#this ones a little long actually. one day i'll probably put all these on ao3

[jacksprostate]

Tyler is hopping around on his pogo stick again. When he lands, it's with a mushy thump as he sinks into the rotting floorboards. Sometimes he gets stuck and just tips over instead of bouncing back up. It makes him stumble and jump ship. Moment of perfection ruined.

I need to renew my driver's license, I say.

"What are you telling me for?"

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

If Tyler's bed had a backboard, this is how it would sound before he and Marla pounded through to the next room.

I am Jack's throat of bile.

"Fine," Tyler says. "We'll go."

I do not say, we? Questioning Tyler is an amateur move I've managed to avoid for two months now.

Getting to the DMV takes three buses and a thirty minute walk. Presumably, they've decided you'll be driving there. Sometimes I think about the Audi I had before my Dakapo halogen torchiere speared it. One of Zeus' modern day lightning bolts, making sure the debris from my exploded condo totaled my car.

I could've gotten the windshield replaced. Somewhere, in a junkyard filled with unloved 50s salvage, there's the crushed up cube remains of this year's luxury sedan.

Tyler spends the entire time walking one half step behind me, making me lead him around. It makes me feel blind, like I'm a thirty year old boy still trying to get his father to take him places. I am the world's most easily played instrument. Whenever I look back he's grinning, chipped teeth and split lips.

It's a Saturday and we've arrived two hours or so after opening. This means that when I get my ticket stub, it reads an obscenely high number. I will be sitting here for the next six hours. Give or take.

The thing about seating in a government building is they know you have no choice to be there for at least two hours, if you're lucky. Naturally, the chairs are cheap, yawning plastic bolted into the floor at a height most optimal for slightly tall seven year olds.

Tyler and I toss ourselves into the only two person gap we can find, between a large man giving Bob a run for his money on hormone reversal and a frail woman in her eighties. Both look like I'd see them on a weeknight. I wonder if this is where Marla lurks in the time between when she's fucking Tyler and fucking up my support groups.

"You don't need this shit," Tyler says.

He's slouching into the chair, arms crossed and legs long and in the way. If I were to look where his shirt is rucked up, I'd see his skin disappear into the dark gap between his chiseled hip and the beige slacks he puts on when he pretends he's pretending to be a nice person. It's an obvious farce, since he hasn't even bothered to put underwear on.

This is one of those things that I try not to think too hard about, but I have something like four hundred minutes left to wait around here. I should've brought a few National Geographics.

I need a driver's license for my job, Tyler, I say. The old woman gives me a look.

"Christ." Tyler spits on the floor. I try not to be jealous. My seat neighbor, she gets right up and goes to the other end of the building. "Just roll over, why don't you."

I can tell, this will be a lesson. He gets this huge sureness about himself, like his dick is so big it's slapped his face into that smug false contemplation.

I need some kind of ID, Tyler.

Tyler says, "No you don't. Your bank already has you by the balls with your social security number. You ride the bus around. You're at the airport so often the airline staff recognize you. You only drive when work sends you to a small town, which happens fuck all three times a year. Tell me, you get a good fake, you think the overworked and underpaid car rental employee writing down your information would notice it unless you crashed his car? You know if that happened it'd be because you did it to kill yourself, so where's the problem?"

You could be a perfect driver and die on the road at any second, I protest.

We're attracting attention. Not Bob shifts around. Our conversation is quiet but unnerving.

Tyler says, "Does it feel nice, signing yourself up like a feedlot steer?"

Fucking hell, Tyler. It's not like anyone wants to do this. No one wants to be here. Not everyone can work three night shifts and have no identity according to the government.

Tyler says, "The only thing stopping you is the little set of rules you've set up for yourself."

What does Tyler know about my ability to do things?

"More than you," Tyler says. "You didn't think you could fight. You didn't think you could live without your perfect IKEA nest."

He's right. I still want to kick him to the floor and introduce his teeth to the tile. I notice, Not Bob has cleared the area. Retreat to safety. Bomb detonation in five, four. We've got a three seat berth on each side with people standing packed against the walls of the place.

A lone security guard floats our way.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

It's not the way that the men at fight club have started calling me sir. The security guard is looking at me like he knows about my condo blowing up, and he feels awfully sure about the cause.

I need to renew my driver's license.

Tyler says, "If we pay taxes for this building, these workers, doesn't that mean we pay your salary? You're going to kick out your kindest boss?"

"If you don't leave, I'll have to call the police."

Tyler says, "Can't even do it yourself?"

I think, every second of this day has been excruciating, and I have been awake for 77 hours.

Tyler socks the security guard right in the jaw, and the crowd goes wild.

It happens like this: Tyler hits the security guard with all four knuckles, all the people start screaming, and the security guard goes for his gun. I am standing in the middle of this hurricane, calm like a baby that's just been left in the car in 90 degree weather. I start walking.

Behind me, Tyler wrestles for the gun. He tosses it towards the kiosk that spat out my waiting ticket. He lets the security guard hit him in the gut. The face. The face again. He's on the ground, bloody spit threading his rebroken smile, and the security guard is kicking him in the gut. Tyler curls into a ball, the security guard kicks him in the kidneys. This will give Tyler bruises like size thirteen boots and make him piss blood for three weeks.

I reach the door, and Tyler's crawling after me. The security guard has come out of his haze, and now the crowd is staring at him. The headline: local DMV worker brutally bludgeons mentally ill constituent. People stare at him, now aware of the violence he is capable of. They wonder. He wonders.

Tyler limps out the door. We get on the bus and the driver stares at us and does not make us pay when we walk past him to the seats. The driver had a black eye. We saw him at fight club last week.

We sit, and I tell Tyler, because of him I'm definitely on a list now. Like they had for all those communists, but now it's for schizophrenics who might bomb their local state Department of Motor Vehicles location. I tell him if I get a letter saying I have to show up in court because I beat up a government worker, I'm sending him, and he can have fun explaining that to whatever rancid old judge presides over our case.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[lovelybluebirdie]

What is yours

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: A stroll through the market evokes an unpleasant sensation in Astarion.

Word Count: 3,1k

hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

[ AO3 ]

The warm rays of the midday sun bathed the markets’ goods in a marvellous light. The place was bustling, a scent of spices lingering in the air and hurried voices brimming. 

If someone had told Astarion that one day he’d be able to move around Baldur’s Gate so freely again, he’d probably huffed merely a dry laugh – and yet here he was, following you through the narrow streets of his city, admiring how much colour the world had to offer.

Of course it was you who had dragged him along for the mundane task to gather some food for your companions back at camp. Astarion couldn't care less to fill up their bellies, as his own appetite was perfectly stilled from your generosity when it came to offer him your blood, but one blink from your doe eyes had been enough to convince him to accompany you.

Well, that, and perhaps that warm feeling that refused to leave his chest when he was with you. 

It was obvious that you loved to stroll around the market, savouring the colourful impressions while taking a break from all the fighting and gore your journey to rid yourself from the tadpoles held for you. 

Astarion had never watched you spending your coin so lightly before. You probably thought it was time to treat yourself once in a while, and who was he to deny you this little pleasure? He had to admit that he actually adored seeing your face light up over the different trinkets you bought, eagerly filling your bags and pouches with your newest additions.

“Let's get some fruit for the others while we’re at it,” you suggested, pointing towards a merchant presenting an inviting range of fresh goods. “Something nutritious seems much needed after we fed mostly on leftovers for the past weeks.”

Your shoulders were loaded with the various goods you had already bought – dyes, herbs, some new toys for Scratch and the owlbear cub and a bunch of flasks to fill with potions.

“As you wish,” Astarion replied, when a display of weapons caught his eye. His last pair of daggers had become rather blunt from the Goblin throats he’d cut, so maybe it was time to treat himself as well, he thought and gently grabbed your wrist.  

“On second thought, why don't you go ahead while I'll have another look around here, my love?” he asked and came to a stop. “I haven't much expertise to add when it comes to your culinary needs, and those daggers look rather appealing.”

“Sounds fine with me, but try not to spend all of our gold at once,” you teased and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hah, you're one to talk. Please remind me, who was it again that just bought five new toys for Scratch, so he had a set of different colours to choose from?”

“He needs some variety,” you muttered, trying to keep up a serious expression. “But nevermind, see you in a minute then.” 

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and waved, already on your way to spend some more of your coin.

Astarion couldn’t help but smile over your excitement for the market, before he picked up a dagger from the display in front of him. The handle appeared to be of higher quality than his current ones, and the blade looked sharp enough to inflict some hurt.

As he gazed further through the wares, pondering which one would fit him best, he spared a glance to check on you. 

He spotted you a few stalls away at the fruit stand you had mentioned. The vendor you were talking to gesticulated wildly while presenting his wares, leading you to laugh.

Astarion frowned and put the dagger away to take a closer look.

The vendor was young, an elf with blond curls, and Astarion noticed that he wasn’t an unpleasant sight. 

He was immediately bothered by the smile you gave the other man, the way he touched your hands as he started to offer you bite-sized pieces of fruit to taste.

His fingers lingered too long against yours for Astarion’s liking.

As he continued to watch you from afar, something inside his belly started to seethe – hot and ugly.

A feeling he experienced before when it came to you, but couldn't quite grasp.

Well, whatever this was, Astarion certainly wasn’t jealous. Not of some random street vendor at least – and why should he be? Because you had smiled so sweetly at him? Or because you were laughing again as you took another piece of fruit from his filthy hands? 

What in the nine hells could be so entertaining about buying fruit anyway? 

It was ridiculous, really, and yet Astarion imagined how it would feel to rip the vendor's throat as punishment for daring to touch you. 

Would he bleed out quickly? Would he scream?

Astarion shook his head, shoving the violent image aside.

He remembered the previous occasions when that unpleasant burning inside his stomach had appeared. It was the moment Gale decided it was appropriate to show you his so-called magical weave, or the other day when Wyll proposed a dance to you. You had kindly rejected both of them, but Astarion was still not particularly impressed by their interest in you. 

He knew what others would seek from you. Why they wanted you. For the same reasons he enjoyed being with you: your compassion, the kindness you spread. Your special talent to make him feel seen. 

There was also your wit, the way you would crack a joke even in the most maddening situations, making him feel light. And not to mention, you were a beautiful vision if Astarion had ever seen one.

Of course there would be others who saw those qualities as well, aiming to claim you.

A sudden wave of anxiety flooded his mind, moulding an appaling image in his skull.

He wondered if one day you would prefer someone else over him.

Someone who would match your kindness – acting all selfless and heroic, indulging in activities he found little pleasure in.

Providing you with something Astarion might be unable to give you, ever, no matter how much he cared about you.

Hells, what if you were already seeking someone like that?

His stomach dropped.

The dreadful notion spread its relentless claws past his ribs, tearing holes in his dead heart.

Blood rushed to his ears.

Before he even realised, his feet were already dragging him towards you.

He needed to be close to you – doing anything to make this feeling stop.

When he arrived next to you, he placed a hand on the small of your back and grasped your tunic, a little tighter than he'd intended.

He tried his best to keep his composure.

“Are we all done here, my love?” he asked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Astarion!” You smiled when you noticed him, unaware of his musings. Your pouch was filled to the brink with fresh fruits. “Yes, I guess that would be all.”

Astarion felt the need to pull you away, but before he came up with an excuse to leave immediately, the merchant was already addressing you again. 

“Think about it, will you?” A smug grin plastered that man’s face as he spoke to you, casually bending over his counter.

Astarion gave you a confused look.

Think about what? 

“Unfortunately there’s no time to join the tavern tonight, but thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” you said amicably and packed up your wares.

What was that? 

Astarion thought he must have misheard.

“What a shame. Perhaps you can give it a second thought.” The vendor was still beaming at you, before he turned to Astarion. “Your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. We will think about it, will we, darling?”

Astarion bit his tongue, swallowing the impulse to spit a cutting remark on top of his obvious sarcasm.

What in the nine hells was this mongrel thinking, inviting you to the tavern? And how he was speaking to him – as if he was some irrelevant bystander.

“Let's see what we can do,” you said politely, already on your way to move on. “Have a nice day. And thank you again.”

“You as well,” replied the salesman and waved. 

Astarion gritted his teeth as he followed you through the busy alleyways, still processing what just happened.

The vendor's words appeared in his mind.

That man had obviously desired to fuck you, and wasn’t even trying to hide his advances.

How could he have dared.

Astarion regretted that he had acted so passive in that moment. Usually he wasn’t one to hesitate, always a sharp comment dancing on his tongue, and yet… the thought of losing you to someone else had shifted something in him, turning him small.

His fury grew.

Oh, how he would love to grab that despicable pig by his throat, banishing that filthy grin of his face. Making him bleed. But he knew that unlike him, you would gladly refrain from a public bloodbath, so he shoved away those violent fantasies, even if the fire continued to seeth in him – unpleasant and hot.

He tried to fathom what posed the worst about this whole ordeal: The way in which the man had aimed to claim you, or his fear that you enjoyed those cheap advances – possibly were fond of it even.

Astarion's mood couldn't have been more sour as you arrived at a secluded area, away from the markets bustling.

“Can you believe it? That seller insisted on giving me a discount,” you broke the silence and pointed proudly at the wares you had gathered. “And they say there are no kind people left in Baldur's Gate.”

And just as the words had left your throat, Astarion finally snapped.

“Is that so?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “How generous. What a nice, handsome gentleman he is, also inviting you to the tavern with him.” He spoke harsh – his tone cold and venomous. 

You came to an abrupt stop, resting the groceries on the ground and fixating your gaze on his, a furrow between your eyebrows. 

“What are you implying?” You sounded puzzled.

“Oh, don't act so naive, darling, you know what I'm implying. That man wanted to bed you, everyone could see it from the way he treated you. And by the laughs you offered him, you seemed to enjoy his attention as well, did you not? What a flirt you are.”

His accusations left a taste of ash in his mouth. Moments before his anger seemed directed at the man’s advances, and now his bottled-up wrath was boiling onto you.

The bewildered look on your face turned into something else, something sad, your eyes losing their shine. He sensed that he must’ve hurt you, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

“So, you’re jealous of that man, is that what this is about?”

“Me? Being jealous of some filthy street vendor?” Astarion scoffed, immediately falling back to his dramatics, gesticulating defensively with his hands. “Don't insult me, darling. I find it amusing that he thinks he can have you, and I didn’t fail to miss your interest in him,” he bit, almost choking on the dry chuckle that spilled from his lips.

“There was no interest from my side, other than purchasing some of his wares,” you explained. Then you opened your mouth again, sharply sucking air between your teeth, before your gaze softened. Your voice was calm, without spite or anger. “He recognized me, Astarion. From the article in the gazette. Slayer of the evil Ketheric Thorm and all that fuss. Does that ring a bell?” 

Of course he remembered. It was him that had to sneak past those giant steel watchers back at the gazette’s building, convincing the magical press to print an article in your favour. An article that wouldn’t taint your reputation, unlike the one Gortash had commissioned to derogate you. 

Astarion couldn’t deny that after the praising piece was published, you were indeed met with an unusual kindness from the people of Baldur's Gate. 

“Well, how could I forget?” Astarion's face twisted. “But that doesn't mean he didn't have something else in mind with you. Some people certainly would love to bury their blade inside a true hero for once, I can imagine.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Even if he did want to bed me, what does it matter?”

An icy grip twisted Astarion's chest. The image of you with someone else stung in his eyes, making him sick. 

Before he could growl another reply, you rested your hand on his arm, catching his fuming. “Hey – look at me, you silly goose.” 

Your tender touch was enough to quell the blazing flame in his belly. 

You spoke so warmly to him. So... loving.

Astarion rested his eyes on you and was met with an affectionate smile that disarmed him completely.

“Astarion, don’t you realise that I couldn't care less if thousands of people felt the sudden need to bed me?”

He bit his cheek, remaining silent.

“You’re the only one I want, you jealous fool. No one else – not now, not ever, and certainly not some random street vendor that throws a discount at me because he thinks of me as some kind of hero.”

Astarion’s features involuntarily softened as he took in your words. The fury that was about to overwhelm him dissolved into a flutter, engulfing his chest, washing away the seething that hooked at his ribcage.

“Really?” Only one word left his mouth, before he cleared his throat. “I mean – I'm not surprised of course, as you seem to literally cling to my side these days.” A poor attempt to cover his insecurity, but the best he could muster.

“Really,” you assured and gently tapped on his temple, “I vow on the tadpole flooding inside our brains.” You chuckled as you rested your hands on the back of his neck and shifted closer to him. 

“Well, but those might be gone someday,” Astarion mumbled.

“And even then, I will remain at your side. Only if you want me to, of course.”

Astarion didn’t have to think of his answer, the words spilling from his lips like a reflex.

