the monster breeds of their species, were just as normal to have around as humans were. Beasts of great heights and strengths covered head to toe in fur and too many arms, or to the more human looking ones with sharp teeth and a wicked grin, to the ghostly apparitions that haunted your very heart.  

Elliott had been one of four children to end up being a human. His brothers had all been lycanthropes like his mama, Maria, while he took after his mom Evelynn. Not that it had been too big of a deal, just that his brothers had a higher appetite than himself and he needed to learn to not laugh when his eldest turned into the fluffiest little wolf pup he’d ever seen.  

Old memories that would forever fill him with nostalgia and happiness, he missed them dearly.  

Elliott nowadays kept himself busy at the club he worked at. Twirling on poles, racking in delicious clientele who were to die for in their own very beauty, dancing and working them up in certain costumes. He was a crowd pleader, widely beloved in the club as one of the best around. A beautiful tease with an  award-winning  smile.  

~Rest under the cut~

The problem? Well, most dancers liked to get some extra cash by bedding their regulars. It wasn’t an issue here, the way it was run was a safe environment for the dancers. Body guards rested around at the ready, panic buttons in the hotel rooms that were upstairs above the club; Condoms and lubricant supplied- not to mention anything else you may need when dealing with clients who were more...monstrous. Or those who weren’t interested in bedding you, but feeding.  

Elliott, however, didn’t just let anyone take him upstairs. He enjoyed intimacy, sure, loved to tease and plead the masses, but you had to get his attention in order to even pay for his services. Tips weren’t hard for him to come by, not when he used long, strong legs to frame his client’s lap and purred in their ear with a low tone of voice. Letting his stubble scratch over their flesh and murmuring teases.  

A rumor had spread around about him that he would laugh at. That he would not bed humans, that he liked the danger too much. Whispers in the club of how you had to be tall, had to have cash, that you had to not want sex but instead be seeking out feeding or discipline, all sorts of rumors that were just false. Or at least, vaguely correct but not quite.  

He...he liked danger, he’ll admit that much, but in the end not a lot of people caught his eye in that way. He had to want and enjoy it too, right? And not just for the sex that came out of it.   

Yet, the only client that came to mind that he’d oh so willingly bed to the point he was ready to beg THEM to go up to a room with him, was one who was too polite.  

Devilish red, glowing eyes, always coming masked like most people were to enter a club such as this. Dressed in tight old-fashioned leathers and an old owl style look to their mask, and though full faced, Elliott could feel the hunger clearly through it. They only spoke with him after dances, never for him to come to the back with them, just offering generous tips in the politest way of giving it to him straight forward. Compliments that spread redness to Elliott’s cheeks as they’d boldly brush their knuckles over his cheek, only to retract and apologize for the act.  

The person was loaded, that was for sure. Their gloved hands always had wads of cash that would pay his rent in one sitting. He’d tried offering more, a private dance, a private...event even. Trying not to make himself look TOO desperate.  

But they would always kindly decline, saying they were busy and only here for just a moment. Even going so far as to kindly tell him that they did not wish to take up too much of his time. Always so damned  polite .  

What Elliott would do to take a peek under that mask and see his most fantasized about person.  

A small note of the club was a twist on the old concept of burlesque dancers, their clients were masked, while the dancers could choose to wear one or not. Elliott thought it gave excitement for their clients to be masked, while providing privacy for their identity if they chose to not be recognized outside.  

Wraith preferred the mask, one of his coworkers and closest friend. Though, not human. Her class was a banshee, long since caught between death and life as she’d told him.  

Her pale skin was ice cold to the touch, her voice sounded like multiples and could send chills down your spine. She always took upon a laced mask and some sort of leather costumery. You could find her perched on the lap of her most regular client, an old soldier who went by the alias Bangalore and showed up with an upper half face mask designed like a fluffy dog.  

Elliott’s eyes drift in the dark room over to where Wraith’s stage was. Vaguely seeing her outline in the low dim of red LED’s surrounding her. He had seen her in the dressing rooms before they went on stage, he’d meowed at her and winked as she laughed and told him to get his outfit on. What? She looked hot; He could appreciate it.  

She dressed in a leather body suit with matching thigh highs and killer heels that made up for her short height. The body suit looked more like an upper corset or bustier, the clasp at her crotch secured but the cut of the hip area coming high up above her hips for a sexier cut. Horns perched atop her head with a matching devil tail and red eyeliner to match. Her lace mask suited well for it, something he’d adjusted as he passed by and brushed her hair from her face affectionately.  

It settled her own quiet anxieties as well as grounded him when Wraith had smirked at him and told him she was fine. Two peas in a pod, he’d always tell her before wishing each other luck.  

A breath escapes Elliott’s lips now as he hooks his fingers around the pole. Motor motions, a slow warm up with the lights off as he idly twirls on the pole. The quiet, slow rising of the beginning of the remixed song. He lets his head fall back as he feels the anticipation, feeling his curls fall onto his chin where he’d purposefully made them loose and messy today.  

It fit his own theme for the song of choice for both himself and Wraith.  

His own is a lovely little angel get up. His hair had been loosely done today, curls allowed to fall freely and beautifully to curl onto the side of his face. Soft makeup had been applied of lipstick, kitten liner, and soft highlights. His facial hair had been trimmed up a bit for the event. His outfit consisted of a white ribbon choker with a matching harness that tied over the top of his chest and at the bottom of his ribcage, coming up over his shoulders for small wings to sprout from his back.  

A white, see through bralette rested over his chest, yet the harness presses his pecs to give the appearance of more cleavage. A small pair of white shorts, small enough to be considered panties, rest over his lower half, as well as white thigh highs with garters and black boots.  

He looked cute, if he would admit that to himself. He liked getting all dolled up and showing off his strong body, fit with lean muscle and sharp curves. He liked being drooled over, liked being watched. Not to mention the fact anyone in this club didn’t mind whether he dressed feminine or masculine, or what name he went by. All they knew was his stage name-  

“Presenting- Mirage and Wraith! Give it up for them whilst they give an electrifying performance to the song: Horns!” Natalie- better known as Wattson was always a good show host, standing a  little ways  away on her own stage in her ring leader outfit, she throws one gloved hand in the air as she speaks, a big smile on her face and her other hand full of the microphone. The crowd cheers before quieting down just as the song begins.  

The song is a remixed version, starting slow as the lights begin to flash. There’s the briefest moment that Wraith and him share a look as it begins before they’re matching movements.  

There’s a slow twist of his head thrice that he knows she’s matching. The grinding movement of hips downwards into a crouch that leaves the crowd cheering matched with the slow rise up with a dramatic bow of the back to make eyes fall to his ass. The repeating humping motion until the lyrics begin and he’s doing a twirl around the base of the pole. Followed by the low, slow grinding crouch with too much leg pushing out, his head falling to the side as his eyes narrow sensually and he looks for his targeted prey in the audience.  

The sight of an owl mask never leaving his form makes him grin.  

The desperately cried out word of ‘ breathe ’ in the song makes him slow to his knees, wrapping fingers around his throat and adding up the sexuality with a flutter of his lashes. It’s so brief before his body is dragging itself upwards, both hands gripping the pole as he hoists himself up onto it, turning his body upside down to hang off in a back bending twirl before beginning to ascend with each grab and pull. All never breaking his own innocent flutter and smiles. He knows damn well without looking that Wraith has an opposite expression of a snarl and sexual energy.  

Every time he comes back around to be able to look at the crowd, normally he’d let his gaze sweep the crowd, let them all feel attended to. But Elliott can’t help it when his gaze keeps settling on that owl masked wearing stranger. Even when it comes time to the part of the song where he sings ‘Heel stomping down my throat’ and he rolls onto his back, arching himself upwards with a dramatic bow of his back and letting his eyes flutter when his hips thrust into the air and roll.  

His gaze never falters.  

Elliott swears he could hear a growl from them, but the music and bass is so loud, there’s no way he could have heard it. Right? But why was it so clear? As if it echoed in his mind.  

He doesn’t falter regardless in his routine. He likes the hungry gazes on his body, but more important how that full faced mask never loses him for a moment. Even at the end of the routine where Wraith ends with her back facing the crowd, head tipped over one shoulder, tail curled around her wrist and a red glow over her frame, and Elliott reflects by facing the crowd, head tipped to one side as if bashful, and thumbs interlocked to fans his hands into wings at his chest, the light reflecting blue.  

With the crowd cheering and the lights dimming, both of them are able to make their way off the stages towards the crowd and begin to find people who wish to engage with them. Wraith, as Elliott notices, works her way through the crowd with her polite ‘thank  you’s  as she finds her way to her favorite client. He could laugh, really, but honestly was he any better?  

