#this is not a surprise; as i exist in a fandom safe bubble of my own making

[samarecharm]

was just chilling in the pegoryu tag (as you do) and you were listed as the #2 top pegoryu blog. congrats on this accomplishment

Oh my, what am i doing up there? I feel like i havent done anything of note recently …suddenly my blog feels indecent, like i got caught eating ice cream in my pjs 😭 please dont mind the mess…direct urself to my pegoryu tags to keep urself entertained 🙇🏾

[senawashere]

Love me like you do..

A/n: This is for @ohtobeleah 's Galentines day! And also my first fic for Tgm fandom🥳

3,7 K words.

Summary: A valentine's day night with Bradley.

Warnings: !!SMUT!!,MINORS DONT INTERACT.

Dividers from @saradika

You met Bradley 4 years ago on Valentine's Day.

Unexpectedly.

Valentines days were always hard on you,growing up with no actual love and getting not enough love with significant others and more… So you basically hated it.

But all you know is when you see him in the dairy and meat section of the mall store with that stupid wool sweater and his perfectly coiffed hair and you fall in love with him.

And look, for God's sake, he was thinking the same thing.

After talking about which milk tastes better and the best ways to cook beef, you exchanged numbers and promised to talk.

You remember your first date very well.

It was in March and he took you to dinner to an old but sweet restaurant. That night you understood what true love feels like.

And so it went. Flash forward to 4 years later.

In the first year of your marriage (and on the 4th anniversary of the day you met), you would celebrate Valentine's Day at home.

Bradley unfortunately had to go to work that morning, but that was good news for your little plan.

In the morning, you went to the market for the meal you will make in the evening, then to the lingerie shop for a surprise, and finally to the market for a few basic needs at home.

The sound of the oven's timer going out reminded you that you got distracted again, moving away from the mirror where you were wearing the pretty pink lace underwear, getting ready to be returned, hoping your husband Bradley will be home early.

You return to the kitchen to get the roast meatballs out of the oven you made and put your outfit together, pulling on a flowy pink dress that covers your lingerie set perfectly. You took the time to touch up your hair and makeup perfectly, making sure you looked good.

Getting beautiful for Bradley was so much fun and rewarding for you. The look on his face was always worth it when he saw you wearing perfect makeup and your body covered in beautiful fabrics that fit your curves perfectly.

When you regained your attention, you analyzed and plated the meatballs and homemade sauce with mash potatoes and creamy pasta, pouring in two glasses of red wine. They were placed on the dinner table until they looked perfect.

You weren't too fussy about such events, but you really wanted to make everything perfect for your first Valentine's Day as a married couple. As you put the last garnishes on your pasta, you heard the front door unlock and a smile immediately appeared on your face.

You resist the excitement rising in your chest and wait for Bradley to join you to present him with the meal you're so proud of.

He's getting closer, you're counting your steps.

You wait expectantly until he appears at the door with a smile after looking you up and down, holding a floral bouquet of red,white and pink roses.

“Happy Valentine's Day, baby,” Bradley greets you, extending the bouquet to the side and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Happy Valentine's Day, my love,” you replied. “I love you.”

"I love you too, baby. You look stunning," he says, pulling away from you to get a better look and the flowers appear on the table to reveal yourself.

“Please turn around a bit, let me see you honey,” he added. You turned around holding his hand.

His eyes rake yours, taking in all your beauty. You see his eyes behind you still looking down, you realize he's very clearly staring at your hips.

"Is it the way you want to see it?" you teased and he looked into your eyes again, walking over and pulling you close.

“I definitely like what I see, now come so I can hold you forever,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing. You lose yourself in his warm presence and sway side to side with him, enjoying the feeling of being safe and protected by him in the little bubble that can exist within the two of you right now.

He muttered , softening his protests at separation, "I need to put these beautiful roses you bought for me in some water. Why don't you set the table while I do that?"

He rolls his eyes but knows he has to.

“Oh baby, did you make me our favorite meal?” he shouted from the dining room.

“Mhm, of course,” you added with a wink. After placing the roses in a vase filled with water, you walked over and sat across from him.

Dinner was looking delicious,candles were so pretty,you both were happy and hungry.

Bradley took a little piece from the pasta and moaned dramatically around the fork. “Mmh damn, it tastes great,” he complimented.

“Calm down buddy, save your moans for later,” you said with a wink and a laugh. You both ate, enjoying each other's company. Even when you were done eating, you stood there looking at your husband with silly little smiles on your face.

“Thank you again for dinner, baby,it was awesome.” Bradley said, taking your hand and planting a kiss.

"Of course I wanted this night to be special. I love you so much," you say, caressing his knuckles with your thumb.

"I love you so much too." He replies, looking into your eyes for a moment longer,

"Come on, let me clean this up and we can finish and go to our bedroom."

"Oh Lieutenant Bradshaw, are you trying to get me into bed? I'm an absolute disgrace!" You can't even get the words out without bursting into laughter.

“Very funny y/n, help me get the dishes to the sink so we can finish faster,” he says and you help him, realizing that you can’t get him to bed fast enough.

"Let's think about washing these later," he said as his arms went around your waist. "I think it is a great idea," you whisper into his neck.

He turns in your arms and places a big kiss on each of your cheeks and hands. “Okay, ı think it's enough,” he said, his grip on you is strong as he liberated you from bridal style to bed freedom, unable to stop himself from parting small kisses all over your face. Immediately he started desperately tearing off your clothes as he wanted you, naked look right then and there.

Even though he has seen you naked quite often and many times in a non-sexual context, your body has always been and will always be a masterpiece for him every time he gets the chance to glimpse at you.

"Relax, we have all the time in the world, let's slow down and enjoy this moment," Bradley said, holding his hands over his body. "It's Valentine's Day, I don't want to rush things. I don't just want to have sex quickly, I want to make love with you for hours tonight, okay?"

You melted right there when you heard those words in his raspy voice. It made you feel so loved and cared for, but it also made you even wetter than you already were. You started to feel uncomfortable because you could feel that the underwear you were wearing before was now sticking to you. You wanted to immediately take off the underwear that was more than just getting wet between your legs.

The fire that had already started inside you was now burning wildly with the desire to let this man have you the way he wanted. He took his hands in yours, smaller than his, and placed them gently around your waist, hoping to convey that you wanted him to be gentle and loving, too.

He pulled you closer and placed a kiss on the top of your head, knowing exactly what you meant. You are grateful that the love shared between you can be communicated without words, knowing exactly what the other means without having to guess.

Bradley slowly peels off your dress and throws it at the end of the bed. He gasped when he saw the pale pink and lacy lingerie you wore for him. His lips parted and his eyes widened as if he saw the most beautiful work of art, he looked at you for a moment. Seeing your face light up just from looking at your body made you feel so sexy and desired.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful baby. I can't believe you're all mine,” Bradley said.

Under his gaze, you felt the most confident you had ever felt. He places his hands back on your lace-covered waist and slides them up your sides, then back down, exploring the bow holding it together in the back. He touches you like you're a fragile masterpiece that he can't believe he's allowed to touch.

You both loved the feel of lace and satin under his fingers, and he moved his hands up and down your body for a few minutes. You let him in until you started to get so frustrated, the lace between your walls was soaked and you felt a little uncomfortable from the wetness.

You ask him to pull the lace out of you by moving your hands to the straps and giving him both ends. His fingers gently pulled at the ends of the bow to open you like a gift, watching as they fell to your sides. Now the only thing holding the dress together are the thin straps.

He hooked his fingers into them and carefully pulled them down your arms, making sure to leave soft kisses behind the straps. Once the straps were removed, your underwear fell to the floor, leaving you naked with Bradley's prying eyes.

The urge to see your husband naked has hit you hard now, so you try to take off his clothes as well, this time taking the time to notice how the fabrics feel under your fingertips and tracing your hands over the curves and lines of his body.

Now you are both completely naked and exploring each other's soft bodies with your hands, smiling at each other. You are drunk with love, drunk with wine.

"Have I told you I love you today?" Bradley asked.

“Hmm, maybe a few times,” you replied.

“But it's okay because I love you too. I love you so much. More than anything in the world.”

"In the whole world, huh? I love you more than anything in the entire universe," he protested.

You climbed into bed and cuddled up together, pressing your naked bodies together as you both giggled.

“You really mean the world to me and this relationship means a lot to me.”

"I couldn't get along better. I appreciate this relationship and you so much, you are truly the best thing that could have happened to me." you said, looking at him with love in your eyes. You lean in to kiss him gently, but soon your kiss becomes deeper and more passionate the longer it lasts.

Within seconds, your tongue is in his mouth and his hand on your waist is pulling you closer. If he had his way, you would have merged into one being at this point. And you definitely wouldn't mind being in his arms forever.

His hand reaches down to rub your hips, his thumb pressing into the space above the bone and his fingers gripping the fleshy part that meets your hip. He pushes himself into your touch and his knee finds its way between your legs, moving higher. His leg rubs against your sensitive thighs as you open your legs for him.

When his knee finally reaches its destination, he pulls you closer and you grind your pussy along his thigh. You stare at him hopelessly, fully seated on his leg. All your increased arousal suddenly rushes between your legs and you instinctively start moving your hips to give you some relief.

“Oh, baby, you want to make yourself feel good?” Bradley asks, pressing a kiss to your nose. You mumble to him.

Wanting to return the favor, you brought your hand up to where he rested on your thigh and circled your palm around him, giving him slow gentle tugs to see him harden in your hand. You feel his hot breath on your neck as he lets out a breathy sigh when your fingers play with his tip.

"I think that's enough, how about we take things one step further huh?" Bradley asks, laying you on your back and climbing on top, pushing some stray strands of hair out of your face. ‘’Because ı cant wait any longer baby’’

"Hm, what happened to 'I don't want to rush things' and 'I want to make love to you all night'? Where are they now that you tried so hard?" You ask. He plays with your nipple to watch you squirm a little.

"I want to make love to you. I just want to make love to you right now," he said, his finger slowly moving inside your pussy as he spoke. “I don't want to wait any longer, darling,” he pushed his last knuckle almost all the way in. “I want you now,” he finishes with the final thrust of his finger, now fully inside you.

He curls his finger so you can feel him caressing your G-spot, and you whimper because you want more of him to go a bit faster.

It soothes your satisfaction by adding another finger and your whole body starts to feel warm and tingly.

It's not just the added sensation of his fingers, but the warmth between the two of you that makes you feel like you're burning in the best way possible.

It's the look in his eyes that tells you how much he needs you right now.

It’s the way he kisses your body so softly and sweetly.

It's the way his other hand caresses your cheek.

He makes you feel like you're the most important person in the world when he's around you.

Overwhelmed with these thoughts, your breathing becomes shallower as his fingers speed up.

He leans in and kisses you gently, whispering against your lips to "breathe" and "calm down." You try to listen to him and take a deep breath, which is somewhat hindered by the increasing pleasure with your constant tantric breathing.

Bradley's kisses travel down your neck, leaving small hickeys, and across your chest to your nipples.

He circles one of your nipples as his tongue slowly sucks into your mouth as his lips form a seal.

He moves further down, leaving a trail of kisses, eventually coming to where he gives your clit a soft kiss for the first time, kissing it as if he's showing his respect.

He slides in and out of you, his fingers still wet with your wetness, as he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, making small licks from the tip of his tongue to your clit.

You just want to let out a sigh but what actually comes out is more of a cry.

You don't bother caring though, feeling safe enough to make all kinds of weird noises in front of your husband. You know he would never judge you for something like that. In Fact he loves it.

Bradley's tongue gets a little rougher this time and he closes his lips around the clit between each lick. It feels so good that you already see the stars.

You open your eyes and see that he is already looking at you, his eyes half closed, as if it gives him pleasure to see you like this. He makes eye contact and you don't dare break it, you love how good the closeness feels.The hand that wasn't stimulating your pussy reaches up your body to reach the hand that's currently gripping the white sheets beneath your sweaty body.

His fingers interlock with yours and you squeeze tightly because you don't want him to let go again. Your other hand grabs his hair and you pull him deeper.

He moans at the feeling and you can feel it going through him.

His fingers and tongue take you higher, squeezing your eyes shut, tensing your legs and hips, and involuntarily moving your thighs closer to him, sort of signaling him to go faster and not to stop.

Bradley's thumb hovers over your knuckles, a calm and comforting gesture among his other mind-blowing movements.

He slows down and gives your clit one last meaningful kiss, then undresses himself and crawls towards you.

“Hi,” he said with a grin, the lower part of his face glistening with your wetness mixed with his own saliva.

“Hi,” you reply with a breathy smile.

You lift your head and purse your lips, silently asking for a kiss. He laughs and gives it to you.

First a quick, gentle kiss on your lips, then a deeper, more passionate, slow and deliberate kiss. Bradley kisses you with all the love in him, communicating with you through his lips and tongue embracing yours.

He lifts your leg up to his broad shoulders for better access, then slowly pushes himself inside you so you can feel every moment.

Both of your mouths open against each other, unable to believe how good this feels and how beautiful this moment is with the love of your life inside you.

He fits himself completely inside you and waits there for a few breaths, giving you both time to compose yourself before your body asks you to roll your hips against his, signaling that you want more now.

Bradley thrusts as slowly as he thrusts, pulling out until just the tip is still inside, then presses his hips down to fill you once more.

A breathy moan falls from your lips and you are left staring at his lips.

Your hands cup his upper back and pull his body towards you, holding him as close as possible as you wrap your legs around him.

Your hips thrust deep into his cock with each thrust. You feel so overwhelmed by the sensations that you have to close your eyes to focus on breathing. One of Bradley's hands came up and caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear you didn't even know you were crying from pleasure.

When you opened your eyes, you saw that the tears did not come from you, but fell from Bradley's eyes and onto his cheek. He cups your face in his hand and you can see the passion and focus on his face. (Hey, there needs to be a little drama in everything.)

Tears begin to flow from your own eyes when you see how emotional he gets from making love to you. You start to cry a little, not in a sad way, but in a way that the feeling is so overwhelming that it has to find a way out of you somehow.

You can feel how close you're getting, and he can tell you're holding back because you don't quite want to let go of this moment yet.

“Okay baby, it's okay,just let it go.” he encourages you. "You can just hold on to me and let go, I promise I have you. We have forever to make love with each other. Come on, I'm so close too, I want to finish with you". You whimper into his shoulder, biting your lip hard and letting go. You can feel him tense as he thrusts hard into you once more before letting go.

“I love you so much,” you let out, not even sure he could hear.

Everything is momentarily magnified.

You hold Bradley with all the strength you have left, and he holds you back just as tight.

Your pussy convulses around him with your heartbeat and you can feel his cum being released deep inside you.

Every part of your body shakes and tingles. The experience of sharing your orgasms simultaneously is magical. You feel like you're in heaven in Bradley’s arms.

Once you've both calmed down a bit, taking time to catch your breath and come back down to earth, he pulls himself away from you, but just enough to see your face.

He's not pulling away from you yet, he wants to feel close to you, so you lie there with him still inside you, wrapped in his strong embrace in the awkward but somehow perfect cuddling position.

“You are so beautiful,honey.” Bradley said with a lazy smile on his face, looking drunk on his orgasm and his love for you and also the wine.

You chuckle, knowing you probably look really fucked upright now. "You're cute and that was amazing. I don't think I've ever felt this way before," you say.

He kisses your cheeks, then your nose, then your lips. "Yes, it was really great. And it was really hot. Especially when you pulled my hair while ı was eating you out,"he says. Your pussy involuntarily tightens at the thought of Bradley between your legs.

“Hey, I felt that,” he teases, reminding you that it’s still inside you, something you won’t easily forget. You laugh, he buries his face in your neck, you feel a little embarrassed,blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Nah, no hiding from me, we just cried while fucking each other, nothing to be ashamed of really right now,” he says with her signature smile.