“Yes, I would want that,” he whispered sincerely, his flamboyant mask crumbling. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It’s just… Well, I guess I'm used to losing what I hold dear. And the thought of losing you to someone else… I don’t know, apparently it woke something in me.” 

He felt almost ashamed over his sudden lack of eloquence, being so raw with you, but there was a sense of relief in opening up. To his surprise, it was even more soothing than losing himself in violence.

You looked at him with affection and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk against your palm. 

“It's alright, Astarion, you don't have to explain. I promise you, you won’t lose me to someone else. As you said, I tend to cling to your side these days, and truth be told, I have no intention to stop.”

“I hope you won’t,” Astarion replied and took your hand in his to press a kiss to your fingertips. “But honestly, I have to apologise for doubting your intentions with me. With us.”

“I forgive you, lover,” you replied tenderly. “I didn't take you for the overly jealous type, though,” you added with a smirk.

Astarion offered you a wry smile. “Let's not dwell on it, shall we?”

Then he reached for your face, softly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and rested his lips on your forehead, followed by a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him into a close embrace. He could sense your heartbeat against his cold body, your pulse drumming in a comforting rhythm.

For a moment you were just holding each other, your head against his chest, Astarion relishing your warmth and kissing your hair. Your touch was relieving. Assuring.

You were with him, and had promised not to leave. 

Your affirmations repeated in his mind: You wanted him. Only him alone.

This was all new territory and Astarion sensed it would take some time for him to fully adjust, yes, but right now… this was all he could wish for.

“Somehow I don't want to let go of you, little love,” he hummed to your ear.

“Then don't,” you breathed and kissed along his neck, brushing his bite marks with your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. A particularly sensible spot, but you were allowed to touch him there.

Gods, how deeply he had fallen for you.

Astarion drew you even closer and sighed, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. 

When he gently peeled away from your hug, you looked up to him and bit your lip.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” you asked sheepishly.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Well... I think that merchant truly wanted to bed me.”

Astarion laughed – deep, coming from his belly – surprised by his own lightness. The idea of fuming over your obvious admirer seemed almost ridiculous all of a sudden. 

“I told you so. But now that you see it too, I guess you wouldn't mind if we turn back for a quick chat? I would love to take care of that dear fellow,” he replied mischievously. While his fury was gone, he still wouldn’t mind some misdemeanour.

“Astarion!” you scolded, but joined his laughter. “Please spare that innocent man.”

“Relax darling, I will. For now at least. And only because you asked so nicely.” His fangs poked from the grin that adorned his lips.

“Good boy,” you teased and brushed one of his white curls behind his ear, his grin widening from your touch.

As you walked back to camp, hands softly entwined, Astarion noticed that probably for the first time in his life someone truly belonged to him – willingly, out of love.

You belonged to him. 

The thought grew in his chest, wandered up to his eyes, spreading affection through his entire body, and for the remaining way back to camp he didn’t let go of your hand.

Masterlist

[pagesfromthevoid]

Safe & Sound | j.m.

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Canon typical violence. She’s Frank’s niece. Age gap (she’s 32). Mentions of tampons and periods (which idk if that’s a warning needed but just in case)

Author's Note: Casually starting another series (and I have like two more in the works woooooooops)

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Ellie stared at the letter in her hand, biting her nail as she read it over slowly. Bill and Frank, who they had trekked all this way to see, were dead. She knew Joel wouldn’t be happy about this, but she also knew he wouldn't let her ask anything about it. He didn't let her ask questions, and even when he did, he passed on answering half of them. 

He was annoying like that.

“Ellie?” 

She looked up from the letter as Joel stepped back into the dining room. Holding up the letter, she gave him a grim look.

“‘To whoever finds this, but probably Joel,’” Ellie read off, waving the envelope some. “Figured I fell under ‘whoever.’”

Joel stared her down for a long moment, before shaking his head. “So they’re dead.”

“Yeah…yeah, they’re dead.” Ellie hesitated, looking between him and the letter. “Do you…?”

“No, no…you can.”

Ellie huffed but began reading, trying her best to be light about it. “‘If you find this, please make sure you check the yard. She should have buried us together, but you and I both know she probably couldn’t have done it alone…’”

Ellie continued reading, brow furrowing as she did. As the letter wrapped up, leaving Joel with everything, she hesitated on Tess’s name —as well as a name that Ellie didn’t recognize. Joel waited, watching her, before taking the letter from her hands. His hands shook some, hesitating a moment before he told Ellie to stay put and stormed outside. 

She waited a few minutes, half expecting to hear him scream or something equally as angry, but it never came. Going to peer out the window, she watched as Joel crumpled up the letter and walked to the opened gate. Ellie couldn’t see what he was doing —if he saw something that she couldn’t. But he stood and stared towards the empty town square. 

Ellie waited, then stood and moved to peer through the front door screen. Her eyes caught sight of what Joel was watching —a woman carrying a shotgun on her shoulder. Joel was not someone who just let people approach with guns, and Ellie connected pretty quickly that this woman had to be the other person mentioned in Bill’s letter.

“Miller,” the woman called as she got closer, stopping about five feet from the gate. “I assume you know then.”

Joel just nodded, and Ellie decided to make her presence known by stepping out of the house. He looked back at her as the woman pulled her gun from her shoulder. Without hesitation, Joel stepped in front of the barrel, putting his hands up. 

“Hey, she’s with me.”

The woman stared at Ellie for a long time, eyes darting between her and Joel. Then finally, her gun lowered and she came closer to the gate, stopping in front of Joel and holding out her hand. He hesitated, but set the crumpled paper in her palm.

From where Ellie stood, she could make out more details about the woman. She was way younger than Joel; didn’t have half the wrinkles or scars. And her hair was far from greying. Her clothes were clean, though overall she seemed to be relatively clean in general. Like she wasn’t just surviving, but actually thriving in this little town of her’s. She even looked healthy –not to say that Joel or Ellie didn’t look healthy, but this woman looked actually healthy. Not like she was just getting by on whatever she could. Like she actually ate meals and drank clean water and lived in a healthy way. Honestly, she was kind of pretty, which didn’t seem fair given no one else probably felt pretty these days. 

The woman pulled the letter apart, reading it over slowly. Ellie was pretty sure she was rereading it, since it wasn’t even that long, but Joel wasn’t rushing her, so Ellie decided to let the woman handle whatever she was feeling.

“Frank was sick,” she suddenly said, as if that explained anything. She didn’t look up from the letter. “He was sick even before the outbreak.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Joel managed to say, looking back at Ellie. “You don’t have to come with us. I know Bill’s letter said –,”

“I can’t stay here alone,” she interrupted, and she looked at Ellie now with a small frown. “And I know it’s not easy for a little girl to travel alone with a man.”

“I wouldn’t –,”

“I didn’t say that, you creep,” she immediately countered, giving him a dirty look. Joel glared at her, and Ellie wondered how well the two knew each other before today. “I just said I understand how it’s hard to be a fucking girl travelling with someone who knows jack shit about being a girl. It’s how I got here –with my uncle Frank, alone, at twelve.”

Ellie snickered at her outburst, earning a pointed scowl from Joel. But she ignored him, hopping off the top step of the porch. The woman watched her approach, moving to rest her shotgun on her shoulder again. Then she extended her hand to Ellie, introducing herself with a tired smile.

“I found a box of tampons,” Ellie told her once she introduced herself. “Joel said the station had been picked over –but he was wrong.”

“Find of the century,” she teased, grinning at her before looking back at Joel. “You know how tampons work, cowboy? Or were you just hoping she never started her period?”

“Don’t call me that,” Joel warned, moving away from the two now as he walked to the garage. “And I do, and it wasn’t exactly the first thought I had.”

Ellie snickered at the thought of Joel explaining how tampons worked, but reassured him that there was no reason to teach her. “I already know you stick it in your nose.”

“Ellie, what the fu –,”

The woman laughed however, covering her face as she did so. Ellie felt smug, having made a stranger laugh, even if it was at the expense of the old man in front of her. Though, Joel seemed less than thrilled by the whole thing. 

Ellie and her exchanged glances as their laughter died down. Then she motioned to the house. “Water should still be on –it’s hot. I’ll find you both some clean clothes and you can both shower.”

“Holy shit, they have hot water?” Ellie exclaimed, looking up at her with shock and disbelief.

“The hottest,” she promised, motioning them both inside.

Ellie didn’t hesitate to run inside and back up the stairs.

*****

Joel watched Ellie practically trip running up the stairs of the house as he followed Frank’s niece inside. While he understood her excitement –shit, he was excited, if he was being honest –she was going to get herself hurt if she didn’t take it down a few notches. When the door to the bathroom slammed shut, he turned his attention to the woman in front of him, who was motioning for him to follow her to the kitchen.

A thin layer of dust had collected over everything, making that one of the only real signs of abandonment in the house. But the water ran, the power was still on. It was a strange, almost painful, scene of normalcy in their bleak world. Bill and Frank’s always felt like that, though –a brief moment of domesticity before returning to the nightmare that Joel lived in.

With Bill and Frank both dead, however, that feeling of normalcy died with them.

“You look like shit,” she pointed out, breaking through his train of thought.

“Feel like it,” he confirmed, sitting at the counter. She slid an unopened bottle of water to him, and Joel gave a curt nod in thanks. “Been trying to get here for two days now.”

“Where’s Tess?”

The question lingered in the air, hitting him hard in the chest. She knew the answer, and he knew she knew. Joel was good at pushing his feelings aside, but blunt, to the point questions like that didn’t give him a chance to hide. So when he didn’t respond, she leaned on the counter in front of him, brows knit together in concern.

“Okay,” she drawled, looking around the kitchen for a moment. “Then tell me about Ellie. What’s the deal?”

“I’m takin’ her west –to my brother,” he explained, and it wasn’t necessarily a lie. He was going to take her west to Tommy. 

“What’s the importance of getting this little girl out west –at the loss of Tess?” She pushed, pulling back from the counter to stand up straight. 

“Stop,” he snapped, looking at her now with a sharp glare. “It’s not your business.”

“If I’m coming with you —it is my business,” she retorted, giving him a pointed look. 

“Then don’t,” he countered, standing up now as she went through the cabinets. 

“And run the risk of being a woman, alone, at the end of the fucking world?” She scoffed, turning around to face him again. Her arms crossed over her chest, but not in a way that felt snarky —it was a softer gesture; one that suggested fear. Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her afraid of anything. Her eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before she looked back up at him. Joel’s brows furrowed as he stood up straighter. “There’s been raiders scoping out the fence —I can’t maintain it, and I can only do so much before they finally figure out how to get through. Don’t…don’t leave me here alone, Joel.”

His jaw clenched as he watched her, instinctively clutching his fists at his side as he considered why she didn’t want to be alone. When Bill and Frank were alive, she was safe here. There wasn’t any reason to be worried about someone getting through —Bill made sure of it. But she was right; she couldn’t maintain this set up. Not alone, not as meticulously as Bill had. 

“You’re not stayin’ here alone,” he finally sighed, running a hand over his face, closing his eyes. There wasn’t a valid argument against her coming; and it was what Bill and Frank wanted. “We’re goin’ to Wyoming; my brother is out there.”

“Doesn’t explain the girl,” she pressed, though her tone wasn’t as pushy as before. “Is she your brother’s kid or…?”

“We’re not related,” he confirmed, finally opening the bottle of water she had given him. “She’s…complicated.” Joel realized that he had to explain Ellie to her, or run the risk of her freaking out if she saw the bite. And it was better to explain it now, in a safe place, than later in the open. “She’s…immune to the infection.”

Her arms dropped to her sides slowly as she looked at him in disbelief. “What do you mean she’s immune?”

“I mean, she’s been bitten twice now and hasn’t turned. I’ve been with her both times; and you know me. You know damn well if she was infected, I would —,”

“I know.” She waved him off, the disbelief shifting into confusion as she leaned on the kitchen counter once more. “So what, then? Where are we taking her?”

“There’s a team of Fireflies that apparently think they can make a cure usin’ her. I was asked to take her to them.”

She hummed a bit in response, looking up at him for a few seconds. Joel shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, trying to look anywhere but her. 

The first time Joel and Tess had met Bill and Frank was nearly a decade ago. He hadn’t wanted to interact with them; had no desire to bring anyone else into the operation the two had been running. But Tess had insisted on it, saying that Frank had been open and clear about what they had and could trade. Eventually, he had given in and they ended up there in Lincoln, pretending life was normal for just a little while. 

That was the same day he’d met her. Barely twenty-two, having been raised in both worlds. Joel hadn’t seen someone as pretty as her in a long time; a healthy glow around her. Shining eyes, and a sweet smile. It felt wrong to find her so attractive at the time –she was so damn young, and the world hadn’t completely ruined her yet. She had been helping Frank tend the garden out back and talking to Tess, who was surprised that a young woman had been living there the entire time.

“She’s my niece,” Frank had explained, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a small smile. “Bill saved us both, and we’ve been here since.”

Every time they had come back since then –a handful of times over the last decade –she was always there, always just as pretty. Excited when they would bring new things like seeds for fruits or medicine that they couldn’t otherwise get out there on their own. She was quieter then; not necessarily shy, but not willing to interrupt when business was being spoken. Joel could only assume her change in behavior had come the last few years of coping with Frank being sick. And with Bill having taken his life as well…Perhaps she was a bit jaded to the world now. But hell, who wasn’t?

“Come on, cowboy,” she finally decided, motioning for him to follow again. “The truck battery is charging; I’ll go get some clothes for you and Ellie, and we can start packing up supplies.”

He gave her a dirty look, but she ignored him.

“Bill left everything to me,” Joel suddenly announced, following her into the living room. “Well, most of it. He left the house to you.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she sighed, stopping outside a linen closet. Though she pointed at the couch and told him to sit down. “As if I need a house if I’m going with you.”

“Maybe he thought you’d come back one day,” Joel offered as he sat down. He let out a satisfied groan, sinking into the cushions.

For a few minutes, he didn’t respond to whatever she was saying, instead too caught up in how nice it felt to sit down on something actually soft. His body ached, and he wasn’t the young man he once was. And goddamn, the couch felt fantastic on his aching joints. 

“You look like you’re in heaven,” she teased, bringing a box in and setting it on the coffee table. The shower had shut off, and Ellie was yelling about clothes. “You can take a nap, Joel. You look like you need it. It won’t kill you to rest.”

“It’s fine –,”

She threw a shirt at him, hitting him in the face. He scowled, but she was just grinning knowingly. “I’ll bring her clean clothes. You’re gonna shower, and you’re gonna take a nap –me and the kid can start packing up.”

Joel hesitated, staring at the clean flannel in his hands. Then he sighed, caving. “Just don’t let her have a gun.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.”

[inviisiiblelee]

One-Sided Date Night

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 3,034 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Vox is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Vox falls apart easily, Vox is just an idiot, He has no idea how to be actually direct, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, I'll probably write a second part from Alastors POV later, radiostatic, staticradio, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered.

Notes: As always, heavily based around discussed concepts between friends who write Alastor. This is a submission for the tumblr RadioStatic Week of 2024, Day 3: One Sided/Date Night. I love them a normal amount.

Summary: “You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.” “You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine. It was supposed to be fine. Why did it feel like heartbreak?

------------------------------

The music in the lounge was gentle and soft, lulling the space between Vox and Alastor into something smooth and easy. There was a sense of tenseness across their personal frequency, but it was slowly melting away into something familiar and pleasant the longer they sat at their table, chatting happily over their appetizers. This wasn’t really that new, Vox knew, they went out for lunches and dinners plenty often, and they’d definitely been to this spot a few times. He had taken an extra step to order things he knew Alastor liked from the menu, and it hadn’t been an issue at all. Alastor had smiled at him, chuckled a little when he floundered to say that he would stop if it was weird, but he said he didn’t mind, he wasn’t wrong. 

It was nice, all of it was, but Vox was here for a little bit more of a reason than just to have dinner. It was the height of their relationship, he felt. They’d been living together for decades already, but they were so much closer than ever, spent nearly every moment they could together. There was hardly a person in Hell that wasn’t aware that if you messed with one, you would face the other with no hesitation. Vox … was also head over heels for Alastor, and had been for some time. He had been so hesitant to express it to him, but he thought that close to fifteen years of keeping quiet was long enough to have decided that it was definitely real and not at all something that would fade with time. So he figured, he could take Alastor out, sort of like normal, take some initiative in the whole thing, try to woo him a little – something he knew he was theoretically good at, but had never tried on Alastor – and hopefully broach the subject of changing the status of their relationship. 

“- alright?” Alastor’s voice cut through his thoughts, which he was carefully monitoring so as not to project them across the frequency between them, unspoken words that he did not want coming across uncontrolled.

