#[ i have it tagged with all the proper triggers that i could think of?? ]

[naviculariis]

Ooooh I just queued something that I'm lowkey worried about posting

[aventurineswife]

Shooting practice with Hyuna, her showing off and then ensuring the reader knows their stance and what not. It's totally not a ploy to make them swoon (It totally is). Reader is oblivious to the subtle cues (it's so not subtle) and just sorta takes it as an opportunity to learn how to protect themselves and others.

Missed Shots, Stolen Glances

Summary: During a late-night shooting practice session, Hyuna takes it upon herself to teach you proper stance and technique. Of course, it's totally not an excuse to get close and make you swoon—except it absolutely is. Too bad you're completely oblivious to her not-so-subtle flirting.

Tags: Hyuna x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Training Session, Oblivious!Reader, Flirty!Hyuna, Found Family Vibes, Mild Teasing.

Warnings: Mentions of firearms & shooting practice, Light physical contact (hand-on-hand guidance, leaning in), Hyuna being a menace (affectionate).

A/N: Thank you for hearing my prays, anon, I love you 🙏💖🫶

The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp evening breeze. The makeshift shooting range—a worn-out lot hidden in the outskirts of the rebellion’s base—echoed with the sharp crack of bullets meeting their targets. You stood at the edge of the clearing, shifting awkwardly as Hyuna adjusted her stance a few feet away.

"Alright, watch and learn," she said, spinning the pistol in her fingers before smoothly clicking it into place. She didn’t have to be this flashy, but, well... this was Hyuna.

She raised the gun with practiced ease, eyes narrowing as she lined up her shot. A split second later, the air split with gunfire—each shot landing perfectly within the bullseye. When she was done, she blew on the muzzle, grinning. "Not bad, right?"

You gave an appreciative nod. "Yeah, you're good."

"Good?" she repeated, placing a hand over her heart as if you’d wounded her pride. "Come on, at least say ‘amazing’ or ‘incredible.’ I don’t show off for just anyone, you know."

You frowned slightly, missing the teasing glint in her eyes. "I mean, I’d rather focus on learning than hyping you up."

Hyuna sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky you're cute."

Before you could process that, she stepped behind you, her warmth radiating against your back as she guided your arms into position. "First off, your stance is all wrong. Widen your legs a little—no, not that much. There, that’s better."

Her hands lingered on your waist as she nudged you into place. You didn’t think much of it, too focused on maintaining balance. Hyuna, on the other hand, was fighting the urge to smirk.

"Grip the gun like this," she murmured, fingers wrapping over yours. "Firm, but not tense. You want control, not a death grip."

"Right, control," you repeated, adjusting accordingly.

She tilted her head, lips curving into a slow smile. "And don’t forget to breathe."

You exhaled sharply, suddenly aware of how close she was. She chuckled. "Relax. It’s just me."

You ignored the way your pulse spiked, instead focusing on the target ahead. You took a deep breath, steadied your grip, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the edge of the target—far from perfect but at least on the board. You felt Hyuna hum in approval beside you. "Not bad for a beginner. Do it again."

You did, each shot improving with her whispered corrections and occasional—completely unnecessary—hand adjustments. Every time you tensed, she was there, a quiet reassurance at your side.

When you finally emptied the clip, she leaned in, her lips near your ear. "See? Told you I’m a good teacher."

You turned to her, unaware of the weight behind her gaze. "Yeah. Thanks, Hyuna."

Her eyes flickered, a mix of exasperation and amusement. She bumped her forehead lightly against yours before pulling away. "Hopeless," she muttered with a grin.

You weren’t sure what she meant. But as she handed you another clip and told you to go again, you got the feeling this training session wasn’t just about shooting.

And, somehow, you were still missing the point.

I love my queen, Hyuna 🙏💖

[baldursghaik]

Junus I was talking about this on discord with a friend.

In one of your tags you mentioned you align The Emperor as "evil". And although I disagree based purely on personal interpretation and being a soft-hearted wimp, plz write me an unhinged ramble on your thoughts and opinions UwU 💖

(also I'm slowly trying to give ALWF proper attention I'm just very slow because everything happens so much but I really like it so far. Your prose is very good which is always an awesome bonus with a fic)

You know, I thought of several ways I wanted to tackle this question. I thought about writing a more “tumblr acceptable” answer, but honestly, you asked me to give it to you unhinged, so here it is. Before I get into it, genuinely thank you for this question. I value the ability to disagree politely, and I really do love to see a wide variety of takes and opinions, as I consider them vital to the fandom ecosystem.

With all of that said, these are merely my opinions and interpretations, and I do not think that I am objectively “correct” in any way. I genuinely enjoy softer and kinder reads of the Emperor, but this is my own take on its morality.

Full response below the cut. This is going to lean dark, so read on carefully.

I have a lot of potential responses to this, but I’m going to cut to the most obvious part first: Belynne Stelmane. Specifically, the scene where the Emperor reveals the true nature of their “partnership.” This is old and well-trodden ground where most Emperor fans are concerned, but what I don’t ever see people talk about are the sexual undertones of this scene, where both the PC and Stelmane are concerned.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this truth only triggers when the Emperor is propositioning the PC for sex. Similarly, I think it was an intentional design choice to introduce Stelmane laying in bed, gasping and groaning as the Emperor is taking control of her. Even the framing of the scene positions the Emperor above her, in a position of indisputable power and dominance.

In the following scene, you see the two working at the Shield headquarters (not unusual, though certainly more sinister than it had originally shown), but much more telling is the scene that follows. The Emperor wasn’t content just operating the Shield together—it also forced her to sit and drink with it, to be social with it, in a gruesome parody of camaraderie and companionship. There is no work related explanation for that scene, and you catch a glimpse of the same scene even in the Emperor’s original telling of its life story at the end of Act II. In that same Act II dialogue, that’s the specific part where it tells the PC that it was “happy”.

Following the scene, the game cuts back to the Emperor, now standing shirtless over the PC, not dissimilar to how it was framed with Belynne Stelmane. The Emperor is absolutely mean spirited in what it says next: “Did you like it - the truth? This was the alternative relationship we could have had. Aren’t you glad I finessed my methods?”

We all know what comes next. It tells the PC that they are its puppet, and that, without the Emperor, they have no value.

Now I’ve heard a lot of counter arguments to this scene, ranging from “you were an asshole to it by rejecting it so cruelly” to “it didn’t actually mean that, it had to protect itself”. Which is fine, as I stated above, my interpretations are my own. But to me, neither of those defenses hold water. I think “you shouldn’t have pissed it off” isn’t exactly the defense Emperor fans want it to be, because that paints the Emperor in an even worse light! I think a person should be able to reject someone (or some squid, as it were) as callously as they like, and the worst they should receive in return is “fine, fuck you too”. Not a fully raw display of the Emperor abusing someone else, and then overtly threatening to do the same to the PC if they don’t fall in line.

“If I must, I will force you.”

Call me a bleeding heart, but I don’t think that’s a good thing that good people say!