“Not fucking, making love,” you tease, mocking his previous words and he laughs along with you.

"Happy Valentine's Day,baby." he says, "I love you." He gives you a sweet kiss and you poke his nose with yours.

"Happy Valentine's Day, I love you too."

You lie with your legs and hands intertwined in the dim bedroom light.

A little silence is good. You leave a few more soft kisses on his cheeks.

After a few minutes, he gets out of bed to get some warm washcloth and starts cleaning you both up. He was so soft while doing this, you've never felt so in love.

That night, you sleep in your comfortable pajamas, holding each other and wondering how lucky you are both.

Maybe Valentine's Day was really worth it after all.

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @floydsmuse @lyn-js @seresinsbrat @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaddie @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces

[wispscribbles]

Mw3 spoilers (just a long personal ramble)

Hiii. So

As soon as the pre-release came out on, I hunted down spoilers, because I know myself and knew that if someone died and I got that information out of the blue, I wouldn’t take it well. Jokes on me, because I still haven’t been taking it well lol

I won’t talk about how Soap’s death was handled or the quality of the game. Plenty of smarter people are doing so.

I try not to talk a lot about myself and irl stuff on here, but will just say: I am very unwell, mentally. (Cue silence because that’s not surprising at all) Something I am very aware that I do, is that I latch onto fiction with my whole being, usually one specific character. For some reason, I always latch onto the character that ends up dead, usually in a way that make them only exist to further the motivations of other characters. It sucks.

So my hope for Soap has never been great, but for some reason I was still so shocked?? I don’t know, I tricked myself into thinking this time was different. Such an iconic character with so much good setup for great character development. I knew someone would die, but ow. To me, he was the element that made 141 seem more like family than coworkers. Soap’s interactions with the rest just livened up the games so much and made them all shine. Especially Ghost. Their dynamic, man.

Soap was the character that intrigued me enough to jump into the cod rabbit hole. It feels very hollow without him.

I keep telling myself that it’s silly to be so hurt over something fictional, and that I can just treat it as a mcd fanfic and move on, but nope. Brain’s stuck in the bad stuff. It’s a bad habit of mine to let something like this affect me so much, but well. Logic vs feeling and all that.

I really did find so much comfort in Soap this last year, that I severely needed. It feels a little like losing someone I know, someone who helped me through a rough time. I related to something in him and felt inspired. I only started writing after getting into ghostsoap, I started working out and I got back into art after a very long burnout. It may be fiction, but the impact is not.

So that was pretty much the worst case scenario of what mw3 could be to me. I always knew the risk, but, once again, ow. But there also seems to be plenty of good stuff in the game that I enjoy. I’m happy with the Ghost and Soap dialogue, the whole team working together and seeing Laswell and Farah and Alex and Nik. I hope I can be inspired by some of the new content once I’m calmer.

And I was worried they would ignore Ghost and Soap’s relationship after their development in mw2, but they genuinely seem to have gotten real close. It’s nice. I thought the shipping might scare the game devs into never having them appear in a scene together again, so that’s a plus.

Bottom line to all this is: I probably need a little break to get my head sorted. The grief is surprisingly real, it’s triggered some old stuff for me (haven’t been sleeping or eating, been stuck in some old thoughts). I’ll need to calm down and become a bit more normal about this again. Part of the grief isn’t so much about Soap himself, but also just the safe space that this account has been. The very nature of how the fandom is going to interact with Soap and Ghostsoap is going to change now, and man… I liked how it was, y’know? Could’ve used a little longer in that bubble. There’s going to be plenty of new fics and art, lovely stuff as always, but many of them will be tinged with grief, and I’m not in a place where that won’t break me a little.

I will hopefully come back to posting and making stuff once my brain settles down. I have so many drafts for fics and ideas that I hope I can return to. I’ve gotten so used to drawing these lads that I doubt I can stop tbh

The version of Soap that we love is already evolved from the games due to all the time and care the community has put into the character. The games may have killed him, but luckily, he’s fictional. We can do what we want, same as before.

I’m not even saying that I wish they hadn’t killed him. The games are crafting a story that fits their audience. It makes sense.

But I will choose to live in one of the many universes we’ve created for Soap, where he is alive and cared for, with a found family and a spooky lieutenant with a soft spot for him. Good for him.

Hope you’re all taking care of yourselves. RIP canon Soap (again). Thanks to Neil for a wonderful portrayal. And no matter where we go from here, thanks for a wonderful year of creating with you lovely folks. Seriously, some of the kindest people I’ve met in fandom. <3

Lastly: fuck you Kevin O’Reilly, but more importantly, sincerely thank you. (CallMeKevin video about mw2 got me into this mess. Otherwise I was keeping cod at an arm’s length, but he’s my fav youtuber, so I watched it. And here we are!)

[jung-koook]

I'm an old fan of BTS and I'm not as up to date with what is going on with them like I used to be. I had no idea they are getting a lot of hate rn - is it okay if I ask why?

you know that for some people it seems like it's "cool" to hate bangtan. especially if these people are kpop fans, they feel like they need to show off that they hate bangtan. yes, pathetic. and I think these people were happy that bangtan was going to serve and they thought they would get rid of the members but luckily bangtan surprised us all and hasn't stopped being with us even now that they are serving. and in my opinion that's what made all this hate worse. also, one thing that armys who really want to defend bangtan need to know is that they need to stop giving in to these types of people. make a private group chat, don't talk about it (the hate) in public. we already have to deal with this disgusting side of our own fandom, so please. it's not about being the big person but about truly protecting bangtan. these people who think they love bangtan but make disgusting and absurd comments, you are just dirtying bangtan's image that is not love. unfortunately the fans will always be a representation of the artists so stop dirtying the beautiful image of bangtan and armys, you trash. get out, you are not welcome here by anyone. also the media that seems to get excited about any mistake that someone from bangtan makes so they start persecuting the members and publishing fake news. you just show what unprofessionals you are. we can never trust the media without going there and checking the information ourselves. it is pathetic that many times we, without all the advantages that the media has in obtaining safe and correct information, go there and manage to investigate and find the truth. PATHETIC! people have lost all sense of humanity and empathy because of the hatred they feel for someone who has never done anything to them, who doesn't even know they exist. and the trash sides of our fandom that complain about what is happening but go there and act the same or even worse than these people.

I don't think you should change that. you are safe and you should keep yourself safe. I try my best not to interact or read any of this because it affects me not just as a fan but as a person as well. It's sad to see the point that some people go for nothing, because these people are not gaining anything just losing their sense of humanity and empathy. unfortunately, because of my blog I sometimes search for news and stuff and end up falling into this disgusting hole. but I don't recommend it to anyone. I think that for us to keep our fan dynamics and relationships healthy, we need to always put ourselves first and not interact with these things in any way. we need to make a safe bubble to keep our fan life healthy. being someone's fan isn't that, that's obsession.

sometimes we have to remember the real reason we are here and remember that these people are not them. I'm not here because of the fandom, we have amazing fans here and fans who do such beautiful projects in the name of bangtan members too that are often "hidden" because of these trash. but I'm here because of bangtan, for everything they are, for their music and for what they did for me. I never expected any of the members to be perfect because I will always put first that before they are artists they are human beings. and sometimes we make bad choices but if nothing happened we apologize and don't do it again. to date, none of them have made me ashamed of being a fan of theirs, but the trash side of fandom has made me ashamed of these behaviors. so if you guys, like me, are disappointed with everything that is happening, remember the real reason you are here, try to make a safe bubble so you don't interact with any of this.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: ~1K Summary: “What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system. He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means.

Got a short one-shot for y'all today! This was a quick lil' guy I whipped up within the past week to boost my Camp NaNoWriMo word count in between working on other projects.

It's a canon-compliant fic set during the SU movie.

Enjoy!

____

“What’s going on—?” he croaks to absolutely no one (weakened, vulnerable, alone, pathetic—), a jolt of fresh panic surging through his entire system as he watches the diamond at his core outright flicker.

He’s never seen a gem flicker before. He has no idea what this means. But even more urgently… his gaze snaps up to all the gemstones littering the grass like it’s a damned battlefield… he has no idea how he’s supposed to de-escalate this situation if he can’t successfully bubble this rogue Gem. The others will reform in no time, of that he’s sure— but so will she. And when she does, what’s stopping her from pulling out another weapon and attacking them all over again? 

Steven shakes the grim thought out of his head, exerting a surprising sum of energy in dragging himself back to his feet. (Stars, he’s so out of breath…) But no— no. He can’t allow himself to get so caught up in the brambles of such nebulous what-ifs. Come on, Universe. Stay resilient. Stay positive. There’s only one mission that matters at the moment, and that’s gathering up that weapon and all these gemstones and moving them somewhere safe. He’s capable of that much, at least.

Still… that anxious, always hyper-vigilant part of himself he tries hard to keep buried can’t help but dread the worst as he shoves that heart-shaped gem and the pink scythe into the deepest depths of his jacket pocket and drags his spent, trembling body up the hill to retrieve all his loved ones.

_

Steven collapses face-first upon the couch the second all the Gems are safely deposited on the living room coffee table, heaving what has to be the single most exaggerated groan of exhaustion any one soul has ever produced. 

Ugh.

Good golly.

Amethyst is usually back by now. That sure doesn’t shine any optimism on this situation, now does it? What on Earth did that scythe do to them?

And what the heck did it do to me, he thinks, the mere act of baseline existence leaving him as wiped as a marathon runner even though he’s literally lying as flat as a board. It’s a kind of total body exhaustion he rarely experiences, far more intense than a hard day’s workout or multiple nights of poor sleep. 

In fact, now that he ponders his predicament, he hasn’t felt as drained as this since—

He pales, his heart pounding at a somewhat uneven tempo. With much effort, he pushes himself upright again… yanks up the bottom hem of his shirt to splay his opposing hand across the familiar planes of his own gemstone, tracing their edges until his pulse calms down and he stops feeling so itchy and paranoid. No. Stop. it’s not like The Incident at all. He’s whole. They’re together, not split in half, not disconnected from one another.

Or at least… (he swallows. Hard.) Not physically.

Flashing a frustrated grimace, Steven gathers the gem of their attacker in his palms and attempts to form a bubble around it again. And again. And again. No dice, alas. The result is the same no matter how hard he tries. Even if he manages to fashion one large enough, it bursts only a few heartbeats later, leaving him breathless and haggard and with nothing to show for it. He wipes away the sweat that’s started to bead upon his forehead, and— rather defeated by this failure— dumps that damned gem back on the table a tad rougher than he probably ought to. 

Okay. So no bubble. Great. Just great. Absolutely peachy. What else about him is broken right now?

He throws out his arm, envisioning his shield bursting to life in front of it. And to his credit this hard-light weapon does briefly appear, but only as a glitchy flicker. Ugh. All right, so his shield’s a complete dud, too. With this in mind he sees no real point in testing any of his other powers. It seems his gem’s simply on the fritz now, no thanks to her. (He shoots a dirty glare at those pink, ever-taunting facets.) Plus, he figures an attempt and failure to float might prove disastrous. Best not to test fate today with how his luck’s been so far.

Steven clenches his fingers tight, painfully aware of how tense his whole body is right now. He outright can’t help it. This is the single most stressful thing that’s landed on his doorstep since the Diamonds crashed Garnet’s wedding. And not only that, but with all these muscle groups activated at once he can feel his pulse thrumming like a never-ending mantra within his wrist, its tempo frustratingly irregular. It reminds him a lot of how Dad describes his caffeine intolerance. Both keyed-up and jittery. Thrown to the brink of fight-or-flight but also exhausted to the point of collapse. It’s insufferable, and without the guidance and encouragement of the Gems he has no clue what he’s supposed to do about it.

Although… 

His breath quivering as he feels his gemstone glitch out within him yet again, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. (And boy, is he surprised the screen isn’t cracked after the mighty tumble he took up on the hill.) He taps into his messages and— his finger hovering over Connie’s picture for a moment longer than it ought to— (no, don’t worry her, just let her enjoy her space camp)— ultimately selects his dad’s contact.

Pls come quick as you can, he types furiously. Town in danger (???) from new Gem, everyone got poofed. At house.

Send.

The teen slumps back upon the couch, letting himself sink back into its plush, reassuring comfort. There. At least Dad might be able to help. And even if he can’t, well… 

(He wipes away that annoying stray tear pooling at the edge of one of his eyes. Childish, he chides himself. Stupid.)

At least it’s better than weathering this storm on his own.

[madstronaut]

The gif system in this post, regarding the feudal alignments within fandom?

Every member of a given fandom identifies with at least 1 of the 10 gifs listed.

The meaning of each gif is subject to interpretation to some degree.

My reblog was meant to be funny, but the more I look at the thread the more surprised I am at the amount of truth I see in it. Tumblr is a strange and beautiful place.

for you @deadbranch my chrome queen

I have prepared to flex my worthless and expensive af haha jk or am i dual anthropology and [redacted] degrees to conduct a completely subjective, PhD-level ethnographic study of branchy's gifset curation, please observe:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit A: writers and their sixth sense when they intuit me, refreshing and revisiting their blog daily to check for updates to that one-shot/fic/novel/12-part-apocalypse-opera (not even joking about that last one).

alternately, those weird fuckers who send in creepy boundary-crossing anon asks. i love to hate them but they're kind of an essential part of tumblr

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit B: im convinced some blogs out there have excel spreadsheet JIRA queuebot steampunkesque contraptions running their shit because i have no idea how they make (and KEEP TO) regularly scheduled high quality posts??? a schedule??? on this HELLSITE? tumblr i love you i dont mean that on mondays

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit C: antis. no further comments.

i freely block antiblogs and and any that are brimming with negativity/hate

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit D: me, fanfic, and ao3, most days. no further comments

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit E: me, my imagination, and my fictional harem of blorbos, most nights. no further comments as well.

Also basically 98% of tumblr as is widely known

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit F: the caption speaks for itself. on tumblr exist still many bubbles of thought, ideology, poiesis, and praxis that go on as if impenetrable and untouched by a well-known phenomenon called Reality (also known as IRL, going outside, touching grass, etc.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit G: hot people who post random face reveals. STOP TITILLATING ME (yes, I had to google how to properly spell titillating)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit H: the elder blogs. they post softly but carry big stick. they are the unspoken glue of their fandom communities. their fic/art/headcanon/etc. posts spawn a thousand more. thou shalt not speak a bad word against them. and yes, many of them are POC, so this gif pulls double duty, well chosen branchy my queen. and fuck i wish i could pull off hoops that big, anyway i digress

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit I: smut writers. they are brazen. they are shameless. they are worshipped and adored. this is the aftermath of their posting after causing tens of thousands of simultaneous la petite morts as the french say (is it la or le idfk and im too lazy/sleepy to google it rn). absolute fucking bloodbath

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit J: people who post their personal/professional/something-nal drama and air it out by tagging the larger fandom tags they're in, drawing in completely uninvolved (and often uninformed) people and getting these randos to do their dirty work for them

alternately, people who have zero interest or affiliation with said fandoms and their drama but gleefully follow along using the tags (nooooo i havent done that stop looking at me)

I would like add one more if you don't mind:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exhibit K: cozy, safe, well-curated, moderated, well-established boundaried corners of fandom and generally lovely spaces like yours <3 and many of my other moots' blogs as well

also, catblogs

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Ask a Stupid Question...

Fandom: Psychonauts Pairing: BobxHelmut Rating: G Summary: Bob finds it hard to pay attention to Helmut's words, sometimes. Which makes it a little awkward when Helmut asks a really important question.

(this'll go up on AO3 later but for now, *tosses fic into fandom like i'm feeding ducks)

Helmut was hard to listen to when he got excited.