“Oh, what? Sorry,” Vox replied quickly, finding himself somewhat embarrassed, a hint of hue change on his screen, he knew. Across the table, Alastor’s ears dropped just slightly - it was almost imperceptible, but Vox was well attuned to these small movements by now. It wasn’t as though he needed more than the thirty years he’d had to figure them out. His expression was easier typically to read, an eyebrow raised in questioning concern. 

“I asked if you were doing alright. You look a little lost, friend,” Alastor said, though patient at needing to repeat himself. It had become more common recently, Vox knew, for him to get a little caught up in his own thoughts or just to blatantly stare at Alastor and get a little … lost, as Alastor put it. It was a kind way to describe it, considering it was often just Vox staring at him longingly, with a dumb, lovestruck look on his face. He admittedly wasn’t sure if it was Alastor just being sweet about it, or if he actually didn’t notice beyond the fact that when it happened, Vox was often tuned out of the conversation. 

“I’m okay! Sorry, just thinking, that’s all.”

“Oh? You aren’t sharing much today,” Alastor quipped with a little smile and a laugh. Even now, they weren’t actually speaking aloud, despite being in public. Rather, it was especially since they were in public. Nearly all of their communication involved them speaking silently, through their shared radio frequency that was uninterrupted and unmonitored by any unwanted ears. Vox had recently learned how to put a death grip on specific thoughts, to prevent them spilling over while conversing. It was easier that way. And certainly safer for their friendship. 

“I know,” Vox said, evading the question just a tad. “Just a lot of nonsense, that's all, I promise.” Alastor seemed amused by the idea, leaning his chin against his interlaced fingers. 

“Well, that hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Well- hey!”

The deer demon laughed again, the sound softer and gentler when they were together like this, quiet in the fray of the frequency. It always had a different sort of quality when he laughed aloud, more abrasive and usually for a different reason. But between the two of them, it was like hearing the ocean rolling up against the shore, soothing and sweet. Homely. He just wished he could play it on repeat sometimes, bury himself in the sound.

Before their conversation could go too much further, their entrees were placed before them, and Vox could see Alastor’s eyes light up a bit as he was quick to dig in. Vox allowed the topic and talk to die down while they both ate, though Vox’s enthusiasm was less than his friend’s. Nothing at all to do with the meal and much more the nervousness running through his system. Electrical little surges that made his fingers twitch. It was a real problem that some of his emotions ended up manifesting so physically these days. Once more his eyes settled on Alastor and he found himself lost in watching him, seeing him enjoy his meal and appear just … generally happy in the moment. Vox felt like he’d spent years memorizing every facial expression Alastor could make, tracing the lines of his face and committing every little quip and compliment to memory. What else could he do in times like these? Alastor was … still hard to read, though. They were both clearly happy with the current state of things, no issues to be found for the last fifteen years, certainly. But he had no way to tell if Alastor would ever want more than that from him. Maybe he wouldn’t, but if he brought it up, would it destroy things? Would they be able to go back to normal after that? And would he be able to stay okay with things as they were?

“You’re doing it again, Vox.” He jumped slightly, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What’s on your mind? It’s not very like you to keep so quiet.” Maybe Vox should have found some offense, but he knew that he was a rambler at heart, and he did imagine it was coming to be a surprise that he was clamming up so much. He was usually also just as easy to convince to open up, and his resistance was probably giving something more away than he wanted. 

“I’ve just been thinking about … us?” It was almost a question, a hesitating, curious question of how that sort of response would even be taken. But very little changed in Alastor’s expression, although he was sitting back in his chair and watching him, clearly ready to listen. 

“In what way?”

“Sort of in general, I guess. We’re pretty close these days, and spend a lot of time together,” Vox said. “It’s been really nice, you know. So I guess I’ve just been reflecting on it a little.”

“Yet that seems to be something you don’t want to share.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one anyway. He didn’t know what to say, at first. Maybe if he changed the subject, he would figure it out later. But no, it was a pointless thing to do, to dance around this all so much. He would do it a little regardless, it was just how he talked, something Alastor teased him somewhat for, never able to really get to the point without thirty minutes of preface. 

It was what he knew.

“I just think it might be annoying, if you listen and all you hear is me thinking of you,” Vox responded finally with a laugh. He felt embarrassed and unsure, and he rubbed at his screen briefly as though he could scrub away the feelings. It didn’t have to be this hard, he knew that, but what was he going to do if he said no, and if he took offense?

“Nothing you go on about has annoyed me before, why would it be different now?” Alastor replied, punctuating the thought by taking a last bite of his meal. He offered a smile, too, and while it could have eased Vox’s mind, he found himself that much more anxious. 

“I don’t know.”

It was the best he had to offer, though it wasn’t much. He really didn’t know why he felt so strongly about it all, or why he worried so much. Realistically, Alastor was right. There were many things he went on about that were much less serious and often quite silly, but through it all, Alastor always sat and listened thoughtfully. Even if he might have teased, he never held it against him. Couldn’t he trust it just like that? He knew the answer was yes, but it wasn’t about trust. It was about any possibility of losing the demon sitting before him. 

“You like what we are, don’t you?” Vox heard himself say directly, and he immediately wished he could snatch the words back, pretend they hadn’t come from him. That definitely wasn’t how it worked, but what he would have done for it …

“Of course. I’ve always thoroughly enjoyed your company, Vox.” Alastor’s reply was so quick, smooth, and lacked any sort of reproach. It had the potentially unintentional effect of melting his heart and easing him a little, putting a little goofy smile on his screen that he couldn’t hide. 

“Alastor, you know I would do anything for you, right?” It was a little bit of a silly admitting question, more serving the purpose of pointing it out in case he didn’t know it, for some reason. Not that it hadn’t become blatantly obvious over the last few decades, he was sure. 

“Well, I’m sure there are some limits, but yes,” Alastor replied, though Vox shook his head slightly. He wouldn’t argue, but he knew well indeed that there were no limits. Not exactly the … healthiest thing, but he meant it. “Is this you trying to ask a favor, Vox? You know you can just say it and it’ll be done.” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“Well, if it were, I would be happy to help you with whatever is going on in that cubed head of yours.” Vox smiled in response, chuckling at the little comment, but still trying to gather his own thoughts. Alastor gave him time now, it seemed, and finally, he was able to say something more … relevant to what he wanted.

“What do you think about dating?” Vox finally said, making a little leap. Even just a generic idea about it could be helpful, it wasn’t exactly a topic they ever spoke on.

“Oh, I don’t.”

“Oh.”

Well. That wasn’t particularly helpful, was it? Not altogether surprising, though, which made the nervousness return to Vox’s mind as he cast his eyes away from his friend quickly, as though searching the room for the right words.

“Has there ever been some sort of consideration?” he said after a moment.

“Hm … I suppose I don't really need to anymore. What about you…?” Alastor seemed more confused about his line of questioning than anything else, and Vox found himself panicking a little bit.

“Well, yes, I have a tendency to, myself. Not that much though! Haha. It’s just one of those things that pops into my head, you know, without a reason.” Idiot. Word salad at its absolute finest, certainly. At best, it seemed to make Alastor laugh a little, though he didn’t offer much else, the line going a little quiet once more, the music and other patrons keeping pure silence from forming, thankfully. They finished their main course and everything was whisked away, Vox telling the waiter they’d like some time before getting the bill, which they graciously acknowledged. Vox took a sip of the wine he’d sent ahead, a pinot noir that he’d found Alastor liked a few years ago. Alastor was not much of a wine drinker, but this one he knew he liked.  They spent a few minutes in the quiet of the lounge, enjoying themselves individually, but Vox knowing his mind was elsewhere still, just as restless as ever. He was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words, but he had lost his grip on his thoughts and one slipped through unbidden.

“Do you think you’d like to be closer to me?” 

The moment the words passed through the frequency, he clammed up, tense and worried, though Alastor didn’t seem bothered by the question. In fact, he appeared to consider the question for a long moment, before finally answering with a question of his own.

“Is there some way we could be? I don’t think it’s even possible at this point.”

Air escaped Vox for a long time. He knew he was staring, he knew he was sort of … losing himself in his thoughts, in a whirlwind of wordless emotion that he knew was ringing true through the frequency. Fear and worry and hope and everything that could be in between. It was overwhelming, and he could tell it was even a little much for Alastor, whose ears seemed to drop back a little. If he said anything, Vox couldn’t hear it. His internal mechanisms were starting to make noise, noises he hadn’t heard before, and he realized it was a bad thing when the color blinked out of his vision. 

“Uh oh.”

It spiraled out of control much faster than Vox could keep up with. Electrical currents shot through his body, from his head to his toes, and the glass in his hand was shattered between his convulsing fingers. His vision was blinking in and out, and he felt like he was watching each moment frame by frame, rather than live. Alastor was standing suddenly, and then the scene blinked, and it was clear he had fallen from his chair. In the next frame, Alastor had moved to hover over him, and he could tell he was asking him something, trying to talk both aloud and between them silently, but the static and buzzing was so loud that he couldn’t hear. And then his vision went completely dark, and all he could hear was the faint buzzing of himself.

----------------------------

Vox didn’t know how long had passed, but when his vision returned, and his audio just as slowly, he was back at home. The little place they lived together in, half built into the bottom half of the radio tower that Alastor worked out of. It was a pretty normal little hovel, a simple living room, a single bathroom, nice kitchen, two bedrooms, and … well. Half a marsh for the Radio Demon, of course. But for now, Vox was resting on the couch, it seemed. He still couldn’t see in color, couldn’t hear everything, but he was awake and aware again. He cast his gaze around the room, and as he did, Alastor came through the doorway towards the kitchen. Vox was almost tempted to try to pretend he wasn’t back yet, but the light of his display would always give him away, so there was little point to it. Alastor was bringing in a small tray, setting it down, and leaning in close to his face, peering closely at his display and screen, before offering him a small, strained smile.

“There you are. You took your time coming back around,” Alastor said simply, leaning back a little now, and Vox offered him a small smile of his own. His head was blissfully quiet now, except for Alastor’s voice, and he tried to respond. It took him several minutes before he was really able to gather enough thoughts to do so, but Alastor sat there with him patiently, helping him to sit up when he tried. 

“I’m not very sure what happened. And I still can’t really see properly,” he admitted. “I think something … broke?”

“It sure seemed like it. Started smoking a little, and you were … unresponsive for the walk here. You’ve been out for a few hours now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know, I just … I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.” A little laugh escaped him. “I’ve never … I didn’t think I could break internally?”

“What exactly happened?”

Vox hesitated to answer, but decided in the end, it couldn’t hurt.

“I got a little … emotionally overwhelmed, I guess. I was thinking way too many things all at once, feeling a lot all at once. Just … fried some things.” A twinge of electricity shot through him, making him shudder. Alastor seemed concerned by this, reaching out to steady Vox again. Once he was fine, Alastor’s hand moved from his shoulder to the side of face, the frame of his display, and there was a moment of flashing and stuttering on his screen. It was a terrible feeling, and Vox tried to pull away from Alastor, but he seemed intent on holding him there. Alastor turned Vox’s head, and he felt his fingers prying open the back to release the smoke building there. 

“You’re overheating… is there something to fix that?” Alastor asked.

“Oh, uh. I think so, I just need … I’ll have to order a part or two, I think. I usually only do that for upgrading, but it’s probably a good plan.”

“Right. Whatever you need, you just say it.”

“Just … yeah, just the parts. Thanks.”

“Of course, what else are friends for?”

Right. Friends. That was all they were, and all that Alastor wanted from him, could imagine wanting from him, right? That could be fine. It had to be fine. He loved him so much, but it was okay. Alastor cared about him, he knew that, that was fine. This was fine.

He could love him with his whole soul, and he would be fine to have him as his friend.

“You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine. It was supposed to be fine. Why did it feel like heartbreak?

[goodlucktai]

tagged by @bobtheacorn like...... 3 weeks ago 😭 my bad

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

283

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,353,670

which seems.......excessive

3. What fandoms do you write for?

actively, one piece and tmnt, but that is ruled by the demons in my brain that control the hyperfixation machine.

fandoms ive posted 3 or more fics for:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends Good Omens Final Fantasy XV Undertale Mumintroll | Moomins Series Harry Potter Young Justice 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 陈情令 | The Untamed King Falls AM Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rise of the Guardians Voltron: Legendary Defender

4. Top five fics by kudos?

Exclusivity - 11,116

walk straight through hell with a smile - 9,152

Inanition - 9,039

there is thunder in our hearts - 8,161

trouble is a friend of mine - 7,842

5. Do you respond to comments?

i do try to but i can't always :'( and i feel terrible if i manage to reply to most and then forget someone and only realize it months later. but i read every single comment and i appreciate them more than i have words for

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i tend to veer away from angst, but off the top of my head....

where the good men go or if i go i'm going on fire

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

99% of my fics have a happy ending because thats my BRAND but i suppose give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around or the weekend we were in love OR put your empty hands in mine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not often, but i recently had someone who REALLY disliked the way things change because i 'villainized' raph. which is definitely news to me, since raphael is the love of my life

9. Do you write smut?

nope

10. Craziest crossover?

i wrote a tmnt/one piece crossover once ? but now that we are actually getting a tmnt/naruto idw run it doesnt feel that weird to me anymore

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

only once if i'm remembering right ?? it was a long time ago and wattpad related, which is a site that i dont really understand and therefore tend to avoid

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes ! i'll often have people request to translate my stories and it blows me away every time

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

Devil took your hand was written by myself and @moogsthewriter

14. All time favourite ship?

ineffable husbands, wangxian, or leosagi

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

how much time do you have 😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

i want to say characterization and narrative voice. i'm also pretty good at maintaining a throughline, even if it sometimes gets a little wobbly

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

conflict ! i hate it ! i will avoid writing it at all costs ! i also tend to struggle with writing fight scenes, especially when there are several characters involved :') staging any kind of choreography is my opp

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i try not to but if it feels unavoidable i google the heck out of it

19. First fandom you wrote in?

honestly it was either digimon (which also inspired my og penname) or xiaolin showdown lol

20. Favourite fic you've written?

i'm stealing bob's idea and going top 5:

there is thunder in our hearts - this story came together so easily for me, like i knew exactly how i wanted to tell it from start to finish

the only hoax i believe in - a kfam fic in my top 5s why yes and i'll tell you why. because i poured so much of myself into this fic that they could probably read it at my funeral instead of a eulogy

traveling so far to get there - after party au raph and mikey continue to take up so much real estate in my brain and for what

now the darkness comes alive - this one is more recent but im so happy with the way it turned out :')

if we could stay all day in the sun - it was a lot of fun reimagining one of my favorite fairy tales and doing a bunch of unnecessary research for this story i will stand by it until the day i die !!

i'm tagging @mykimouser, @owletstarlet, @portgas-d-aroace, @mad4turtles, @camsthisky, @remedyturtles, @pickledcarrotsandradish, @swordsmans, @mangogreent, and anyone else who wants to !

[mimisempai]

Together

Summary

An overzealous tailor awakens Crowley's protective instincts, but Aziraphale reminds him that he can stand up for himself...

Notes

Old habits die hard

Day 26 : Clothes

On Ao3

Rating G -  1198 words

"If I may say so, Mr. Fell, you look stunning," the tailor said as he helped him into the waistcoat.

Aziraphale was really looking forward to getting the fitting over with. He didn't particularly like the fact that the man's hands lingered a little too long on his hips as he adjusted the waistcoat. A little too much to be completely professional. And the pervasive smell of his cologne was almost nauseating.

But the angel figured he had only himself to blame. 

Mutt had asked him to perform a little magic show for children at the magic shop, which Aziraphale had gladly accepted, and that's why he had decided to have a new costume made for the occasion. 

Crowley had argued that he could just as easily miracle it, but just as he hadn't touched his vest in all those years, the angel preferred something handmade.

If he had known... 

He tried to be polite to the tailor, who gave him languid looks as he took his measurements, but all Aziraphale wanted was to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The tailor pulled him out of his thoughts by asking, as he pinned on the jacket sleeve, "So, who's going to have the privilege of seeing you dressed so elegantly?"

He finished his sentence with a wink that Aziraphale had no trouble ignoring.

The angel replied in a falsely friendly tone, "The children who will be attending the magic show."

He added inwardly, "and perhaps Crowley, if I can persuade him."

He probably should have said it out loud and flaunted his relationship with Crowley, because the tailor saw an opening and asked in a flattering voice, "Really? Tell me, how does a good-looking guy like you manage to be single?"

His fingers lingered on Aziraphale's wrist, but the angel abruptly withdrew them as he coolly replied, "Who said I was single?"

That didn't seem to faze the tailor, who took a step forward and ran his tongue over his lips before saying softly, "Actually, it doesn't matter if you are or not, I'm ready to..."

He was interrupted by the door opening and a slightly nonchalant voice finishing his sentence, "...to take a few steps back and leave me alone with Monsieur Fell, immediately."