When Elliott enters the crowd, he works his magic all whilst waiting for the telltale feeling of gloved fingers stroking over his arm to gather his attention. When he feels it, he excuses himself with promises of returning with playful winks.  

“You shall not be returning.” Comes a voice in his head, practically a purr echoing throughout and Elliott’s eyes blink a few times, tempted to look around the room- but that voice was familiar. The same person who now rounded a corner ahead of him, cloak billowing behind them.  

Well, damn, mark Elliott down as scared and horny.  

Normally this stranger liked to give him the cash and let that be that. But the idea of them wanting to keep him around longer this time? His heart flutters, wondering if he’d get to see them unmasked, to hear that gorgeous accented voice sing his praises and stop acting so polite and let him see them absolutely unhinged -  

Wait, could they hear his thoughts or just talk to him through them? Quick, Witt, think something less horny! Uh- Old mcdonald had a farm, E I E I--  

“Come here,” Comes the haunting voice around the corner. The one Elliott has been following down and down the halls until they’re near the staircase that led up to private rooms. His heart is pounding when he turns the corner, already ready with a pick up line and a thank you from the bottom of his heart. But fingers hitch into the straps at his chest, yanking him close until next thing he knows he’s pressed up against the window nearby. The flashing neon lights outside of the sign reflecting across his skin.  

“H-hey there! A little eager for the bedroom, aren’tcha?” Elliott manages to get out, his voice nervous as that mask is so close to his own face. Near nose to nose—or rather, nose to beak with the mask. Able to make out the respirator so close, and the dark fabric on the owl’s eyes seeming to hide a pair behind them much brighter. He also notes that their gloved hands are resting politely on him, one on his shoulder, the other hovering over his waist. And oh, how he wished they’d just give up the mystery already, maybe even yank him closer-  

As if blessed, the hand that had been hovering at his waist lifts to their mask. Grabbing at its beak to pull it up, “No. I am simply ready for my meal-- if you are willing.” And the entire time they say this singular sentence, they slowly pull up their mask to set on the stairs nearby. Elliott’s heart races because of course they’d be attractive. With a voice like that, honestly what was he expecting?   

Their hood still remains on their head, a few loose red curls framing their sharp face. He notes the red face paint on their face- before realizing that’s tattoos. The scarring across the right side of their face looking like they got into a fight with a beast, the eye blinded and appearing like a mini solar flare. Yet their other a deep, dark red with a slit pupil focused entirely on him. More scars edge at their throat, climbing up like lightning across a sky over their jawline.  

Elliott’s already dizzy, eyes tracing over their deep olive skin tone, over their pierced roman nose and down just in time to see their plump lips part. Showing a double set of fangs and a split tongue with vertical piercings up each tongue- good lords.  

“Th- th -those are some serious chompers.” Is all Elliott can manage to get out, his breath caught in his throat as his hazel eyes focus on their teeth. He could beat himself up for THAT being the thing out of his mouth. Not how attractive they were, not how he really wished they’d just skip the tip and take him right to the bedroom- free of charge!   

The phrase makes their head cock charmingly, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that their teeth would be the focal point. Though he hadn’t said ‘no’ nor did Elliott look AGAINST said ‘chompers’. They lick over their fangs, only serving to make Elliott’s head fall back as if he was already preparing to be the most delicious meal.  

“Do not worry. I do not ‘chomp’, as you say.” They speak lowly near his ear as they lean in. Elliott can hear the way they inhale his scent, sounding like they’re swearing under their breath and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t ragingly hard in his already too tight of shorts. Especially when they come closer to him, lips brushing over his throbbing pulse and Elliott can only hope he’s making it quite clear that he’s all game for whatever ‘not chomping’ they’re about to do.  

Vampire. It all made sense, really, when he put it all together. The get up was rather old fashioned, their politeness even more so. Or the fact he’d noticed that they’d adorably pause at the bar every single time, never ordering anything, but always seemed keen on counting all the bottles. Then of course the mental communication- seems his client was one of the older of the breed, maybe a few centuries old.  

Thoughts he’d save for later. When he’s not being distracted.  

Lips brush up the length of his exposed throat, just brushing and making Elliott shiver. Their lips press to his pierced lobe, lightly nipping and making Elliott gasp out a low moan. When they chuckle lowly at his reaction, he swears he could cum right then and there.  

“Wait,” He starts, amazed at how quickly they back up but he’s quick to whine to ease their worried expression. Cute how they thought they had crossed a boundary- anyone else would probably have tried ripping off his clothes right then and there. “Your--your name. I never got it?”  

His client’s furrowed brows relax near instantly, their worried expression easing up as a soft, relieved breath leaves them. Idly, a gloved hand comes up, tucking a curl behind Elliott’s ear and making his heart throb. There’s only a pause longer before they murmur out. “Bloodhound. You may call me Bloodhound. I assume your tongue could not handle the original pronunciation.”  

“But your tongue may be able to handle other things much better.” Comes the echoed purr in his mind, though their lips do not move to speak, they do curl into an attractive smirk that makes him about whimper.  

“Bloodhound,” He breathes out, enjoying the way their eyes seem to narrow at the sound. It’s as if he knew they’ve wanted to hear it this entire time. It’s almost a power trip, almost, if he weren’t the one pinned to a wall and about to cum in his own shorts from some gentle petting. “You said meal- now-now I’m absolutely willing! Promise, absolutely down for it, it would be a ple- pleas- pleas— absolute delight to do that for you.” Curse his need to talk too much when he was like this.   

Bloodhound's eyes seem to grow darker at that, despite his clear mishap, they don’t mention it. A quiet gesture that honestly put Elliott at ease. The hand on his shoulder slides up to his neck and Elliott’s eyes flutter, willingly moving his head to the side with the gentle touch so they could trace their fingers up and grab his jaw lightly.  

“...You mentioned a bedroom?”  

Oh, fuck yeah.  

--  

Elliot had never moved quicker in his life. Bloodhound had slid their mask back on, following him up the stairs and towards one of the hotel rooms that were available for their work to continue. He could laugh at them politely waiting outside the door before he remembers to invite them inside.  

 It’s a standard room with soft lighting and a bed fit in the center. Toys are lined on the wall, a pole in the room and a few comfortable chairs. There’s a bathroom for freshening up too, fit with anything that may come in handy.   

The lights and any music could be adjusted via a panel on the wall when they entered. Something Elliott is quick to shift the lights to a deep red and letting music play lowly. When he looks over at Bloodhound, Elliott gets the pleasant view of watching them remove their mask and cloak.  

They shake their hair loose, moving a gloved hand through it to toss their curls. Now, Elliott had seen plenty of attractive people around here. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful in his life. Not even himself, and that’s saying a lot.  

He feels his mouth go even drier when he looks down at what they’re wearing. Normally they were always in an old fashioned get up or in leathers. But now their outfit consists of a plunge neck black dress reaching just beneath their chest to show cleavage. The dress skirts the floor, a long slit up each leg and heeled boots resting upon their feet. They looked dressed to kill. Even more so when Elliott’s eyes are trailing back up slowly, feeling ever so dizzy when he meets their gaze, a smirk on their lips quirked ever so to show one fang on their lower lip-  

“I have not looked into your rates.” They speak casually, walking towards him with one foot slowly in front of the other. As if they’re stalking him. A devil stalking an angel. Oh, Elliott would be a good sinner, he swears. His knees wobbling by the time they reach him, their gloved hand cupping his cheek and their thumb running across the sharpness of his cheekbone.  

“Consider this a ‘thank you’ for your gen- generous tips.” Elliott manages to practically whine out, hating how his voice pitches up when their hand slides down his throat to trail down and rest on his chest. They’re walking him backwards, until the back of his knees hit a chair and he’s sinking right down. He has the pleasure of looking up at them, seeing their hair curling around their face beautifully with the red light illuminated behind them. Now, Elliott prides himself on being a good boy, so he lets it known he’s very interested by cocking his head to the side, straining his neck and trying to look as appetizing as possible.  

“Ah, but those were merely for watching your beautiful body dance, Elliott.” They croon out his name in a way that makes heat roll down his spine. He REALLY needs to be out of these shorts yesterday, but he’s willing to wait a little longer if it means wearing some nice bruises and puncture marks on his neck. He whimpers at the thought, rolling his hips up into nothing and he swears he hears Bloodhound inhale like someone inhaling the scent of a bakery.   