Not that Bob didn’t want to listen, or didn’t like what Helmut had to say, no, no, nothing like that.

Nothing so simple.

No, when Helmut got excited, when he talked about things that really mattered to him, it was so hard for Bob to focus on anything but Helmut’s face. On his smile, and the way his eyes got so bright, and the way he seemed to glow from the inside out. The rest of the world might as well have stopped existing altogether, and Helmut’s words were lost to the emotion behind them, to the sound of his voice.

They’d snuck out to the far side of the gulch; settled down in the spot by the river that Bob had to remind himself not to think of as ‘theirs’. It was a beautiful night, not a cloud in the sky, the stars shining like distant diamonds.

The conversation had started off so innocently: Helmut remarking about all the stars you could see out here. He’d spent most of his adult life in cities, where the audience was (or, where they were supposed to be). It was one of the things he’d missed most about his childhood home. He’d grown up so far north in such a small town he could see the aurora borealis in person.

And then he was off. How beautiful it was, how unearthly, how it had inspired him in creating the Psychodyssey… Bob could have sat there listening to Helmut for hours, but couldn’t possibly tell you a single word the man had said in the last fifteen minutes.

The rhythm of Helmut’s voice had changed, softer, almost hesitant, but no less wonderful.

His eyes were so green, and they always seemed to be a different shade every time Bob looked. Right now they were like maple leaves in the heart of summer, a dark, deep green that was no less bright when the light shone through them.

And the way his hands moved when he talked, gesturing between himself and Bob, and the world at large. Helmut was always in motion, always doing, dancing and working and tapping out a rhythm to the music in his heart. Oh, what a heart it was, too. Warm and caring, always full and--

Helmut had stopped talking. He was looking at Bob, expectantly.

Uh oh.

Bob blinked, blinked again, tried to rewind the mental tape of the last few seconds, and realized that at the end of the last sentence, Helmut’s voice had gone up. A question. He’d asked Bob a question.

“Yes!” Bob blurted out. That was a safe bet, right? He and Helmut agreed on a lot of things. “Totally. Definitely.”

“Is...is that a ‘yes, you can’ or a ‘yes, I do mind’? Helmut asked, uncertainly. .

“I. I uh.” Bob felt his ears start to heat up. “Um. You--I don’t mind. I don’t mind anything. I’ve never minded anything.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s ok," Helmut said, the concerned expression not changing. "I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am! I mean I’m not! I’m just, I was, I’m fine!”

“I just want to be sure--”

“Helmut,” Bob said, exasperated, desperate to get the conversation moving again so he could figure out what the hell it was he was agreeing to so emphatically. “My answer is yes.”

Except the conversation didn’t start moving again. Instead, Helmut leaned in. And kept leaning in. And then suddenly--except it wasn’t sudden at all, but even though he’d seen it coming Bob was still so surprised it might as well have been suddenly--they were kissing.

Oh.

Which meant--

Oh.

That was about it for higher thought from Bob for a while.

...until he realized just what the question might have been, and couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in his chest.

“What?” Helmut asked.

“‘Do you mind if I kiss you’?” Bob said, incredulously. “Why didn’t you just say ‘can I kiss you’?”

“I got nervous!” Helmut protested, though Bob could tell he wasn’t really upset. “Don’t laugh!”

Bob pressed his hand to his mouth and coughed.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth down. “I’m taking this very seriously.”

“Alright, fine,” Helmut said, taking Bob’s hand in his. “Can I kiss you again, Mr Zanotto, or do I need to practice my delivery a few times first?”

Bob tilted his head up, not bothering to try to hide his smile.

“The answer is always yes.”

[tarithenurse]

Spark - 21

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Angst, death, loads of bad things including lack of proofing. A/N: I know I should feel bad for this, but I don’t. Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

21. Ignite

...   Reader   ...

You’re not sure what you had expected and still you’re taken by surprise at the devastation a single insect causes.

Spreading from the impact spot on the girl’s chest, flames spring up and engulf the small figure, making the skin crackle and clothes melt. The worst part is the scream: the high pitched wail has turned into whimpers but even that is changing as you watch in horror. It’s becoming guttural. Gravelly.

“What a shame,” Giovanni’s voice tuts from somewhere behind you, “I always hope it’s the one. Always wish for the spark.”

Always...how many? “You’re insane.”

“It’s science,” he dismisses you.

Flesh seethes and bubbles, the stench quickly filling the room together with the heat of the flames, and you know it won’t be long now. When an infernal is fully formed (their previous life reduced to charcoal and blackened bones) the hunger sets in. Already, the girl’s shape is falling into the posture of a mad and starving animal trying to smell out its prey...and you’re first in line.

“Let me go.” You hate the tremor in your voice as you try to appeal to Giovanni’s kinder side. Does he have any? “Let my hands free at least!”

Eye sockets filled with fire zero in on your struggling shape and a wicked grin splits the blackened skull. Here she comes. The infernal’s first words are barely audible above the roaring flames, but you know what they are anyways because they always are the same – infernals are hungry for souls, for craving the heat of fire while still hating the pain as the last of their consciousness roasts forever.

You know, she can’t burn you. Compared to anyone else who might have been in this situation, you’re actually kind of safe...or you would have been if the fact that the flames won’t touch you is exactly what has gotten you into this mess in the first place. That and the fact that I can’t shut up and keep my head down, you berate yourself.

A skeletal hand reaches out, and you instantly recoil. “No! Don’t touch me!” It pauses as if considering your words and the fear powers you on. “The one behind me, take him...please. Not me, take him instead.“ Tears barely make it onto your cheeks before they evaporate from the blazing heat and you can’t keep your eyes open any longer as it prickles and burns. “Don’t touch me...”

The light shifts together with the scorching air, passing beside you and leaving the front of your body suddenly shivering at the change in temperature.

“Interesting,” the mad doctor comments.

There’s a muted crunch, then the flickering light dies together with the last of an innocent girl.

...  Benimaru   ...

Dark and damp, the Nether seems to exist in a different world altogether. The sounds of rats scurrying out of the way can be heard sometimes, but mostly it’s just the footsteps of the two men making their way along tracks that haven’t seen activity for centuries, maybe.

Once, they’d gotten to an area where stairs led upwards only to be blocked by rubble. Another time, they’d to edge past an abandoned vehicle, the stretched shape askew on the rails and the seats behind the dusty windows offering room for nothing but shadows and a hint of the old world.

That was hours ago.

“You don’t know where we’re going,” Benimaru drawls, “do you?”

Joker shuffles an unlit cigarette to the other corner of the mouth. “Never said I knew exactly where she’d be.”

On and on the walk, none of them saying much except when the path diverges and they must choose a direction. The captain hates it. Sure, Konro often tries to teach him to think first and act later, but there is nothing to consider here except making sure to be able to find the way out again – a task that’s ensured by stacking rubble every 200 meter.

Maybe we should’ve taken the left back there? It’s easy to second-guess everything down here where the cold slowly tries to seep into their bones. Benimaru doesn’t care about the subterranean climate: as long as he hasn’t reached his goal, nothing else matters. It appears Joker is of the same opinion. What does he want from her?

“Wait...” the man in questions pauses, slowly picking the cigarette from between the lips, “do you feel that?”

Benimaru has already figured out that his “friend’s” senses are sharp despite the dopey mannerisms, so he stops as well and tries to sharpen his senses. The thick soles of his boots doesn’t allow him to feel if there are vibrations, but not even the lightest pebbles shift in their spots – only a cobweb waves silently from the broken sign hanging above them. It’s moved by the faintest of breezes that also caresses Benimaru’s cheeks with a hint of warmth as it blows past, carrying the scent of dust and mould.

Wait. ”Warm air,” he gasps.

Whatever is causing it, it’s worth checking out and the men continue into the darkness.

...   Reader   ...

“Please...please do-do-don’t!” Your heart is beating loudly in your ears but it’s not enough to drown out the clicking noises of the beetle. “You c-can’t...please!”

But you know Giovanni not only can but also will because he’s got the beetle gripped with a pair of elongated tweezers and is steadily coming closer. He’s drawing it out, though, revelling in the panic you can’t hold back any longer as it begins to black out everything else.

“You should be proud,” his voice comes from far away, “the scientific importance of this is unparalleled! And the honour! If this works...it means you’ve been chosen to usher in the Second Cataclysm.”

“No...I don’t want...no, please don-”

You’re startled by the searing sensation as the insect lands on you and burns through the cloth of the jumpsuit. So this is how it feels. Flames have never caused you pain before and for a second, you can only think of this searing as if it’s freezing your skin, but as embers spread beneath your skin and smoke rises...Now I know what it’s like to burn.

[fanfic-corner]

Cockles

I found out this morning that apparently Misha knows that Cockles exists. So... that’s fun. I’ve never been sure where I stand on RPF, so I thought I may as well read some and decide what I think after. Anyway, here’s what I read!

Revenge of the Subtext by MittenWraith on AO3. (80,064 words).

Tags: Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Canon Divergence after 10.20, French Mistake style AU, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Crack, Light Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Supernatural Convention, Human Castiel, Switch Dean, Switch Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Enthusiastic Content, Love Confessions.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Descrition:  Things are finally settling back down to normal since Cas gave up his grace to cure Dean of the Mark. Well, as normal as their lives are allowed to get. Sam relentlessly finds new cases to work, one right after the other; but Dean thinks they need a break to let Cas have some purely human fun, for once. It’s true they had a difficult time readjusting to humanity at first, but Dean thinks Cas deserves to do more than ride around in the back seat and follow them on monster hunts. Then again, Dean’s a little bit scared to ask exactly what Cas would want, just in case it doesn’t include spending quite so much time with him. And with Sam (of course).

Sam’s been tracking a series of odd occurrences in Laramie, Wyoming for the last few weeks that looks just enough like a case to finally convince Dean they should go check it out. Whether they like it or not, the goddess responsible for the weirdness in Laramie takes an immediate interest in the three less-than-perfectly-happy hunters who’ve stumbled into her town.

Notes: Absolutely adorable, such a good case and beautifully written. There are some other works in the same series which are also absolutely fabulous!

He Who Laughs Last (The Joke Is on Us) by anoradh on AO3. (4,248 words).

Tags: RPF, Fluff, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Silly.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: For the prompt: Jensen and Misha think they’re pulling the mother of all pranks on Jared by pretending to be a couple, but they’re in way over their heads.

Notes: This was cute and I love the sheer panic they caused in Jared - I couldn’t stop laughing.

Through the Screen by ArchOfImagine on AO3. (28,722 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Season 9 Divergence.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: "What would you do if you woke up in the Supernatural world?" A fan asked Misha. Little did the actor know, but a few weeks later he would actually be finding out the real answer to that question. Because when Metatron tosses Castiel out of Heaven at the beginning of season 9 -- he tosses him right into Misha's universe. Now Misha is stuck in the Supernatural world, looking at his husband's face but a different man.

Notes: This was funny and cute and just generally adorable!

Is It Really A Mistake? by BriMaco518 on AO3. (6,819 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - The French Mistake, s6e15 The French Mistake, Angst, Coda, Fluff, Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean and Sam Winchester find themselves in a world where the supernatural does not exist. Everyone calls them Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki respectively. Their efforts to protect the key that Balthazar gave them from Virgil, one of Raphael's angels, should be Dean's focus. Yet the elder Winchester finds himself distracted by the actor that plays Castiel, Misha Collins. Who also turns out to be the husband of Jensen Ackles.

Notes: Once again hit by not reading the tags, but if you read the sequel then that gets sorted out. Also, this is adorable and I actually saw the gifset it was based on afterwards, which confused me for a full minute.

Mistakes Are Better When They’re French by maraudersgirl47 on AO3. (21,791 words).

Tags: Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Fluff, Angst.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Notes: This was funny and touching and I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially the ending!

Description: Number One: Dean would definitely never appear on a soap opera.

Number Two: Dean Winchester did not wear makeup.

And Number Three: He was not gay!

God, Cas, whoever was listening - Please get them the hell out of here.

Fever by lysanatt on AO3. (13,624 words).

Tags: Romance, RPF, Post S8, No Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, First Time.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: It's Christmas and the otherwise so mild Vancouver is hit by a rare blizzard. Misha is hit by the flu and Jensen is hit by the urge to take care of Misha. Of course there are unexpected consequences to it all.

Notes: This was so sweet -  I love a good hurt/comfort and the way they wrote Misha was amazing!

Twisted French Mistake by literaryoblivion on AO3. (3,170 words).

Tags: Episode: s6e15 The French Mistake, Parallel Universes, Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Kissing, Mistaken Identity.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: If Sam and Dean get sent to the Supernatural set, where do Jensen and Jared end up? That's right, the world of Sam and Dean. But they're safe, and Castiel checks in on them and ends up learning more about himself and Dean from Jensen.

Notes: This was a really good idea - I remember watching the episode and wondering where Jensen and Jared were!

The Bubble by thunderpuffin429 on AO3. (21,035 words).

Tags: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Feelings, Character Bleed, Kissing.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas has to choose between Heaven and the Winchesters. Again. For the final time.

Notes: The Destiel part of this was phenomenal but the Cockles part was mostly smut, which is fine but made me a bit uncomfy just because I’m ace and I’m not a massive fan of reading it. So, it wasn’t my favourite, but that’s entirely on me for not reading the tags properly.

Do You Know What You Think You Know by ljunattainable on AO3. (5,761 words).

Tags: Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Romance.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Everyone knows Jensen and Misha are together. Nobody even thinks about it. They just know. Except Jensen and Misha. They don’t know. A few things happen in the space of a few weeks that leave everyone at least knowing the same thing.

Notes: This was sweet and I loved how everyone assumed they were dating and they still didn’t know.

Method Acting (Or ‘In Which Misha Is Not, In Fact, Kidding Jensen’) by HigherMagic on AO3. (5,567 words).

Tags: Character Bleed.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: There's a little surprise in the script for the latest episode, Misha is unruffled, and Jensen is not amused, but he's determined to put on the best damn performance he can, 'cause it's the last season and, hey, he owes it to Dean.

Notes: This was pretty good but it did get me thinking... can you IMAGINE if we got a Destiel sex scene? Tumblr would have imploded. There would be a national holiday. 

Second Take by anonymous on AO3. (6,237 words).

Tags: Polyamory, First Kiss, Psychology, Character Bleed, Internal Monologue, Internal Conflict, Friendship/Love.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Wherein Destiel becomes canon, and Jensen and Misha face the consequences of their first kiss.

Notes: This was fairly sweet, and Jensen’s internal monologue was written really well.

Still undecided, I think, but I hope you enjoyed! Some of the fics came off better than others, but some just seemed a little bit... not right? I don’t know how to explain it. Anyway, please remember that Cockles stuff should stay inside the fandom. I hope you find some fics you like!

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Ten

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thank you so much for reading and enjoying, my friends! Thank you for your kind support of my endeavors. I hope that this story has managed to bring you some peace, or at the very least function as an interesting distraction from the issues we currently slog through like so much Bakhroma Green dust. Stay safe out there, be well and be kind. Now here we are at the end of our tale! I've had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm so glad that you liked it enough to stick around. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch​ @wrestlingfae​ @renegademustelid​ @zombiexbody​ @sporadic-fics​ @rzrcrst​ @lackofhonor​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @arrowswithwifi​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @absurdthirst​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @88dragon06​ @roxypeanut​ @walkerchick007​ @peggers-n-beggers​ @robbinholland​ @chrisbostonevans​ @cinewhore @sarcasmisakindofmagic​ @phenomenaaa @evidenceofzoe​ @sinnamon-bunn​

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment discusses children/pregnancy/'family-planning'. Stay safe!]