I was a full on Emperor defender right up until I saw this scene after my first playthrough. And honestly? I found it pretty difficult to stomach watching. This was such a dramatically different face from everything I’d seen on my first run. When you’re polite and deferential to the Emperor, it’s never anything less than sweet and kind. It will even tolerate a fair amount of insults and abuse before it cracks—but once it does crack, that mask comes all the way off.

On my second run, I really paid attention to the Emperor’s words and actions, and it was like playing a completely different game. A good example of this is what the Emperor does after your meeting with Raphael in Sharess’ Caress. On my first run (and second run, that replicated the first), I hadn’t bothered to hear out Raphael’s offer. I trusted the Emperor, and this damn devil wasn’t going to convince me otherwise. But the Emperor’s reaction to this is extremely telling—it will pry into to the PC’s memories and read their mind to figure out what happened. If you didn’t hear out Raphael, you don’t even have the option to try to stop its intrusion, it just does it. I hadn’t thought to question this at all on my first run, but on my second, I could see how insidious this scene truly was. Especially in light of the alternative dialogue that happens if you did hear Raphael out: the PC has the option to tell the Emperor that if it trust them, it will stop this. And the Emperor doesn't even immediately relent, you have to pass a skill check to prevent it from forcing your mind wide open. And even if you do pass it, the Emperor is very up front about the fact that it's done this begrudgingly.

Either way this plays out, I think it's one of the Emperor’s darkest moments in the game, because you catch a stark glimpse of the nature it hides from the PC, just for one moment. This is blatantly abusive and two-faced behavior. It’s manipulative, and will even tell you as much when pressed at the end of the game, before Orpheus is either consumed or freed.

And all of that doesn’t even get into my belief that Balduran was awful too. He extorted and enslaved people, all in his pursuit of money. The Emperor would continue this trend into its new life as well—the Shield is a fundamentally evil organization, built on preying on others to amass wealth, and further contribute to the enormous economic disparity of the Gate. The Emperor (and Stelmane by extension, because she is certainly no saint either) was not turning and giving this money to the poor. They were functionally robber barons of the Sword Coast, happy to exploit and plunder their way to riches untold.

So now we come to the heart of your question—does this paint the Emperor as evil? In my eyes it does. I would consider these to be unforgivable crimes… in real life. Thankfully, the Emperor is fictional, so to me this makes it an utterly fascinating and well rounded character. Yes, it’s capable of evil, but it’s also capable of so much good. This is where I feel that people come to blows over the Emperor. They want it to be either saint or demon, and in reality, I think it’s no different from characters like Astarion, Lae’zel, or even Shadowheart. It’s a complex and layered character, and it has evil under its belt, but that doesn’t mean that it lacks all virtue. I think the Emperor is considerate, attentive, and sincerely caring of both the city the PC, assuming they treat it decently. It’s a fantastically well written character that contains multitudes, and its divisiveness only speaks to how brilliantly Larian handled it.

So, to anyone who bothered reading this, I hope that shed some light on why I believe the Emperor is evil, but a very layered and dimensional evil. I don't think it does anything for the sake of being EVULZ, it's not harmful for the sake of fun, but it's utterly Machiavellian in the way it operates, and it isn't afraid to manipulate or abuse people to achieve its goals, which I think is fundamentally opposite of being "good".

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side. 

[autisticfaun420]

More on HSN autism and poop I guess

My most popular post by far is my one about my struggle with fecal smearing not sure why. I guess I’ll give you guys a follow up cause I want to talk more about incontinence and how it has affected my life. Sorry new to tumblr and I don’t remember what tags to use so OCD people can filter so I hope this intro is enough of a trigger warning.

I’m gonna be blunt about it, what’s worse then smearing though is just being in public stuck in a shitty diaper really for a couple reasons. I can’t stop myself from having bowel accidents in public, and when I’m having them too I *look* like I’m having one, I can’t stop my legs from squatting like a little kid and there’s often an accompanying sound to go with it. I wish I could say this in a nicer way but I basically go from the tolerable quirky R word to the ew so disgusting R word real fast. People go from smiling at me at least to going to openly degrading me and making comments like I’m not in the room. People get bothered real fast, I can’t blame them it smells bad but it doesn’t change the fact on how I feel inside once I became old enough to realize this was going on. It’s hard for my parents and caregivers to find a place in public to change me and it’s often impossible. The restaurants I eat at, the places so visit, are all dependent on me having a single room bathroom because a proper adult changing station is a pipe dream.

God forbid I have a diaper blowout (where poop goes up the back and out the diaper), then whatever small amount empathy people have goes quickly out the window. I used to like taking the bus with my dad, I can’t do it anymore. I had one blowout on the bus and people acted like their life was in danger “ew ew ew oh my god the r word shit everywhere ew” from someone not even close to where I was sitting, people telling my dad how my mom should of handled her pregnancy, I learned what an abortion was that day. People become blunt when they are mildly inconvenienced with a bad smell and they think it gives them a right to dehumanize someone. I know it’s disgusting but maybe there’s something wrong with me but I don’t think the reaction warrants it. Not when I’ve been at people’s houses and the dog shits everywhere and people go aww he’s just a little guy to the dog. I wish I got that kind of reaction as an autistic child, infantilization is at least better then telling me I should have never been born.

I wanted to write more but sorry I’m crying now. I guess I’ll end it on a positive note. I mentioned in a previous post how one of my high school friends, who grew up with little brothers and cousins, had no problems changing me so we could hang out. I’m not saying that’s an accommodation I expect anyone at all to make for me who’s not a parent or a caregiver getting paid for it, but the fact that he never acted grossed out when cleaning me healed something in me. I would be so embarrassed shitting myself in front of my “cool” neurotypical friends, I would be tearing up and I opened up about it and how embarrassing it is and he basically told me fuck the haters and it’s not something I can control. I didn’t ask for it. A part of me believed I was doing on purpose and carried guilt and guilt leads to meltdowns and smearing incidents. “What do you mean all the cool kids poop their pants” he would say sometimes to make me laugh. During our hangout sessions I would whisper to him “cool pants” or text him that so he could discreetly take me to the bathroom. He’d do it wether he was drunk, stoned, or sober. And like I said in the other post, he was the only reason I was able to have the freedom to hang out without a caretaker or parent in high school and we could all smoke weed together without my parents knowing. I think they did know what I was doing and just let me have my teenage fun, I think my parents thought the weed chilled me out too, which is true, so they let me do it but my cannabis use is a topic for another day.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I’m glad I decided to leave Wattpad and stop using it as my main posting platform when I did years ago, because looking at it now, the censorship and the unfairness the platform gives its users are insane.

apparently your book could get shadowbanned if it contained violence, even if you rated it properly and gave your readers proper trigger warnings for them to decide for themselves if they wanted to go ahead and read it or not.

porn is allowed there but it has to be porn with plot. so porn without plot is banned if one of your readers decided they didn’t like what you wrote and reported your book to the platform. 🤡

listen… I wasn’t going to put 2 platforms against each other (if you like Wattpad and are okay with how they treat you as a writer and/or reader, then good for you), but meanwhile over here in AO3 we don’t have to deal with any of these censorship issues (and I hope it stays this way)

AO3 has a team of lawyers protecting its users.