He’s waiting for them to pounce him, sink those  deliciously  sharp looking fangs into his throat- maybe they’d even let him grab their ass while they were at it? They had such a nice ass, rounded and juicy even in their dress. He wonders vaguely if they’d ever done dance work as well-  

But before his mind can wander too far. Elliott watches them pull their hair back, tugging it up into a ponytail and tying it. The visual makes his cock jerk in his tight little shorts, a whine escaping his throat as they tuck loose strands of hair behind their pierced ears. And instead of pouncing on him like he expected and is tensed for, they sink to their knees.  

Wait a minute.  

“I thought you were hungry?” He manages to squeak out, watching as they rest between his spread thighs. A small grin makes its way to their lips, and it truly should be a crime how attractive they are, fangs and all.  

“You must not be aware of feeding habits,” Bloodhound softly laughs out, their hands running over his thighs and the leather feeling just as sweet as it did over his throat. Elliott’s breath catches when they skirt his inner thighs, his legs trying to fall apart further. “If you would prefer I sink my teeth into your pretty neck and mark you as my own, I would not mind.”  

Elliott moans freely at the idea, head falling back and hips rolling into nothing. He could just imagine it, the teeth marks in his neck, the bruises. He imagines they’d snarl if they saw he’d tried to cover them up with makeup. Normally he’s not about someone trying to stake some sort of claim on him, especially in a situation such as his job. But something about Bloodhound made him want more and more and more.  

“Or,” They murmur, catching his attention again as their hand finally slides over the front of his shorts. Elliott cries out, over sensitive as they apply pressure to grope him. “You shall feed me  everything  you can from here. And we can discuss regular feeding sessions in...other  manners, if you so choose.”  

Other manners?! OTHER MANNERS?! Elliott’s catching onto the whole ‘life force’ rumors not being rumors like he’d thought. Blood and cum, yeah, he could do that- fuck what else could they do to him? What would they do to him?   

They’re loaded with cash, absolutely drop dead gorgeous, AND implying they’re kinky. Call Elliott a sucker all you like for even offering something for free, but could you BLAME HIM?!  

“I shall not continue if I do not hear verbal consent, sweet one.” Bloodhound’s voice pierces his loud thoughts, not having even noticed he’s practically dry humping their hand that they’ve so generously kept pressure with. Elliott’s dizzy already, panting and rolling his head to the side so he could finally look at them again.  

Oh, yeah, he could definitely get used to that sight.  

“Yes! Yes- fuck, yes, absolutely. However  you- you- you want to feed! Whatever you want, Hound, please just- fuck stop teasing. Please? Come on I’m not supposed to be the one- the one begging here!” The nickname slips out, truly, as does his pleading. It rolling right out of his mouth as easy as breathing. They don’t seem to mind, in fact, they seem pleased by his begging. Going so far as to give him this wolfish sort of grin that shows a lot of fang and- yeah he’s definitely going to cum in his shorts if they do that--  

“If you insist.”  

That’s the last thing he hears from that torturously delicious looking mouth. His shorts are immediately tugged off, hanging off one of his ankles, but when he goes to discard the harness and angel wings, they stop him with a dangerous look in their eye. He wonders if they like that sort of thing- roleplay. God, he could just imagine them in some devil get up seducing him. Fuck.  

Elliott’s mind immediately stops when he looks down, however. His cock is out in the open, heavy and drooling with pre-cum in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever done. The head is reddened, desperate with arousal, a prominent vein on his cock more pronounced. He’s always thought he’s had a nice dick, the foreskin coming up to rest just about the round of the head, a good size of seven inches and a good girth around. He’s trimmed his body hair to look more presentable on stage, but is clean shaven on the mound and his balls.  

The best part is the way Bloodhound’s gloved fingers wrap around the base of his cock, giving it one full stroke to pull the foreskin down. Their lips are parted softly, enough for him to see the way their split tongue wets their lips with prominent saliva as if they’re drooling.  

He’s never felt more look food before.  

Elliott’s not sure if he’s more turned on at how desperate and  hungry  they look or the fact he’s about to get what he’s pretty sure is going to be the best blowjob he’ll ever have. He’s already tensed, whimpering low in his throat and flexing his fingers on the arm of the chair in anticipation. But before he can start begging again, they move.  

First their tongue presses to the very bottom of his cock, licking up in a slow stripe in a way that Elliott can’t tear his eyes away from. Their glinting fangs look so dangerous, only to vanish when their plump lips seal around the head to give a soft suckle to, practically a wet heated fleeting kiss. Elliott would never admit to how he sounds now, not even faking the noises of his cries at just the smallest of touches.  

It makes it even worse when Bloodhound has the audacity to moan. This soft little sound in their throat like a content fucking kitten. Ridiculously, Elliott only feels closer because of the sound, his fingers practically clutching the arms of the chair for dear life. His thighs are trembling, his skin feeling far too hot even in something so little as a harness, and his voice isn’t feeling like his own as moans and sobs slip out.  

They repeat the same motions a few times of licking him up and suckling the head briefly, and he has half a mind to tell this beautiful vampire with insanely sharp teeth to stop playing with their food. But once their lips finally suckle around him, their head comes down in one go, swallowing him down a strangely cool throat with the threat of teeth resting at the base of his dick.  

Elliott cums.  

He cums harder than he thinks he’s ever cum before in his life. His body reacts on instinct, hands coming to Bloodhound’s head to hold them right where they are as beautiful sobs leave his lips and swears flying out. His thighs tremble, his hips weakly trying to hump against Bloodhound’s face with nowhere to go since they’ve deepthroated him entirely.  

“Such a delicious taste,” Comes that haunting voice in his head. It only serves to make Elliott’s hips weakly jerk again, feeling their throat constrict as they swallow his cum with a moan. “ You were a deserved wait. You taste divine, lítill engill. Better than I have imagined. ”  

“Thank you,” Elliott practically sobs out, his fingers still pressed to their scalp as he sobs out again. “Thank you, thank y-you- fuck-”  

The gentle lift of their head signals for his hands to retreat. Watching and feeling how their mouth slides over him with a fleeting kiss pressed to his still reddened head. Elliott just about goes cross eyed at the sensation, leaning back in the chair and throwing his head back as he tries to focus his panting breaths to narrow out into something normal.  

A cry leaves his lips when their gloved hand wraps around his cock to jerk him a few times. Over sensitivity ringing across his skin as he sobs out, “Wait, wait- can't go again that-that— fuck- quickly!” He’s practically begging, yet his hands stay glued to the arm of the chair again. Only able to look down at them and the way their eyes dance with mischief.  

“And I am yet sated. Do you wish for me to starve, little one? You were so eager to be made a meal of.” Their tone is taunting. As if they know exactly what they’re doing. And fuck, they probably do. Curse their fucking beautiful, stupid face and how their eyes make Elliott feel so small and yet so adored. So...paid attention to- more than he had in forever.  

Elliott’s immediately whimpering, shaking his head and rolling his hips up against their hand despite how his motions are quivering with the strain of his muscles. “No! No, no, no, promise! Promise I can be good for you, I want to be good for you- oh god  just let me-” Elliott’s breathing is wet, strained with tears pricking his eyes as their hand squeezes his cock to wring out anymore  cum  he may have. Just to watch them lap at the head of his dick to take it all eagerly.  

“God -” Elliott sobs out again at the sight alone.  

“You flatter me.” They respond with a teasing tone, letting their lips brush across his slick flesh with each movement.   

They’re a devil in disguise, Elliott is sure. This is what he gets for wearing an angel get up today, of course he’d find himself at the mercy of a demon who’s going to suck the absolute soul out of him via his dick. And he isn’t even mad is the funniest part of this, he’s willing his body to try and relax, despite their teasing motions and the way their lips part so he can see their fangs again and how hungry they look.  

Elliott’s fingers flex again on the arms of the chair, wanting so badly to maybe pull their hair or ease them back to him to show he’s ready. He’s too busy wondering if he’ll get chomped by them that he doesn’t notice they seem to sense his inner turmoil, not until their free hand gently grabs his wrist and begins guiding it to their ponytail for him to grip.  

Elliott’s face flushes deep red at the simple action, a blinding smile crossing his face and showing off his dimples. His heart twists pleasantly at such a simple gesture, and vaguely he’s wondering if he can’t get Bloodhound’s number and make this more than whatever sort of sugar baby relationship this feels like.  

What he doesn’t realize is how Bloodhound is looking at his smile, at his flushed face with a healthy glow about him. Thinking how beautiful he is, how darling he must be to have as a lover, how obedient and kind he must be. Even so willing to accept their claim on him already as to get excited at the prospect of being bitten and exposed to being claimed on stage. They could supply him  everything  he needed. Could fulfill every sexual desire, make sure he had enough money for anything he wanted.  

Longing. Yearning. Emotions that Bloodhound should not have whilst trying to play with their food.  