You slipped from the bed, barely managing to untangle yourself from his embrace without waking him. Ezra seemed less man and more octopus when he slept. Wrapping your shirt around you as more of an afterthought than anything else, you crept out of his room and returned to your own. 

Through the tiny window in your bathroom you could see thick snowflakes falling, and you dimly heard the low rumble of the street plows. As you filled your tub, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror above the sink.

And you smiled.

Kevva, you were a mess! Your hair was mussed, your chest and collarbone littered with marks from Ezra's tender ministrations. You ran your fingers over your skin, laughing quietly. It had been so long, you'd almost forgotten what it felt like to enjoy sex. Almost forgotten how sticky it made you feel afterwards too, hence your bath.

Your body tingled and ached in the best ways, like you had just gotten done with a satisfying workout. In a way, you supposed you had. 

Once the tub had filled, you carefully sank into it with a sigh of contentment. The warmth of the water felt heavenly, soothing the admittedly-tender skin of your inner thighs. You knew you ought to get started washing up, but first you dipped a little lower in the water and blew a few bubbles. Perfect.

You were midway through scrubbing yourself down when you heard Ezra's voice, the man sounding slightly panicked as he called your name. "I'm in my bathroom!" You replied. 

Footsteps bolted up the hall and the former prospector all but lunged into your room, his hair even more of a mess than usual and his eyes wild. "Oh. Oh. Forgive me for invadin' your boudoir, gentle soul." He apologized after he spotted you through the open bathroom door, averting his eyes. "I may have had a bit of a terror, and when I awoke to find you missing, I...I'm out of sorts, is all." He rambled, his voice still gravelly with sleep. "Did you see that it has finally begun to snow?"

"I did! I'm surprised we can hear the plows all the way up here." You answered cautiously. He was working his jaw again. "I'm sorry I left, I just forgot how grungy I can get when...well uh, you know. During." 

Ezra waved off your apology, seeming to have calmed down. "No need for contrition, gentle soul. It was my mind playing cruel pranks on me. I'll leave you to your bath, and then rest." 

"Hey, wait." You implored as he turned to leave. "Go get showered and then come sleep in here with me instead? My sheets are clean. We probably did a number on yours." Ezra tilted his head, dark eyes studying you thoughtfully. "What?" You asked after a moment, a little disconcerted.

"You are so incredibly beautiful." He murmured simply, making you flush. "I merely wanted to drink it in. You have no equal even in my vast vocabulary, no match in my lexicon. And so I settle on the trite, the mundane, beautiful." He shook his head. "A tragedy, really, but should I resort to something so exotic as pulchritudinous every time I feel amorous, I fear you may want to strike me out of exasperation." 

"Oh no no, that one is for special occasions. Weddings and funerals only." You joked. He laughed, his pensive expression finally easing. "Now go, I'm going to get ready for bed. Meet me back here in ten."

Ezra saluted lazily, still chuckling.

…

"You recall what I mentioned earlier, gentle soul?" He asked softly once the two of you were safely ensconced in the warm cloud of your comforter. "About how this all seems like a dream?" You nodded against his chest, feeling the deep sigh he let out. "I am never the final stop on the proverbial slingback, you see. There is always a brighter horizon, a more affluent lover, another mountain to scale." He explained, sounding resigned.

"Not for me, there isn't." You said, raising your head so you could look at him. "I want to be here with you. As long as I can have you."

"You are hardly the first to offer up such a platitude." Ezra murmured, his nonchalance once again making your heart sink. "So I will be with you, and hold you, and love you until you are weary of me, and then…" he hesitated, "and then I will release you without debate, for you are not mine to cling to. You are your own woman, gentle soul, for all that it wounds me to say it."

"Excuse me?" You propped yourself up on your elbow. His eyes were firmly locked on the ceiling overhead, studiously avoiding your gaze. "Ezra, what the hell?"

His jaw worked and you saw him swallow hard. "I did not mean to cause you grief, gentle soul. I am not particularly skilled at pillow talk."

"Hey, no, look at me. Please?" You requested softly. Ezra blinked up at the ceiling. "Please, Ezra. Don't disappear on me just yet."

"I am not the master of my own emotions currently. I must insist we postpone this discus-"

"Ezra." You huffed, cupping his face with your hands. He struggled to dodge your eyes, his own filling with tears the longer he attempted. "Oh...no, no, don't cry Ezra. Talk to me." 

"Damn it, gentle soul, you have me all in a twist about this!" He cried in exasperation. "It is inevitable, invariable, inescapable, why does it abrade me so harshly this time?"

"How many other people have you written poetry for?" You inquired bluntly.

"Well...I mean, that is-"

"How many other people have you asked to share your living space?"

"Gentle soul, I don't-"

"How many people have you been patient with?"

"No one, damn it!" Ezra roared finally, "you're it! Are you satisfied now, now that you've dragged a dull, tepid answer out of me?! Are you thoroughly entertained by my piteous bawling, gentle soul?" His chest heaved with emotion and he rubbed roughly at his eyes. "I am not patient. Not by nature, not by habit or happenstance. I am not particularly generous, kind or honest, not without promise of recompense." He snapped, "I do not presume to be a good man, gentle soul. I've made this abundantly clear."

"So why would you be upset over me?" You pressed, not dissuaded in the slightest by his bluster, "why would you be good to me if it's so out of character for you?"

"Because you are all of those things, and I crave you more than any reward in this universe. Kevva above, your generous spirit has me reeling, your kind words leave me breathless, your honest love slaughters my deep-seated contempt for such juvenile emotions. Yet I cannot decipher whether I merely play at the better man, or if I have indeed metamorphosed due to you. Until I stumbled across you in the Green, I did not even believe someone like you existed." His eyes softened, going glassy once more. "Most of the time I still don't."

"But I do exist." You insisted. "I'm here, and I'm not leaving."

"Do not promise me such things." Ezra muttered, kissing your knuckles. "My morose poetry will be a poor replacement for the warmth of your touch when you do depart."

"I get the feeling that you like wallowing even more than you like me. You miserable-" You kissed him. "-broody-" Kiss. "-dour man." Bumping your forehead against his own, you continued, "I'm not leaving. The last thing I want to do is justify this mopery you're indulging in. What happened to the guy who dragged me halfway across the Pug for junk food?"

"I love you so much." Ezra whispered, his hands shakily carding through your hair. "I have warded off many a potential partner simply by the virtue of my verbose nature, but you have stayed throughout. While the thought of you leaving terrifies me, the thought of," he paused, grimacing, "the thought of becomin' something...becoming a man like him steals the very breath from my lungs. I shall not tear you from the sky, gentle soul. I will not clip your lovely wings."

You bit your lip. "I know you won't. That's why I'm still here." You assured him softly. "I'm yours for as long as you want me."

"Martyr's malfeasance, you cannot promise me eternity." Ezra protested. "I haven't even asked you yet, not officially, and we must think of the paperwork-"

"Asked me what?"

"Ah." Ezra cleared his throat, his face pinking up in a highly-endearing manner. "Well, that is to say...I had...I may have indulged in a bit of domestic daydreaming. Strictly speculative, you understand." He hemmed and hawed, wringing his hands nervously. "I am...I'm not a young man, gentle soul, I am approaching my mid-forties. My life has not been a particularly kind one, and I...my body is...worn." He stammered, "I-I bear the bold stamp of blue-collar occupation, as it were." 

You raised an eyebrow, confused at his discomfort. "Ezra, if you have something to say..."

"What do you want out of life, gentle soul?" Ezra asked suddenly. 

"Me? Uh..." You sat back on your haunches, propping your chin up with your hand as you thought. "I'd like to move somewhere a little quieter, eventually. More countryside. Somewhere that the flora won't kill me, of course, but you know." You shrugged, tapping at his ribs meditatively. "I liked working as an illustrator, though that may have more to do with the pleasant company than the actual work." You winked and he smiled weakly up at you, his own fingers drumming lightly on your knees. "I want a dog, and a nice house. Small one, with good lighting. Mostly though, I want to wake up next to you in the mornings. I want to draw you more."

You weren't sure if you would ever get used to how his gratitude struck you in your chest. It made his whole expression light up, blond patch bright like his own personal sunspot. For a man who was so brazenly cocksure, Ezra didn't seem to believe he was worth overmuch in anyone's eyes. 

"You have not yet been afforded the opportunity to grow weary of me, it appears," He remarked, "though we have endured each other's company for six stands and counting."

"Over half a year." You could barely believe it yourself. "So, I've told you what I'd like. And what would you ask of life, mister big shot author man?" You teased. 

Ezra's smile faded. "I would ask many things of life, though I have only one thing to ask of you." He rasped. "Accompany me in it." His hands folded over your own on his chest and you could feel him shaking. "I will not request you to stay any longer than you wish to, but I beg of you to...to be with me. For a moment, a stand...h-however long you can endure waking up beside me." He soldiered on admirably through his voice breaking, "I do not offer much, as you are aware. But I would like to believe that I could make you happy, at least for a time."

"Ezra, are you-" you swallowed hard. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

"I suppose that would depend on whether you are inclined to believe that I am asking you to...in less blatant terms, engage with myself in somethin' that may eventually, potentially, smack of the matrimonial persuasion." He was watching you closely, fragile hope shining through the serious, furrowed frown on his face. 

"You're serious." You stated weakly. He nodded once, a singular jerk of his head. "You...you're sure?"

"Abysmally certain." Ezra replied gruffly. "And I do not require an answer. Not now, not ever if you do not wish to reply, I merely-" 

Your mouth on his own put a stop to his amendments, and you felt his lips twitch into a smile when you breathed, "yes."

"Well!" He exclaimed gladly, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you. "I must say this--this particular outcome, while exceedingly welcome, was not anticipated!" 

"You've got to be kidding me." You groaned, shoving your hands into his hair to tug his face away from your own. "I'm gonna' do my level best to be patient with you, but fuck's sake Ezra." He grinned puckishly at you, his expression promising mischief. "I'll work on me if you work on you, okay? A little faith in yourself can go a long way, believe me." You lectured him sternly. 

"To think that you would be able to say such a thing to me." He commented dryly, making you snicker. "How the bastards have fallen, and now the gentle rule the earth as docile kings." Large hands combed carefully through your hair and he tilted your head for another kiss. "A dog, hmm?" You nodded wildly, making him chuckle into your mouth when your nose bumped his own. "I'll see what I can do, gentle soul."

…Three Years Later...

"Ezra!" You called, brow furrowing in confusion when there was no reply. "Ezra? Anglio? It's time for lunch!" You wiped your hands off on the flour sack towel that you had wound through your belt loop, trying to straighten your shirt out as an afterthought. "Ezra!" You called again, a little more concerned now as you moved from the kitchen to the screened-in porch, peering out through the jalousie window slats to survey the front yard. 

Turk, your massive Himalayan tomcat, wrapped himself around your ankles with a throaty, inquisitive burble. 

No sign of the dynamic duo. You sighed, petting Turk and resigning yourself to hunting them down after finishing your sixth well-meaning attempt at making bread. Maybe you were being too optimistic, expecting the dough to cooperate in this heat. 

The first loaf actually looked good, though! That had bolstered your confidence, which had in turn dug you into a glutinous hole. Any variation you tried on the original successful recipe resulted in nothing but failure. At least you had an overabundance of aggressively-crispy croutons and bread crumbs now? 

Oh well, sixth time's the charm. So much for my attempt at a subtle pun. 

After placing the tray in the oven, you headed outside to the front steps. Turk sauntered out alongside you, yawning and then sprawling on the steps. "Boys!" You shouted, smiling in relief when you heard a distant reply from the forest. "Lunch time!"

There was a crash and Anglio emerged from the trees, the small mutt baying excitedly to indicate that he was being pursued. You wondered (not for the first time) if Mr. Anglio knew about Dog Anglio. Ezra strode along behind the pup, laughing when the dog play-bowed and barked at him. "You wretched beast, leadin' me o’er hill and dale like a damn huntin' thoroughbred!" He growled good-naturedly, rubbing the dog's proffered belly. 

You smiled a little mistily at the scene, your heart skipping in your chest. 

Escaping the city had been the best choice that you and Ezra had made in your life together thus far. The house you had found, while small, sat on a sprawling, untamed estate that you had fallen in love with instantly. 

Anglio and Turk (formerly known as Foxy and Turducken) were acquired soon after from the shelter of the 'nearby' supply depot. You hadn't actually been looking for a cat, but the stately feline would not take no for an answer. Plus, Ezra had looked so torn as he buried his face in the stoic animal's side right before he had attempted to return him to his cage.

"You want a cat too? It's not like we can't take care of it." You had reasoned with a shrug, already fawning over the little orangey-brown mutt in your arms. Ezra had lit up, nodding firmly.

The cozy, domestic solitude stirred creativity in yourself and the man you shared your life with, culminating in a small collection of illustrated short stories that had, once again, done surprisingly well on the market. Ezra said he wanted to try writing children's books next, laughing when he announced it as if he was joking. His offhand remark had rekindled something in your belly: the warm, soft embers of a bonfire you had assumed long extinguished and buried. Children’s books...

The memories faded as Ezra traipsed up the steps, the last vestiges of spring mud coating his boots. "Ah, my beloved co-conspirator!" He announced dramatically, spreading his arms wide. "How I have missed you whilst engaging in a daring foray into the untamed wilderness!"

"Yes yes, Robinson Crusoe, we're so blessed by your survival skills and ability to create fire." You deadpanned, laughing when he caught you in his grasp and attempted to smother you with kisses. "Oh no, help me Anglio!" You cried in feigned distress, the dog prancing around your legs and yipping in reply. Turk meowed sleepily at all the commotion, putting his head back down after a moment.

"Such harsh barbs from my doting wife!" Ezra teased, rubbing his forehead against your own. "Have you been baking again, gentle soul?" He asked, sweeping a dusting of flour off of your cheek. 

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest as you grabbed his hand and hauled him inside the porch, into the kitchen. "I h-have buns in the oven!" You choked out in a rush when he paused to kick off his boots by the door, unable to wait another second. 

"Wonderful! I am ravenous and…" Ezra trailed off as he straightened up and obviously caught sight of the expression on your face. You could only assume you looked a mixture of terrified and hopeful. It was certainly how you felt, at any rate. His brow furrowed suspiciously. "Wait."

"Well, uh, that is, there's multiple buns in the actual oven, b-but according to the doctor-" You held your hands out, the stance a strange echo of when he had been across from you in the pod all those years ago. "The doctor says j-just one. Healthy! One healthy, um, bun. In my oven." You squeaked. 

Ezra stared at you like he had never seen you before. He finally rasped, "how long?"

"How long what? How long have I known?" He nodded mutely. "Late last night. I had them scan during my routine checkup. I...I wanted to be sure." Your voice petered out as you spoke until you were essentially whispering. Uncertainty gripped your body; was he upset about this? Had you misread the situation? Oh Kevva, what if he didn’t want you now?

Ezra reached for one of the kitchen chairs, clumsily sinking into it. He didn't speak, he just sat there with his head in his hands.

You fidgeted with your towel, tears threatening to spill over as the silence lengthened. "Ezra, is...is this not okay?" You queried softly. 

His shoulders jerked when the timer for the oven went off, but other than that he gave no sign that he had heard anything. You turned your back to him and slipped on your oven mitts, moving almost mechanically to rescue the buns before they too were suited for nothing but croutons. You then shut off the oven and opened the drawer beside the sink, digging blindly for the spatula--

Ezra caught you up around the waist, crushing you to his chest so tightly it felt like all the breath left your body. "A baby!" He boomed, half-laughing as he spoke. "I am exuberant, over the fucking moon! How long do we have, when will they arrive?! I cannot believe this, I just--gentle soul, the serendipity that you have blessed my life with!" He exclaimed warmly, cupping your face and kissing you breathless.