AO3 doesn’t let any ad pop up on their site ever, because it’s a non profit organization, not one of those big corporations where you have to subscribe and pay for premium service if you want to keep using the app without an ad popping up every chapter.

AO3 — unlike Wattpad — is run by fans. for fans.

AO3 thrives solely on volunteers and donations because people appreciate how fairly it treats its users and how the platform refused to let censorship stop anyone from creating art.

you can write the wildest, most fucked up works on AO3 without having to fear your works might be reported. as long as you tag your works properly and make sure all the trigger warnings are there for your potential readers to decide for themselves if they want to read your works or not, you’re good.

*hence the “Dead Dove Do Not Eat” tag, which is very common on AO3.

just… if you’re looking for a sign to join AO3, I think this is it.

[ananxiousgenz]

pssst. pssssssst. hey guys. look at what i got y'all (IT'S MORE JARTHUR COWBOY AU)

this one comes with several pieces of info you need to know first:

@percymawce-arts and I are writing this fic together!!! we have entered into writers matrimony for this fic and we are super excited about it!! I wrote the bare bones of the scene you're about to read and he added almost all of the flavor and spice (while i was laying on my bed in the family guy dead pose bc of how good he made it). make sure to go show percy some love for this too!!

this scene takes place after one where john and arthur chase after larson, but arthur refuses to shoot him, and john is more than a little pissed off about it.

and some trigger warnings: this scene contains some fighting (both verbal and physical), child abuse, religious trauma, homophobia, and some suggestive themes

and finally, i will tag @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i have a feeling you will both enjoy this :)

“What,” John snarled, slamming the cabin door shut behind him, “the fuck. What was that?!”

“None of your business,” Arthur replied, ever so prim and fucking proper. He kept his back to John, maybe to hide his face, so John couldn’t read him. Maybe because he was too much of a coward to meet John’s eyes after that stunt. John didn’t care what the reason was. It was only pissing him off more.

“No. Fuck that. It's all my business.”

“I didn't fire a gun. How is that making you upset?”

“You had him right in front of you,” John rumbled, his voice as low and dangerous as thunder on the horizon. Arthur shivered. “And you let him go. You had the opportunity to kill him. To end this, all of this. And you let it slip through your fucking fingers.”

“Maybe I didn't want to kill him.”

“What the fuck does that matter? He's too goddamn dangerous to be left alive!”

“It's not that simple, John-”

“The hell it is! I’m sorry you feel conflicted or whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, but this isn’t about you! All you had to do was fire the fucking gun. He was right in front of you, and you didn't shoot!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Why?!”

“You want to know why?” Arthur shouted, whipping around to face John, at last. “Because I can't kill another person! Even someone as awful as Larson! I’m not like you! This isn’t easy for me, alright?!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Arthur’s face fell. John could see the regret wash over his face like a cloud over the burning sun, but it only lasted a moment before he was collecting himself. Putting on that same mask of polite-until-you-fuck-with-me he always wore around suspects and targets. John had never had that face turned on him before. He hated it.

“So that’s what this is about,” John murmured, his tone dark. “You think it’s easy… You think I’m a monster, and you’d rather let Larson go free than be like me.”

“No, John, that’s not-”

 “Who do you think made me that way?” John snapped. Arthur’s mouth closed so fast John heard his teeth click. “It was him, Arthur. It was Larson. And thanks to you, he’s going to go and do it to another lonely, scared Native kid with nowhere else to go!” John chuckled humorlessly. “Christ, Arthur, If that’s what you thought of me, why didn’t you just say it at the start?”

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I think of you, John. Jesus, am I not allowed to have a minor moral crisis over shooting a man?!”

“He’s not just a man! He’s a gangster! A robber! A killer! You told me so yourself!”

“So are you, John.”

“Yeah, and you shot me for it,” John reminded him. 

Arthur growled and slammed his fist down on the mantle of the fireplace beside them, hard enough that John could feel the vibration travel through the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I wanted to let the law deal with him! Is that so hard to understand?!”

John took a step in Arthur’s direction. “Oh yeah? The same law that ripped me away from my family and home? The same law that turned me into a monster? Too little and too much for everyone all at the same time? The same law that drove human beings off of their lands and into reservations? That killed thousands of people like me?”

“The criminal law would have placed Larson in jail. Like he deserved.”

John scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think the law cares that he deserves it, Arthur? The law is punishment for those who don’t deserve it and ignorance for those who do. There’s no justice in it.”

“What, so that means it’s your job to deal it out?”

“Yes!” John yelled. “If it means he can’t hurt anyone any longer, then yes. And vigilante justice works a hell of a lot faster than the court system will ever manage!”

“I thought you were trying to be a better man, John.”

“I was trying to be like you,” John said venomously. “My mistake.”

That was the final straw. Arthur took a step forward without warning and swung his fist as hard as he could. It made contact with John’s ribs (he could feel them shift beneath Arthur’s fist), and John made a soft oof sound as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was knocked into the fireplace mantle, the corner of it digging into his shoulder. 

The fight that followed was chaotic and messy in a way John had never experienced before, and when he tried to think back to it, it would only be preserved in blurry snapshots, like someone moving in the middle of a photograph. Arthur grabbed John’s braid and pulled. John clawed a deep gouge into his arm. He drew blood. Arthur twisted John’s arm. John cracked Arthur’s rib. Arthur knocked John’s legs out from under him, causing them both to go sprawling onto the floor. Arthur punched. John slapped. Arthur bit. John pinned. And then paused. And then…

In the midst of the fighting, John had ended up on top of Arthur, straddling his waist while pinning both wrists with one hand and grabbing a fistfull of Arthur’s shirt with the other. Both of them had frozen, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Their noses were nearly touching, and John could feel Arthur’s breath fanning across his lips, staring into those dark, dark eyes. They weren’t so dark, John realized as he looked into them. They were brown, lovely and warm, with scattered flecks of gold and green nestled deep inside. Hidden gems, wide and wild with adrenaline, flicking back and forth across John’s face without any point of focus.

John’s eyes flicked over the rest of Arthur’s face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheekbones. Loose strands of auburn hair falling messily across his forehead. The crooked corners of his nose from being broken one too many times. Smile lines beside his tired eyes. Lips like flower petals, soft and pale. Slightly parted and inhaling, exhaling. At some point, John realized he had let go of Arthur’s shirt and was cradling Arthur’s face oh-so gently as he examined it, dragging his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, caressing it. Down the bridge of his nose to his lips, his perfect lips. Arthur remained as still as stone, barely even breathing as he stared blindly back at John.

Somewhere behind the haze of the moment, John wondered subconsciously what would happen if he kissed Arthur. Because, the truth, he realized, was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he wanted. He wanted Arthur, in a way he had never wanted anyone else before. He wanted to be close to him, close like this. Closer than this. To be around him always, to hold him, to kiss him. 

What would happen if he took what he wanted instead of what he was told, for once?

He hesitated when he heard Arthur’s breath hitch.But then, when no resistance came, he leaned his head down ever so slightly (there was barely any bridge to gap, by that point), and then he was kissing Arthur. And it was like the world had been set ablaze.