“O...okay, okay I think I’m ready to go.” Elliott finally says after a comfortable pause of silence. Their gaze is so intense on him, making him feel like the star of his own show right now. Even more so when they smile, this genuine little thing that makes his heart pound and not just because he’s thinking about their fangs on his cock again.  

Way to go, Witt, already falling for someone.  

Their lips wrap around the head again and Elliott’s breath is taken away again. He groans, head lolling to the side and eyes half lidded, making sure to watch them. Their own eyes flutter closed, their thumb tracing along the underside of his cock in their grip as they stay suckling and toying with the sensitive glands at the underside of his head. They keep his foreskin pulled back, their tongue lapping at the slit and making his thighs jerk with  sensitivity  at each brush.  

Bloodhound is clearly starting slow, but still keeping him on the edge of overstimulation. Elliott’s toes curl into his heels, his other hand coming to rest on the back of their head and feeling over the shaved hair with his thumb idly. A whimper blossoms from his throat when their hand moves down from holding his cock to slide down to cup his balls, thumbing the seam and gently squeezing.  

It’s like they know exactly how to play him.  

“Fuck, baby-” He hisses out, not paying any mind to what is coming out of his mouth. They hum at him regardless, and vaguely he can hear this sort of hum in the back of his mind that he can feel pressing until he hears their voice curling into his mind like delicious smoke.  

“You taste divine, little one.” It’s a purr in his head, resounding and making his cock throb at the praise, let alone the pet name. He wants to say thank you, but his mouth feels like honey, only spilling out soft whines and moans. “You are being such a good boy, so pliant and willing for me.”  

Yep, that’s really doing it for him.   

His hands press at their head as his hips come up, finding that they go with ease and no resistance. It gets to the point where he’s able to hold them still, fucking up into their mouth as their hands slide under to grab his ass to urge him to continue his thrusts. Elliott’s mind is swimming, swears finally able to come from his mouth and filth following along with it along the lines of, “W-want to touch you. Want to make you-  ah!-  feel good, want you to-to-to bite me-” All promises and praises keening from his lips like a singing bird.  

In his head he can hear phrases murmured back at him, some in a tongue he doesn’t recognize. Some make sense like ‘ good boy ’ and ‘ you taste divine ’ echoing again and again matched with deeper snarls that make his skin sing like ‘Mine ’ and ‘ I shall ruin you for anyone else ’.  

When Elliott cums again, their fingers sink into his ass and hold him up with amazing strength. They have him in their throat again, swallowing everything he has to offer as he sobs out his praises. His body feel tensed, overstimulated and ringing with a  pleasantness  of ’too much’. But he doesn’t feel like he couldn’t go again, feeling like he could just be their toy forever.  

When they finally lower him back to the chair and slide their mouth off, Elliott feels the whine coming from his chest as his fingers scrabble to press back down on their head. It’s like they were a drug he couldn’t get enough of, even if he is shaking. “Please, please, more, please, baby, please, please, please- ”  

The snarl he hears from their own chest sounds possessive and pleased, a low grumble as they take him again.  

He cums two more times through the night before Bloodhound is finally sated. Elliott is an absolute mess, babbling away once he’s finally come down from his high. He expects they’re going to maybe just pay and leave, but for a small moment he kind of blacks out.  

When he comes back to, he’s naked and been placed in a cool bath. The temperature is soothing on his too hot of skin, and when he lolls his head to the side, he sees Bloodhound resting on their knees by the tub. Their eyes flick up to him, the washcloth they were using to wipe at the glitter on his chest pausing. They offer a small, almost nervous smile. “It appears you passed out momentarily. I assumed you were overheated. My apologies.”  

“Can I kiss you?” Elliott blurts out in reply before he can even think differently of it. He almost laughs at their surprised look, not knowing that their confident expression could drop into such a look so quick. Their eyes widen ever so slightly, eyebrows raising before a soft laugh leaves their chest, almost...flustered sounding.  

Man, what Elliott would do to hear it again.  

“I...Yes, you may.”   

It’s all the consent he needs before he’s reaching over, resting a hand on their cold cheek and vaguely understanding why they wore the gloves now. They felt chilly to the touch. Bloodhound, in turn, looks at him expectantly as they lean over the bath tub, hovering above him and letting their breath mingle at their closeness.  

It’s intimate.  

When their lips meet, both of Elliott’s hands come to rest on their cheeks, sliding into their hair with a low moan in his throat. They kiss him gently in turn, their hand resting on his chest to steady their body as they guide the kiss. When they lick into his mouth, he can vaguely taste himself, only serving to make a familiar whimper resound from his chest.  

When they part, Elliott takes the chance to surprise them again with a murmur of, “Can I have your number? You...you know, in case you get hungry again and I’m not working...?”  

Their looks  is  definitely worth it again when they lean back slightly, a crooked smirk upon their lips. “You are bold, Elliott Witt.”  

“That’s not a no.”  

“I suppose it is not.” They agree, eyes dancing with mischief as their eyes flicker to his lips when he licks them and bites down on his bottom lip. Bloodhound could sigh, he was too cute, even if they know the exact reason he’d want their number. And not just due to him wanting to get ‘chomped’ as he so put it.  

When Elliott beams brightly at them and tilts his head for another kiss, they feel that they are too weak to even consider denying him. Leaning in to take his lips again and again and again.  

They suppose that this was a rather unconventional way to try and seduce the dancer, but in the  end  it pays off when not a day later they receive a lengthy text of Elliott saying of what a good time he had and thanking them for the tip, as always. And that when could he catch them for a date?  

It would certainly be sweet, if he didn’t leave the damned vampire emoji at the end.  

[lizacstuff]

Sen Çal Kapımı / Edser Asks

After the fragman, I got a few anons this afternoon, my answer are under the cut. 

(Also my initial reactions are in this post.)

Anonymous said: In the spirit of optimism- when Eda broke up with Serkan in 25, everyone freaked out but by the end of the next episode, she proposed LOL. Maybe just maybe they won’t do the “everyone pretends Selin and Serkan are a thing for medical reasons for multiple episodes” route and someone gets her kicked to the curb in 29. I wonder how much of the 2.5 hrs will be before he comes back and how much is after.

LOL, I certainly would like Selin to be back for only one episode. I hope my speculation is right (this post,)and her narrative purpose is to make Serkan distrust Eda from the start and once she’s done that she can exit stage right. 

As for the theory you mention, which I have seen on twitter, I don’t see people pretending they’re together for medical reasons. That makes zero sense to me (not that medical diagnosis on a silly romantic dramedy dizi would be accurate, lol) why would that be necessary? Why would anyone go along with that? Especially when all he would need to do is google himself to find out about his relationship with Eda.  They were all over the tabloids and on the cover of a magazine. Plus it seems like he knows about Eda, Selin tells him "she turned you into someone you’re not and dragged you into a different world.”  He has to know they were in a relationship.

There is a lot of knee-jerk hysteria over there right now which is leading to completely neurosis-induced, nonsensical, worst-case scenario speculation. I recommend avoiding for awhile if anyone is easily upset by that type of thing. 

As for the timeline of the ep, great question. I am hoping that the walk into ArtLife is not the end of the episode. We’re going to need to see Serkan and Eda meeting face to face before this episode is up in order to survive! We know almost the full cast (including Hande and Kerem) were shooting at a cafe yesterday, and the cast looked dressed up. Most thought it was for 1x28, so that seems like there are scenes with Serkan and the full cast in this ep. 

Though, the show has a lot of questions to answer.  How in God’s name did he end up in that cabin? Did he get on the plane or not?  Was he held captive and got dropped in the woods with only Selin’s phone number? Has he been in a coma?  Was there foul play involved?   Was there a brain injury or did Babaanne arrange his kidnapping and give him some experimental drug to wipe out his memories of Eda? 

Not sure if this Deniz is a law enforcement official or some sort of private detective, but there would have been some sort of official inquiry and search when he went missing. So he can’t just be lazing around for 2 months, easily findable. And Selin can’t have been with him for anything length of time without the others knowing he’s alive, because that would pretty much be kidnapping. So what HAPPENED? 

Anonymous said: I hope we get good Eda and Aydan moments. She didn’t get married but she is still Aydan’s daughter now. He’s going to come back and find that this woman has his mother, his company, his dog, his car, his friends.....there’s no way that he doesn’t just know that Selin has been a snake.

Yes, please!  I’m sure we will get Eda and Aydan moments, it looks from the first trailer that they will lean on each other while he’s missing. Which they should, they’ll be the two that will hold out hope and give one another comfort. 