"I take it you’re open to the idea, then?" You gasped out, feeling his thumbs wiping away the tears that had managed to escape. 

"Gentle soul, I...you are a miracle incarnate." Ezra's voice had taken on a tone of heated awe. "Your generous body, accepting my love in such a wondrous new way. I am truly a lucky man. A...I love you so very much." He murmured, his next hungry kiss chasing away all your lingering trepidation. "So, so very much, so much...an insurmountable amount." His hands grasped at your belt loops, tugging your hips in to slot against his own. "To think that when I laid with you during our anniversary, it would bear such precious fruit." He muttered. You felt his cock stirring through his jeans.

"E-Ezra, lunch…" you protested weakly. You still had your oven mitts on, your hands curled into loose fists resting on his chest.

"I will eat it later." He promised, his dark eyes wholly sincere even as his fingers worked at the buttons of your light blouse. "Once I have properly displayed the depth of my...appreciation." 

...

"You alone coax me into such promiscuity, I hope you are aware." Ezra grunted, burying his face in your hair. 

You whimpered down into the bedspread, the thumb that insistently dragged over your clit making your eyes roll back in your head. The blankets were still crisp and fresh from being hung out on the line, the sweet scent of summer sunlight and Ezra dominating your senses.

"You alone, and the notion that you are heavy with our child does not dull the edge in the slightest." He continued breathlessly from his position overhead, grinding his cock into you as deep as it could go and refusing to withdraw. "You feel incredible around me, gentle soul, fucking exquisite." 

His hips crushed to your rear and you rutted your body up onto your hands and knees, meeting him with the soft slap of heated, sweat-drenched skin. "Ezra, please-" you begged, making him hum. "Please, I want to come, please…" 

"Gentle soul, gentle soul," He gasped, "if you keep rocking back against me in that manner, I'll have no recourse but to give you what you ask for." The former prospector seized your arms, dragging you fully upright on your knees. He quickly released you, his wandering hands returning after a moment to rest on your stomach. "Your sensuous form stirs such lascivious thoughts in me." He breathed in your ear, smiling against your neck when you keened out. 

"Love you-" you gasped, and Ezra's fingers gripped your hips tightly. 

"I know you do." He assured, his words gone soft enough to ache, burrow their way into your ribcage and wrap around your heart. "Now come for me." He held himself still and you pushed yourself back against his cock, the methodical sway of your hips finally beckoning you over your edge. You cried out and Ezra caged in your throat with large fingers, the man feeling the vibrations of your enthusiastic climax with a low moan of his own. "How deliciously improbable," his voice grated, "that your sweet little cunt could manage to grip me even tighter than before-!"

"Fill me up, Ezra, come in me, come in me-" you pleaded, sagging back against him. The brilliant Mallen streak flickered into your field of view as the man behind you dropped his forehead onto your shoulder, his hips rolling and bucking furiously. You could feel him panting, hot breath washing over your back as your shaking fingers twined greedily into his hair. 

"What my Eve demands, what--what my gentle soul entreats, I have no choice but to oblige." He rasped out. "I am shattered, rendered insensate by the radiant splendor of this copulation in our private Eden." He mouthed shakily over your shoulder, finally biting down with a grunt as he came hard. You crooned quietly to him while he spent himself inside you and he groaned in reply, making you laugh. "You truly are a delight to behold, gentle soul." He sighed hoarsely, wrapping his arms around your midsection and cradling you close to his trembling body.

You dragged your fingers through his hair, a dopey smile rising on your face when his stomach loudly reiterated the fact that he had ignored lunch in favor of other, far more distracting activities. Ezra grimaced awkwardly. "Work up an appetite?" You teased, kissing the end of his nose and then the exaggerated scrunch of his brows.

"I may have gotten...sidetracked." He admitted with a self-conscious chuckle. "You can hardly judge me for that particular shortcoming, gentle soul." His warm palm splayed possessively on your stomach and he hummed low in his throat, the sound obviously one of contentment. "Our child."

"Ours." You echoed in agreement. 

"I hope that I...no, I left such trepidation behind long ago. I am a better man. For you, for us. And now, for them." Ezra said firmly, placing a kiss on your cheek. "Now, show me the result of your baking. I admit freely to bias, of course; I welcome any and all culinary attempts with open arms, as though they were gifts from the illustrious and powerful Waldorf-Astoria itself."

You squinted. "The what? Listen, I'm used to you being vaguely comprehensible at best, but even I have no idea what the words that just came out of your mouth were."

His reply was simply unrestrained, delighted laughter, his nose pressing into your cheek while he showered your face with even more playful kisses.

In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn...in my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight. For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of you...all for the touch of your mouth on mine. 

Bonus baby headcanon!

[franeridart]

Anon said: How are those doodles?? Your "doodles" are a million times better than any of my finished drawings (i love them btw they are so f*cking cute!!!!)

AHHHH THANK YOU!!!! They really are doodles though haha 

Anon said: What are your OCs' names?? They are so cool I'm in love with them ♡♡

If you’re talking about the four in the latest original art post I made, then they’re Chris (with the undercut), Josh (with the long hair), Max (with the scarf) and Leo (with the eyepatch)!! I’m so so happy you like them, they’re old enough to be part of me by now so seeing them liked is always such a warm feeling!!

Anon said: Do you take prompts/suggestions? Sorry I don’t know your policy but would you consider drawing Bokuro ft jealous!Bo? I’ve always headcanoned that Kuroo is really popular with both boys and girls because of his confidence and effortless charm; whether he’s oblivious to this attention despite his intelligence or aware of it yet ignoring it is anyone’s guess~ I always look forward to your art and recently got into Haikyuu!! And damn, I do ship Kuroken too but you have me addicted to Bokuro now *_* ||  Aah finally got the FAQ open (blame mobile tumblr for being a bitch), and yup my last ask is def a suggestion and I hope you’ll consider using it~ Somewhat unrelated, do you regularly add stuff to your red bubble? I love your Kiribaku art but I’m a huge fan of Momo (&Todomomo) and Kuroo (&Bokuro), is there any chance you have something in the works with them up for sale soon? Thanks

GOSH thank you so much for liking my old hq stuff enough to ask for more!! I’m not sure if I’ll get back to drawing bokuro soon, honestly? So I can’t promise that if I’ll go through with the suggestion it’ll be soon, but I’ll definitely keep it in mind for when the mood strikes!! And about the shop, I add to it whenever I feel there’s enough stuff piled up to? Though I plan to start adding more often than that from now on - I don’t really have anything for momo and kuroo to add on rb that isn’t already there, but as soon as I’ll have more of either of them I’ll remember to put them up! Thank you so so much for the interest in buying from me!!

Anon said: Ok but that Kirishima art was absolutely amazing

THANK YOU!!!!! 

Anon said: Hi! First I really really love your art and I make this little muffed scream every time I see your stuff pop up on me feed. You’re amazing!! Second, can I ask how you do shadows? I can never make them look right or lay across my character correctly. Yours always look so amazing

Thank you!!!!!! I actually used to have that same problem with shadows? However much I kept track of where the lightsource was and the shapes I was working with it always looked wrong, somehow - the way I fixed it was by adding more shadows, actually. If you’ll pick any of my colored pieces you’ll see I don’t really put down lights all that often, which means the base color ends up being my light color too, and everything else is just shadows getting darker the further I go from where the light hits the object I’m shading - generally, I use a soft tool like a brush or a marker to very roughly put down where I want the shadows to go, and then using the same tool I smudge and darken it till it looks right to me. I can’t really explain it any better than this? But I have a small tutorial for how I do this in my art tips tag, if you wanna give it a look!

Anon said: I come back to look at your art almost every day, especially when I’m feeling down; so I’d just like to thank you for posting your beautiful art for all of us to experience. On behalf of all of your followers, Thank you! :,)))

Anon you’re gonna make me cryyyyy!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; thank you so so much, both for this ask and for liking my stuff to begin with! <3

Anon said: Your anatomy is so so so so good! And don’t even get me started on your colours! Perfection

GOSH I still have a long long way to go, but thank you so much for thinking so!!! It makes all the effort feel worth it! ( TT^TT)<3

Anon said: I love everything about ur art! from the sketches to the full colored pieces, it's the highlight of my week whenever you post! I was actually wondering where you get the ideas for clothes! I always see the variety and was wondering if you came up with them or are they from somewhere ^v^ keep up the amazing work!!

It’s a mixture of both, actually! I like to look at clothing, both irl (on people I see, or stuff in the shops I visit, or even pics and movies and tv shows!) and drawn too - in anime and illustrations and manga and cartoons! I look at them and try to remember how they’re made, and then when I draw I think about it all and come up with my own by mixing stuff I liked from all those things - unless I see a piece of clothing that’d work just right as it is on a character, in which case I just draw it either as best as I can from memory or, if I have it, using a ref! It’s one of the things I find the most fun when drawing, I’m glad to hear you like what I come up with!! Thank you so much!!!

Anon said: Thoughts on KiriTodo? Because I. Am. Hooked.

I like it!! I don’t actively ship it, since my only actual ship for Kirishima is kiribaku, but I like the look of him with todo, aesthetically, and their friendship is highly entertaining to me, which means their potential relationship in a romantic setting is too - and, as we’ve seen with my very random dip into the non-existent kirijiro fandom, that’s more than enough for me to decide maybe I’ll wanna go and draw for them, one of these days haha

Anon said: Haven't seen KiriSero or KamiSero Fusions yet! Got some ideas for those? (Filling out the Bakusquad pentagon XD)

I really never got around to drawing those, did I! That’s actually surprising, hadn’t you pointed that out I’d have never realized - I’m not doing fusions anymore right now, but maybe I could make an exception for these two............ if the inspiration strikes, why not!

Anon said: Did you see the newer bnha episodes?! Miritama made it feel like a shoujo... (In a good way)

THIS IS SO OLD OH GOD sorry I didn’t get around to answering this sooner!!! The miritama relationship is really wonderful, isn’t it? They make me cry so much, soft warm boys, so in love............. TT’’’TT <3<3<3

Anon said: This whole year has been a trainwreck for me and your blog was one of the few things that stayed constant, so thank you for being my favorite spot on the internet. Hope you keep drawing and I love your art so much!

AH, THANK YOU! I really really hope I’ll keep on drawing too!!! I’ll do my best 💪💪

Anon said: Some days I’ll just sit in bed at 2 am and be like “I need a hug” and then I read ur blog and it’s like a safe mental hug. So thanks for that.

That’s!!!!!!!!!! so sweet oh my god!!!!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; I’m so glad my stuff can make you feel warm like that, anon!! <3<3

Anon said: So it says you don't do requests in your faq does that include commissions as well

Not right now!! Maybe sometime at the beginning of next month, ✨Stay Tuned✨

Anon said: Hellooo hope you are having a good day. It's always so fun to scroll through your blogs and enjoy your art 💕💕 Idk if it's a little weird to ask but I also love your old aokaga art and I was wondering if you had any interest left in that fandom or would ever consider drawing for it again? xx

Gods, I really don’t know? It’s been so long since I’ve last engaged with anything related to knb........ I still do love the ship though, so, maybe? I really have no clue, I might though!! Thank you so much for liking even such old things from me!!!!

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last -Chapter 1

‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and they had. They did. But he was Hisirdoux Casperan, and it wouldn’t be true to form if he didn’t somehow manage to botch up being wiped from existence too.

(Posting this on Tumblr too, a week late without starbucks.)

Notes: So, it has been a good, sweet while since I last posted anything to an audience outside of my family and friends. This here is my attempt to shake off the rust and be active again, and hopefully get back into the habit of writing on a more regular basis once more. We'll see how that goes, and maybe I'll finish some of those requests/projects that have been on the backburner for far too long.

A couple of free warnings before you start reading:

1. There is angst. This is me, there will always be angst, which will be peppered with comfort and friendship and all those great things this show brought to the table. I am a believer in happy endings, so provided we make it that far I will not leave you wallowing with a tissue box.

2. I'm not being super canon compliant here. The last time I wrote something for a fandom I spent hours researching, rewatching, and analyzing. Not this time. This time we are ad-libbing, and hopefully not completely self-destructing the canon whilst we are at it.

3. I have a buffer of chapters at present and will be spacing posting out to try and keep that. That being said, posting schedules and me have a complex relationship. I make no promises.

4. Douxie does not deserve any of this, but I'm putting him through it anyway, because that's what we do to the best bois.

5. It's been a rough year, guys. Take care, be kind, and stay safe.

   Chapter 1

Top Ten Reasons to Avoid Temporal Accidents

It started as a dream.

He knew he was dreaming because just a moment before he had been pouring over a new spellbook, enduring Archie’s indulgent amusement as the fatigue of the day’s activities warred with the excitement thrumming through his veins. He must have been tireder than he realised, he reasoned, to have drifted off in the middle of studying every last detail contained within those precious pages. He was probably drooling on said pages now, and Archie was probably laughing at him. The traitor.

So he was dreaming, even if tonight’s nocturnal adventure seemed to be a departure from the usual fare. He was sitting in the midst of nothingness. Not dark, not light, just absence. Emptiness, yawning and deep, that swallowed all sound when he opened his mouth to speak. He could see clearly enough, despite the lack of light, except there was nothing to see. He didn’t know how he had come to be there, but he knew he was waiting, sitting still with a sense of quiet patience that would have had his master’s eyebrows climbing right off his head in disbelief.

The cold crept in slowly, brushing over his skin like a frigid breeze from an open window, closing about his wrists like icy fingers with a death grip. An uncomfortable sensation of heat sparked beneath his ribs at the same time, drawing his eyes downwards as he blinked in surprise. There were dozens of threads attached to his torso, red and blue lines trailing off into the nothingness. Morbidly curious, he tried to touch them. His hands passed through the mingled colours as easily as they seemed to have passed through him, not ending where they touched his skin, but stretching beyond what his eyes could see.

The first tug took him wholly by surprise, a flash of terrible pain making his sight white out as he threw a hand down to catch himself. The pressure eased in the next moment, though the threads remained taut. He had barely had a chance to regain his breath before they started pulling again, viciously hauling on something beyond the physical, as if they were trying to pry his spirit out of his body.

He toppled forward on hands and knees, submitting to the pressure in an effort to relieve the awful tearing sensation inside his chest, but it made no difference. He grappled to hold the bindings, to tear them away. His hand passed right through the threads again, as insubstantial as the part of him they seemed determined to claw free, deaf to his pleas to stop, immune to the magic he slammed against them in a frantic effort to halt their steady pull.

“Please.” He was sobbing now, the pain overtaking all else. He needed it to stop. It had to stop. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. “Please, don’t...”

Pale green washed over him in a gentle wave, a bubble of safety that encased both him and the instruments of his agony. He drew in a wheezing breath, fighting to get upright as the soft touch of kind magic slowly enveloped him, the scent of old wood and ancient greenery as familiar as it was strange. There were flowering vines wrapping around his limbs, twining around his arms and curling in repeated circles about his waist. Their grip was careful but unyielding. He had only a moment of dawning horror to realise what was coming and try to prevent it.

“Wait! Stop!”

The vines wrenched him backwards, painfully fast. Perhaps it was meant to be kindness, salvation, but the threads still caught. He was torn to ribbons, pieces peeling away in strips like he was made of parchment.  He felt the fracture of something that was never meant to break, a pain that went far deeper than any physical wound could. His magic flared in panic; A wild, desperate attempt to save himself from certain death.

Too late. Too late. He had already lost too much, and still they tore at him, taking more and more and there would be nothing left...

    He came to shrieking.