Though Crowley's voice was calm, the tailor immediately sensed from Crowley's demeanor that his order was not to be ignored, for he hurried out of the room, stammering that he had a phone call.

Aziraphale, from the podium, watched Crowley approach, both relieved and amused, and murmured in a slightly teasing tone, "I promise you, my dear, it didn't look like what you think it looked like."

Crowley kept moving and said in a falsely smooth tone, "That's a good thing, because if it did, handmade or not, I'm the one who's going to miracle your costume."

He continued, looking a little more serious, "Are you sure he didn't do anything out of line, Angel?"

Aziraphale smiled fondly at the demon's slightly concerned tone. Then, when he was in front of Aziraphale, the Angel replied reassuringly, "No, I swear, and I'll have you know I am no damsel in distress, I wouldn't have let him continue." 

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale grinned, amused to be able to look down on him for once. The angel wrapped his arms around the demon's neck and asked softly, "Will you catch me?"

Crowley replied tenderly, "Always."

Aziraphale slid down the podium while the demon put his hands on his hips to keep him from falling. They both started to laugh when they were interrupted by a small cough. They turned to the tailor, who stood hesitantly in the doorway.

"Excuse me for interrupting," he continued, "but I'd like the suit back if... if you don't mind.

Crowley replied coldly, "And if we mind.... "

Aziraphale patted him on the arm and said gently, "Crowley, my dear, let the poor man finish his work." He continued, addressing the tailor, "I'm going to change, I'll be right back."

He walked into the fitting room and, not wanting to linger, miracled the clothes, the magician's suit perfectly arranged on a hanger and himself dressed in his usual attire. As he checked his bow tie in the mirror before stepping out, he couldn't help but smile, secretly pleased at Crowley's possessiveness. And though he'd said he wasn't a damsel in distress, he was no less pleased by the demon's timely arrival. As he pulled back the curtain to leave, he was amused to see Crowley watching the tailor like a cat watching a trapped mouse, and the tailor looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.  He handed the suit to the tailor, who took it with a brisk gesture and said, "Your suit will be ready the day after tomorrow.

He left without another question, wink, smile, or seductive look.

Crowley asked with a falsely innocent air, "I wonder why he reacted like that? "

Aziraphale chuckled softly and replied, "Probably because he realized he never had a chance. No one can compete with you, my dear."

He looked around and when he was sure they were alone, he placed his hand on the demon's cheek and said softly with a more serious expression, "You know he never had a chance, don't you? I meant it, no one can hold a candle to you in my eyes."

Crowley, moved by such fervor, leaned his cheek into the Angel's hand and replied softly, "I have every trust in you, Angel, you know that too. But it's this kind of fool I don't trust."

Aziraphale nodded and replied quietly, "This isn't the Bastille, I have no more reports to make to Heaven or reprimands to expect, so I can use some magic if I want to.  And while I'm glad you arrived in time, I wouldn't have hesitated to use some of my... abilities to get rid of him if he had continued his blatant advances."

He stood on tiptoe and pressed his lips to the demon's in a tender kiss before continuing, "When it comes to the two of us, I'm willing to fight as hard as you are. Whether it's this kind of trivial situation or against Metatron or whatever. It's not you coming to save me anymore, it's the two of us fighting for ourselves."

Crowley replied sheepishly, "Old habits die hard. If you're in danger, my first instinct will always be to come to your rescue."

The angel slipped his hand into the demon's and said softly, "As long as you remember that I can defend myself."

"I'll try."

Crowley squeezed the hand in his and planted a light kiss on the Angel's temple before saying with a small smile on his lips, "Come on, Angel. Let's go home."

They left the tailor shop, still holding hands and chatting happily.

They didn't notice the envious eyes that followed them as they passed the shop window. The tailor told himself that if he'd seen them together from the beginning, he wouldn't have tried to make a pass at this customer.

Even though they were strangers to him, there was no denying that there was something special between them.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Rescue

Pairing: soft!dark!Tony Stark x f!reader Characters: Happy Hogan Rating: E Words: 1174 Content: 2nd person, soft+dark Tony, arranged marriage, daddy kink, blackmail, p in v sex, past sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship Summary: Whisked away to fulfil an arranged marriage contract, your sugar daddy turned fiancé comes to the rescue Ao3: HERE

Notes: So I wrote this for a request, not having copy and pasted the rest of the request - so as this doesn't fit then yay (eventually) two fics with this trope and kink lol

Anyways, I'll get back to like actual requests now 😅

Banners by cafekitsune

You stood in front of the mirror, itching to rip it all off. Couldn’t get married if you were naked. 

You felt certain that wasn’t actually something that mattered - legally speaking. Not that the legal stuff mattered much anyway with your father blackmailing you. 

You or your sister. Even though your sister was already happily married, had a whole family situation going and everything. 

So here you stood, hoping the man you were about to marry wouldn’t be terrible. The building echoed with nothing but silence and you’d seen no-one besides your father and a couple of his men. You just wished you could’ve told your daddy what was happening before you’d been whisked away. 

You’d spent the evening with him, soothing him after the stress of his day and accepting the newest jewellery he’d bought you. You’d only had it from then until you’d gone back to your apartment the next afternoon, but you missed the weight of the ring on your finger. Asking to drop the whole sugar thing and to keep you permanently.

You’d insisted on packing some things up yourself back at your apartment - not wanting to be embarrassed by one of his security men doing it for you. That had been your undoing. 

The apartment had probably been emptied by now, your phone gotten rid of from where you’d put it on the bed. All the presents you’d ever been given and even the ring. It had to be replaced with the one your arranged fiancé had chosen. 

An ugly ring, not your style. But what could you expect from a man you hadn’t met yet? A man that everyone refused to tell you anything about.

A knock on the door brought you out of your head and you glared at it. “Go away!” You just wanted to wake up and this all be a nightmare. Some weird anxiety dream.

The door clicked as it opened and you turned your fury on whoever had dared enter before your expression morphed to one of shock. “Tony…?” 

You lunged at him, dropping your bouquet and flinging your arms around his neck. “Hey babygirl, there you are.” He whispered his affection into your hair, squeezing tightly. 

He was really here. You took in a deep breath of his cologne, the frantic beat of your heart calming. “How did you find me? I lost my phone, the ring, everything.” 

“Sweetheart, you forget I have a tech company, I can find you no matter what,” Tony whispered, his beard rubbing against your cheek and drawing a giggle from you. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, daddy.” You dragged him down for a desperate kiss, his hands moving lower and pulling you closer. The days without him had felt so long and so lonely. 

“As much-” Tony started between kisses, “as I love- kissing you - We gotta get out of here.” 

“But the arranged marriage… If it’s not me, then he’s going to drag my sister into this and-” 

“Shh, shh, shh, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve got lawyers and security to keep your old man busy for the rest of his life. I promise you, nothing is going to happen to your sister. Have I ever not accomplished something before?”

You shook your head, laughing at the big grin he gave you before taking your hand in his. “Let’s get out of here, then.” The energy and joy you’d lost days ago came back full force as Tony led you from the room. He gave the hallway a cursory glance before pulling you down to another door, that room led to another door that brought you outside. 

One of Tony’s cars pulled up and you both got straight in. 

“Welcome back, miss,” Happy greeted you from the driver’s seat before touching the ear piece he wore. “Front’s clear, boss. Straight to the private jet?”

“You know it, Happy. Let’s go.” 

The car didn’t take off like you expected but then leaving the place going zero to sixty wouldn’t exactly be subtle. You were shaking with nerves and anxious energy to just get off the property and away. 

Tony dragged you into another kiss, cupping your cheeks and focusing your attention on him, which was fine by you.

But, you missed the fact there weren’t any other cars in the parking lot.  

You were far too busy making out with the man who had claimed your heart over the last year as you left the church behind. Straddling his lap, you pressed as close as the dress would allow.

Tony groaned when your hand shifted to rub the bulge in his slacks. “Fuck- missed you so much, baby,” he mumbled between kisses and groans. “Take such - good care of me.” 

“Yeah, daddy, please need you so bad,” you whined and his hands bunched your dress up so he could see as he slid your panties to the side. 

“Lookit this poor neglected pussy. She missed me too, huh?” Tony teased, freeing his cock and rubbing between your wet folds. 

“Uh huh-” you breathed, groaning as you finally sank down on him, not caring about the slight stretch, you just needed him. You started bouncing on his cock before Tony had barely recovered from being surrounded by your wet heat again but he was far from complaining at the way you rode him so desperately. 

“Good girl - shit- can’t believe I almost lost you and this tight pussy.” His hips rocked up to meet your thrusts, neither of you caring that the privacy partition was not even remotely soundproof. You both moved frantically together, pleasure flooding your bodies until you lay in the back, sated. 

Tony kissed your temple, holding you close as he leant forward and grabbed something. “I know it’s a rush but thought we might give your dad another hurdle to overcome.” He opened the leather cover, your eyes going wide. 

A marriage certificate sat snugly inside, just waiting for your signature and Tony’s. You shook your head. “It’s perfect, we can always have a celebration later, right daddy?” 

“Anything you want, baby.” He handed you a pen as you rested the board on his chest and signed, turning it to Tony and handing over the pen. Tony signed just as readily and tossed the pen aside, laying the certificate down reverently. 

“Oh and, of course.” Tony reached into his breast pocket and brought out the ring you’d been wishing for less than an hour ago. 

You tossed the one on your finger behind you and eagerly held out your hand. “You got it back? But my dad’s men-?” 

“No, no I’m sorry baby, that one’s gone but I had them remake it to the same design. Maybe this time we can add our wedding date inside, hmm?” Tony suggested as he slid the ring on your finger, back where it belonged.

You grinned brightly and hugged him, peppering his face with kisses. 

Tony basked in your attention, glad the plan between him and your father had worked out, after all.

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Tony fic? Go here

Masterlist

[ghost-proofbaby]

fic authors self rec game

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

thank you so so much for the tag @thecreelhouse <3

the shire is burning (eddie munson x oc) - ao3 linked

shire will always, always, always have a very near and dear space in my heart. it is the proudest i have ever been of any fanfic i've ever written, and one of my only works i can consistently reread and admit to myself that i wholeheartedly enjoy. it's not perfect, it's not everyone's cup of tea due to being an OC fic, but it's my baby. i sat down in a booth at denny's one night in 2022, said i wanted to write an eddie munson fanfiction, and did it. i think it's my best work for capturing canon eddie, and any time i reread any bit of it, i just get the warm fuzzies all over. there are so many wonderful memories attached to it (from writing it, to experiences it led me to), and it brought me so many friends in this fandom that i love very dearly. i just love it, and even if i have to drag myself across the finish line, i will be finishing the sequel/fix it fic for willow and eddie. their love story is one i'll probably get to carry with me forever, which is pretty fucking neat, all things considered. <3

2. the moon will sing (astarion ancunin x oc) - ao3 linked/tumblr here

the moon will sing (i loved you like a sun) is still a fic currently in progress, but i really enjoy the concept, and i'm really excited to see where i take it! just like shire was my ultimate love letter to eddie munson, this fic is my ultimate love letter to astarion <3 it's got just as many, if not more, moving parts and i like the challenge it presents to me as a writer. i've always been the type to know every single experience my characters go through (both borrowed loves and original characters), and having to write a character with a strange sort of amnesia has presented a wonderful stretch for muscles i didn't use previously. it's also been really interesting writing astarion, because as a character, he's pretty different from eddie (who is my easiest character to write due to practice). he's canonically a wild card, a whole bundle of contradictions, and i constantly find myself making notes along the way in these drafts to overexplain and remind myself of his motives. i just really love it. i just really love him <3

3. house song (eddie munson x fem!reader)

this is from my 1k celebration, and it's definitely one that didn't get much attention. and probably for good reason. it has little to no dialogue, it has little to no actual interaction between eddie and reader. at the end of the day, it's long form poetry at best, and a nuisance of an elongated metaphor at worst. but i am really proud of it still. i had an entire version of eddie set up in my head, an entire reader with her own backstory, and whenever i reread it, i think that really shines through. it was a quiet softness about the boy we all still continue to love, even two years later, and i think it even perfectly shows why i still love him as the years pass. just a love note, rather than a full love letter.

people (fictional and real) don't always make good homes, but i think eddie munson might just be the exception. and that's why i stick around.

4. sweet like honey (steve harrington x fem!reader)

now for one from my 3k celebration! and i don't think this list would be complete without some sort of smut. i once had this fic quoted back to me from a friend (who i fucking adore with all my heart), and i didn't even recognize it as my own. it's no love letter to steve harrington (that one is in the works, trust me), but it's fun, and it hits all the right spots for me. i like steve harrington putting up a cocky bastard exterior only to be cracked wide open to find all that softness inside. this fic doesn't quite crack him open, but it definitely showcases that image of 'king steve' that i think we all enjoy fantasizing about a lot <3

this last one is hard. very, very hard. i have three fics that still come to mind that i'd love to put on this list, because in a strange turn of events, being in this fandom has taught me to love my writing far more than any fandom before. it's taught me my words are worth something. not in a money way, but in a 'i have something to say, a story to tell, that is worth yelling to the void - regardless of how many people will listen' way. and i've just been lucky so many of you have been willing to listen.

i'm giving honorable mentions right now to twenty four hours (because how could i not? for all the hell it gave me writing wise, i still like it, ya know?) and kissing lessons. the latter didn't make the list solely because i'm so new to writing robin, and it was a really tough subject matter for me despite being such a sweet fic. it's hard sometimes to love what you make out of a bad thing, even if the end product is something far more beautiful and healing than the reality of it all.

anyways, enough yapping.

5. who could stay? (you could stay.) - eddie munson x reader

this was one of the scariest fics to ever post. it was a request, and it was something i knew all too well, and it was putting a lot of myself into a reader. most of my fics that are this personal/include so much of myself never leave the google drive (and i have a few). half the time as i wrote it, it felt like just another diary entry. the other half, it felt like i was making some momentous mistake and shouldn't project so much of myself onto someone's request. but you know what happened? instead, all of you who have read it and showed it any love cradled it carefully in your hands and said "i see you" or "i am you", and reminded me it's alright. sometimes experiences are unique, sometimes experiences are factory-born. either way, posting this fic taught me i'm not always alone. and sometimes that isn't a great feeling (we all want to feel special, right?), but sometimes... it's a nice feeling. a giant group hug over the internet. i've definitely written similar fics in the same vein as this one since, and i don't know if i'll ever post them, but it proved to me that if i do choose to post them - it's safe. or at least, as safe as the internet can get. basically it was one giant lovely reminder of the space i've managed to create here on my blog and the type of people i've managed to attract to this corner of the internet, and i'm grateful for it. <3

alright. this was one of the hardest things i've ever done (i've obviously led a very privileged life). i'm gonna shut up now and reread some old writing because i feel like i just chose my favorite kids and now i need to reassure all my silly fics that i also adore that i totally still love them just in a different way.

no pressure tags: @andvys @hellfire--cult @hellfirenacht @lokis-army-77 @rosewaterandivy @take-everything-you-can and anyone else who wants to partake, because we all need to show our fics a lil love. you're your first reader, first and foremost <3

[possibilistfanfiction]

legitimately fuckin obsessed with the avatrice football au my dude. that last snippet brought me pure JOY im tellin you what

[well here's some ava pov while i procrastinate ch3 plot lol, s/o to @unicyclehippo for the worst/best gay pun of all time, love u. honestly this is long enough to put on ao3 so ... i'll do that in a footy au series i suppose for context... justice for chanel lol]

///

waking up from your first surgery is a blur, mostly an inexplicable terror when you can’t feel your legs, when you can barely move your fingers. tears leak from your eyes and you can’t wipe them, can only let them roll down into your temples. but then there’s a hand in yours, and chanel’s comforting touch, her voice soft.

‘it’ll be okay, ava,’ she says.

it won’t be okay, you’re certain of it, because you’d been taken straight from the field to the hospital, and then right into surgery, your kit cut off so that they didn’t move your spine more than you already had. you love football; you love football, the feeling of being so at home in your body, the feeling of going fast and the delight of the burn in your muscles, of not being afraid of anything.

‘i’m really scared.’ you look at chanel, showered and gorgeous, in a team issued bomber that seems impossibly elegant, even now. 

‘yeah,’ she grants, swipes her thumb against your cheeks and into your hair, catching your tears. she grabs a tissue and wipes your nose, which, from anyone else, would be absolutely horrifying, but she does it with so little fanfare and you’re in pain and also not pain — the worse option — you can’t even really care. she’s your favorite teammate: kind and brave and funny. she’s your friend. ’you’re gonna get through this, though.’

‘i don’t — i don’t want to.’

you don’t even quite know what you mean, still out of it because of pain meds and anesthesia, but chanel sighs gently.

‘you will. one day, you will.’