I am LOVING that Eda is driving his car and taking care of his dog. As she should, they were hours away from being married! And yes, you’re correct, he’s going to find Eda so deeply embedded in everything he remembers (except Selin) that it’s going to drive him crazy. Who is this woman and how did she ensorcell him so thoroughly? Can’t wait for him to find out. 

You know what I’m most looking forward to in regards to Aydan? Serkan’s shock that his mother has conquered her agoraphobia. Can’t wait for him to find out that Eda was instrumental in helping her do that. 

She is going to hit him like an emotional freight train. A second time. 

Anonymous said: i know most of the fandom has already accepted it as fact bc they can't wait for the actual ep to make conclusions, but i'm less inclined to believe he's been in that cabin w/ selin for 2 months.. idk HOW he gets there, or how selin ends up there.. but for some reason i think they find him first, and he takes off by himself for a bit as he's overwhelmed with the whole situation.. and then selin enters. idk, we'll have to see it, but i think, like all trailers, it's confusing on purpose.

This theory is definitely possible. That he’s found and freaks out and goes to the cabin. Perhaps the last he remembers he was still with Selin so he reaches out to her for answer about what’s going on.  That would make sense why he accepts her comfort, and she gives it, but can’t help herself from trying to do everything in her power to make him distrust Eda. Even if she doesn’t have hope of reconciliation, just to cause chaos because she doesn’t want them to find happiness together. She’s said it more than once, she didn’t want him happy, while she was not. 

Anonymous said: I am not emotionally prepared to watch the look on Eda’s face when Serkan walks in holding hands with Selin after being missing for the last two months....😭😭😭. Also even if Serkan & Selin are purely platonic watching their scenes together are going to be brutal. I am prepared to cry ( both tears of joy & sadness) & be very mad at various points in this episode. It will be an rollercoaster of emotions for sure.

Yep, pretty much all of this!  I don’t think I’m going to enjoy watching this episode at all. However, my hope is that I will really enjoy watching the storyline that it sets up where we get to watch Serkan fall in love with Eda all over again.  Think of all the delicious, UST-y, sexy, funny, fiery, passionate scenes that are in store for us! 

Off the top of my head, things I want:

Serkan opening Madonna in a Fur Coat and finding their photo

Serkan’s deep-seated memory kicking in and mindlessly tearing the crusts off bread for her without realizing it or knowing why

Finding out his computer password and what it means

Seeing photos of them from their matchmaking party. Looking so in love and surrounded by friends and family and everyone looks so happy

One of the friends, Engin or Piril snapping and telling him the big change Eda brought about in him was just that he was happy

Serkan seeing media clippings of them and their relationship

Eda handcuffing him so they have to spend time together while trying to jog his memory

After being suspicious and trying to keep her at arms length, Serkan finally breaking down and asking her questions about their relationship

Serkan being mistrustful of her, but still unable to say no to her

Anonymous said: So I get that SCK is going through a reset and now we will get to watch Eda & Serkan fall in love again but seriously they brought Selin back like that...WTF? Now she is even worse than Balca. Plus the entire world thinks Serkan is dead but somehow Selin found him and never bothered to tell anyone else...that should send up some red flags for sure. Regardless of the explanation, this situation is going to crush Eda. And it seems like a lot to go through to have him immediately get his memories back so we could be stuck with this storyline for a while.

Yes, poor Eda is going to be crushed no matter what.  However, I know that people have been theorizing that the memory loss would be short, but I never thought it would be.  What’s the point of this reset unless they’re going to follow through with it and milk it for as many episode as possible. They’re trying to find ways to keep this show going and this is their big swing. 

The entire point is to recreate the magic of Eda and Serkan falling in love, and, honestly, I'm not sure why anyone would want that to be over in 2 episodes. I don’t see it as being stuck with the amnesia story, I’m excited for all the parallels, watching Serkan get struck by lightning a second time when he first sees her.  Watching him be suspicious of her, of her motives of her abilities, but then finding out all the same things that he found out the first time, that she’s fierce, kind-hearted, loyal and talented. And just a bright shining light for him. 

My heart melts just thinking about it.  We just have to get rid of that opportunistic, malevolent, bitter hag. 

Anonymous said: one complaint that i've seen in regards to sck is that characters aren't sent off properly.. but outside of maybe fifi (which we don't know how they'll explain her leaving) am i the only one that doesn't... really care? everyone that's left has been unsubstantial or in a villain role, and personally whatever way they leave i'm fine with lol.. i know when selin left ppl were mad bc they wanted a redemption story arc for her.. but not every character NEEDS that by default, if that makes sense.

For context, this ask was sent before the fragman.  I agree with you, no side character needs redemption by default. I’ve said it many times, but on this specific show, really only two characters matter: Eda and Serkan. This is their story. Their love story. Everyone else is supporting in the truest sense of the word. They all exist to prop up the A story. So for most of them their journey doesn’t matter unless it directly affects Eda or Serkan. (Aydan’s growth and redemption has directly impacted Eda and Serkan and that’s why time has been spent on it). Selin is a tool. She’s behaved erratically at time because she only exists for the writers to use her to antagonize the protagonists. Her story in and of itself does not matter. 

I laughed hysterically when some on twitter were thinking Serkan might really be dead and Kerem was leaving the show. 

Seriously? You think they would try to keep this show going without Edser? That anyone would pay money for it, without them?  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! If one of them were to leave, the show would be over. Dead. Cancelled. There is NO reason for this show to keep going other than for more Edser. Everything else is an after thought, filler, or characters that prop up Eda and Serkan either literally or symbolically or thematically. Nothing else stands on it’s own.

They devised this storyline in order to go back to the magic of these two people falling in love. Full stop. That’s why we’re seeing this reset.  Because no other characters or their storylines are compelling enough to carry the show.  I applaud the writers for creating a situation where we could watch Serkan fall in love with Eda one more time. (just get rid of Selin, please, so I can enjoy it... and do it quickly.)

[memoriesintherain]

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 5219

Fandom: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Worick Arcangelo/Nicolas Brown

Characters: Worick Arcangelo, Nicolas Brown

Additional Tags: Young Love, First Crush, First Kiss, Sign Language, Deaf Character, Mention of Abuse and PTSD 

Summary:

As a young Wallace Arcangelo and Nicolas Brown come to terms with their feelings and their place in the world, a passing storm offers them a few hours of torment and emotional growth.

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.

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The Thundering in our Hearts - memoriesintherain

The only thing that seemed to periodically disrupt the serenity that hung in the air of the Arcangelo mansion library as far off worlds unfolded in the hands of the two oppositely sitting preteens was the grandiose grandfather clock which had recently made its way into the heavily shelved room. The drumming of its ticks had been something the two boys needed a few days to adjust to. However, since its sudden arrival almost a week back, the faintly audible knocks of time passing had faded into the background like everything else had as the two lost themselves in their books. Not that one of the pair would have even noticed. Nicolas whose ears always held the sounds of the world around him just out of reach had not even noticed a new clock was placed into the room until he almost ran right into it. 

Having finished his book, he wandered among the shelves looking for the next story that would feel at home in his hands. Taking a quick turn to the left after reaching the end of shelves and moving away from the windows toward what he remembered was a bare wall, he found himself barely even measuring half the size of the enormous time keeper made of wood. The grandfather clock towered over him just as he had known adults in his life to do, looming feet above his head and almost appearing to lean over him in all his short stature.

Nicolas blinked up at the tall mix of mechanics and wood. He had never seen one before. Clocks had been rare to come by before he arrived at the mansion, and he had never seen one as grand and well-crafted as the one that stood before him now. Standing impressed yet slightly confused as to how it worked, he added the clock to the list of things that he figured were only something that someone could find in this beautiful monster of a house. At almost every turn, there was something more magnificent than the last, and he never dared touch any of it in fear of what might become him if anything he even looked at simply wobbled out of place, meeting the floor with a spectacular crash. He had gotten punished for much less and was not willing to risk it. The risk of reaching out to something precious in the house that was far from being his was only worth it if it reached out to him first. He knew it wasn’t his place to act for himself in such a space. None of it was his. It never was, and it never would be. 

That thought in his mind like an insomniac bat, fluttering from side to side, never letting him rest, always causing him to be on guard. If he were to be the cause of some ruckus, he would never forgive himself. “I must not trouble Master Wallace anymore than he already is.” Nicolas would tell himself in order to keep himself in his self defined place.

The black winged thought only seemed to steal moments of slumber when Nicolas was sat across from the blonde haired, fair skinned, elegantly dressed and well kept Wallace who he worried to ever bother. With the two of them being allowed to lounge comfortably in the library, surrounded by nothing but silence, faint light and each other, the two boys could breathe easier. Their concerns could be pushed to the back of their heads. Nicolas’s mental bat could take a rest, knowing that with a book in his hands and Wallace slightly smiling across from him at the book in his own, everything would be fine. Everything would be peaceful for the time being. 