This was a vast improvement on not awakening at all, a miracle he was not in any position to appreciate as he opened his eyes to find himself floating amidst a maelstrom of miscellaneous objects. The moment he came awake the magic gave out beneath him, dropping him like a stone to crash against the floor. He hit his head on the descent, a minor complaint drowned out beneath far more immediate concerns.

Everything hurt; A terrible, all consuming agony that bloomed outwards from his chest and set all his nerves alight. He knew he was screaming, knew the sound grating against his ears was his own piercing voice mingled with the shouts of others. The world was awash with vibrant blue and that was his fault too. He just didn’t have the presence of mind to stop it. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, except he was fairly certain that had already happened. Ice in his chest and fire in his veins and a broken voice screaming his name.

He could still hear the echoes. The voice was different now. Less of devastation and more of brimming alarm. Magic crashed against his own in a tidal wave of calm that made the colours swimming before his eyes flash from blue to gold. He was being smothered, crushed beneath a weight that was meant as kindness, arms wrapping around him and pulling him upright. He cut his own screams off in a breathless gasp when the motion tipped excruciating pain back towards inescapable agony, a hand — his own — trying to burrow into his chest to find and destroy the source of his torment.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing.

He had failed.

He had failed and there was no fixing this.

The arm curled about his spine tightened, the hand to which it was attached gripping his waist firmly as he was pulled closer and tucked gently against the source of the voice now peppering his name through nonsense sentences that would have meant something at any other time. He could feel the vibrations of speech, hear a heartbeat thudding slightly too fast that was not his own, and belatedly realised that someone was gently running their fingers through his hair.

“It’s alright.” Clarity of thought was returning as the pain eased to a manageable level. Enough for hysteria to try to creep in in its place. “It was just a nightmare. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

He wanted to laugh; He wasn’t safe, none of them were. It came out as a sob instead. The soothing words continued above him as the arcane light in the room faded away, his own magic wilting beneath the determined presence of another’s. He turned his head on instinct, hiding his tears in fabric and distantly hoping whoever’s shirt he was ruining right now wouldn’t mind too much.

His companion started rocking gently, humming a soft tune that was as familiar as it was wrong. He hadn’t heard that song in centuries; Not since the last occasion he’d spent time with Morgana, right before things started going horribly awry. It shouldn’t be possible to hear it again now, and certainly not from her.

“Breathe.” Oblivious to the fact she shouldn’t exist, Morgana continued to cradle him gently as they both knelt on the uncomfortably hard floor. He could feel her magic still drifting lazily over them, the calming enchantment she was weaving into her voice. “Just breathe, Douxie.”

It was easier to do as she said than question what was happening. He was absolutely exhausted, still aching, and suffering the fleeting remnants of a terror whose source he couldn’t quite remember. Focussing on his breathing, on counting each inhale and exhale, was far safer then prodding the sleeping beast lurking at the back of his mind.

“You’re bleeding.” Untroubled by his lack of response, Morgana moved to brush his hair aside, her fingers treading carefully around the edges of his self-inflicted injury. “Archie, do you have anything to wrap this with?”

“Uh, oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

There was a clatter, the sounds of someone rummaging, a quiet ‘thank you’ from Morgana as she accepted whatever offering had been brought. Fingers again, this time unwinding fabric about his head, pressing against the source of sticky dampness. It stung, he recognised that much, but the ability to react, to do anything other than maintain his stuttering breaths was absent. He felt like an observer in his own body; An observer who couldn’t see a thing.

“There you go.” Morgana finished her ministrations, settling beside him as she moved a hand to his back, rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his shirt. His shoulders were still hitching on every second inhale, but her spell had done its work, and the sense of wild panic had been muted by a fragile veneer of calm. “Why don’t we—”

The door swung open with enough force it crashed against the stone wall. The noise startled his companion, her arms closing about him protectively once again. His own nerves were too numb to respond to the intrusion in any way beyond slumping further against the source of his support, letting her shield him from the coming storm.

“What in the name of—”

“Don’t you dare!” Softness gave way to sharpness in an instant. “Close that door.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by his ragged breathing and a rumbling that had settled against his folded legs in the interim. Then the door closed with far more care than it had opened, green light expanding slowly to fill the small space as the intruder spoke in softer tones.

“Hisirdoux?”

That was his name, wasn’t it? Though there was really only one person who used it like that. The thought hurt, he didn’t answer, and the next words were sharp again.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Footsteps drew nearer, steel striking against stone, pausing a short distance away. He didn’t lift his head. “I found him like this.”

“And that?”

“Archie said he fell.” She paused, awaiting another question. When none was forthcoming she asked her own, “Where is Arthur?”

“Handled, for the moment, though who knows how long that will last.”

“I could hear the shouting from here.”

“The entire castle just got turned inside out.” He knew that dry tone, all too well. “You’re lucky he wasn’t the one kicking in the door.”

This... this was wrong. Impossible. Neither of these people should be here, though he was struggling to remember why. Everyone had been dying, hadn’t they? He had been dying, he was sure of it. Not with the blissful unawareness of his first go around, either. This had been vengeful, painful. ‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and of course she was right. So how? How was he still alive, still breathing when he shouldn’t even exist anymore?

“Douxie?” The voices above him were still arguing; This quiet inquiry came from below. He blinked, bringing some focus back into his world of blurred colours, and chanced a glance down into worried eyes. “Are you alright?”

The last time he had seen those eyes they had been wide open and blank. That had been his fault as well. So many mistakes. Except a wizard didn’t make mistakes, so what did that make him? What did that make this?

It wasn’t real. That was the only explanation he could think of. This was an... an illusion, a refuge he had created for himself in order to escape the pure horror of his last moments. But there was something else. A lingering memory of golden eyes, filled with grief but equal parts determination, and powerful, ancient magic wrapping itself protectively about him, binding him together as other hands tried to tear him apart.

‘You can’t have him!’

Nari. Nari had been there, and she had done something. To save him? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t make sense of any of it. Couldn’t comprehend how this could be happening. They’d already done this, hadn’t they? It had to be an illusion, a—a mirage, a refuge his mind had created. A falsity that felt real.

“Douxie?”

Archie’s soft bunting against his hand prompted him to respond, illusion or no. His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him, moving parts that no longer worked together as they were meant to, and it took more effort than it should have to make his hand drag its way along his familiar’s spine. He doubted it was comfortable for Archie either, despite his obnoxiously loud purring.

The gesture, clumsy though it was, was enough to quiet the conversation happening overhead, and coax an effort at softness out of his most certainly dead master.

“Hisirdoux?”

He swallowed, acutely aware of how raw his throat felt. He had been screaming, hadn’t he? Because he had been dying. He hadn’t imagined that. It wasn’t the type of experience one forgot in a hurry, and the second time hadn’t been any more pleasant than the first. Worse, actually. He’d kind of slept through the first.

“Hisirdoux.”

Fingers closed about the hand not currently locked in Archie’s fur, the hold gentle yet firm. That was oddly patient of his master. Merlin had never shied away from being hands on when he thought his apprentice was moving too slowly. A tug here, a shove there. Maybe that’s why he’d been too slow to dodge that last blow. He was still waiting for Merlin to push him out of the way.

Bodily.

With his staff.

“I don’t think he’s all the way back yet.”

That’s right, Morgana was here too. It was probably her shirt he’d ruined. Or nightwear, at this hour.

“You don’t say.” It was nice, having that droll sarcasm pointed at someone else for once. “Hisirdoux, look at me.”

He could do that. Probably. Even with the strange disconnect between his body and his thoughts right now. If he had been brought back from the dead he had a feeling they’d done it wrong. Put his soul in upside down or something. That would be just his luck.

The hand on his cheek was more demanding than gentle, drawing his gaze up and away from Archie’s mournful stare to the judgemental blue of his master’s usual scowl. He hadn’t seen Merlin this angry in centuries. Oddly enough, the elder wizard didn’t seem to be glaring at him. He was still holding Douxie’s hand, gaze intent, staring at something other. He didn’t realise what until a magic that was not his own probed against the brittle edges of his soul. What had been holding together through dumb luck and desperate hope just splintered, and his magic flared to life of its own accord.

He didn’t blast the entire castle this time. The wave of energy was more contained, weaker, sending Morgana and Merlin back no more than a few steps as Douxie fell onto his side, hands tearing at his own clothes in an effort to rip out the burning brand that had impaled his breastbone.

Fuzzbuckets, but that bloody hurt.

“—told you to be careful! Douxie? Douxie! Can you hear me?”

“Arch...” he croaked the word, reaching out blindly until he felt his feline companion slip beneath his fingers, instinctively drawing the familiar’s warmth close.

“I’m here. We’re here.” Archie’s cool confidence was missing from those shaking words. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Douxie? It’s important.”

“I think...” Speaking was painful. So was everything else right now. He persevered. “I think I messed up, Arch.”

“Messed up? How?” The familiar was being awfully pushy, wriggling his way closer so he could stare pointedly into Douxie’s blurring eyes. “Doux?”

“I let you all down.” He couldn’t tell if his fading eyesight was due to the fresh tears or the slow darkness creeping in. This all had to end soon, surely. How much longer could he really expect to avoid the truth? “I’m sorry. Tell Nari... I’m sorry.”

“Nari? Wait, who is Nari? Douxie? Douxie!”

He closed his eyes, and the pain finally ended.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Ooh hey how bout a little quarantine fic for the stuck at home peeps? Can be shippy or platonic or both, and with whoever you feel like (or the whole squad.) Whatever you feel. Maybe the reader ends up snowed in somewhere and has to wait out the storm. Or a curse or something. But like, bored shenanigans, making up games, shafing stories, and or doing random stuff to pass the time until they can leave?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Modern!Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,113Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: I think I’ll be doing other ones in the same vein with other Witcher characters because this was fun and kind of therapeutic to write. I hope this helps!

“Good morning beautiful.”

You smiled at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice and rolled over, still half-awake, reaching out for him. The space next to you in bed was cold and empty and your brow furrowed in confusion as the sound came again.

“Good morning beautiful.”

You squinted, blinking away from the sunlight just barely streaming through your blinds, and swatted around in bed blindly until you found the source of the sound. Your phone vibrated and the custom ringtone Jaskier had made for you the last time you’d been together continued the greeting. You reluctantly swiped it away but remembered why you’d set the alarm in the first place.

“Good morning beautiful,” the voice came, this time with the face as well as Jaskier answered the zoom call you’d scheduled. His usually well-coiffed chestnut hair stuck out in odd ways and he wore a loose white t-shirt with a generous v-cut showing a wide swath of dark chest hair. You couldn’t tell for sure but you were almost certain he wore nothing below but some boxer briefs.

“Good morning handsome,” you replied, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, stifling a yawn.

“How did you sleep? I know you were up pretty late,” he said.

“It was worth it,” you insisted with a little smile.

“I’m glad,” he said, “Still, open your door.”

You paused, considering his words and the impish smile on his face.

“Jask, you know I miss you but… that’s not social distancing,” you admonished.

“Love if I were there I’d already be breaking down your door to get to you, not waiting for some big reveal. But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised all the same,” he said. You rose and reached for a baggy cardigan to throw over you as a pseudo robe, covering your usual sleep attire of tank top and shorts. You peeked through the peep hole and saw nothing.

“Are you sure?” you asked, talking to the phone you’d brought with you.

“Just open the door,” Jaskier insisted.

You did and looked down to find your usual Starbucks order.

“Jaskier! How?” you exclaimed, reaching down to pick up the cup and pastry, shutting the door quickly before your pet could sneak out, just as tired of being cooped up as you were.

“There are apps for everything these days,” he answered proudly, “I felt bad about you waking up so early to chat with me, especially after I kept you up so late, and I wanted to feel a little closer to you.”

“You are the sweetest, most thoughtful person on the planet and I love you,” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink as Jaskier watched in delight at the dreamy little smile that came over your face.

“I hate that I’m not there,” he said with a sigh.

“I know babe,” you replied sadly, resting your fingertips against the screen, echoing his own action on the other side. You were used to being apart since you were in a long-distance relationship but the pandemic had cancelled his trip to come visit you. You knew that this was just more of what you already dealt with, but it stung knowing he could be there in your arms right now. If only.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Jaskier began, picking up a mug of tea he’d brewed for himself. You were pleased to see that he was using the mug you’d bought him at the festival you’d gone to together on one of his trips, a handcrafted clay piece with a lovely painting of buttercups on the sides.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, taking another sip of your drink and starting in on the pastry.

“Being forced apart from you this way has really made some things clear and I know we’ve only been seeing each other for six months but… Well, I’m tired of saying goodbye to you, Y/N. And I think you feel the same. And I’d like us to move in together,” he said, taking a deep breath and waiting for your reaction. You managed not to choke on your pastry but you still stared at him, a little stunned.

“Jaskier, what are you saying? I mean, gods, of course I’d love nothing more than that, but… We live in two different countries,” you said. It took everything you had to be reasonable when every fiber of your body vibrated with excitement as a montage of what your life could be like together flashed before your eyes. Saying goodnight to him and curling up in bed. Going to the store and arguing over which pasta sauce was best. Him walking up behind you as you did the dishes, pulling you in for a hug before you patted a big handful of soap bubbles onto his nose. Brunches and barbeques and just… existing together in a shared space.

“Pick a country,” Jaskier said excitedly, “I don’t care which one it is, I can do my job anywhere. I just want to be with you, Y/N.”

“Even if we do this, we have on idea when all of this is going to be over,” you said, referencing the pandemic that had taken over the world and forced a baseline level of anxiety into your awareness at all times. You didn’t know anyone who’d personally been impacted yet but it felt like a matter of time. Another thing you’d much rather face with Jaskier by your side.

“So we plan. We focus on the future,” he said, “I miss you so goddamn much, but we can make a pinterest board and plan out what our kitchen will look like and whether or not we’ll have a pool table.”

“Not,” you said.

“Well, we can talk about it,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and then bit your lip, raising your gaze back to his across the miles.

“Are you doing this?” you asked.

“I think we are,” he answered. 

You spent the rest of your morning talking about the pros and cons of each country, including a wildcard option of going to an entirely different country, and though you had no clear decisions by the time he had to leave to take some meeting calls, you felt lighter than you had in ages. You may be physically stuck and time may be slowly losing its meaning, but there was still a future out there for you. Something unknown and full of potential that no virus or ocean could hold you back form forever. As long as you stayed focused on that, and did what you could to be safe, you would find your way out. And best of all, you would do it together.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

So I’ve been thinking a lot about gigs and what might happen to live music.  I’m in the UK, and had tickets to both Harry and Louis’ tour, but if my contract isn’t extended in October I will almost certainly be moving back to NZ in October.  So I’ve been thinking in a very invested way about what might happen next.

Everything I’ve read has suggested that Coroavirus spreads indoors, through droplets in the air and that you need to spend some time.  The key implications of this is that social distancing is not enough if people are sharing airflow for an extended period of time, and that speaking, singing and shouting make it worse.  (Some key articles I read coming to this conclusion).  That suggests that indoors gigs are one of the environments where people are most likely to catch Coronavirus.

What would that mean? I think there are a lot more answers than questions, but I’ll try and work through them (all of this post is based on the idea that places where people stand close together and sing are particularly dangerous, and also that other environments, particularly outside environments are much much safer - that may be wrong of course, but it’s the working hypothesis).

The first question - how soon will it be possible to confirm what is high and low risk.  There are two parts to that - the first is when will policy makers and industry people know exactly how dangerous music gigs are. The second is will that model be effectively conveyed to people (which it obviously hasn’t yet, because you hear a lot of freaking out at people being outside).  I suspect Live Nation and other people who make a lot of money from touring are already aware of how particularly dangerous gigs and are making their plans, but I think time is of the essence.  (I also think it’s worth noting again how much workers in the music industry are fucked over by the low unionisation, and unions should be in that conversation).