As he pressed his lips against Arthur’s, every nerve in John’s body was alive. It felt like a jolt from a live wire, like a burst of fireworks that would light up the sky on the Fourth of July, like the sparking tang of gunpowder before the shot rang out. It felt like energy, pure and bright and hot and lighting him up from the inside. He felt Arthur’s body respond in kind, arching up to create a line of contact that started at their hands and continued all the way down to their tangled legs, making John shiver. He tasted like whiskey, sweet and sharp beneath the campfire smoke and aftershave, and John marveled at how such a strange and sinful combination could taste like it had just come down from heaven.

He kissed harder, chasing the taste. He nipped at Arthur’s lip hard enough to draw blood, adding a coppery tang to the kiss and eliciting a small moan from the back of Arthur’s throat. It only made John want more. He kissed him again, and again, and again, Arthur’s lips and tongue moving against his with a practiced skill that made John dizzy. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and his head was swimming with nothing but Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He only pulled away when his chest was burning and there was no choice but to come up for air.

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and twinkling. “Oh God.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

And an unbidden memory surfaced in John’s mind. 

He was back in boarding school, sitting for a mandatory midnight mass in the chapel, his posture ramrod straight. The priests had always been so particular about those masses. There was to be no slouching or fidgeting, and God alone could help you if you dozed off. John had been kneeing in one of the pews, focusing all of his attention on keeping his posture perfect and his eyes open and remaining somewhat alert. 

In the midst of silent prayer, one of the priests, a Father McKenna, had thrown open the doors to the chapel, and dragged another boy up before the altar by his ear. 

The boy had tears streaming down his disheveled face and his nose was red from crying, but the thing that struck John the most about him were his eyes. He just looked so… tired. Not the kind of tired that John was fighting, the kind where a seductive sleep was lingering at the corners of his vision, waiting for him to blink or close his eyes in “prayer” for a second too long. This boy looked like the kind of tired that shot through his bones and grew like rot and rust with every passing day, the kind that only shuffling off this mortal coil a bit too soon could cure.

Father McKenna said the boy had been caught ‘with’ another, with a fury in his eyes that made John wonder in the back of his mind if he had been possessed by the devil. He’d been too young to know what it meant to be ‘with’ another boy at the time, but he knew it must be evil. Father McKenna threw him down in front of the altar, and the boy- John vaguely recognized him to be a child named Alexander- just knelt with his head bowed, like he had accepted his fate before Fate came to dole it out.

Father McKenna was not pleased by this. He smacked the back of Alexander’s head. Hard. He didn’t respond. He picked up a hymnal and smacked him harder still. And still, nothing. 

The priest was trembling with barely concealed fury now, and there was a steady pit of dread opening up in John’s stomach as he began to eye the doors, the windows. Any potential escape from the devil and the punishment that awaited him.

But there was no escape, there never was. So John sat, quietly, and watched as Father McKenna began to beat Alexander.

It was horrible, but somehow John couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Alexander’s screams tore through his ears and began to echo off the vaulted ceilings, pleas to stop and promises to never do it again ringing in John’s mind. Not even as the boy’s blood began to stain Father McKenna’s hands and drip onto the marble stairs, as vivid and crimson as sacramental wine. Not even as two of the altar boys had to drag Alexander’s barely conscious, barely breathing body down the aisle and out to the hospital wing.

John was trembling by the end of it. He felt like he was going to throw up. He dreamed of that moment for weeks afterward, never able to sleep without witnessing another religious sacrifice, another crucifixion, another martyr behind his eyelids.

Suddenly back in the present– but not really, never fully out of the past– John scrambled back off of Arthur and pressed his back against a wall, wide-eyed and sweating in sudden, sickening fear. In another life he might have missed the feeling of Arthur beneath him, his waist between his thighs, his lips against his. But nothing could permeate that fear. Nothing would ever be bigger than the fear.

“Wha– John?” Arthur asked. There was fear in his eyes too, but it was different. It wasn’t fear of hell or Father McKenna or whatever had become of Alexander. It was fear for John. It was concern. John closed his eyes against it. “John, what’s wrong? What–,” “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just, be quiet!” John snapped. “Please, please, just–,” his voice broke. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. 

“Okay…” Arthur said, quietly. Gently, so cruelly gentle. John could feel the beginnings of tears burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter. “Okay.”

“This…” John started. He didn’t want to say it. He knew there would be no coming back from it. No more fireworks, no more whiskey on flower petal lips. Never again would he be so close to Arthur Lester if he said it. But that was the point wasn’t it? Make distance.

Take what he was told, never what he wanted.

“This was a mistake,” John said, firmly. A lie, of course. Inside, his very soul was shaking. The strings of his heart were trembling in a tragic vibrato, a song with no recipient. But he’d always been good at lying. He stood, tossing his braid over his shoulder and brushing the dust of his shirt (his wrinkled shirt, stained with a speck of Arthur’s blood). “It never happened.” He didn’t look at Arthur, because he was a coward. He was everything Arthur thought he was, so he didn’t look him in the eye when he said:

“If you ever so much as mention this, to anyone, I won’t hesitate, Arthur.”

He opened the door to the cabin, ready to step outside, leaving everything he’d never known he’d wanted behind. 

“I’m not you.”

[genevievefangirl]

Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics - PART 7

For all caveats/rules/backstory, please read the Master Post

signed, sealed, delivered By: sulfuric @c-rowland Rating: G Tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together Summary: The misty remains of the thing haven’t even cleared from the air of the office when Smiley—still on his back, rolling over like a golden retriever—is looking again to Uptight and grinning wide in a way the Postman can only reliably describe as stupid. He’s been standing here observing the ruckus for a good minute, now, and the two of them are completely in their own world, unaware of anything but each other. It takes him a tick, but Uptight smiles, too. (or: the Postman, observing.) My Notes: This is really fun as an outsider’s POV fic and who doesn’t love the Ghost Postman?!

So Tie Me to a Post and Block My Ears By: that_trans_autistic_guy @that-trans-autistic-guy Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hell, Trauma, Blindness, Deaf, Past Torture, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Edwin loved his job. Truly, being a detective was something he’d daydreamed about in life and it was his reality in his afterlife, a genuine dream come true. Even better, he had the best partner and agency he could have ever asked for. The work was always intriguing and exciting, there was always more to learn and he always had his favorite person by his side. What more could he need? My Notes: Edwin having a panic attack and then Charles calms him down? Sign me up please! And the second chapter being Charles POV of the whole thing is the cherry on top.

solatium By: matelotage Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, PTSD Summary: It's not something Charles noticed right away in the heat of things, considering they'd been in hell the first time it happened, and at the mercy of a deranged witch the other. But they'd been the only times he'd seen Edwin without his usual posh school attire. My Notes: Charles giving Edwin his coat after the events of Ep 8 is EVERYTHING TO ME

Something’s gone terribly wrong (But I’ll make it better) By: Aster_Flower114 aStar_flower on twitter Rating: NR Tags: Fluff, Protective Charles Rowland, Injury Summary: Short fic about Edwin getting badly injured during a case and is reluctant to rest for a bit My Notes: Edwin refusing help/rest when he's hurt? So in character, but also makes me want to smack him lol