On this day more than the recent ones, it seemed that Nicolas’s mind was especially active and aware of his job to not disrupt or disturb anything. When he got to feeling this kind of mental consciousness, Nicolas knew something was stirring, but for whatever reason, he could not notice what it was. Having spent his whole day in the library, everything he had seen seemed to be in place, especially himself. 

In the moment, he wanted to try and figure it all out before the looming feeling of unrest could make itself known, causing havoc. But he also knew he had been lost in bookshelves for quite a bit. He felt a tug in his legs, urging him back to the table, back to the other boy who he stole quick glimpses at in hopes to see the light in his eyes sparkle as he read. Something that could only be seen in the peaceful softness of the library, ‘their’ library. The sudden warmth of this thought was foreign to Nicolas. He liked it, but didn’t understand what it meant. And he definitely didn’t understand why his next thought turned that warmth into a slight pain: “Not that Master Wallace would notice I’ve even been gone.” He would often tell himself, being very aware that once reading a book, Wallace rarely let his eyes leave its pages. Regardless, he decided he should head back to his spot at the table across from the blue eyed avid reader. 

Walking back through one of the shelved labyrinths of the library, he let himself pick up one of the few books he had already read, feeling the need for something familiar. When he appeared from behind the shelves, once more in front of the table at which Wallace sat, Nicolas witnessed something he did not see very often; Wallace’s head was turned away from his book.

Nicolas noticed that the boy across the table seemed more on edge than he had when he had left a few minutes prior. Wallace’s eyes were wide and glued to the wall on his right in the direction of the outer wall of the house which bore many large windows. Nicolas had just passed by a window himself upon leaving the giant clock, but he did not remember noticing anything out of the ordinary to cause such a change in Wallace’s normally very put together expression. He wanted to reach out and shake the boy in front of him from his fright-filled staring contest with the window, but as his hand slowly came up, the black haired boy let it fall back down to his side, wondering if Wallace would mind if he reached out to him first. If he had touched something precious that belonged to the house, what would happen? Nicolas would think to himself, letting his mental bat flap around in a frenzy.

For the time being, Nicolas decided he would just watch Wallace from afar, keeping track of his expression and reactions in case something happened that actually did require Nicolas to step in as the protective guard that he was. The short and scrappily dressed black haired boy sat back into his seat, which had gotten quite chilled from the departure of his body heat some time before. He placed the book on the table in front of him, but did not even bother to open it. Reading was not something he could focus on at the moment. Instead of the fictitious worlds which often occupied his head day in and day out within the library, the only world that crossed his mind was the one he was already in, the one in which Wallace sat in front of him, the one in which his body seemed to be urging him to get to the bottom of whatever was causing that pained look to creep up onto the other boy’s face. 

For the next few minutes, the boys remained unmoved. Wallace continued to stare out the window as if he were trying to memorize every single blade of grass outside or contemplating the exact shade of blackened gray the creeping clouds were, and Nicolas continued to watch every little movement the other made. As ticks from the clock just around the corner sounded one after another, Nicolas saw something gaining more of a hold of Wallace. His eyes were still glued to the window across the way, and they were still wide like before, but now the rest of his body seemed to be frozen. If Nicolas could have guessed it seemed almost as if some poison had paralysized the blonde boy entirely. The only slight movement was the quickened rising of Wallace’s chest.

At the beginning, Nicolas felt consoled by the sight of his master breathing, but with the space between his breaths shortening, Nicolas soon realized he should not feel calmed by that sight at all. Something had to be wrong. But just what was it? Was it something he could fix? Something he could beat for Wallace, something he could hide Wallace from? His mind demanded an answer for how he could help. And he was just about to finally speak up, to finally reach out, when Wallace gave him another surprise.

The sharply dressed, Wallace, who only ever acted as if he were in a shakespearean play, moving slowly and elegantly across a stage with thousands of viewers and critics watching, being careful not to take a step out of place in fear of repercussions that could come in the form of booming voices and painful clashes of skin against skin, shot up from his chair in a panic. His eyes had finally left the window only to switch frantically over to the door on the opposite wall. Wallace’s movements from there on out were all done in an immense rush, moving at a speed Nicolas had never seen the other boy even attempt before, not even when they had stolen a few moments of enjoyment in a game of tag out in the yard. 

As the boy clad in pin striped dress pants and dark, perfectly polished dress shoes raced across the wooden floor of the library, he left the normally quiet and peaceful room in a boisterous wake. His chair had stumbled on to its side after he had pushed himself out of it, causing the suit jacket he had placed onto its back and not picked up upon his departure to skid across the floor. He had not even bothered to close the book he was reading. It still laid, abruptly abandoned, opened to the last word that Wallace had seen before the dark clouds that had long been brewing outside had stolen his attention. Wallace’s movements continued to speed up as he threw the door to the hallway open and almost flung himself out into the new space. 

Finding himself alone in the library after watching the other boy rush himself throughout the room, Nicolas was left with only more concerned confusion than he had minutes before. 

His confusion did not keep him from reacting, however. As Wallace’s guard and a trained mercenary, Nicolas was used to staying by the young master’s side at all times in addition to having quick reflexes in times of overwhelming tension or confusing whirlwinds. Therefore, not seconds after Wallace stormed his way out of the library, Nicolas was quick on his heels to follow. 

As the smaller ragged looking jet black haired boy jumped through the doorframe of the book-shelved safe haven, he could barely catch the back tip of Wallace’s shoe as the blonde made a sharp turn down a hallway. Without thinking, Nicolas raced after him, rushing with only one thought in mind. “I must reach him. I must . . .”

Turning the corner himself, he realized what he should have long before now: where Wallace was heading. With every step, Nicolas became more sure; Wallace was racing against time and the light pounding of rain that had begun not long after the blonde boy started off on his sprint. He was racing to the only other place in the house where he could feel safe, his room.

Just as he threw the library door open moments before, Wallace took a firm yet rushed grip on the doorknob to his bedroom and swung it open without a second to rest. And it didn’t even take him an additional breath to slam it right behind him just as quickly as it had been opened.

The loud bang of the door shutting behind him was the last thud Wallace heard before he found himself surrounded by the silence of his room. He hadn’t even bothered to flick on the lights before continuing his seemingly never ending sprint into his bed. As his sporadic frenzy continued, he jumped on to his bed and shoved himself under the covers, not forgetting to speedily tuck the covers all around his curled up body.

If the bedroom was dark before, it seemed even darker now to Wallace who tried to soothe himself in a tight bundle of blankets. His fists were wrapped tightly in the sheets. If he could see them, his knuckles would probably have turned white from all the strength that he was putting into his grasp on the cloth all around him. And even if he could see in the heavy darkness of both the unlit room and the thick, insulated blankets, his closed eyelids would have kept him from seeing it all. His eyes had long since been squeezed shut, closing out any last sight that could send him into any further unrest.

If he were to be honest with himself, he found the darkness and the silence oddly calming. Others might have found it oddly deafening and even more unsettling, but for Wallace, separating himself from everything: people, the house, and even sight and sound, was often the only thing that soothed his nerves. The massive estate which he always felt oddly trapped in despite always having enough space at least physically to act how he pleased was always quite bright and rowdy, creating the illusion of happiness, security, and freedom. Wallace had to laugh because he never felt that way about his life in the mansion. Even in the most serene and elegant of hallways, whispers of the maid staff could be heard, turning rumors into wildfire, hinting at the truth of the grandiose Arcangelo house that the so called perceived happiness, security, and freedom were never actually offered to the little blonde boy who had lived there his whole life. The little bastard child of the head of the estate, the little Wallace Arcangelo was only ever met with loud booming demands and criticism, painful slaps and lasting bruises. The house was never a place to call his own. It was never his home. The only places which could be near the idea of a warm and secure home was his room, the library, and if he really wanted to be honest with himself, wherever he could be with Nicolas.

His daily events of locking himself in the library all day and then locking himself in his room at night was all he could do to distance himself from the painful and firey whispers that hung and wafted throughout the whole house, filling up every hallway and room with rumor-like smoke, almost choking the young boy. He curled himself up into a tighter ball, his knees almost digging into his skin under his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible, hoping to hide from what he knew grew closer and closer every second.