Next question - could gigs be made safer? The most obvious way to make gigs safer is have them outdoors.  There are two problems here the first is getting people to and from gigs (here cultural practice will make a lot of difference.  The question of transport is a lot less of an issue if people’s main form of transportation is driving.  But people probably won’t want to or be able to afford plane travel - so the distance people might travel to go to a gig and therefore the potential audience for each gig has been reduced).  The second is that it’s nearly June.  I don’t think there’s much chance of the safety of outdoor gigs being confirmed, communicated and then the gigs themselves organised for this northern hemisphere summer and that’s where the biggest markets are (more on places that aren’t Northern Hemisphere later).  Outdoor events may be the plan for summer 2021, but they’re not going to happen before then.  Also these events will have to be new - there’s no way existing tours can be made outdoors.

Another way is to make venues safer - and here’s where you need to know much more than I do about air flow than I do.  I think it’s probably a fairly reasonable assumption that club gigs could not be transformed to have safe air flow.  Even if it were possible - no venue owner is going to have any money to invest after months of shut down.  What I don’t know is whether Arena gigs could be made safer with investment - and crucially could they be safe enough?  You can imagine a situation where club gigs can’t go ahead, but Arenas can (because it’s so much money that it’s worth doing whatever it takes) and that’s very bad for the music eco system.

The next question - is what will goverments do in countries where the virus isn’t under control?  In the clusterfuck countries, they’re opening back up without having got the virus under control.  How far will that go? Will some terrible US states or England allow gigs by the end of summer, even though they’re obviously super spreader events?  That is a terrifying question and I hope the answer is no (although given what is happening in the US with churches I think it’s unlikely to consistently be no).   However, even if gigs are possible, I would be surprised if tours started.  These things are ecosystems - and I doubt New York and California aren’t going to take the risk.  In addition, I don’t think people will be willing to go in large enough numbers. So while the government policy on gigs matters for things like insurance, I’m not sure it’s crucial for what happens next.

Far more important when it comes to governments is what they’ve done to contain the virus.  Here there are basically three scenarios: Elimination (where the virus has been eliminated and is being kept out by tight border controls) - New Zealand and Australia are most relevant from a music market point of view (although obviously other countries like Vietnam have donet he same and got a lot less attention); Control (where there is risk but it’s been managed through track and trace) and clusterfuck (UK and the US). 

My feeling is that even a great track, trace and isolate system won’t be enough to make people, touring musicians or government’s feel that gigs are safe (although churches do throw a big question mark in here, because there will be pressure for them to open, and that does raise possibilities for gigs).  And that the only hope is outdoors in the clusterfuck countries.  But what about everywhere else?  

And here I think is a really interesting question - if UK and the US (and probably Europe) are out till at least summer 2021 - what are the implications? Will it mean that artists will go places they wouldn’t otherwise, both for financial reasons and for the opportunity to perform.

I started thinking about all this again, because I read that New Zealand’s summer festivals had all sold out, without announcing headline acts.  For those who don’t know NZ and Australia are on their way to eliminating the virus through two week long quarantine at hte border. There’s talk of setting up a bubble so free travel is allowed between the two countries  At the moment only residents and people working on movies are allowed to come in (I’m not kidding when I say Peter Jackson writes laws in New Zealand and I fucking hate him).  But festival bookers are hoping that international acts will be able to be quarantined at the border, and then perform, by summer.

That might mean Harry’s NZ/Australia leg of the tour could go ahead.  I just don’t know if it would.  Would paying for two weeks quaratine for essential crew be worth it for eight gigs? What are the set up costs of doing one leg of the tour by itself? What is it like for his image and fandom just to have these eight gigs and then to stop again?  How much does he want to?

Another thought - what about summer festivals in South America (so end of this year rather than middle of next)? Will they suddenly be much more appealing?  What about the fact that Japanese gigs are quiet? Will they be much more safe? At what point are these sorts of options appealing and economically feasible to artists?

[petaldancing]

fic: this’ll do for now

fandom: spy x family characters: anya, loid and yor summary: Four times Anya receives a toy, and one time she asks for something else. 4k words. read: on AO3 or below

notes: written for yuletide 2019 for penguinzero! i was inspired by a fan observation that Anya has quite a number of toys that appear throughout the different chapters (from a post by batneko on tumblr!) the toys referenced here all appear in the manga, but there are only overt references made to Chapter 8.5 (Extra Mission!) if you're wary of spoilers.

-----

1. 

“What are you doing, Anya?”

Papa’s using that tone again, the one where he’s trying to understand what she’s thinking. Too bad he’s not a mind reader. Heh.

Anya lets go of his hand to run up to the storefront and press her face to the wide window. Her gaze is fixed on the toys splayed across the polished shelves. There are puppets, and porcelain dolls, and even toy cars, but she won’t be distracted. She points a decisive finger to the glass and shouts: “I want that!”

Her chosen subject is a round, yellow chicken-looking doll that’s half-hidden behind a big teddy bear. It’s ugly and she already loves it.

Papa stands next to her and leans forward to get a better look at it. “You already have a doll, don’t you? Why would you need another one?” This question is accompanied by a clear and crisp thought, ‘What did those parenting books say? If you give into your children’s demands easily, they may come to disregard your authority and lose respect.’

“I respect you, Papa," Anya responds immediately, nodding so as to reassure him. “If you buy me that toy, I’ll respect you even more and listen to what you say.”

Papa raises an eyebrow, not in surprise, but in doubt.

Anya's finger remains glued to the window even though her feet are starting to hurt from tip toeing to peek through the storefront. She's determined to make a good case for ownership of the ugly chicken: "I need it to protect me when I get scared at night. It looks tough, it’ll be able to fight off any assa- assassi...”

“Assassins?” Papa corrects her. “You’ve been watching too much of your spy cartoon. People like assassins and hitmen don’t exist. You don’t have anything to be worried about.”

Papa’s being a bad liar again.

Before Anya can tell him he’s wrong, she notices him reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet and her eyes widen with hope.

“I suppose I could get it for you. You’ve been working hard to prepare for the academy’s entrance exams, after all,” he explains as he enters the toy store, the old wooden door creaking.

While Papa pays at the counter, Anya bounces over to Chicky (yes, she’s just given it a name) and pulls it into her arms, snuggling into the sweet-smelling fabric of its body. She starts to sing the Bondman theme song, already imagining the life-threatening missions she’ll have with Chicky as her sidekick.

As they walk out the store and down the street leading back home, Anya’s singing fades into the sound of the city bustling around them. She picks up the worry in Papa’s thoughts and goes quiet to listen.

‘I mustn’t make this a habit. If Anya keeps getting what she wants, she’ll end up taking these things for granted.’ It is sharp and pointed and makes her flinch.  

Anya stops just then, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. It's late in the day and there aren't many people walking about, but those that do walk pass look between her and Papa with curiosity and concern.

"What is it now, Anya?"

She hugs Chicky close to herself. It’s all soft and smooth and new, and smells like fresh flowers. She doesn’t remember having anything like this in the orphanage. It makes her happy yet lonely.

“This is Papa’s first gift for me. I’ll always treasure it!”

She waits, and when Papa doesn't say anything, she screws her eyes shut and tries to hear the words inside his brain.

Nothing—it's blank for once.

When she opens her eyes, she sees that he's stretched out his empty hand to her.

“Alright, Anya. Come now, Yor is probably waiting for us to have dinner,” he says as she takes his hand. They resume their journey down the familiar street, passing the baker’s and the tailor’s and the post office, all the places she's come to recognise as part of her new home.

As they cross the road and catch the orange sun setting behind the town hall, she hears Papa’s thoughts stir. Faintly , she catches his mind echoing: ‘Mustn’t make this a habit.’

It is a warm and soft thing now, like the feeling of her hand curled in his.

2.

Anya doesn’t remember what happened. Now, she’s crying and crying in the middle of the living room as Chimera droops in her hands, the beans inside it spilling out onto the floor around her. She’d been playing spy and villain with Chimera (she was obviously playing the part of the world’s Top Spy) and spun her around and now there was a torn hole in her side!  

“Anya has blood on her hands now,” she hisses through hot tears, remembering that this is what the person on TV said in a similar situation.

Mama runs over from the balcony where she was hanging out the clothes to dry. “Anya, you’re not hurt are you?” She squats down to put a gentle hand against Anya’s wet cheek.

"I want a new Chimera!" Anya wails, letting go of the toy to bury her face into Mama’s blouse and rub her snot against her. Chimera is old and tattered from getting thrown around by other kids in the orphanage, but it was also there, buried under a pile of trash, that Anya found her. She knows Chimera is special, that she can’t just go to the toy store and buy a new one, but what else is she going to do now?

As Mama wraps her arms around her and pats her head, Anya begins to calm down. Her tears subside into controlled sniffs.

"Now, now, Anya. There's no need for a new friend. We just need to mend her and she'll be as good as new,” Mama says as she stands, hoisting Anya into her arms.

Anya rubs her puffy eyes. "You can fix her?"

“Of course! Needlework is something I can proudly say I’m an expert at.” Mama smiles. ‘I have a lot of experience stitching myself up. Stitching a doll shouldn’t be much different. Perhaps it’ll be easier.’

Anya thinks that Mama can be just as cool as Papa sometimes.

And so, they carefully pick up Chimera’s insides from the floor and collect them in a rice bowl. When this is done, Mama goes into her room looking for needles and thread. As Anya sits on the sofa, she can hear Mama rummaging through her weapons in her closet, and through the wall, her thoughts: ‘Needles… needles… Ah, there we go. Have I sterilised these yet? I’ll just make sure Anya doesn’t touch them, just in case.’

Anya does not offer to help Mama when she comes back out, holding a short needle in her hand along with a spool of thread, and a bag of cotton wool.

Mama takes the rice bowl and what’s left of Chimera to the dining table, where she sits and begins work. Anya hovers next to her and watches as she threads the needle with skill and quickly sows up the huge hole. When the hole becomes a small tear, she pours the beads back into Chimera’s body with Anya’s help. Anya holds onto Chimera while Mama does the finishing touches, including stuffing her with more cotton wool so that she stands taller now.

“Tadah!” Mama grins when the operation is over. “She’s as good as new now.”

Anya receives Chimera with a big hug. “Thank you Mama!”

“Chimera is one of a kind, so we’ll take good care of her. If she gets hurt again, just bring her to me and I’ll fix her up,” Mama says as she packs up her first aid kit for dolls. “And Anya, don’t think about throwing away things even if they may be a bit broken. Sometimes, all they need is a little love.”

‘This is what Loid would do, right? Try to make life lessons out of everyday incidents,’ Mama’s thought bubbles in the air.    

Anya blinks twice before asking: “Are you trying to teach me good values like Papa?”

“Ah…. you'r always so sharp,” Mama concedes with a laugh. At this moment, the front door opens and in steps Papa, holding that briefcase he carries just for show.  

“What’s all this? I heard Anya talking about me,” he asks as he closes the door behind him and removes his hat.

“Chimera had a little accident, but I’ve fixed her and even added a little extra stuffing.” Mama holds up the needle and cotton to show him.  

“Ah,” Papa hums. ‘Hm. The cotton she’s using it’s the sort that’s particularly good at absorbing blood. Do they sell this high quality stuff at the pharmacy now?’  

“What is it, Loid?”

A practiced smile appears on Papa’s face. “I was thinking how great it is that you could help solve Anya’s problem.”

“Yes, I want to be someone Anya can rely on too, you know.” Mama pulls at her fingers nervously. “I’m always worried about whether I’m playing my part well enough.”

Before Papa can open his mouth, Anya interrupts by holding Chimera up to her face and cheering in a squeaky voice: “Mama is strong and fast and good with needles! I feel safe when she’s around!”

“There you have it.” The corner of Papa’s lips crooks up slightly.

“There you have it,” Mama repeats, and her hands, which she’d been gripping tightly, loosen just so.

3.

For some reason, there are always bad guys to fight whenever Anya goes out with Mama and Papa. Today, they went to the aquarium and stopped a villain from stealing an important penguin. Even on day-offs, Papa has to work.

Then again, bringing her out to the aquarium to look at fishies and talk to the neighbours—that’s work too, isn’t it? It’s his job to make sure they’re an ordinary family, so even Sundays are work days. Mama and her had lots of fun today watching the dolphin show and petting the stingrays and looking how sharp and pointy the shark’s teeth were (Mama really liked that), but all Anya could hear was Papa thinking about his next mission.

It’s the end of the day now, and she should be in bed, but Anya wriggles out from under her covers and pokes her head out of her room. The hallway is really dark and only from the far, far end, can she see a small crack of light coming from underneath Papa’s door. She decides to bring new recruit Penguin along with her, just in case she gets ambushed.

She tries to stealthily creep up to Papa’s door, but it’s a bit hard since Penguin is much less graceful. Before she can even peek into Papa’s room, he notices.

“Anya? It’s always polite to knock before entering someone’s room.”

She puffs up her cheeks and does as she’s told.

“Yes, come in.”

She pushes the door open and steps into Papa’s room, tugging Penguin in behind her. It’s a very normal-looking room. She frowns at this. Where are all the fancy spy gadgets? He must have hidden them somewhere.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Papa puts his book aside and straightens his posture in his armchair, resting a hand on his knee.

“No… I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking.” Anya twiddles her thumbs. “Papa, are you tired from work?”

“What are you talking about? I had a day off today with you and Yor, didn’t I?” he says with hesitation.

“Well, you were tired from work and you still said to go out with us,” Anya tries a different approach.

Papa thinks, ‘Which was also part of Operation Strix to begin with, and ended up crossing with another mission. Work never does end,’ but says, “Which was a good way for me to take a break from work.”

Anya sways on the spot, trying to process the same voice speaking two different things.

“You don’t need to be worried about me, Anya. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” Papa stands up and opens his room door, gesturing for her to follow him back to her room. She pulls Penguin along as they walk back, and the distance feels much shorter now with Papa now walking beside her.

“Would… would you quit your job if it gets too tiring?” Anya finally works up the courage to ask as he lifts her back into bed and tucks her in. Penguin gets the same treatment shortly after.

“You know, Anya, just because something is tiring doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing,” Papa answers. He’s sitting on the edge of her bed, chin tucked and eyes looking down. ‘I chose to do this. I’ll see it through till the end, so good people like Yor and Anya can live in a peaceful society. As for what happens after...’

Papa suddenly turns to look at her. “Is this about your homework? You need to stop lazing around or you’ll get another Tonitrus. I’ll help you with it tomorrow.”

Anya nods slowly, feeling better to know that Papa will be around, at least, until he completes his mission. “I’ll do my best, Papa. Just like you.”

Instead of thinking about how lonely it’ll be when Papa finally completes his mission, Anya focuses on how cool he is.

He stays with her, not saying anything else, until she finally drifts off to sleep.

4.

“Anya, are you getting tired?”

Mama extends an open hand down, offering to take the shopping bag Anya is dragging against the pavement. They’ve just finished a shopping trips at the market and Anya had volunteered to help carry some of the groceries home. Mainly a big bag of peanuts. Mama’s getting better at buying stuff now. She’s been observing what Papa cooks for dinner and memorising how the packaging looks like.

“My feet and arms are tired,” Anya says, her knees wobbling a bit. The sun is especially hot today.

“It must be from all the punching training we did today, huh?” Mama remarks cheerfully. She points to a bus stop up ahead where a couple of people are standing. “Let’s take a bus back home then.”

As they walk under the shelter hand-in-hand, Anya thinks back to their training session this morning. Mama’s trying to teach her how to block punches and dodge attacks now. She could only do it for fifteen minutes and had to take a nap after that, only to wake up just in time to accompany Mama out.

Anya stares at her hands and makes them shake for dramatic effect. “Am I a weakling, Mama?”