/

you don’t, not for a long time. after your fifth surgery you kind of tell yourself that you’ve definitely given up on football; they move you to a long-term rehab facility specifically for spine injuries, which is better than the hospital for sure, but it’s still hours and hours of physical and occupational therapy that leaves you feeling discouraged more often that not. once the inflammation starts to go down in your spine, you start to, at least, regain some function in your arms and hands, and after your sixth surgery, things are, you’ll admit, more hopeful. at the very least, you’ll be able to do things like use a manual chair and cook and type emails. 

you’re not great at texting yet; your occupational therapist is always telling you that if you worked on writing, and holding cutlery, and even more boring, pointless shit like pick up sticks, you’d have an easier time, but, whatever, you can type with the pointer finger of your right hand and it gets the job done. chanel visits as often as she can, most days in the late morning, which feels particularly generous in the off season when she could be being glamorous somewhere else, probably invited to paris fashion week or something. she brings makeup — expensive, beautiful makeup — and doesn’t seem to care when you clumsily fuck up lipstick or poke your eye with a mascara wand. you know she brings it so you actually do your occupational therapy exercises, but she also brings you changes of comfortable clothes and washes your hair gently every few days. she lies back in bed with you, long limbed and beautiful, and watches matches when you don’t feel too sad. 

a few days after your eighth surgery, your last, according to your neurosurgeon, you wear a giant back brace over your beatrice xin jersey, your favorite player to watch, and your physical therapy team gets you strapped into this harness that connects to the ceiling so you can try to walk on the treadmill and for sure won’t fall. it kind of feels like you’re doing a stunt or something, and chanel stands there and indulges you with a smile while you make all of your best ‘strapped into a harness’ jokes.

and then — you do walk. it’s slow going, the treadmill barely moving, and your legs feel sluggish and so weak and almost not like your own. it’s been two months since you took a step and it feels like a fucking miracle. chanel wipes a tear or two from her own eyes, even though you can only walk for five minutes and are sweating kind of profusely — it’s a fucking miracle, and she understands it too. 

/

‘what are you frowning at?’

she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, easily pedaling with insane resistance on the peleton next to you while you struggle to get your legs to listen to your brain and pedal at all. ‘idiot bros on twitter. “trans women don’t belong in women’s sports” and all that bullshit.’

you stop trying to pedal because you’re already entirely unsuccessful today and now you’re not able to focus at all. ‘fuck them.’

she grins. ‘yeah.’

‘i’ll beat them up, just you watch.’

it makes her laugh, and you think she knows you really would physically get into a fight — on or off the field — if anyone ever said anything to her. 

‘plus, i can take you 1v1.’

‘in your dreams, silva.’

‘i’m going to, again. don’t even think i won’t.’

chanel pats your hand; you feel it all. ‘i’ve always known you could do it. i’ve never thought you wouldn’t, ava.’

you duck your head, unused to genuine praise after all this time stuck in the same boring, discouraging, painful rooms at the spine center, even though all of your doctors and nurses and therapists had been nice.

‘but,’ she says, ‘first you gotta pedal on this bike.’

‘it’s hard,’ you whine.

‘you’re just distracted.’

you look at the game you’d turned on, beatrice xin currently with two goals and two assists, and sigh. ‘i’m horny.’

it gets the biggest, best laugh out of chanel, and you feel a little something like pride bloom in your chest: you love making people you care about laugh. 

‘fine, fine,’ you grumble. you look down at your feet, your quads and calves so small and pale compared to six months ago; you try to breathe through the immediate fear and the tiny bit of shame that pops up. but you focus, feel your feet firmly on the pedals, think about how you know how to ride a bike; you know how to stand up straight and put on pants and kick a ball. the back brace you have on feels tight, feels restricting — but you focus on activating your quads, then your hamstrings, and you eventually get the pedals to move.

‘hell yeah,’ chanel says.

‘if you try to give me a high five right now i think i’ll get all scrambled if i try to move my hand.’

she laughs, reaches over and pats the top of your head instead. 

/

‘ava silva,’ chanel says, and you grin; you can’t help it. she holds her phone at a, thankfully, flattering angle as you walk along the beach — slowly, but steady: you trust you won’t fall, that you’re strong enough and getting stronger. ‘what does freedom feel like?’

chanel has like… three million followers, and she loves social media, something that your old club has always been thrilled about. they hadn’t renewed your contract, but you’d understood; they’re still paying for all of your medical care, so you don’t really feel upset, just a sense of loss you’re not quite ready to name. but chanel loves you, and she’s so, so happy for you — even if you never play again, you’re walking and even starting to run now; you’re in pain but it’s manageable. it’s okay.

‘it feels —‘ euphoric; devastating — ‘like a miracle.’

/

you flop down on chanel’s neatly made and extravagent bed; you’ve been staying in her guest room — which she had turned into her closet, so it’s still kind of packed with all of her beautiful clothes, although there is a very expensive bed for you — and training until, hopefully, you can get signed somewhere. she doesn’t even look up from her ipad when you sigh. ‘hello, ava.’

‘i have a favor to ask that i actually think you’ll be interested in.’

she pauses whatever she’s doing, then looks up. ‘i’m listening.’

‘well! okay, so. as you know, i’ve basically only worn hospital gowns and sweats for the last year and a half, and before that, i was, like, a child.’

chanel perks up, and you can practically see the wheels in her head turning already.

‘and now, wherever i get signed, you know, people are gonna care, and want interviews and all this stuff. so, in small part, i want to feel good about how i look for this next chapter of football.’

‘i love it,’ she says. ‘and what’s the large part?’

you flop back again, just for the dramatics. ‘i am… so horny. like, you don’t even understand.’

she laughs. ‘JC is nice though, right?’

‘yeah,’ you say, because he is. ‘but, like, girls.’

she pauses for a second, a happy smile on her face. ‘so, you want to look… more… bisexual?’

‘i mean, i do already? because i am? right?’

‘well, of course, ava.’ it’s gentle and reassuring but still a little amused.

‘but — yeah. like, i want to pick stuff i love, my clothes and my hair and whatever, gain back control, blah blah, everything my therapist is always going on about.’

‘your therapist is great, you love her.’

‘sure.’ she is; you do. ‘so anyway, i just — i guess i just want to feel like myself.’

‘now that,’ chanel says, ‘is a favor i love.’

/

‘you’re sure?’

‘it doesn’t matter if i’m sure,’ chanel says, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair next to yours. you have the salon to yourselves; she’d booked you a private appointment with her hairstylist immediately.

you turn to said stylist, dimitri, with their chic and very neat fade. ‘are you sure?’

‘like chanel said,’ they say. ‘it only matters what you want. we don’t have to do anything big.’

you look in the mirror; you hadn’t had the real opportunity to get a haircut in a long time, being in the hospital and rehab and then spending as much time as you could training after that. you haven’t, really, taken the time to deeply care for yourself, something your therapist has been bothering you about. you want, so badly, to live as big as you can. as much as you can. 

‘well, i’m sure, as long as you think it’ll, like, be good for my face shape or whatever.’

chanel and dimitri share a quick glance and then chanel rolls her eyes. ‘ava, you have to know that you’re beautiful, right?’

you pause for what you feel is an appropriate amount of time. ‘yes.’

‘but since you asked,’ dimitri says, ‘i do think this will be great for your face shape.’

‘alright,’ you say, feeling suddenly very excited and a little buoyed. ‘let’s fucking do it, then.’

chanel cheers and dimitri grins; they wash your hair gently, and you feel a little panicked until chanel starts talking about the threesome she had a few nights ago, which is delightful and grounding enough you stay, fairly easily, in the present of this beautiful, outrageously expensive salon, the control you get to have. not that you’re thrilled about your therapist being completely 100% correct, but… she was right. 

dimitri dries your hair and then combs it out patiently, divides it and then clips up the top part. ‘ready?’

‘definitely.’

chanel grins and it’s easy, so much easier than you knew it would be, to sit and watch yourself become. you’re filled with a sense of joy, this tiny seed that grows as dimitri cuts your hair to your chin precisely, and asks you about your plans for the day, and food you love, and chanel talks about her latest modeling contract — in addition to football, which amazes you in a way that makes you feel proud in the very center of your chest, this incredible person who showed up and helped take care of you. you feel your shoulders relax; you feel your feet firmly in the new sneakers converse had sent you, comfortable and cool; you even take time to feel your butt in the chair with the knowledge that you don’t need to do any pressure reliefs or weight shifts because, when dimitri is done, you’ll be able to stand up and walk and dance and run and even play football. and even if — even if — one day, you couldn’t, you have your friends and your teammates and your life.

‘you look hot, ava,’ chanel says, very genuinely, after dimitri finishes with a leave in, then shows you how to dry your hair and recommends a light oil. 

‘go ahead,’ they say, ‘run your hands through it, all that jazz.’

to touch; to feel. you think you might cry, all of a sudden, with your soft hair that you picked, that you wanted, and chanel takes in your wobbling bottom lip and then tuts and pulls you toward her. because of your height difference, your face is basically smooshed into her chest and, even though you do cry, you laugh too, wet and messy and alive.

‘this probably my favorite place in the world,’ you say.

chanel shoves you playfully and you grin up at her. 

‘thank you.’

she waves you off, as she always does when she’s a little overwhelmed too. ‘don’t thank me yet. now we have to go shopping.’

/

it’s not as bad as you’d feared; despite the fact that chanel only wears the most elegant designer clothes — her closet is full of gucci and bottega and, of course, chanel, and a whole shelf of louboutins — but she also loves you and knows you, deeply, and so when her driver pulls up to a row of a few very cool-looking thrift stores, you have to hug her again. she gives you helpful feedback on pieces and outfits and you feel, quite genuinely, happier than maybe you ever have. you buy crop tops and high waisted, loose jeans and a few sweaters you love; some silly earrings and a necklace and a cap that chanel laughs at, but fondly enough you know it works. you find a men’s button up with a bunch of flames on it and she rolls her eyes but you put it on anyway, knot it at your waist so it feels just above your shorts.

‘do i look bi?’

‘you look a little bit crazy, but i definitely wouldn’t think you’re straight.’

you’re practically shaking with excitement: ‘it’s… flaming. i’m flaming! get it!’

chanel groans. ‘ava,’ she says, but wraps an arm around your shoulders and throws it on the growing pile anyway.

/

you feel happier than maybe you ever have until the next morning, when you come back from a silly game of football on the beach with her and JC and a few of your other friends, your hair spilling out of the tiny bun you’d managed to get it into, which had made you laugh, and sit down to have some burrata — another one of your favorites that chanel indulges in getting for you from time to time, even did while you were in the hospital and she had to put it on little crackers and feed it to you herself — and then accept a call from your agent. you step inside to take it, close the door softly. 

after it’s done, you yank the door open this time, burst onto the patio. all of your nerves are alive; in your shorts, your legs look strong again, tan and muscular and capable.

‘good news?’

you’re almost too excited to explain that you’re getting signed by your favorite club, $6 million for the year, with, if all goes well, an option to extend your contract another season after. a bonus: they just hired dr. jillian salvius, one of the best sports specialists in the world. all of your care will be, of course, included.

chanel starts to cry, which makes you start to cry, and she hugs you to her tightly. 

‘i am so happy for you,’ she says. ‘and i’m really gonna miss you.’

‘i’m gonna miss you too,’ you tell her. 

she backs up and puts her hands on your shoulders, a smile sneaking up her face. ‘you know, i happen to remember your favorite player in the whole entire world playing at a certain club.’

you hadn’t really thought past football and then six million dollars, but — ‘fuck.’

chanel laughs, face beautiful and delicate and rich in the sun. ‘i can’t wait to show her pictures of you in her jersey.’

‘oh god, are there any on my instagram? i have to go check.’

she just keeps laughing, and it’s all brimming, so wonderful, right at your fingertips.

/

you sign a few days later, your hands steady.

/

‘well,’ chanel asks, lounging back in bed on zoom, ‘how was day one?’

‘oh my god.’ your hair is still wet from the shower you took at the training grounds; you had raced back to your new apartment to make sure you were on time for your call. ‘i got there early, to play a little bit, get the nerves out, you know. and guess who was there and wanted to play 1v1?’

she grins. ‘no fucking way.’

‘i got schooled, obviously,’ you say, think of the way beatrice xin had moved with the ball, how surely she went into tackles, how precise she was. ‘i did score twice, though, and nutmegged her once. greatest football moment of my life, i’m pretty sure.’

‘what’s she like?’

you think chanel is probably humoring you, but you don’t care. ‘beatrice is… beautiful.’ it’s really the only word you have: her neat bun that stayed in place perfectly other than a few errant strands by the end of the session today; her clipped, lovely accent; the way her calves had looked while she was sprinting; the delicate lines of her face; her freckles and her eyes; how she had been serious and professional but kind; her strong back, muscles rippling under her skin in a way that made you shiver, in the locker room when she had untucked her quarterzip and pulled it over her head; how she seemed lonely, despite it all. ‘she’s really beautiful.’

/

it’s a while later when the sheer mortification dawns on you, but then beatrice, in her weird, hot, hilarious way, seems to dissipate the extreme embarrassment you’re going to be faced with by being embarrassing first.

‘hello, chanel.’ she reaches out her hand very seriously, in her favorite linen jumpsuit and a very expensive pair of off-white dunks and black, cat eye sunglasses that are honestly cooler than you expected, in front of her favorite nice brunch place. chanel shoots you a glance and then shakes bea’s hand firmly while you both try not to laugh. 

‘hey, it’s great to meet you.’

‘you, as well,’ bea says. ‘i — before we sit, i just wanted to extend my admiration, for the work you have done both on and off the field for trans equity in our sport.’

it’s so serious, and so genuine, chanel seems a little disarmed and a little affected. ‘thank you.’

bea nods once, seriously. ‘and, maybe more importantly, even, my deep gratitude, for caring for ava. she’s spoken so highly of you, and it means — i love her,’ bea decides on, after a pause. ‘i’m glad, immeasurably so, that she has people who love her too.’

chanel suspiciously sniffles. ‘can i give you a hug? is that weird?’

bea smiles, a real smile, your favorite, and opens her arms. you resist the urge, passionately, to make a joke about how the two hottest (sorry, lilith) women you know together is really gonna do it for you during your alone time later, which is honestly a fucking feat.

‘well,’ chanel says, ‘i made a presentation of every embarrassing thing ava has done that you should know about.’

‘oh no.’

bea loops her arm with chanel when she gallantly offers, and bea says, ‘oh yes.’ you trail behind them, feeling short and small and bursting with happiness. chanel orders basically the entire menu for you to try and she and bea laugh at your expense when chanel opens her phone and does, indeed, have an entire canva presentation of you being embarrassing, but you don’t really mind at all. the sun warms your shoulders and you drink champagne that costs way too much money, the bubbles bright on your tongue. chanel laughs and bea puts her hand on your thigh, just like that: you feel it all.

[simpingland]

A wound willing to heal//Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem!reader.

After kneeling for Queen Rhaenyra, Aemond and Saera struggle to win the confidence of the family. An incident during training makes Luke change his way of seeing his uncle. Part 3 of "Today was a win" and the part 1 doesn't show in tumble but check out my AO3.

Or: Aemond tries to cheer oc up and she spends the day being a simp for him. Jace is a little bitch in here, as the big brother he actually is.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

The mornings came with a raven, the Greens have wrote about Aemond's treason, saying it must be Saera's tricks. They were begging for him to come back. The letter was read put loud during breakfast, making everyone in the room know and Aemond let him, another prove of his loyalty to Rhaenyra. They all listened and Saera sat beside him. A hand touching his hand, he looked at her and she her worried face. He hold her hand tightly, letting her know it was fine. When the reading was finished, he asked to see the letter himself. Everyone tried to keep minding their own business, but neither Jace or Daemon could stop staring. Thank the gods, Rhaenyra asked for their attention.

Saera saw Aemond reading, it was quick, he started to rip it apart. This caught her by surprise, it was writen by his mother, that was a very violent gesture. And so she asked.

"That wasn't my mother's words..." he responded.

"How could you tell?"

"It wasn't even her handwriting...and she always writes her own letters".

He was hurt by that, her mother must have giving him up. Maybe Otto haven't, and he, as always, used her daughter's sweetness to manipulate everyone on her name. She felt sorry for him, should she show it? No, he didn't liked to be pitied. But making it seem like it was nothing felt even worse, because many people didn't care for him, not even Alicent apparently. And the last thing Saera wished is to provoke such a pain to him. But he stood up before she could finish her debate. He walked out of the room, and she knew where he was going. To train. That's what calmed him, and in times of war, no training was enough.

Saera spend the morning close to her mother, writing what felt like hundreds of short letters. Baela and Rhaena with her too. The boys were dealing with the weapon issues. When one of the septas irrupted the queen, she begged for her to pay attention to little Viserys, as he was throwing a tantrum and called for her mother.