And just then as if the outside world was listening intently to all his fears as they pooled within his head, a quick and bold bolt of lightning lit the entire darkened and stormy sky. It caught the attention of Nicolas who had stood facing the very door that Wallace had slammed shut minutes before. He had been contemplating what to do next, yearning to throw open the door just as Wallace had before him and to ask the other boy what it was that was upsetting him, what it was that Nicolas could do to protect him. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn the knob. He had reached his hand out and held it tightly multiple times since he had seen Wallace disappear behind it, but in all the passing seconds, he couldn’t bring himself to open it. He didn’t want to over step. It wasn’t his house. It wasn’t his place. How could he . . .

And that’s when the lightning had struck. His eyes which had been so focused on the door quickly shifted to look out the window that stood at the end of the hallway he had just trekked down. A bright yellow-white root system of electricity had covered the sky, striking the ground somewhere off in the distance. Its sudden appearance and departure only caused the outside world to look so immensely dark, stealing away any of the light it brought with it. The dark storm clouds filled the whole sky, casting every tree, road, and building into an immense shadow as rain pelted everything the darkness touched. It was an unnerving sight that sent a shiver down Nicolas’s spine.

The next attention stealing element was a loud clap of thunder which echoed endlessly in Wallace’s ears, reminding him of haunting memories of his father who had downed a whole bottle of wine, slurring his words that would only get louder with each blow he landed across Wallace’s face and body. In those moments Wallace could only curl up, trying to protect himself while pleading for the assault to end, knowing that no matter what he did to shield himself or beg for a cease fire of the hits, it wouldn’t come. In those moments he was powerless, and the memories burned holes through his being with every loud crash of anything. Thunder, however, had to by far be the worst. It reminded him too much of the sound of fists or even broken bottles against his skull. He hated it. The sound, the feeling, it tormented him, but all he could do even now was to hold himself close, protecting himself and begging for an end to the assault that was so clearly out of his hands.

“When will it end?” Wallace faintly whispered through breathy and shaky gasps as well as tears that welled up in his eyes and slowly streamed down his cheeks. “When will it all end?”

As the thunder which rang in Wallace’s ears shook the entire estate, Nicolas was filled with new urgency to get to Wallace’s side. He couldn’t lie to himself and say that he understood his master’s actions or how it all related to the storm roaring beyond the mansion walls, but there was just an enormous wave of desire that washed over him to be there for the other boy whose smiles always seemed so sweet. It was like in the library earlier when his feet urged him to return to Wallace’s side except now it was only more prominent. He was urging himself to move forward.

Throwing his sense of guilt that told him he shouldn’t enter a room that wasn’t his without being asked for out the window to be taken away by the storm, Nicolas finally took hold of the doorknob and turned it open. Every bone in his body told him to rush to the other boy’s side, but there was a faint voice in his head which pushed through that blaring urge, telling him to approach with caution. As someone who was more simple minded, Nicolas often folded under temptation, but for this moment, Nicolas followed the voice that told him to be calm.

He lightly closed the door behind him, hoping that it didn’t make a loud noise. He wouldn’t be able to hear it even if it did, but he knew if he did anything it had to be filled with ease and caution. He would get nowhere if his actions mirrored the chaos of the storm outside.

Nicolas took a step closer toward the faint outline of a bed. “Master Wallace?” He asked in his best attempt at a soft and comforting voice, hoping his tonal raspiness was somewhere close to being filled with concern. 

He continued his slow approach until he stood just before the side of the bed. He had been inside the room before, but never on his own volition. Being there now, he felt like he was invading Wallace’s privacy. “This is wrong” the mental bat which had been drowned out during this fiasco sneered in his head. “Who are you to be here? Who are you to be by his side?” The guilt he had so recently disregarded was growing once more in his stomach. “How could someone like you even protect him? How dare you try to reach out to this precious thin-” Nicolas tried his best to push it down. He tried to let his desire to help Wallace over power it.

He soon felt his body act without him as he guilt ate away at his conscience. Now kneeling before Wallace’s bed, his eyes began to make out a shape under the covers. Suspecting it was Wallace, Nicolas slowly reached out a hand. He had come this far, if he were to give up, to give in to his guilt of acting out of place, there would be no purpose in taking the risk in the first place.

He tapped lightly on the edge of the bed to alert Wallace that he was there before reaching any farther. “Wallace?” He once again tried to whisper, hoping he wasn’t too loud.

“Sorry for entering.” He began, first struggling to put together sentences as clearly and properly as he could, and then noticing how his heart began to pick up pace. He began to wonder if it was because he was beginning to fear the repercussion of his actions. Or maybe it was caused by something else. Regardless, he continued his attempt to reach out to the other boy, sliding his hand closer to the blanketed mass. “I just wanted to help. If you’re okay, I can leav-”

A hand had popped out of the blanket covered mound and grabbed Nicolas’s outstretched arm. Its hold on Nicolas’s wrist was tight yet shaky. It exuded a strong sense of desperation, almost shouting for help through its grip that even the ever silent ears of Nicolas could pick up. The black haired boy’s heart tightened. He brought his other hand up to cover the shaking hand of Wallace, hoping that such a movement would offer peace of mind. The blanket covered boy was so in search of solace that as soon as the second hand touched the top of his, he latched on to it, quickly letting go of Nicolas’s wrist in favor of his hand. Wallace who was still under the covers wasted no time to squeeze the new hand in his grasp, putting so much strength into it that Nicolas thought the boy in front of him might rip it off his arm.

For a second, Nicolas stared in silence as Wallace held on to him so desperately. Through the tight grip on his hand, Nicolas was now clearly aware of the pain Wallace was experiencing. His hand began to ache under the pressure of the other boy’s grasp, but Nicolas dared not recoil. Instead he allowed himself to wrap his hand around Wallace’s, applying a pressure of his own back onto it, but instead of a pressure wrapped in desperation, Nicolas tried to convey soft and warm comfort, lightly wrapping his fingers onto the back of the feverishly shaking hand of the blonde boy. He gave the hand a light squeeze as if to say “I’m here”.

Communication was tough for the two boys in a moment like this. Neither could see for the life of them as the storm thundered on just out the window. Nicolas could struggle to talk, but he wouldn’t ever be able to hear or know if Wallace responded. Not that Wallace could easily talk either in a time like this. All his words were caught in his throat as he tried to hold himself from crying out like a newborn baby. The two were thus left in a palpable silence. One that was rather dreary yes, being surrounded by complete darkness except for moments of lightning and thunder, but also one that offered a sense of vulnerability, connection, and openness. Even without words, the two boys understood each other and shared their emotions in this moment. Wallace’s hand called out, crying “I need you” to which Nicolas’s responded “No worries, you have me”.

They stayed like that, Wallace completely covered head to toe except for one arm which snaked out to grab a hold of Nicolas, and Nicolas kneeling before the bed, holding on to Wallace as if in fear that if he let go, he’d lose the other boy forever. They stayed like that, in complete silence, holding each other as the storm continued its raid on the land, throwing down bullets of rain onto the ground, slashing bolts of lightning through the sky, and yelling down booms of thunder into the atmosphere.

Time was no longer kept in mind. The ticks of the grandfather clock had long since been left behind and drowned out. For however long it had been, it was just Wallace and Nicolas, alone, yet together. It was a slightly painful recognition of being left by the world, but it also had a tinge of warmth knowing that comfort would never be too far with the other person within an arm’s reach.

As the storm began to die down, Wallace felt Nicolas’s comforting hold on his hand loosen. With the thudding of the storm having almost entirely died down, Wallace poked his head slightly out from his covers. In the black darkness of his room, he could vaguely make out the shape of the other boy. His uncontrollable hair flopped onto the edge of the bed as the owner’s head rested on top of his free arm, hinting at how the boy might have drifted off to sleep.

Wallace blinked at the sight. Having the other boy so close, in his room, on his bed, holding his hand, it had taken him until now to realize how it all made him feel. He had been so overwhelmed by the storm and his memories of the past that the present situation of Nicolas being with him hadn’t even registered in his mind, but now with the outside world quieting down and the haunting memories dissipating once more, Wallace was left to face a sleeping Nicolas with a more clear head and slowly growing emotions.

Feeling an odd sense of security noticing that Nicolas was asleep, Wallace scooched himself closer to the sleeping boy. He lifted his hand which held on to Nicolas’s, and slowly brought the back of the other boy’s hand to his face, pressing it lightly to his cheek. The skin felt a little rough and yet it calmed Wallace immensely and not just because of its cool touch against Wallace’s growingly warm and rosy cheeks. 

Nicolas had been there. He had followed him without a word of explanation or even an idea what was going on. He followed him. The other boy could have easily stayed in the library reading his book, leaving Wallace to lose himself in his horrors and sadness all by himself, but he hadn’t. He had come, and come without Wallace even asking him to. The blonde boy felt a tug at his heart and bit his lip to hold back a couple of tears which wanted to seep out in deeply moved appreciation. 