Soul Protector By: Ice_Elf @ice-elf Rating: M Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland, Soul Bond Summary: Whoever held the greatest claim on his soul could be worse than Doll Spider. They might doom him to an eternity of pain that even he couldn’t imagine. But he didn’t care: this chance of freedom—of snatching victory from the creature that had stolen decades of his existence—was far greater than any risk. “The claimant is unknown,” the Justiciar stated. “If they approach the court with the proper paperwork, or are willing to be put to the sword, we will revisit your case. ~ Following their return from Hell, Edwin and Charles had thought themselves safe. They had believed that Hell and its denizens had no more claim on Edwin's soul. Unfortunately, not everyone is of the same opinion. When Edwin is summoned to a tribunal to determine whether the Doll Spider or the Office of Lost and Found has the greater claim on his soul, it is up to Charles, Crystal and the Night Nurse to put things right. The truth, however, may be more complicated than it seems - and more than one of the agency will be forced to confront their demons. My Notes: This is truly one of the greats for me. The worldbuilding, the characterization, and the plot are all exactly what I want out of a fanfic. And Edwin and Charles are just so devoted and codependent in this it is unreal.

Spectral Rage By: Baby_Spinach @a-jasminator Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, FIrst Kiss, Whump, Protective Charles Rowland, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: "Hold on, you think I'd turn?" Charles demands. "Every ghost has a unique trigger, and I can't say I wasn't a little concerned on a few occasions in Port Townsend. Then, with that same look in your eyes just now…" Edwin isn't wrong; it's not like Charles hadn't been thinking the same thing. But he shakes his head and attempts a comforting grin--Edwin's got too much on his plate to waste time worrying about the one person who's supposed to look out for him. "Don't worry, mate, I'm aces. So how do we find this demonic arsehole?" -OR- All ghosts are capable of turning vengeful. When their quarry is revealed to be a demon from Edwin's past, Charles and Edwin learn something important about their own personal triggers. My Notes: References to Edwin's time in Hell? The boys being mutually protective? One of them turning into a dangerous powerful mess when the other is threatend? What's not to love!

Still a Better Lovestory By: Vamillepudding @vamillepudding Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: “That about did it,” Edwin says, patting himself down and straightening his bowtie. “Now, if you’re ready, I suggest we find a mirror and-“ “Did you just cough up a flower?” Charles interrupts. Flower, perhaps, is a slight exaggeration. It’s more like a petal, red and incredibly out of place here on the shore. Edwin clears his throat, but this time no petals follow. “Certainly it’s nothing to worry about.” Or: Edwin is suffering from a weird curse, but for some reason, he's refusing Charles' help. Charles is trying his best to fix it anyway, but Edwin is being oddly secretive about the whole thing. My Notes: I'll admit that I am not normally a Hanahaki desease persona, but this fic is amazing. And if you like Twilight references you will have a lot of fun with this!

still. By: Backstabberr @dulltulipz Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland, Hurt Edwin Payne, Hurt Charles Rowland Summary: He reached out to take Edwin’s hand. “I realized…I loved you, that I’m in love with you,” Charles said, his eyes moving from his hands to meet Edwin’s. He was crying as well, his hand gripping Charles tighter. “And you were gone, I couldn’t tell you, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you or hold you. It just started and ended at that very moment.” Charles tripped over some of his words before shuttering, he breathed deeply. [aka Edwin is badly hurt to the point he falls into some sort of ghost coma, Charles inevitably has a revelation.] My Notes: Injuried Edwin to protective charles to love confesssion pipeline strikes again! (And I love it every time)

Stories left on our skin By: DryadGurrl @dryadgurrl Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Magical Tattoos, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Charles always hated re-doing the tattoos, but that was part of why he'd insisted on taking over the task in the first place, it was easier, somehow, being the one to etch those marks into Edwin's skin than it was watching him do it to himself. Or: Edwin has magical tattoos to help with his spellcasting and when a case goes south, it's up to Charles to replace them (and not for the first time) My Notes: I would have never come up with this idea, but it is brilliant. Charles redoing magical tattoos for Edwin is just such an intimate gesture and really shows how close their relationship is.

sun in my eyes By: pisces_spider @pisces-swirlix Rating: G Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Romantic Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates Summary: When Edwin reads to Charles, everything is okay. Edwin tries to get to the bottom of why Charles likes it so much. (Or — Edwin and Charles treat reading aloud like it’s a love language) My Notes: Edwin reading to Charles is literally one of my favorite things ever.

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Chp.5 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Blushing

CW: Slow burn, Two fools trying to ignore their crushes, Rex being cute, firing practice, target practice, Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

Tag list (I am so happy people want to be tagged <3): @heavenseed76 @arctrooper69

Minors DNI

You had to be honest with yourself. 

Your aim sucked. 

As a field surgeon, you technically weren’t supposed to be anywhere near droids. Your main purpose was to stay behind the forces and perform surgery and intensive medical care to those with severe wounds.

Kix would be on the front lines and keep the injured alive as long as possible until he could get them to you. 

You could hit your targets, if they were big enough. Like a tank. Or if they were about 5 feet in front of you…

Ok, you couldn’t really hit your targets. You’ve been with the 501st for months now and you haven’t gotten any better. 

You debated going full clone trooper and just punching the droids. After all, the soldiers had just gotten proper armor for their hands. Maybe you could get a pair of armored gloves…

“Everything alright?” 

You perked up hearing the question from Rex, snapping your attention back to the present. You had zoned out, staring at the same datapad for several minutes now. 

Right, you had come to his office to help a supply crate mix-up. Someone hadn’t properly labeled the crates, so there were blasters mixed with medical supplies, and bandages mixed with armor…It was a mess. And to make sure nothing was missing, you and him were supposed to go over the numbers so no helmet or tube of bacta was out of place. 

You sighed, “Yea, just…thinking. That's all.”

The Captain raised a brow, silently encouraging you to continue.

Over your time with the 501st, you’ve been able to read Rex more than anyone else. You understood what he was thinking through his expressions. You could guess his feelings based on his stance and body language, even when he wore his helmet.

Perhaps it was your training as a doctor that allowed you to read him so easily. 

Or…maybe it was the growing affection you had for him.

It’s a passing crush, that's all. You told yourself, Clones aren’t allowed to have romantic relationships. This’ll pass. Don’t get your hopes up.

Shoving that thought out of your mind you put the datapad down, “I’m a terrible shot.”

Rex let out a soft and surprised chuckle at your blunt statement, “Well…you're technically not supposed to be.”

“No, I mean…even if I need to defend myself or the wounded…I miss almost every shot with a blaster.” You responded, “I’ve tried to practice but…I just can’t aim very well…”

He had a small smirk on his lips, “You can’t be worse than a clanker.” 

“I assure you, I am.” 

Rex laughed again, “I can teach you, if you want. Besides, I’m sure a break would be good for us both.” 

Your heart fluttered. 

“I’d like that.” 

Which is how you found yourself in the hangar, standing about 20 meters away from an empty crate with a painted target. There were scorch marks dotting the metal and yellow paint, indicating that you weren’t the first person to need aim training.