"I'll take care of him, mother" she said.

"No, dear, I will go. You can come with me."

They both walked to the babies room. As Rhaenyra calmed down Viserys, Saera could only stare. She felt awkward around her, after all this time, she came back and started a fight because of Aemond. They didn't know what to say to each other, it was tense, something was off.

"I would love to be a mother someday" said Saera, trying to start a conversation.

"You will, Saera. I'm sure."

"Yes, but...do you think I could choose the father?"

Her mother said nothing, eyeing her while calming her baby. Of course, she knew where she was turning.

"Aemond have probably saved my life, mother"

"It's too soon." She cut her. "It's too soon to tell. He might be spying. He might have this hole thing calculated with Otto."

"Please, trust him. He has kneeled before you, mother. He deserves the same trust anyone else has."

"It is not the same, child."

"It is...and im not a child anymore." She was angry now. They both were. "You trust Daemon, who always longed for a high position on the Throne. Don't deny it. You married the Rogue Prince even after your own father exiled him multiple times..."

"It is not the same." She punctuated.

"Is it not? I need to remind you then...remind you about the years you left me at the Red Keep. You have no idea, absolutely not idea, about the insults, the gossips and the ignorance I had suffer because of your fame. For being your own daughter. And Aemond was there, all that time. And he was sweet to me. Everyday. If he wished to be Hand, his own brother could have named him back un the capital. But he chose me, because that's what you do for the people you love. You help them."

She went quiet, Rhaenyra as well. Her daughter was now crying and she had way to many words on her throat and a baby on her arms that needed to calm. So the only thing she said was "Go". And she watched as Saera stormed out of the room.

Back in the training session, Aemond swished his sword with such a smoothness that Jace and Luke could do nothing but stare. He was furious about something, one could see it by the poor mannequins he cut down. The both saw as their sister walked towards Aemond. Her eyes seemed red, she was upset. She waited for Aemond to pause before calling his name softly. When he turned, he didn't expected to see her sad beautiful face, he immediately dropped the sword.

"What has happen, Sae?" He took her face on his hands. And she told a summary of the conversation with Rhaenyra. A few tears kept on dropping over her cheeks. Aemond clean them away. "Do not worry, she will trust me, one of this days, when the fire starts she will see me choose your side." She nodded, and tried to think of a way to entertain her.

"Does my lady know how to protect herself in case I get a cold before the battle?" He asked, taking the sword again.

"Im afraid I would use it to cut my skirt so I could run away faster."

"Smart move, honestly. Come here and let me teach you some moves." He hold up his hand for Saera to take it. Then he pushed her, putting her back against his torso. He could speak directly into her ear as they watched the poor wooden mannequin. He put the sword on her hands, he then remembered the recent cuts of her palms, so he hold the sword as well, his hands over her hands, sharing the movements.

"It's that poor thing our enemy?" She asked, pointing at the unrecognisable wooden doll.

"Poor thing? He's a dick head, i greeted him this morning and he never greeted back. I hate bad-mannered mother fuckers."

This made Saera crack up, and the sound of her laughter made him feel proud and relieved. They continued to cut him, Aemond guiding her with exaggerated but slow movements, so she couldn't hurt her wounds. He used this opportunity to kiss her neck and cheeks a few times, tickling her as well. She continued to laugh before pushing away the sword and turning to him. She pushed him away, a fake frown on her forehead.

"You are starting to be annoying, Aemond." She said, referring to his insistence of tickling her even after she begged (with giggles) to stop.

"It's my payment. After all this years of you following me around only to talk about books. You didn't know how to shut up, my lady."

"I know...but you were always there to listen."

"There was no prove about me listening."

"Yes they were...you didn't walk away from me...not once."

He got her closer to him. Holding her waist. "Alright, maybe I did enjoy your lectures..."

The looked at eachother for a beat before kissing. A slow and tender kiss. It was short but sweet, a healing for Saera, and she put her head in Aemonds chest as he hugged her. When he stared at the distance, he finally saw them, the brothers.

"I know I'm handsome, nephews. But it's getting annoying at this point. Come and train with me."

Jace and Luke looked at eachother, Saera looked at them as well. She putted herself away when they walked towards them.

"We were waiting for you to leave the training station." Said Jace, his head held high.

"Scare I would strike a traitorous coup?" Asked Aemond, with the same dignity Jace showed.

"You couldn't possibly think that we would trust you after a single day, could you?"

"I have done whatever I've been asked too, it's in your conscience to trust me or not."

"Well then, I choose not to. Would you go away now?"

Saera pushed Aemond's arm, trying to drag him towards her, as she was noticing the change of his expression, the tension building up in his body, as the anger started to grow. Luke, who watched her sister's struggle, did something similar with Jace.

"We can come back later, come on Jace" he said. "Mother would probably needs us for something."

When Aemond finally stared back at Saera, a single glance made him remember his new role.

"No, I will let you both train. I had a good session already this morning." He said, leaving his sword on the table.

And the both walked away from them. A bit of anger still covered Aemond's posture as he left, the brothers surprised by his sudden act. She reached for his hand, caressing it as a try to calm him down. And it worked. They got inside the castle again, he had offered her to write the rest of the boring letters, giving her hands a break. She repeated out loud what her mother told her to say, a list of lords on her hand. She loved to see him write and wrap the letters, his expression so serious, so calm.

"I really wish my mother could make you a high lord of something one day." She said out of the blue.

"Why do you wish for that, my lady?" He said, eye still on he paper.

"You look so...prepared. Such a great sense of duty...concentrated, intelectual...handsome." this made him smirk and she landed a kiss on his cheek.

When she turned to the large balcony, she spotted her brothers. They were training, poor Luke, he wasn't very good at it. He was just a kid, much more sentimental than Jace. He was quick but not strong. They started to fight, it seemed. The screams became louder, even Aemond stopped it to listen. Now Jace was pushing him. Saera started to worry.

"Aemond...Aemond, look!" She called. "Jace is going out of his mind!"

No teacher was there that day, the guards were much more distributed and Daemon had left for the day to do other business. So the boys were training with no vigilance. And Jacaerys was starting to take his anger upon his little brother. Aemond was faster than Saera, and he pushed Jace aside.

"Are you trying to kill him?" Asked Saera, angry, picking Luke up from the ground.

"We are training, mind your own business!"

"She won't, you are acting like a fucking child, nephew." Said Aemond.

"Fuck you, uncle. I'm just trying to show him the truth. This is war. Show your enemies no quarter." He said, justifying himself.

"Luke is not your fucking enemy, Jace. He's your brother!" Said Saera.

"He has to learn! Not all of us can fuck our way to protection" he spitted, looking at Aemond instead.

They all went quiet, Aemond gave his back to Jace before turning again a throwing him a punch on the face. He hold him by the collars of his shirt.

"Don't you dare speak to your sister that way. It's not your siblings fault you are scared as shit of this war. We are all scared, you dick head. So you better keep youself together or I will end your suffering before the battle starts."

And he pushed him down. He looked at Lucerys, who was holding her sister's hand, watching with her the horror of the scene.

"Sorry, Saera...maybe this was a step back..." he apologised before looking at Luke. "Are you okey, boy?"

Lucerys nodded and the siblings left Aemond to walk alone for some moments, they had to do something with Jace, who was standing now.

The meal was the moment when they all reunited. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Baela and Rhaena, Luke, Jace and Saera. Aemond came late, with ink in his fingers, he bowed to Rhaenyra before sitting down besides Saera.

"I have been told about the fight, Jacaerys." Informed the queen.

He looked ashamed, Aemond was right about him and so he apologised. "I am sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to scare you like that. And... Saera...dear sister. I beg your pardon for my words. Its not a real thought, it was just my anger throwing insults." He looked at Aemond, not saying anything, not even mentioning the purple circle that was forming down his eye. Baela gave him a soft smile when both sibling accepted the apology. Luke, in the other hand, felt the need to talk, so he rised from his seat. He stood awkwardly, as the entire family stared at him.

"I would like to thank Aemond and Saera. For the aid...specially Aemond. He was the one trying to calm Jace, mother." He pointed out. "And...I want to apologise too...for...for the eye."

They all looked at Aemond, who seemed surprised but kind of amused.

"I was just a kid, trying to stop a fight as well. But I couldn't punch, I was nervous...I was never too good of a fighter. And I have hurted you for life. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, my prince. We were both kids, and I did you all a wrong. I started the fight and went to far. You just did what anyone else would have done. But...thank you, for the apology. Can't say it hasn't been a struggle." He said.

"I opened a wound to hard to close, Aemond. And im glad you are trying to heal it. It's hard but it's honorable. I'm happy you wish to form part of this family."

Aemond stood, he reached Luke and offered a hand.

"The past is behind. No hard feelings."

"No hard feelings." said Luke as they shaked hands.

Saera smiled wide, and hold Aemonds hand behind the table. The meal continued with talks of plans and some updates, but Rhaenyra could barely focus on it. She kept staring at the couple. Two silver haired Targaryens, one outgoing while the other reserved. One sweet and the other bitter. One full of dignity and the other holding the knife. Now she saw what her father saw one day, and she took a decision at that very moment.

When the meal was over, Saera reached Luke before he dissappear into his chamber.

"You are the best brother a sister can wish for." And she gave him a kiss on the cheek he quickly clean off.

"I just didn't want to hear you cutting your hands again. You are given to hurt yourself easily." He joked with a satisfied smile.

She was called by her mother to the throne room. Just her. And there she stood. In front of that giant throne. Her mother looked solemn.

"I have decided. And I wish with all my heart that I'm not making a mistake. I will let you choose a husband." She announced. He daughter smiled and run to her, hugging and kissing the Queen. Rhaenyra could only laugh and smile at the childish reaction of her only girl and watched as she ran out the room. Saera found him in the library of Dragonstone. And flashbacks came into her mind. He was lost in a book, as always.

"What is that one about?" She asked. He looked at her and smiled.

"Battle strategies, my lady."

"Oh...I haven't read that one." She got closer.

"Don't bother, it's quite boring. Plain instructions, that's all." He pushed to book away, letting the girl sit on the table while he was on the chair.

"I like stories of romance."

"I know that, Saera. I think you have made me listen to your opinion in every single one in existence."

"But now I want to write one myself."

He was confused, but she kissed him, making him forget everything on his mind. He moved her hands towards her hips and put her on her lap. He rested a hand over her belly.

"My mother aproves." She said. Aemond decided to joke and smirked.

"That's great, congratulations then."

"Ask me, Aemond." She whispered into his mouth, giving him another kiss, much sensual, slower. "Ask me and I'll be yours."

He kissed her chin slowly.

"Marry me, Saera."

And she kissed him again, they both melted into each other, back in the library of Dragonstone.

[dustrose]

In Regards to the Final Bracket

Hey, all.

I'm what many would describe as a "lurker." I'm quite shy when it comes to things like this, that is, posting my opinion on the internet. It's not something I ever planned to do, nor something I'm confident in, but it is something I've been meaning to do for a few days now.

So why am I writing this? It's simple, really, I voted for SuleMio in the poll.

First of all, I want to get some disclaimers and the like out of the way, along with a TL:DR.

Destiel is absolutely sacred history, and it always will be. I do not mean to downplay its significance. It is important to not only lgbtq+ but also fandoms as a whole. Without Destiel, I doubt the internet would have developed in the same way, for better or worse. (I mean, we wouldn't have Tumblr, would we?)

With that being said, it is also important to mention that Destiel isn't the only history. History is ever-changing, there's always more being added, and in this case, that is SuleMio. While Destiel changed the course of the internet when it was popular, SuleMio is changing it now.

Okay, now for a quick TL:DR

Destiel is important for history, but SuleMio is important for the future. Neither is better than the other; they're amazing in their own ways. We really shouldn't be fighting over something we can easily agree on. They are both ships that revolutionized in their times, and they are both ships that deserve to be respected, as do the people supporting them.

-----

Now to start the rambling!

So, I created a Tumblr to vote in this bracket. When I first stumbled upon it and voted, I actually had no idea what Destiel was (later looked it up, and I've seen Supernatural, so y'know, "oh, neat.") More than that, I was only introduced to Gundam as a franchise in late March, being through a friend who recommended G_Witch to me (which I am ever-grateful for).

In a way, I'm absolutely an outsider. I haven't been with either ship for very long and haven't experienced the same things others have experienced. I haven't even finished Supernatural, nor was I there when Bandai said SuleMio was "up for interpretation."

And yet, I'm here, putting my thoughts on paper because I think this is important.

That is, respecting what came before and respecting what will come after.

Destiel and SuleMio are two sides of the same coin. We can sit here and whine about the little things...

But Destiel isn't canon!

But Sulemio didn't kiss!

Don't care, that's not the point here. The point is that both of these ships, these relationships, have affected many communities and have touched many hearts. There's no right or wrong, no "mine's better" or "yours is stupid," they're just ships, but more than that, they are history.

Let's start with one of the biggest things. Destiel is Tumblr, isn't it? I was too young when all of that happened to be on Tumblr, so frankly, I didn't know until recently that it was history, but even so, I can appreciate it. I never went on Tumblr, but I did like a lot of stuff on it (you guys are really funny.) What I mean is, I have no history with Tumblr, yet I can still appreciate what has happened.

Not to say that you have to, of course. I get being tired of Destiel, feeling like its beating a dead horse. But let's stop and imagine for a moment, heck, maybe even two moments, that in twenty years when SuleMio is old news, and there's a new, big queer ship on the table, there will be some people clinging onto what came before. In this case, I'm certain I'll still have a soft spot for SuleMio; I'll probably hang onto it until I die (24 fanfictions on AO3 doesn't go away that easily, y'know), but I'm also certain that the new ship would probably win.

It's as I mentioned earlier. History is ever-changing, ever being built upon. There's always something new, something someone begins with, and there's also something old and something someone has always been with, if that makes any sense?

Destiel is that something old; it's what came before, but just because it's not the present anymore doesn't mean its accomplishments should be overlooked. Furthermore, SuleMio isn't even a year old yet. It's fresh off the press, fresh in our minds, and it's definitely one of the most important pieces of media to be released in the 2020s. It's new, but like Destiel, its accomplishments shouldn't be overlooked because of how old it is.

In the end, this poll was just something silly to get our little gremlin minds going. I mean, we all knew it would end like this, didn't we? In discourse--when it comes to ships, it's always discourse.

Y'know, I was there for bmblb vs blacksun, and yikes.

Anyway, as I was saying, this isn't something we should be fighting about. Especially not calling people names, as I've seen a few people do. No matter what the case, insulting others for disagreeing with you will never do anything but make you look immature.

Ah, side tangent, my bad.

This is getting long, oopsies, but I thought it was important to get some of this on paper... er, computer? Because I hate to see a community in disarray when we should be celebrating both of these ships for what they've done and what they could do.

I think that's everything, yeah. Stay safe, drink water, consume lots of queer media, and have some fun. :3

-Rose

[writinghotchner]

Twas The Night Before Christmas...

fandom: criminal minds pairing: emily prentiss/aaron hotchner rating: E words: 2,106 tags/warnings: no warnings, mentions of christmas and baking, dad girl!aaron, cute family fluff, slightly distressed emily

Click below to read, or read on Ao3!

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for Aaron and Emily's 1 year old daughter who was wrecking havoc with the kitchen cabinets. Her new favorite thing was to stand in the kitchen and slam the cabinets repeatedly squealing the loudest, happiest squeal imaginable.

As soon as Charlotte was able to stand on her own, all she wanted to do was slam anything that had doors. The cabinets in the kitchen once had baby-proof locks on them all but Charlotte quickly let her parents know just how much she hated those dang contraptions, so Aaron removed one from them just so she could slam it closed in happy bliss. They'd easily admit to enjoying hearing her laughing screams over her angry ones any day.

Emily stood in the kitchen trying her hardest not to have a complete mental breakdown as she desperately tried to finish baking cookies for Dave's big Christmas party. Dave took on cooking the actual food and Emily had volunteered to bake some goodies since baking was more her forte than actual cooking.

Between the loud commotion of her daughter's gleeful screams, the very loud repeated slamming of her kitchen cabinets and forgetting where she put her grandmother's famous cookie recipe and having to do it completely by memory, she was on the tail end of an overstimulated meltdown.

Just as she was about to grab her phone and call Aaron to see what was taking so long at the store she had sent him to (she already knew- it was Christmas Eve, the stores were probably packed with last minute shoppers), he came barreling into the house covered in snow and quickly throwing out an apology.

Charlotte only stopped slamming the cabinet doors once she heard her father's voice and quickly pushed herself back onto her butt so she could crawl over to her mother. Emily was rounding the kitchen island to get to the oven when her daughter latched on to her leg and helped herself up by bunching Emily's pajama pants into her little fists and babbling 'ma ma ma ma' over and over again until she was picked up.