“Of course not!” Mama pauses to think. ‘Though I don’t remember it being so difficult to learn self defense when I was her age. Maybe it’s because I had to pick it up under different circumstances.’

“But I’m not getting stronger,” Anya mumbles.

“You’re getting good scores for your tests and quizzes, aren’t you? It’s not just about brute strength. Being smart is a strength too.”

Well, that’s because she’s figured out which students in class are good at what subjects. And because Papa’s new rule is that she can only watch TV after she does a bit of studying on weekends.

Mama raises an arm to flag the approaching bus. As it rumbles to a halt at the bus stop, Anya catches the colourful advertisement painted on the side. It’s for a new toy that she’s never seen before. A robot! And it looks exactly like the ones that appear in Bondman.

“Look! Look at that!” She grabs a fistful of Mama’s skirt to get her attention.

Mama tilts her head to the side, staring at it as they line up to board the bus. “Do you want that toy?”

“Yeah. What do I need to do to get it?” Anya asks as she hops onto the metal steps of the bus door and rushes to get a seat next to the bus window. She’s learned, from when she used to be stuck in the lab, how she always got a reward for doing something the grown-ups wanted. The outside world didn’t seem that much different from the lab in some way.

Mama sits down next to her after paying for the bus fare. “What do you mean, Anya?”

“Can I get Mr Robot if I get a Stella?”

‘Wouldn’t that be a long ways off?’ Mama doesn’t say this aloud, but Anya narrows her eyes and frowns when she hears this complete lack of belief.

Mama doesn’t notice. She adjusts the groceries in her lap and cranes her neck to look out the window, checking where they are on the bus route. “Well, we could get off near the toy store now and see if they have Mr Robot there already.”

Anya opens her mouth in surprise. “But I didn’t do anything to get it!”

“Well, I don’t think I need a reason to make you happy,” Mama answers simply, a kind smile touching her lips.

"R-really?" Anya asks again, just to make sure.

Mama pauses and think: ‘Loid might nag at me for spoiling Anya. But if it’s something that can cheer her up, I’m sure he’ll understand. She's been less energetic these days, and he's noticed too.’

"Your Papa likes to give you rewards for working hard, but I don't want you to feel as though you need to do something in order to get what you want. Or do something just because you think that's what someone else wants." At this, Mama's expression shifts. She continues to look outside, but her eyes seem far off, like she's thinking about deeply about something. But just like that one time with Papa, Anya can't read anything from her mind. It's a quiet stillness. All Anya can hear are the thoughts of the old granny at the back of the bus, worrying about whether she left the stove on.

It's after two zebra crossings and one traffic light before Mama turns to her. "I want you to be able to be who you are,  not what others want you to be," she whispers as she brushes Anya's hair back, taking care to avoid her horns. And when Anya works up the courage to listen out for Mama's thoughts, she hears her say: 'I didn't have that choice, but at least, this is a role that I've grown to like more than I thought I would.'

“Mama… I think having a good heart is a strength too. Maybe that’s what I should try to be good at,” Anya says in soft realisation.

Mama gives her a smile just then, and she looks radiant under the rays of the sun shining into the bus.

“You’re absolutely right.”

5.

"Chimera, Chicky, Penguin and Mr Robot all reporting for duty!"

Anya throws them all onto her bed and salutes them. Outside, the evening rain is falling hard and the only thing she can see from her window are the raindrops splattering against it.

"Listen up agents, we're up against a diabo.. diablo.. diabolic enemy today. It's—"

A flash of lightning suddenly appears in the window, followed by a deafening crash of thunder that rocks the air. Anya dives under her covers with a loud yelp. The movement causes Chimera to roll off the bed. Anya is too busy shivering under her blanket to pick her up.

She hears the door of her room slam open, and two pairs of footsteps rushing in. When she pokes her head out from beneath her hiding spot, Papa and Mama are standing next to her bed. Mama’s hands are crossed behind her back and her eyebrows her knotted in concern. Papa scans the room with a quick snap of his head.

“Are you okay, Anya? It sounded like…” Papa begins. ‘No, I was overreacting. Anya is safe. Probably just scared from the thunder.’  

“Like something bad happened,” Mama completes his sentence. ‘Oh thank goodness, now I just need to keep my knives without Loid or Anya noticing.’ Her arms remain glued to her sides, twitching slightly as she tries to adjust the hidden weapons behind her nightgown.

Anya pulls the blanket off her head and raises an accusing finger to the window. “Yes! It’s that!” She casts a glance at all her toys on the bed and clears her throat to say, “They’re all… they’re all scared.”

“They’re scared?” Papa asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, they’re not used to dangerous situations.” Anya folds her arms across herself and nods sagely.

“Well, then they could come and stay with me for the night,” Mama offers, which makes Anya’s eyes widen. Her mouth gapes as she thinks of what to say next, without making it obvious that she’d be jealous if Penguin got to sleep next to Mama instead of her.

Another lightning strike appears in the window and Anya’s shout is one second faster than the ensuing thunder. Her body immediately jumps off the bed and flies into Papa and Mama, hugging them around their knees.

"I'm scared,” Anya reluctantly admits, her cheeks squished between their legs.

“Rain and thunder and lightning are all normal, torrential weather conditions, Anya,” Papa explains. “You’ll be safe as long as you stay indoors, I promise.” As he pauses, he thinks, ‘I definitely won’t let her go out on her own in such weather. Even if she doesn’t get struck by lightning, there’s a high chance a tree could and if that were to fall on Anya...’

“I don’t want to be shocked or squished!!” Anya wails out and clutches onto them even tighter.

“That won’t ever happen,” Mama says in a calming voice. ‘I’d redirect that lightning strike in a jiffy. It shouldn’t be too hard.’

As awesome as that sounds, Anya jumps as she hears another boom of thunder outside and she continues crying. “But I’m scared!”

“Okay, okay. What can we do to make you less scared?” Papa lowers himself onto his knees and holds out his handkerchief for Anya to blow her nose into.

As soon as she's done wiping her face against the cloth, she comes up with a great idea. She raises her eyes to look at both of them. “I want Papa and Mama to stay with me tonight."

It’s Papa and Mama’s turn to widen their eyes. They exchange shocked looks with each other.

“Wouldn’t it be alright if it was just me?” Mama points at herself.

Anya holds her right palm up to Mama’s face. “No.”

“Alright, Yor. You can head to bed. I’ll stay with Anya,” Papa sighs.

Anya holds up her left palm up to Papa’s face. “No.”

While their faces balk with insult and confusion, Anya stands up on her bed and claps her hands together. “I won’t be able to go to sleep without both Mama and Papa!” she declares.

‘The last time I slept next to someone was with Yuri when we were still children. I miss those times,’ Mama thinks fondly. ‘Oh, but Loid is different from Yuri, he’s…’ Her face goes a little red.

‘This is still part of Operation Strix, isn’t it? Keeping Anya happy and safe so that she’ll continue to do well in school. Come on, Twilight. It’s not a difficult request. Yor is...’  

Anya pats the empty space on both sides of her bed, looking at both Mama and Papa expectantly. Mama steps forward first, even as Papa raises a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine, Loid. To tell you the truth, I’ve always found it comforting to sleep with family. I’m sure that’s all Anya needs right now.” Mama uses her hands to flatten the material of her nightgown before lying down next to Anya. Anya doesn’t know where Mama's weapons have disappeared to. She tries not to think so much about it.

‘Comforting?’ Papa thinks. ‘Twilight never experienced anything like that growing up.'

Anya stares at him, and her shoulders begin to droop when he doesn't move.

Sometimes, Papa is too cool.

She turns away from him to lie on her side and close her eyes.

'But... Loid Forger must know what that’s like. He's supposed to be the perfect family man. He is.'

The next moment, Anya feels the mattress sink as Papa sits down on the bed. He doesn't relax quite as much as Mama, but allows his back to lean into one of Anya’s fluffy pillows.

When the next thunderclap rolls around, Anya hunches into Papa’s side and feels Mama’s hand soothing her back. She breathes in the smell of Papa’s shampoo and Mama’s handsoap. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is a soft song humming in her ear. It makes the thunder seem like a small noise in comparison.

----

When Anya wakes up the next day, she knows that she is safe, like she's been wrapped up warm and toasty and no one can hurt her ever again. She cracks her eyes open to see Mama and Papa's arms curled over her, barely touching.

‘This’ll do for now,’ she thinks before falling back asleep.

[the-descension-inks]

Sojourn (Zutara Week 2020)

Summary: It's a strange fate that they have crafted for themselves; lines that don't quite meet, stars that circle each other, and stories that are almost written. (Or, glimpses into Zuko and Katara's lives, told in reverse, from the very end to the very beginning.)

[9/9] Rebirth

His eyes glint in the moonlight, focused on her and only her. She tries to imprint it on her mind, wishes and wills for it to stay etched in memory; indelible.

“And you, Zuko...” She reaches out, tells herself she can handle the tumults of her heart, and yet, hesitates as her hands hover over his chest.

She pulls the robe together, finally ties it around him.

“You have such a big heart, Zuko,” she whispers as she places her quivering hand over where it beats. She lifts her eyes. “You care about your people, you see them, you want what’s best for them. And when they see that, when they see who you really are, they are going to love you... so much.”

Read the entire series here, and this chapter under the cut, or on AO3, or on FF.net.

100 AG

On the night before Zuko’s coronation, Katara comes to an agonizing realization; while the world seems to be poised at the start of something new, something better, it somehow feels like the end of something important for her.

She twists and turns in her bed, skin itching with that knowledge, with how uncomfortable it makes her feel. She decides she needs to do something, something that can keep all her doubts and misgivings at bay, and slinks out of her bedchamber, and follows the trail of moonlight till she reaches the coronation plaza.

(Her mind conjures phantom images; cold useless hands, unwilling to bend water, to heal, Zuko’s motionless body lying in front of her, the weight of his sacrifice branded on his chest, and Azula’s laughter clamoring through the wind.)

There’s a familiar silhouette in the empty space that stretches in front of her; legs stretched, back resting against a pillar that still stands upright amidst the rubble and wreckage.

She ignores the way her heart speeds up at the sight. And, instead: “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Zuko jerks, and his eyes dart till they finally find her, almost hidden in the darkness of the night.

“Hi.” He beams at her, and for a moment, Katara forgets who they are and where they are; she wonders how much simpler it would all have been if they were ordinary teenagers in an ordinary world. Zuko’s voice chimes through the silence of the night: “Come sit with me?”

She swallows furiously, fights the lump that keeps trying to choke her own breath, and makes her way to him. She sits close, doesn’t even think of putting in distance between them.

There’s a beat, and then: “You didn’t answer my question though.”

“I’m okay, Katara.”

She clears her throat, reminds herself that he really is, that he is safe, and that he is here, but: “Would that explain why you couldn’t tie your own robe?”

At that, Zuko flushes, a pink that makes her heart flutter powdering his cheeks. “I...” he mumbles, eyes skittering. “It’s just—”

(He’d slept sparsely on the first few nights; waking up with her name on his lips, eyes frantic as they searched for her, and hands trembling till they eventually found her. “It’s alright,” she’d whispered into his burning skin, a hand brushing away the mop of hair sticking to his forehead, and body tucking itself carefully into his side.)

Katara surprises herself with how quickly she moves, hands tugging at his unfastened red tunic. Zuko stills, but she persists, the softness of her own voice taking her aback. “Let me.”

It takes him a second, but he eventually relaxes, gingerly turning to give her better access, pulling back his legs so that she can slip into the space in front of him.

She can feel the warmth radiating through his skin, through the tiny breath that exists between them. It’s a little unsettling, but somehow Katara can’t bring herself to be bothered by it.

She busies her fingers, doesn’t dare to look up, doesn’t dare to meet his eyes, an all-familiar heat creeping up her cheeks. Her thumb grazes across the bandage that’s wrapped tightly around his torso. She gulps, can’t help but ask, “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

Her body shudders at the heaviness of his voice, and she can’t stop herself from placing a firm hand against the steady beat of his heart; a desperate need to be reassured thrumming through her veins.

He doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t want to, and they stay like that for what could be years and years. She wonders why it still feels so fragile, so delicate, like if she probes too much she’ll end up shattering it to pieces.

(He’d been delirious, choking out words that she couldn’t quite figure out, eyes glazed. But he’d held onto her tightly, as if too afraid that if he let her go, she would drift away farther and farther; unreachable.)

There’s a noise in the distance, the grating of metal, the scraping of something lighter, and Katara finally jolts to her senses. Her hands are still on his chest, trying to learn how his heart works, and they’re entirely too close—

The robe remains unfastened.

Zuko probably senses the shift in her body language, and pulls away from her quietly. Her face heats up, and she lets him go.

A thought begins to cross her mind, an epiphany starting to paint itself alive—

“Can I tell you something?” he breaks through her thoughts.

She looks at him hesitantly, unsure what her heart will conjure this time. She gives a small nod though.

“I know my Uncle trusts me, and he says I’m the right person to do this but... what if I’m not?” He pauses, and a sad laugh that she never wants to hear again bubbles out of him. “I mean, you said it yourself. I have struggled with doing the right thing before.”

“Zuko—” She bites back on the glib words of disapproval that form on the tip of her tongue. He deserves more than that, always has. She breathes, considers taking his hand but eventually decides against it, and then: “Did I ever tell you that my mother was the village chief?”

His eyes jerk up to meet hers, but she continues nevertheless, “She told me something when I was really young. Something that’s always stuck with me.”

She breathes, thinks of all the nights spent sleepless remembering every word, every sentence, every look, every touch, as if she could will her mother back to life with her thoughts, and then she thinks of Yon Rha, the hatred burning in her blood, the hollowness she’d seen in him, and the comforting weight of an unlikely friend behind her.

“Katara...”

Her eyes meet his, and she sees so much that it frightens her; brush strokes adorn the epiphany, filling it with deadly color—

She shakes her head, tries to dispel it. “My mother would say a good leader was someone who was one with their people, they didn’t need extraordinary qualities, no. All they needed was to... see.”

His eyes glint in the moonlight, focused on her and only her. She tries to imprint it on her mind, wishes and wills for it to stay etched in memory; indelible.

“And you, Zuko...” She reaches out, tells herself she can handle the tumults of her heart, and yet, hesitates as her hands hover over his chest.

She pulls the robe together, finally ties it around him.

“You have such a big heart, Zuko,” she whispers as she places her quivering hand over where it beats. She lifts her eyes. “You care about your people, you see them, you want what’s best for them. And when they see that, when they see who you really are, they are going to love you... so much.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, of nothing yet everything at the same time.

(The days had worn on, and things had changed; her healing working, his nightmares stopping, the wounds healing, and them sleeping apart.)

His eyes flit across her face, and she starts to realize; the epiphany completes itself.

The world will see a new day tomorrow, a new beginning, and built on that will be the ending of this; this tentative beautiful thing that she has somehow crafted with him. She starts to wonder if there’s a choice, of not leaving him here, of not following Aang as he bridges the gaps, and closes the cracks across the world.

“Thank you, Katara,” his voice comes from somewhere far away, his hands wrapping around hers gently; warm and calloused and heartbreaking.

She throws herself into his arms, can’t bear to look at him anymore. He holds her steady, and—

She says it to herself, but hopes that he hears too, tries to reassure the part of her that refuses to agree.

“There will be time. We’ll have time.”

.

.

.

A/N: Phew, so that's that. This was my first time writing for any kind of Fandom Week, and oh man, what an experience! I'm strangely emotional as this comes to an end, because it took me through quite the journey.

Thank you to everyone who read, and especially the ones who liked/reblogged!

(Also, I know this is a day late. I should have known my rocky relationship with words would come up at some point, haha.)