The makeshift target range was mostly out of the way and out of sight of everyone else in the hangar, offering some privacy.

“I didn’t know this was here.” You admitted, staring at the target. 

Rex shrugged, “Some shinies set this up. The General didn’t mind, so I kept it for anyone who wanted to practice their shooting.”

You nodded in understanding. Usually if something didn’t make sense, the answer was always ‘shinies’.

“Alright, now, pick up your blaster.” He took the tone of a commanding Captain. His arms were crossed as he watched you get your pistol ready. You wrapped your hands on your blaster, and got into the stance you were trained to be in. 

You didn’t even put your finger on the trigger before Rex spoke up, “Already, I see the issue.” he stepped towards you, putting his gloved hands over yours. He changed the position of your hold, moving one of your palms from the bottom of the grip to over your other hand. 

You blinked, “Oh, I was holding it wrong.” 

Rex had a relaxed smile, “It's a common mistake.” He stepped back and nodded, “Fire.” 

You pulled the trigger and the blaster kicked back as it fired. However, you managed to keep the gun relatively steady. Your shot missed the target, hitting the upper corner of the crate. With a sigh you looked over at the captain. 

He kept his arms crossed, “Focus on where you’re aiming. Where you look, that's where you’ll hit.”

With a steadying breath, you looked down the sights of your gun and pulled the trigger again. Your shot was closer to the target that time, however, still not a hit. 

“Better.” Rex approached again. This time, he got closer, putting his hands over yours and stepping behind you. You felt the plastoid of his chestplate on your back as he leaned into your body, “Raise the blaster a little higher and try again.”

Don’t get distracted. Don't get distracted. 

You swallowed and pulled the trigger. Again, your shot had gotten closer to the target, barely hitting the yellow of the first ring. Frustration hit you and you huffed. 

Rex laughed softly and it struck you how warm his laugh was. How lovely.

Stop it. Grow out of your crush, you're not some grade school student. You are a grown ass adult. Act like it.

“Just look at the target. Not the sights on the blaster.” The clone captain was rolling incredibly well with your failures. He kept his hold on you as you calmed your emotions to focus. You did as he told, staring at the bright yellow target meters in front of you.

With another breath, you fired. 

This time, you hit the target. Not a bullseye at all, but at least you hit inside the last yellow ring.

“Oh, hey I actually got it.” You perked up, smiling slightly. 

Rex, sadly, let go and stepped back, “Good, now do it again. I want to see you hit the target at least 4 more times.” He put his helmet on, crossing his arms to watch you. He was tense now.

You tried not to let his sudden shift in attitude bother you. He was probably worried that someone might turn the corner and see him so lax and uncaptain-like. Rex did have to be professional after all…

Still, you did miss the warmth he gave. 

Again, you pulled the trigger. Without him holding your gun steady, your shot veered slightly and hit the outermost ring, “That counts.” you stated, looking over to the clone. 

He nodded, “It counts. I’ll be nice this time. But just this once.”

You couldn’t hold back your grin and you shot again. Another hit. Still no bullseye, but you got closer. 

Hey, 3 for 3. One more.

Without getting over confident, you took a steadying breath and pulled the trigger. 

Again, no bullseye, but your shot landed inside the second ring. You were improving. Or this was just pure luck. Either way, you’ll take it.

You smiled and turned to look at Rex. He nodded in approval and stepped towards you, “Very good. You learn quickly. Better than most troopers who step off Kamino.” 

“Aw, you think I’m better than a shiny?” You joked, hoping to help him relax.

He huffed under his helmet, but you could hear the smile in his voice, “That’s not a high bar, Doctor.” 

“I’ll take the compliment, Captain.” 

He was about to respond when your and his coms both beeped. He answered his and you answered yours. 

“Doctor, there's a patient in the sick bay.”

“Captain Rex, you're needed at the command bridge.”

With a sigh, you shared a look with Rex and rolled your eyes. You gave him a grateful smile, “Back to work, then?” 

“It never ends.” He sighed, “If you want…if you want to practice again, just let me know.” 

Your answer was kind and sweet, “I will. Thank you, Rex.” 

As you parted ways, you tried to calm your beating heart. 

It's a crush. It's a crush. Grow up. Just grow up already!

Rex, on the other hand, kept his helmet on as he walked away, because he was certain he was still blushing like a damn cadet.

He’s a captain. Captains shouldn’t fucking blush!

[ngage2003]

✰ Some of Gage's Tim Wright DID Headcanons/Ideas (DIDeas, hey get it?)

Ok so I have talked a fair bit on my blog about Tim being a system, but I wanted to make a post real quick talking about several ideas I have around his systemhood bc I am going crazy and need to share them.

✦ Hey! If you like this and want to hear more about my Tim system stuff, check out my tag #ng.systim.

Alright, so I think a lot of/most of Tim's system has been around for a very long time, as in he doesn't split too often. Usually when they do, parts end up getting reabsorbed, leading to a very small system count that the active parts are aware of.

(Of course, there are always some parts hiding in headspace/the subconscious, but they're impossible to find unless they want to be.)

I think Tim's system doesn't have a headspace in the stereotypical sense, and generally when they're not fronting, it is sort of like they're asleep, though I think people like Masky would object to that characterization because he doesn't ever really sleep/dream. Usually when he goes to bed, Tim wakes up.

✱ Speaking of "Masky"! I have talked about this a couple times but I think he would end up going by the name "Angel" after hearing about the concept of Guardian Angels, as that is literally what he is to Tim. I also see him as a sort of "Protector" archetype, having formed probably around the same time that Tim did as a young child and acting to take on dealing with the trauma for him.

I think Masky's femininity comes from the fact that they (the system as a whole) as a young child idolized their mother as this protective force, this bulwark that was impenetrable and fierce and powerful. They tied all that to her femininity to some extent, and when Masky formed, they were feminine because that was what they associated with strength and protection.

I think Tim and Masky are somewhat equals though, but Masky is also deeply in love with Tim in the way only a protector alter can be. "My purpose is to keep you safe and I love you for it." It is this genuine deep affection, and I think if Tim were to discover Masky, there could be some proper feelings returned eventually after the initial scare.

"Ok but if Masky loves Tim so much why does he work with Brian and get their leg broken??"

Well, I think Brian was both of their first best friend. Whenever Tim was overstimulated and/or scared, whether that be by people or an upcoming final, Masky would front. Brian obviously didn't know this and was just like, "huh wow my buddy Tim is being weird and quiet!" And his kindness left a profound effect on Masky.

Early in Marble Hornets, Masky visits Brian's house regularly despite him being long gone, locking it when he isn't there. Yeah it is a mess, but its being watched over.

I think Brian approached him after Jay got the tapes to ask for his help. I think before then, Brian was in hiding but this isn't a post about him. I think despite being a protector, Masky agreed to help Brian because of how kind he was to him, a mistake he later fully rescinds when Brian causes Tim to have a seizure.

Masky deeply regrets this, and is in turmoil after it for the rest pf the series, leading to their spotty fronting besides protecting Tim in Entry 65 after once again being triggered out by seizures.