The young master had been alone for so long. He had come across a father who despised him, a mother and brother who pretended he didn’t exist, and servants who gossiped about his every move. He had never felt what it was like to have someone, to have anything, and yet in that moment, in his own hand he held on to Nicolas, and Nicolas held on to him. 

He smiled, and laughed to himself, wondering how it ever happened that the most oddball of all the people he ever met would be the only person to ever show him this type of kindness, this type of care and sincerity. This goofy preteen who could barely read or talk, this raggedy haired boy who struggled to understand social cues or emotions, this person was the one who held onto him in his most trying moments. He was the only person who ever tried to reach out to him. Him. Nicolas. “Who would have guessed it?” Wallace asked himself, shaking his head.

He pressed Nicolas’s hand more onto his cheek. Feeling his heartbeat rise once more, faintly mirroring the thundering of the storm that had just passed outside but this time it was resonating in his chest and all throughout his body. He couldn’t help but smile and whisper into Nicolas’s wrist that was so close to his lips, “Thank you, Nicolas . . . for being here . . . when no one else would”.

The thundering in his heart continued to grow as he let himself plant a light kiss on the skin he had just openly shared his thoughts with.

He let out a slow breath, trying to release some of the tension that had pooled inside of him.”It hurts,” He thought as the pounding continued. “It hurts.” Wallace repeated aloud, but keeping to himself what the ‘it’ meant. The blonde moved once more. This time allowing his other hand to reach out towards Nicolas’s hair, running his fingers through its jet black strands which were barely even visible in darkness of the night.

He laid himself back down, but now much closer to Nicolas’s slouched position against the edge of the bed. The closeness was what he wanted. He would allow himself to be this close for now. It would be alright for just this moment because the overwhelming emotions hurt as they rushed through every inch of his body, and he needed Nicolas there to help despite being the cause of the emotions himself. Unlike all the other pain that Wallace had experienced in his life, the screams, the fists, the hatred, he was willing to carry this pain, to carry this burden of vulnerable emotions. Wallace was willing to continue to carry the weight of his feelings for Nicolas if it meant they could stay like this, together, relying on each other, protecting each other, needing each other. Wallace needed this type of relationship. He needed this type of care. He needed this type of emotion, this feeling not too far off from love. He needed Nicolas. 

And even if he never dared to say it aloud, no matter if Nicolas were asleep or if Nicolas couldn’t even hear the words for himself through his deaf ears, Wallace knew what it all meant and he would keep it to himself. It would be safer that way, he would later convince himself, but for now the burden of compassion, the pain of the storm like thundering of his heart as he held Nicolas’s hand and felt the boy’s sleep filled breath on his arm, he would let it shine and revel in its light amid the vast darkness. It was gentle. It was warm. It was nice.

[iliumheightnights]

We Have A Jedi [2] | Male Stark!reader x Peter Parker

Fandom: Star Wars and Marvel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Male Stark Reader

Summary: After receiving his Kyber Crystal, (M/N) moves onto his next stage. Creating his lightsaber.

A/N: I want to thank you all for the support and words of encouragment. It’s because of all of you that this fic sees new life. These next 2 chapters were written and published on ao3 when I thought of making this a full on fic but that didn’t happen so here they are here. I hope you enjoy.

Read from the beginning

(I will use as many Ahsoka Gifs as I want because she is my favorite Character and she’s about to go through hell.)

Continuing through the cave, (M/N) seeked to find the exit to the forge. The ambiance of the cave really didn’t help that the only light was coming from the lantern. After some time, he realized he had started to walk up hill. Eventually, he reached an exit and he saw that he was high up in the mountains with the valleys far below. In front of him was a path that stretched on for a while and at the end was a large ancient structure. The forge.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the forge. The forge itself was an ancient structure created during the time of the first Jedi. Looking around he didn’t see any of the other younglings,they must have still been looking for their crystals. Deciding to not lose any time,he climbed the stairs and entered the forge. The structure itself is quite large,while the forge itself is more like a room. Setting the components down on the forge’s construction table,he then moved to the center of the room and meditated. He focused on the crystal,the parts,the forge,and the blade itself. The parts soon lifted up into the air and started to put themselves together. When he felt it,(M/N) reached out and pulled the lightsaber towards him. Igniting the blade he saw that he had a (color) blade,he had never seen anything like it before.

Suddenly,the strong feeling entered the back of his mind. A disturbance in the force. To his right a large boulder smashed into the wall of the forge. Turning around (M/N) came face to face with what threw the boulder, a jurogan. He had heard tales about the forge guardian but he never believed them. Unlike the narglatch,he would have to face this beast in combat. Taking his stance,he closed his eyes and once again felt the force around him and then he struck. Launching himself at the beast,he quickly took a swipe at the jurogan’s leg with his saber causing the beast to fall to its hands. Angered by (M/N)’s attack, it swung its claws trying to grab hold of him. Before the claws could seep into his flesh,(M/N) jumped up into a backflip bringing his lightsaber down into the beasts head. The Jurogan let out one last roar as its body fell to the ground,dead. he jumped off the jurogan’s body and deactivated his lightsaber.

“Wow...that was incredible.”

Turning around (M/N) was face to face with his friend again. Sheyo had the most awestruck look on her face,like she had just witnessed something life changing. he noticed that she had her crystal in her hands.

“I see you found your crystal Sheyo.”

“Don’t ‘ I see you found your crystal Sheyo’ me (M/N) Stark! You just took down the forge guardian in a couple bounds! That was incredible!” Sheyo practically yelled.

(M/N) shook his head and let out a little laugh. “Well don’t let me stop you,go forge your lightsaber. I should head back to the temple.”

“You’re right,good luck and congratulations. You’re about to become a padawan. I’ll be back when I’m done with this lightsaber,but I think you’ll be gone already.” Sheyo’s face falters a little. “Be careful (M/N).”

“May the force be with you Sheyo Wune.”

The journey back to the temple went by slower than he thought it would. He was walking towards his future and yet...it felt like he was leaving everything behind. Finally he arrived at the temple,he headed towards the council chambers where he was told to return to. He took note that he had not seen any of the other younglings that also went for their crystals,besides Sheyo who should be on her way back. He entered the empty council chamber and signaled that he had returned. He waited for a little while until the council gathered. Master Shaak TI was the first to speak.

“Welcome back padawan. You are the first to return,I can sense another is close behind. Congratulations are in order on the creation of your lightsaber, be warned your lightsaber is both a tool and a weapon. You should only need to use it in defense of yourself and others.”

(M/N) had heard all of this before. The Jedi were the defenders of peace and embrace the light,while the Sith use their hatred and anger to reach their goals. However, Unlike the other Jedi he felt it was important to take the offense sometimes...they are at war after all. Shaak Ti continued on. “To help continue on your trials,you have been assigned a master.” The door of the council chambers opened and another person entered. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, He had a strong bond with them. His mother. “ Master Udera will be your master, she will teach you the ways of the Jedi beyond this temple.”

Janai bowed a little. “I shall teach him well masters.”

(M/N) also bowed. “Thanks you masters,I shall head my master’s words.”

With that the two left the council chambers. Janai lead him towards her office. He had only met with his mother a couple of times since he arrived on Tython, with the Jedi not allowing relationships a Jedi with a child would not go over well. He knew his mother loved him and he loved her, but they would never have a proper relationship, at least not amongst the Jedi. Janai’s office was more like a meditation chamber than anything, it seemed perfect for a Jedi master.

Janai turned and faced him, she gave him a bright smile and hugged him. “My son...I am so proud of you.”

That definitely surprised him,his mother never was one to stick to the Jedi way but that wasn’t expected.

“I am sure you already suspect why we got paired together. I asked the council to have you as my padawan,it has always been my intention to do this ever since you arrived on Tython.” She paused and her face faltered. “I hoped that when you were born, you wouldn’t have the force and we could have lived a different life...with your father. That didn’t happen and we had to be separated...but not anymore,I will teach you the ways of the force and finally get to be with you again.”

(M/N) hadn’t really been told of his early life before the temple. He still doesn’t know who his father is or if he’s still alive,he wished he could meet him. (M/N) wished he could pretend like everything was okay and they could be a family,but the reality is they couldn’t. Not yet anyways.

“Thank you...master for choosing me. However I think it would be better for both of us if we stayed a master and padawan for now. I just...need some time.”

Janai was disappointed,but understood. “I understand. I will teach you everything and when you are ready. We’ll talk.”

“Thank you master,so where do we begin?”

A/N: And we’re back! I wrote this chapter months ago so it may not be the best but hey we only have one more chapter of old writing before I can write new things. Don’t worry. Marvel stuff is coming into play soon.