"Hang on, baby, I need to check the cookies real quick," Emily told her as she shuffled her feet slowly across the floor as to not knock Charlotte down. Aaron nearly sprinted into the kitchen, setting the brown paper bag full of Emily's requested items onto the counter.

"Sorry it took so long," he apologized again. "There were surprisingly a lot of people at the store fighting for what small amount of things were left on the shelves."

Emily hummed a response, letting her husband know she heard him but didn't say anything further. Charlotte still clung to her pants leg still yelling for Emily to pick her up. Emily closed the oven door after quickly checking the cookies and then picked up her daughter who then immediately almost launched herself out of her mother's arms to get to Aaron. Emily quickly tightened her grip on her before she could fly out of her arms which only caused Charlotte to yell. Aaron stepped up to them both opening his hands up for his daughter who squeaked as she clambered out of Emily's arms to get to his.

He watched his wife sigh and close her eyes. Her tongue darted out of her mouth to quickly wet her lips. Aaron reached over to grab her wrist, running a soothing thumb over it. "Go sit down and take a break. I've got her and I'll keep an eye on things in here."

She quickly leaned over to kiss him on the lips and then eagerly left the kitchen. She all but ragdolled onto the couch throwing her head back against it and closing her eyes. The kitchen wasn't too far away from where she was, but far enough away that everything was quieter. She sucked in a deep breath to collect herself and relax. She loved her daughter, but this stage of banging on everything and constantly screaming for one of her parent's to pay attention to her was driving her mad, especially since she'd been home all day with her and didn't have a lick of time to herself- minus the whole thirty minute nap that Charlotte had earlier in the day. It was nearly 9 pm and Emily wasn't sure how their daughter was managing to stay awake with so much energy after only having such a short nap.

She was quickly knocked out of her thoughts when she heard the cabinets slamming again. She sighed with a chuckle when she could hear her yelling 'da da da da' over and over again and Aaron playfully yelling over the slamming doors.

She was about to abandon her semi-quiet alone time when she saw Aaron out of the corner of her eye. He stepped into the living room with Charlotte under his left arm like he was holding a football.

"The timer for this batch went off, do you want me to put them in the containers and put in the next batch?" He dramatically bounced their daughter which caused her to full on belly laugh, he legs flailing wilding behind him.

"Yeah, go ahead, I'm right behind you."

"I got it, you can stay there."

She stood up anyway, playfully rolling her eyes at him. "I still have to make the brownies." To which he easily responded, "I can do that, too."

"I know you can, but it's hard to do all of that when you have a one year old glued to you, trust me." She reached her arms out for her daughter and Charlotte giggled loudly as Aaron pretended to drop her. "Mama!" Charlotte yelled reaching out for her, her whole body shaking in a giggle fit.

"Oh, mama can't save you!" Aaron cackled. Keeping her side-ways under his arm, he bounced off to the kitchen, the small amount of hair on her head bouncing with her father's exaggerated stomps.

Emily followed laughing at their silly antics. Aaron maneuvered Charlotte right side up so that she had her legs around his back and chest, and his arm underneath her butt. He pulled the cookies out of the oven and began putting them in the containers on the counter. Emily joined him, helping him with the lids since he was one-handed. As soon as Charlotte saw her, she started crying for her and kicking herself out of Aaron's arms.

"Whoa, Char. You're gunna fall if you keep doing that," he told her as he quickly used both hands to grab her. Of course that didn't stop her, she kept kicking her feet and yelling for Emily until she finally stepped back and let Charlotte practically fall into her arms.

"I got this," Aaron told her again, nodding to the cookies on the counter. She stood back, not really having a choice as her daughter clung to her chest. She pressed her face into Emily's neck, wriggling her nose as if trying to burrow into her mother's skin- a tell tale sign that she was getting tired.

Emily held her close, resting her cheek on the top of her head. "Are you ready for bed, sweet girl? It's been such a long day, hm?"

Of course, Charlotte protested. "Okay, okay." Emily chuckled. "Do you want down?" She tried to lean down to set her feet on the floor but Charlotte clung tighter to her and whined.

At that, Aaron turned around opening his hands back up to his daughter. "Wanna help daddy put the cookies on the baking sheet?" She grunted a mean noise, adjusting herself in Emily's arms, hiding her face even more in her neck.

"You've had mommy all day. Can I have Charlotte time?" Charlotte pulled back slightly from her mother to look at Aaron and whined another angry noise, this time with a playful, albeit, mischievous smile on her face.

"Okay, fine. Can I have mommy time? I haven't seen her allllll daaay." He stepped up to his wife and quickly pecked her on the lips, leaning over their daughter to do it which caused Charlotte to take her foot, plant it directly on his chest and shove him away.

Emily snorted a laugh. "That's not very nice, Char." Charlotte only giggled.

Aaron tried again, this time purposely smooshing Charlotte between them, his arms circling around Emily and slightly squeezing. "Mommy and Char time it is, then." He kissed Emily again and then kissed the top of their daughter's head. She didn't protest this time.

"Want me to put her down?" Aaron asked, his arms still around them. They began to slightly sway. Charlotte let out a small yawn, rubbing her face into Emily's chest again, her eyes drifting shut.

"If she'll let you."

Aaron pulled back and took her out of Emily's arms easily, the toddler quickly giving up the fight to stay awake. Aaron hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head again before kissing Emily again.

"Be back in a few," he told her and then disappeared out of the kitchen.

Emily busied herself with placing the cookie dough on the baking sheet and putting them in the oven and then starting the brownie batter. She was putting the last of the cookies into the containers and shoving the brownies in the oven when she heard her husband walk back into the kitchen.

"She go down without a fight?" She asked closing the oven door and turning to face him. She leaned her back against the counter while she used a towel to wipe her hands.

Aaron chuckled. "She kept asking for you, but we managed."

She smiled at him and he was quick to step up to her, kissing her once again and pulling her into a proper hug. "You okay?" he asked.

Emily hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's just been a day. She only went down for a thirty minute nap around noon and she's been an energizer bunny ever since."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come home sooner," he tells her almost sadly. She huffs a laugh. "It's not a problem, honey."

"I know, but I know what it's like to be alone with her when she's in her full on energizer bunny mode. Remember when you went out with JJ and Penelope a few weeks ago and I was only here with her for three hours? I almost called you crying."

She full on laughs at that which causes him to smile. "Are you tired?" She asks him suddenly. He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

She lets her arms that are around his neck fall to his chest. "We can finish this up and...go to bed." She licks her lips, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth.

"This your way of asking for baby number 3?" Aaron wiggles his eyebrows at her. She slaps his chest. "If you knock me up with baby number 3 any time soon, I'm kicking your ass."

"Promises, promises," Aaron says, stamping his lips to hers again.

" Oh, Jack called earlier, wanted me to tell you Merry Christmas."

"Ah yes, baby number 1. He having fun with Jess?" She leans her head down on his shoulder.

"From what I can tell. She got him a new bike and gave it to him early so he's been outside most of the day."

She hums. "That explains why he didn't answer his phone when I called him this morning."

"Boys and their toys." He says, pulling her even closer to him, giving her a small squeeze.

They stood like that for a while before Aaron pulled away. "We have a few minutes on these brownies, why don't you go get ready for bed. I can finish up in here."

She tried to protest but he untangled her from himself and nudged her towards their bedroom. "You've been on your feet all day, go get in bed." He nudged her towards their bedroom, swatting her butt playfully as she sauntered away.

"I can't promise I'll still be awake when you get done." She says over her shoulder.

"That's okay," He tells her. "I can have fun without you."

She turns at that, bursting into a loud laugh.

"That's not how baby number 3 gets made, honey." She throws a quick wink and smile at him before she dips inside their bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Aaron stood in the kitchen dumbfounded and desperately trying to speed up time so he could get these brownies put up and make his way to his wife.

[fountainpenguin]

"I'll treat you nice; I'll be so kind! Just bring me all the food you find~ And I'll run this dump, 'cuz I'm the smartest here..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 39 - “Wednesday: Squall Hospital”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

Dog's Life is 1 year old today!

Mumbo wakes up in the hospital. Etho pays a visit to ask after a commission… wandering trader style. Also, the phantom hybrids strip down to flaunt their stuff. Get your sparring game on!

Impulse, who modded out of phantom state long ago, watches from the sidelines.

Dog's Life anniversary chapters, Part 1!

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Brief #trafficshipping (Mumbo reflecting on his divorce with Martyn, which happened 100 years ago but Martyn only found out yesterday)

---

Mumbo

Location: Hospital, Southwest New Star, Bottom Floor

🖤  🌕  🖤

He couldn't tell you when he became aware of voices. On some level, they were there the whole time, even with memories playing across his eyes. Some he'd rather forget, full of escorts with diamonds for teeth waiting while his fumbling hands plugged his player file in a foreign server core, his heartbeats tangled, chilly breath on the back of his neck warning him that he only had minutes before he could expect his back thrust against a wall, fangs in his neck… Payment claimed for keeping a lone wandering trader safe another day out in the anarchy world.

Wake up, he warns himself, and dissolves to begging at the memory of his own anxious hands grabbing the shirts of a dozen anivores for support. Wake up. This isn't real. Get out!

Some hands had been a good deal gentler. That didn't always make them perfect. But Impulse had only been rough once. Vee almost too soft. BigB… Well, they didn't say much on the first and last trek they ever took together, even when collapsing into the same guest server and sharing a bed (with Vee, too) after a long, long day. Mumbo distinctly remembers the guy rolling over once, mumbling "Your turn," when the baby allays started fussing for their milk. It's laughable, looking back on it, although Mumbo had griped about it at the time. Hysterical. I can't believe I didn't crack up! BigB's underrated. He should let Grian know; make sure he remembers to appreciate what he has.

And Martyn… Martyn hadn't taken any adventures with him. But he'd roleplayed softly in their bed, letting Mumbo (For once, for once) take the lead.

He's lying on his back. Which isn't usual for him. Shapes and figures blur together. But he hears… words? Sounds like words. This is people-talk. He stirs without cracking open his eyes.

"Let's go," cheers a pleasant, pumped-up voice from somewhere to his right. A masculine voice. Big. Loud. One that's only familiar on the very fringes of his memory, like a frayed tassel on his llamas' blankets that he's always had, but only remembers when he's looking straight at it. Chair legs screech across the floor. Mumbo winces, screwing his eyelids tighter, but the mystery figure isn't one to be put off by silent rejection. "Welcome back to New Star! Boy, am I glad I decided to check in mentally for work today. What's this guy's name again? Oh, right, right. Well, we can cross 'Save patient' off our daily tasks. What's next?"

Oh, goodness… His eyeballs want to yawn. He tries it with his mouth, though it's… less satisfying than it probably would be on a server with actual sleep mechanics. Well, at least my head's no longer clicking. Fading images still dance across his mental comm screen, but they're swirling into smoke the more he shifts around, zoning back into the world. Mumbo blinks his eyes a few times, trying to make them stick. The face of a man with a black, neatly trimmed beard swims into view above him. Maybe a little too close.

"… I know you."

The man's face snaps from pleasant to shocked real fast. He bites one corner of his lip, leaning back in his chair. What? Mumbo's voice feels scratchy in his throat, even unspoken. Before he can get his next words out, the man's addressing another figure in the room somewhere out of sight. "Ohoooh… He knows me, and I had to check his file 4 times before I burned his name into memory. That's about to be real awkward. Hey- You know what? Accidents happen. That's life."

"Yeah, I know you," Mumbo mutters, mostly to himself. He lives across the hall from Martyn and Jimmy. Simmers' Quarter. Seen him around. He sort of hops all over the place. But the name escapes him. Mumbo should care about that. Should he care? A zing of guilt courses up his back at the thought of forgetting his ex-husband's immediate neighbor, but he breathes through his teeth instead of saying so.

… Okay. Take stock. Mm. If he can get his brain to drag itself awake from a sluggish, whimpery state, that is. Mumbo runs his fingers through sticky threads of mussed-up hair. His body doesn't ache, surprisingly enough. Or maybe not surprisingly; double regen is a killer. Well, the exact opposite of a killer. He braces his hand to the mattress, pushing himself to a sitting position. Mumbo brushes his fingers across his mustache. He goes to flip his F5 eyes on, but the shift makes him so dizzy, he pulls back and drops his face in his hands instead.

The bearded man scoots his chair closer to his bedside, all smiles and absentminded apologies. He double pats his chest. Thump-thump. "Hey, I'm James Turner- formerly known as The Sim Supply. Well, not over here… You kind of had to be there. And if anyone tells you I designed Vanillite, they've got the wrong guy. Ask your husband; he'll vouch for me."

"… Uh. Oh, goodness me." If he were in one of Martyn's mangas, he'd have slash lines across his face, flushing up a storm. Mumbo reaches for his hood. No robes. His hands clasp on empty air, so he pulls his blankets into his lap instead, squirming his hands between his legs. "Aha… I should probably come clean about that. Martyn and I aren't, um… sleeping together anymore."

Sleeping doesn't feel as hot and bitter on his tongue as married would. And it's the accurate word, even if it stings. It feels more correct than dating. They'd flirt and play and cuddle, usually with fingers in each other's clothes and hair, until they got all snuggled up and Mumbo (eventually) drifted off to sleep. Martyn left by dawn every morning, all his blond hairs despawned from the bed. Nocturnal phantom code. Warm. Soft. I… needed space. And I was leaving for a trip, and it was never really that serious anyway. Okay, that sounds bad out of context, but-

James' frown burns a scar in the crest of his head. "Uh. Dude? Does Martyn know?"

"It was 100 years ago!" He can hold his head high and proud on that, except he can't. "Did nobody get the memo?" And without a hood to tug over his face, he looks away, just biting the edge of his knuckle and gripping the hospital bedsheets with his hand. Wait. Why am I in hospital? Seriously, that memory just went out the window. Did he get flashbanged? Close range? He touches two fingers to his scalp. Sore…

"… Didn't I see your mouth all over him at the shower house on Friday?"

Ohh, don't remind me… Mumbo fumbles through a couple squeaks, then focuses on the more pertinent question. "Sorry; why am I here, exactly?" And why do I smell bacon?

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: Injury, blood, broken bone, field medicine, unconsciousness

Continues Day 17

AO3

---

Wind was on the defensive almost immediately; there were three men against him and all of them were bigger than him. However, this was also the kind of fight he was used to, especially when one of the men suddenly yelled and reeled back, swatting at the side of his neck as if he'd been stung by something. With a grin, he pressed his advantage, lunging forward with a stabbing swipe of his sword that the man only barely dodged. A hand closed on his arm, but then that man also yelled in pain and shock and let go of him. Wind twisted away to put his back to a wall and waited for another chance.

It quickly came as the first man once again swatted at his neck. This time Wind saw something scuttle down off his shoulder, away from the bloody scratch in his skin, and leap to the next. He lunged forward and wounded that one, cutting a long slash across his chest.

Then the one Wind had seen the motion towards suddenly caught something in his fist and threw it to the ground with a curse, yelling something about demons.

Fortunately, between that and the discovery that Wind wasn't a helpless kid they'd apparently had enough; all three turned and ran, nursing their wounds. Wind followed them to the gate, but they had already vanished into the crowd.

For a moment he hesitated between following them - and possibly reporting what had happened to the guard - and finding out what exactly it was that the man had thrown down. But then he decided to listen to curiosity and the desire to make sure whoever had helped him was OK. He ran back to the location of the fight and crouched down to look more carefully among the trampled grass, hoping whoever it had been - a new type of fairy, perhaps? - hadn't really been invisible.

He pushed blades of grass this way and that, frowning to himself, then his eye was suddenly caught by a flash of color. It looked almost like…

"Four!" he cried as he moved some more grass and saw what looked like a tiny version of Four lying in the grass. His arm looked shattered, a shard of bone poking through a tear in his sleeve, and as Wind very carefully picked him up he didn't even twitch. His heart in his mouth, Wind pressed a fingertip to the tiny chest, unsure whether he'd even be able to feel a heartbeat.

He couldn't, but he did feel the faint motion as the little Four breathed.

"OK," he said, putting aside how weird this was for the time being. So maybe Four had a tiny version of himself as a companion. Or he could make himself small. It wasn't the weirdest thing Wind had ever encountered.

He looked back at the place little Four had been lying and saw a gleam of metal still there. When he picked it up, he saw it was a perfectly-scaled version of Four's sword, no bigger than a needle; he must have been holding it when the man threw him to the ground.

It really was Four. Just… small.

Wind shook his head and slipped the sword into its sheath. This still wasn't the weirdest thing he'd seen in his career and Four needed help. Very gently, still with the very tip of his finger, he shook his shoulder on the uninjured side.

"Hey, Four?" he whispered, unsure whether a shout would be too much for little ears. "Four, can you hear me?"

No response.