Ok that is enough rehashing of other older points lets talk about the idea of— ✱ Other Parts

I think its very possible that Tim at least has a little alter. I haven't given it too much thought, but I think there is stuff hidden around their living space for the little¹, crayons and pencils and spare papers, these doodles hidden under the bed. I also think they have a stuffed animal from when Tim was a kid at one, something Tim keeps meaning to throw out but always ends up back in bed.

[1] An alter/part that earnestly believes they are and acts younger than the body. They aren't real kids but often will experience distress at being reminded of that or not treated like a kid, and generally will struggle with emotional reasoning or processing stuff, as a child might. Often they're the most protected members of a system.

I think there is probably several points where they accidentally front in front of other people, but Tim's little is very anxious and quiet, leading to them being undetected.

I could honestly see them fronting while Tim and Jay are living at motels for that brief period of time, and Jay just being confused why Tim suddenly got emotional and started crying a bit and not communicating. (The little doesn't have their plush and is upset.)

Jay ends up sitting with him and rubbing his back, and it feels like such a crazy thing to do with Tim of all people—stalwart, endlessly brave Tim—but Jay does it, and it helps.

I think Jay doesn't mention it tomorrow because he doesn't want to upset/embarrass Tim and quite obviously, Tim doesn't remember.

I think Tim's childhood stuffed animal is a dog of some kind, and he simply forgot to bring it.

Alsooo I do not think Tim's system really has introjects²? (I say this mostly because I don't know what the fuck media they'd be from lmao.) But I do think there is an alter which holds more of the musical talent between them all. Not all of it, but they just remember more. I think they also know how to play piano along with ukulele and if given the chance they'd love to make little ditties to impress people.

[2] Alters whose personalities are based off of an interpretation of a character held by another specific alter or the general subconscious. Sometimes they think of themselves literally as the character but not always.

I don't have a name for them, as I don't really either for the little, but this bard I think would enjoy dressing a bit more colorful than Tim usually does.

Also could see them having a very aggressive persecutor³-trauma holder alter who split off of Masky during when they were in the hospital. Generally I think Masky was even more aggressive during this time due to his system feeling so threatened and dehumanized and him feeling powerless to protect/take care of them, and it resulted in a very harsh split after Masky lit the fire in the hospital to escape. This led to them "chilling out" a bit for college, but also a very aggressive persecutor who lurks in the back of their mind.

[3] Put it simply, a protector who doesn't know how to be a protector. Persecutors are often very angry about the trauma and very hurt, leading to them lashing out and trying to reenact trauma or push people away or whatever. They tend to be very emotional and hurt, and its important to empathize with them as a way to help them heal. Unfortunately no one in systim has done this yet.

I think their appearance in headspace would almost be sort of fiery/charred, this representation of retribution and anger that lashes out when anyone gets close. I could see them also having a mask since they split off from Masky, and were this product of futile rage that developed into something new! Though also obviously their mask would look a bit different. I dunno, that'd be fun.

(For us, if alters split off from one another like that, like if they're a part of that alter which splits off or a specific trauma, they will often look to some degree similar!)

I think they would very rarely front, at least on their own. Masky would be very cautious about that, and about them hurting the body or other people by lashing out. Because even when Masky is helping Brian or angry, he usually still has somewhat enough of a mind to be careful and deep down his main priority is Tim. (Though he doesn't always behave wisely/good and we loveeee a flawed protector 😁)

Anyway yeah those are my main thoughts I am a bit tired rn lol I might rb this with more later I hope you enjoyeddd

[prfssnlshipper]

uh hi, just wanna ask something about proship and all that jazz .

im anti hara for a reason: i just block people if i don't like something, but im deeply uncomfortable with certain ships and the romanization of complex topics.

i feel like a lot of darkshippers (saying that to not generalize) are doing it for coping reasons, but some definitely seem groomed into it.

so i just. don't know what i am?? i consider myself unaligned but not neutral. im DEFINITELY not neutral about lolicons.

but also, if proshipping IS about letting people ship what they want, does that extend to fully romanticizing very complex and/or sensitive topics? (i am very particular about terms and their "proper" use)

thats all! im very open about hearing both sides, but i can't deal with certain things being seen as "good" or "hot" when i lived through them and they weren't.

Hello! Sorry for getting to this late, I wanted to spend some time to think about how to answer.

For one thing, I'll say that dark shipping is not necessarily always the same as romanticizing the topics involved. This is where the line between fiction and reality needs to be drawn. I would say that fully romanticizing a topic would mean glorifying it happening in reality. The context of the ship and of the fictional content is important.

To give an analogy, it's like if someone really loves FPS (First Person Shooter) games. Like, they go home after school/work and play FPS games every day. Maybe they like all FPS games just because the mechanics of shooting a character on screen happens to be fun for them. This doesn't mean they think shooting a real gun at living beings in real life is fun. But shooting things in the context of fiction may be fun.

So I'd say that's the first thing to know about dark shipping or about being proship -- it's distinguishing that people can and do enjoy things in fiction that they could even be disgusted by in real life.

The second thing is that it's about separating oneself from what they see in front of them, even if it's "relatable". It can feel like a personal "attack", where if someone finds something "good" or "hot" in fiction, that feels like it means they would think that happening to you in real life was "good" or "hot". But that's not the case.

Like using the example from earlier, let's say someone has been shot before. Then, if they met the FPS fan, even though this person loves FPS games, if they found out what happened to the real person in front of them, it's likely they would be horrified. Because something terrible happening in fiction is one thing, but a terrible thing happening to a real person IS horrific.

And the third thing is just that it's completely valid to still be uncomfortable with certain topics, and it's also important to recognize that discomfort doesn't make something immoral.

Like, you shouldn't have to "deal with" anything that makes you uncomfortable. That's why blacklisting triggering topics is important. But if you run into someone talking about enjoying that content (in fiction), the best thing is to move on. It's uncomfortable, but that doesn't make them a horrible person. (If they didn't tag their content appropriately that's a different story, but social media does also deserve some blame for sometimes showing posts to people they weren't intended for.)

If you imagine someone close to you that has always advocated for you and you KNOW they don't support anything harmful happening to real people, especially whatever you went through, and then you one day learn they like some dark fictional content, that doesn't mean their support was fake. If they continue advocating for you and make sure not to discuss things you're uncomfortable with around you, then that's what shows how they feel about those things happening in real life. Not their fictional tastes.

That's all that being proship is about. There's definitely content I never want to see in my life that would probably disgust me, but I know that it doesn't mean the people making it are inherently immoral. I'll base that judgement on their actions toward real people.

[rippleclan]

I absolutely do want to hear about your guidelines when it comes to writing about suicide. Especially as someone who has been suicidal before in my life, I really want to address the subject in my own writing, but I'm afraid of stepping over some line given that I know my own experiences aren't the classic kind. I am kinda scared of fucking something up and offending others who have been in similar situations haha 😅

Opening with a personal note; I think it is so important to write about suicide in fiction, and not as a shock value thing. When I was in middle school, I loved the angst of it (like how other people love reading about their favs getting tortured in fanfic), but I knew it was a serious and often poorly portrayed topic. I started doing research into proper suicide depiction in the media and grew to understand how it can play an effective role in a story while not demeaning it or, God forbid, endangering others. I’ll try to add links to stuff when I can.