"Four?" said Wind a little louder, and then louder still, "Four?"

Nothing. Wind swallowed hard. He was going to have to find help. Four had kept this ability secret, probably for a reason, but there was no help for it. Cradling the tiny figure as safely as he could in his hands, he set off at a run towards where he'd last seen the others.

It wasn't far before he met Twilight coming the other way.

"Wind!" the rancher exclaimed, in that angry tone Wind knew adults used when they were actually more scared than anything else. "Where have you been? We've been searching all over Castletown for you!"

"I'll explain in a minute," said Wind. "Four needs help. At least… I think it's Four." He held out his hands.

Twilight frowned, confused. "What do you mean, you think -" Then he saw what Wind was holding and his eyes brightened in understanding, though the expression quickly turned to horror. "That's Four. What happened to him?"

"A guy threw him on the floor."

"Why -" Twilight shook his head. "OK, let me…" He also gently shook Four with a fingertip, but there was still no response. "OK. That arm's broken…"

"Should we find Wars? Or Hyrule?"

"No, not if we can help it. I already knew he could do this, so let's keep this between us if we can. I… once set a puppy's leg. He's smaller, but… OK, let's get out of the way." Twilight led the way through another gate into another piece of the park and into a sheltered corner behind a bush. "Let's give this one try. If I can't set the bone, we'll have to get Hyrule."

Wind nodded, swallowing hard, and held Four out again, telling himself that it was probably for the best that Four was unconscious.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" he asked. "We won't be able to get a potion into him like this and… he's smaller than a potion bottle; does it work to scale?"

"I don't know," said Twilight. "We're going to have to find out. I… almost hope this wakes him up."

Wind didn't, though he could see the point. He gritted his teeth, holding his hand out as flat and steady as he could.

Twilight gently took Four's forearm between his fingers, braced his body with the other hand, and pulled it straight.

Four didn't react at all.

---

Continued on Day 22

[queenmina37]

hi!! i found out your bleach x bnha crossover series last night and i DEVOURED it, i had such a great time reading it and it's so funny 😭 i just wanted to say thank you for sharing such a brilliant brainworm that will probably now live in MY brain forever 💜 i know it hasn't been updated in like a year but that won't stop me 😾 and since we're here i figure i'll ask something: how would aizawa react if he found out ichigo has two whole *kids*?

again, Thank You and hope you have a good day 💜

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA You're the person who left comments on Ghost Hunters of UA, aren't you?? I'm so glad you liked it!

This is an interesting thing because I could actually swear that I've written something about this? Actually, I just realized that I probably have some parts of the story written... that I haven't posted... because... I don't even know... I remember that I had the very last story for the series written, but I didn't want to post it if the rest of the series was still not finished, but I might actually post it at some point, if I can just remember to do that.

But I could swear I've written something about Aizawa finding out about Kazui and Ichika? It's possible it's one of the group chat chapters that I wrote and then decided not to go through with the idea at all? Yeah, actually, I just found it and it's definitely like that.

I'm not going to put this on ao3 (at least at this time), but since you asked, here you go! Please remember that it was written before the first chapter of Ghost Hunters of UA, so it might not be entirely accurate, for example with what happens in that story, but, yeah, anyways.

Karakura Gang + Stragglers (Group chat name)

God’s Antithesis (Ishida)

Ichigo

God’s Worst Mistake (Ichigo)

Uryuu

God’s Antithesis (Ishida)

[A picture of the living room of the Ishida Residence. Sitting in front of a dark wine red couch and the low table in front of it, on the floor, are two boys around the same age. One of them has wild, spike orange hair that is just slightly smoother than Kurosaki Ichigo’s spiky hair. He’s grinning brightly, his purple eyes alight. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a baby blue hoodie. The other boy also had orange hair, though of a different, darker shade than the other boy’s. He was beaming. He had dark blue eyes. Both boys were staring right at the camera.]

Why is kazui in my house

Assno (Asano)

asdfghjkl

Reject Universe (Orihime)

Oh!

I didnt know kazui was over!

Dragon (Tatsuki... I think?)

Oh my god what the fuck

Arrancar Translator (Chad...?)

Huh

Queen (Rukia)

Oh my god how is he over there?????

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

omw dont let him leave

God’s Antithesis (Ishida)

Bit late for that

Reject Universe (Orihime)

I just got home and he just ran out (°-°)

Dragon (Tatsuki)

Is he scared of u?

This is like the third time he has done that right?

Reject Universe (Orihime)

Oh no surely not right?

I dont want kazui to be scared of me!!

Queen (Rukia)

He isnt scared orihime I promise

God’s Worst Mistake (Ichigo)

He just gets similar alarms ringing like when rukia smiles when he has done something he shouldnt have done

Also im coming over, see if I can hold him down long enough for renji to drag him back home

Karakura Red (Karin)

Caught the little shit

Bringing him home but ichi-nii should still come keep an eye on him

Me and yuzu have shit to do

God’s Worst Mistake (Ichigo)

omw

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

I will be there in a few hours once these idiots get the senkaimon going

Queen (Rukia)

Might be good

Kazui has been taking it rather hard that ichigo is on such a long mission

A bit of time alone with his dad will do him some good

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

Im sorry

Kurosaki has a son?

Dragon (Tatsuki)

Wait we didnt tell u?

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

No????

Improvised Molotov Cocktails (Mizuiro)

He has a wife and a husband too

Assno (Asano)

Some of us cant find one and he went and got himself two

Arrancar Translator (Chad)

Actually he has two kids

Son and daughter

Reject Universe (Orihime)

Oh but renji is actually ichika’s dad

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

What

Improvised Molotov Cocktails (Mizuiro)

Kazui and ichika are twins

Ichigo is kazui’s dad

Renji is ichika’s dad

Simple

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

In what universe

Dragon (Tatsuki)

Well I mean they have the same mom and are twins so its pretty simple

Must Protect (Yuzu?)

Aww!

[A picture of Ichigo laying down on the couch in the living room of the Kurosaki Residence. He has one hand under his head, while the other is wrapped around Kazui, who is laying between him and the back of the couch, his head on Ichigo’s chest. Both have their eyes closed. Ichigo is in his shinigami uniform.]

They are so cute!

Queen (Rukia)

Is he purring?

Karakura Red (Karin)

Of course hes purring

This is ichi-nii we are talking about

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

I’m sorry

Kurosaki

Purrs?

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

Like an engine yeah

But only when he naps with the kids

They love it

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

??????

How???????

Improvised Molotov Cocktails (Mizuiro)

You havent heard him purr before?

Arrancar Translator (Chad)

He was already doing it in middle school but it escalated in high school

Queen (Rukia)

It escalated even more after he died

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

And then it became exclusive to the kids

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

????????????????????

God’s Antithesis (Ishida)

Wait

What do you mean its exclusive to the kids

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

Its exclusive to the kids?

He only purrs when he wants to nap with the kids?

Queen (Rukia)

It calms kazui down and he falls asleep within seconds

Ichika too but thats because shes been conditioned into it rather than it being natural like with kazui

Why?

Karakura Red (Karin)

He does it with me too tho

Yuzu too

Reject Universe (Orihime)

He did it to uryuu once too!

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

What??????

Karakura Red (Karin)

Urahara said its a hollow thing

Pack thing and all that

Must protect little ones

Hes trying to calm down and put to sleep any younger relatives essentially

Must Protect (Yuzu)

Yeah I hear the visored do the same with him too

But he never does it to them because they are older than him

Karin has done it to me too

Karakura Red (Karin)

Yuzu!!!

Dragon (Tatsuki)

Oh my god

Assno (Asano)

Y r u guys so pure?

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

Im not sure what about having a bloodthirsty cannibal in your head is pure but u do u buddy

Assno (Asano)

Wait no!!!

Panicked into Solutions (Renji)

Also I will be there in another 30 mins

Must Protect (Yuzu)

Stay for tea until they wake up!

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

I

I hate to break this to you people but kurosaki is expected at school tomorrow morning

Karakura Red (Karin)

Thats what shunpo and sonido are for

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

What does that even mean

Improvised Molotov Cocktails (Mizuiro)

He fast

Caterpillar Man (Aizawa)

That explains literally nothing

Queen (Rukia)

It explains literally everything

[vivitalks]

take in every moment (hold it close again)

hiii this is for the "movie night" prompt on my jasico bingo card!! short sweet and silly the three best things a fanfiction can be. and im posting it in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY seriously who am i title from netflix trip by ajr :) read it here on ao3

It stands to reason that a demigod legion modeled on the Ancient Romans wouldn't think much of technology. And it's true that demigods and modern tech don't tend to get along. It really shouldn't surprise Nico when nobody knows where to find a TV.

And yet.

“Seriously,” he finally complains to Jason, walking Via Principalis with coffee courtesy of Bombilo, “it's like you're all trying to become social outcasts.”

“I think the whole demigod thing covers that,” Jason says.

“My point exactly! Nobody is even trying. Plus, monsters can't get into camp anyway, so who cares if you're using technology?”

Jason shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, but why risk it?” 

It's cool but sunny, the perfect weather for Jason. Not that Nico has any sort of bias. Jason looks great in all weather, in Nico's completely objective opinion, but gentle rays of sunlight make his hair as golden as his sword and give his skin an extra glow.

At least six times a day, Nico wonders how the most beautiful person in the world is his boyfriend. Some call it insecurity; Nico calls it a reality check.

He checks back into reality in time for Jason to be saying, “Besides, most of the people here spend their whole lives either in the legion or in New Rome. Nobody is missing out because nobody is on the Internet or watching movies or any of that. It's a pretty insular community.”

“Not anymore,” Nico says. “Now that there's the exchange program, Camp Jupiter is going to start getting Greeks, and most of them spend their years out in the real world, experiencing real-world things, like movies and music and all that fun stuff you Romans hate.”

“Don't ‘you Romans’ us,” Jason says, swatting playfully at Nico. Nico doesn't bother to dodge, but he does grin. “But you may have a point.”

“I do have a point. If you really want the Greeks and Romans to get along, there can't be this massive cultural gap. The Greeks will feel superior, the Romans will feel left out, and then we'll probably have another war and I'll have almost killed myself bringing the Parthenos to Camp Half-Blood for nothing.”

Jason lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, is that all?”

“Shut up. I'm serious!”

“I didn't realize you felt so strongly about this,” Jason says, looking bemused. “Wait, why do you feel so strongly about this?”

“In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a little behind on popular culture myself,” Nico says flatly.

“Really? Why is that?” Jason asks, with a straight face.

Bravely, Nico ignores him. “I'm trying to kill two birds with one stone here. Get some Vulcan kids to put together a TV. I'm sure they can work their magic and make it monster-repellent or whatever.”

“And do what with it?”

“Start a film class?” Nico suggests. “I would get a Greek demigod to help with the curriculum, though.”

“You can just say Will.”

“I don't think Will should come near the curriculum with a ten-foot pole. He'll just put every single Star Wars movie on there. I was actually thinking of Piper.”

“Piper?” Jason shakes his head. “Right. Duh. Movie star dad.”

“Yeah. She's probably our best bet.”

“We’re going to have to run this by the praetors before we get any further,” Jason says. He takes a long, considering sip of his coffee, which does not contain nearly enough sugar. Nico tried it earlier and almost choked.

“We?”

“Yeah. I'm in favor. You're not wrong about the cultural deficit.”

Nico grins. He kisses the corner of Jason's mouth — just because he can. That sunny glow shines even brighter in Jason's eyes.

“Lucky for us,” he says cheerfully, “we have some sway with the praetors.”

The film class proposal is met with conditional approval from Frank and Reyna. “Culture in Film: From Classic to Contemporary” becomes the most popular course in the legion within days. Piper helps them build a curriculum, which in this case means just choosing fifteen classic movies — all of which she vehemently describes as “must-sees” — and expressing profound shock at the revelation that neither Jason nor Nico have seen any of them.

“But it’s Princess Bride,” she keeps saying. “How can you not have seen it? ‘My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die’? Is nothing sacred?”

If anything, at least her attitude proves how absolutely necessary this class is.

The conditions of the class are sternly outlined for them by Reyna: (1) do not screen anything rated higher than PG-13; (2) only select movies with some relevant message or theme that can be transmitted to the legionnaires; and (3) do not use the forthcoming anti-monster television for anything other than class use.

Rule one is easy. Nico and Jason break the second and third rules within two weeks of the first course.

“I can’t believe you even suggested this,” Nico whispers.

The classroom where “Culture In Film” takes place is silent after hours. At the front of the room towers an 80-inch, Imperial Gold television, the most eye-catching thing in the room. Just below it, there's a box Nico distantly recognizes. A DVD player — Demigod Video Discs, optimized for playback on magical TV screens. This, too, is constructed out of Imperial Gold. No doubt the TV and DVD player combined are imbued with some combination of enchantments designed to make them undetectable to monsters.

“I'm not a praetor anymore,” Jason replies, approaching the DVD player. “What can they do? Kick me out of the legion? Half the time I'm at Camp Half-Blood anyway.”

“Not sure that argument will hold up in front of the Senate,” Nico theorizes, but he's not really worried. In fact, he kind of loves that Jason was so committed to having a movie night with Nico that he was willing to break the rules for it.

“Then let's just not get caught,” Jason says. 

That works for Nico. Their emergency escape route is to shadow-travel out, but since Nico shadow-traveled them in, he's hoping it doesn't come to that. Even the short distance from barracks to classroom has his eyes drooping. If he tries it again, he's liable to pass out.

Jason kneels and examines the DVD player. “Do I just…put it in?”

“I guess?” Nico peers at the player and the TV. “We should probably turn on the TV.”

“That would be smart.”

Nico feels around for a button and finds it underneath the screen. When he presses it, the big black screen turns royal blue, and digital letters show a message onscreen: NO DISC DETECTED.

Nico and Jason exchange a look. 

“Is it weird that I'm more stressed right now than I was when we fought Gaea?” Jason whispers.

Nico laughs. “We're not going to get caught, Jason.”

“I'm not worried about that. I just have no idea how to work this thing. What if I break it?”

“I'll do it,” Nico says, snatching the DVD case from Jason's hands. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, another “must-see” from Piper that didn't make the curriculum cut. According to Jason, when he told her he'd never even heard of it, she got Leo to modify a disc for their benefit and demanded he find some way to watch it. Nico, having also never heard of it, got roped into the deal by some combination of Charmspeak and standard-issue Jason Grace-ness.

Nico removes the disc and takes a breath. “Here goes nothing.”

As soon as the disc is in the player, the machine whirs. The screen turns black again. Nico and Jason take a united step backwards.

“Isn't there supposed to be a remote?” Jason asks. At the word remote, a panel from the top of the DVD player opens up. Inside is a remote. “Oh, sweet.”

“Come on,” Nico says, throwing himself onto the nearest couch. Romans and their couches. They're an indulgent breed, these Romans, but in times like these Nico appreciates that.

“Is it playing?” Jason questions, and just then, a deafening blast of orchestral sound erupts from the TV. Jason yelps and staggers backwards, and Nico cracks himself up. “Okay! It's playing!”

“Sit down, Superman.”

Jason sits down. He takes the spot right next to the armest. Nico would never take the armrest seat. He likes to have an escape route. He's special like that.

(“Traumatized,” whatever. Tomato, to-mah-to.)

“So far so good,” Jason says, offering an arm, kind of gesturing at Nico to come closer. Nico obliges. Jason doesn't mind being trapped, which is his own prerogative. So Nico takes up every inch of space on Jason's free side. He's not so small anymore, but he fits right up under Jason's arm like the dark half of a yin and yang symbol.

“Nothing's happened yet,” he points out.

Jason just squeezes his shoulders. “I'm having a movie night with my boyfriend. Like a regular teenager. Everything is great from where I'm standing.”

“Let's not be hasty. The movie could still suck.”

“Wouldn't matter.”

“It'd matter to me,” Nico says haughtily. “I'm putting a lot of faith in Piper.”

“She seemed absolutely confident we would both like this movie.”

“So imagine how foolish she'll feel if we don't.”

“I'm starting to think your attitude is the problem.” Jason grins. “Open your mind, Nico.”

“I'm open-minded!”

“And shut up,” Jason adds. “‘Cause we've already missed the beginning and I don't know how to rewind this thing.”

“Not my fault,” Nico says. “I was just—”

Jason shuts him up by occupying his mouth with Jason's mouth, which is a proven top-five strategy for getting Nico to stop talking. 

“Okay,” he says. And kisses Jason again. It's never any less awesome. “Shutting up.”

The movie keeps playing. Nico settles into Jason with his whole body and thinks about how this is the first time he's ever watched a movie with a boyfriend, and how absolutely astonishing that is, by itself. Even if it does suck, he figures there are worse things in the world than watching a bad movie with your boyfriend.

In fact, there might not be many things better.