I’m not going to add trigger tags to this post, just be careful with reading it if this stuff is overwhelming.

First things first, let’s dive into the intention and purpose of the suicide, just as we would any other plot point. This is not the sort of topic you want to add in for shock value. It would be insulting to the trauma of it all and could actually hurt people. The big thing to consider with writing about suicide is suicide contagion. This is the phenomenon where, after learning about a recent suicide, others are driven to kill themselves as well. It's also called the Werther effect due to the number of copycat suicides following the publication of a popular 1774 novel called The Sorrows of Young Werther. Treating suicide as something to be highly publicized and dramatized incentivizes people to commit suicide as well. It's our responsibility as writers, and really as people, to not contribute to this.

It wouldn't be right to perpetually ignore suicide in literature and media, though. It's real and life-changing and personally, I just love stories that include it. So when should we include it in our stories?

You'll need to be analytical as you design this plot point so you can be careful in your approach. Forgive me for blunt and technical language here, but this is for the sake of education. Suicide can prove an interesting plot development for characters with deep-seated mental health issues or crises. You need to consider the character's mindset and situation, and how this would alter the rest of the story. When Trumpetspore died in-game, after these moons of chaos, I considered her character. Her trait was "nervous", she grieved deeply, she likely inherited depressive tendencies from her grandmother and the trauma of her youth. Changing her death from rogue attack to suicide made sense thematically, especially compared to upcoming plot points.

For another example, look at Anya from Mouthwashing (amazing game, would not recommend to those with lots of triggers tho). Her suicide was an excellent choice from a narrative perspective. She's trapped on the ship, she's pregnant, trapped with her rapist, she's trying to care for a dying man and it is traumatizing. Her choice to die by suicide supports her story and the themes of the game. All in all, if a character is going to make that choice, you as a writer should at understand it, even if your characters/audience are left in the dark.

Now onto the actual suicide. I learned about the intriciacies of writing about the event via recommendations on reporting on suicide. This advice is geared toward the discussion of real life suicide, so not all of the information here applies to fiction. However, I've taken this advice and shaped it for my own use in suicide fiction.

If you can, try to avoid bringing up the suicide method. This can vary depending on the circumstances of the story and what you're trying to accomplish, but if there's no need to know the method, it's better not to say anything. This helped me with Trumpetspore, because TBH I was very stumped on how I wanted her suicide to occur. In the end, though, not telling anyone heightened the intensity and serves to protect readers.

If you let the audience know how the victim died, don't show the moment of death. Sometimes knowing how someone died is important for the story! In The Politician, it is narratively important that River uses a gun so that we can see the emotional toll it has on Payton, but you never show someone actually shooting themselves or swallowing pills or landing on the ground from a dozen stories up. In writing, you can do this with a bland, non-descriptive statement, like "And then he shot himself." In a visual medium, if you actually show the moment of death, you are risking an increase in actual suicide rates. Do not do that.

Add links to suicide prevention resources at the end of your work. I've seen multiple TV shows do this whenever suicide is brought up, and its becoming good form.

Answer important questions, but don’t explore the preparation. Let’s say you want your character to try hanging. In a modern setting, there’s no need to explore where they got the rope or the knots they tied, those sort of answers are usually simple. But let’s say it’s a child; how would a child get rope? Or let’s say in Warriors, a character eats deathberries. Did they come from the forest or the medicine den? The answer changes the story. Still, don’t dive into the character’s quest to obtain the right items and prepare for their attempt.

Ask yourself, does it need to be a completed suicide, or can it be an attempt? Attempts naturally offer a more hopeful story with the promise of recovery. Does the character need to die for the sake of the plot? Or does making it just an attempt fulfill the same goals?

From there, it’s mostly about treating the incident with respect. Explore the reactions, explore the recovery after the fact, don’t be afraid to let a character or two screw up in handling the situation, and don’t be afraid that your own experiences aren’t universal. They’ll make your story better because they’re your own.

[clangenrising]

So one thing I've always felt about the heavy content warnings in the past is that even if I don't click on it, it kind of clues me in to whether or not to expect something serious for a confrontation. I do think the heavy content warning is valuable, but putting it the day before a specific post does kind of reduce suspense for me personally. I wonder, if people want to know moons in advance for stuff like deaths anyways, maybe you would consider doing like, a single heavy content warning every six moons, listing the moon and nature of triggering topics for the next six moons, and doing away with the day-before warnings. That way people who want to know in advance can still know, and those of us who enjoy the uncertainty can enjoy that suspense.

I know it would be a little different than your current system, and that it might be a little more challenging for folks who like the day before content warning to keep track of when everything is going to happen, but frankly, I do feel like people should take some responsibility for curating their online experiences as long as everything is properly tagged. Wanting to know when you're going to be exposed to potentially triggering content seems reasonable, needing multiple warnings both well in advance and the day before in addition to proper tags on the post seems excessive, and at that point maybe an indicator that stories exploring those topics are not something that individual is currently in the right headspace to manage. That's just my opinion though. I will continue enjoying the story of RisingClan, regardless of what decisions are made about content warnings, and I appreciate how much effort you have put into accommodating the requests of your audience in this respect.

Hmm. It is a good point that all the posts that contain triggering content are tagged appropriately. Still, I know that some people appreciate being able to see a quick summary of exactly what the content is.

I don't think I could manage doing spoilers that far in advance. Like, I could for deaths but the other kinds of triggers tend to emerge during the writing process and I don't have things written even close to that far in advance.

I'm considering starting a new blog that ONLY does heavy content alerts. That way, people who want them can follow and even sign up for notifications while people who don't like them can continue reading spoiler free.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Love the smart yandere who’s manipulative but not abusive. It really breaks my heart a little bit seeing fics tag as “yandere” despite the yandere in question only being straight up abusive psychopath with little to no actually love involved.

But quick question on your Smart Yan. How would they react if reader has the uncanny ability to sense people’s fakeness but instead of being mad, the reader wants to know the real him without any acting? Reader wants to keep it real between them and actually form a semi-normal relationship with him (wether platonic or romantic is unknown for now)

The Yandere genre is a spectrum (imo it just has to be unhealthy since that’s what it means in JP) but yeah seeing the abusive ones trigger me a whole ton. I write yanderes to feel better about my trauma and somewhat see the bright side of the things that happened so I don’t get how or relate to those writers that do it 😭 but if it makes em happy and they write proper trigger warnings then I have no right to say that they should stop.

Smart! Yan would love to have an equally if not more insightful partner. You complement each-other in the way that you two have no challenge with reading people. Except you chose the path of kindness and respect while they chose mind-games and manipulation. People from the outside just don’t get how the two of you and your brains work, speaking of complicated hypotheticals to downright ‘stupid’ ones that go on for hours and hours with no sign of stopping.

I feel like in this scenario smart yan! could turn it as a challenge to see how long it’d take to let your guard down and let themselves into the deepest crevices of your mind. You’re like the mariana trench to their thalasophillia. A place yet to be discovered, something that they can lay claim to. It is an extra challenge however to do it all without a mask or façade they can disassociate with if things go wrong. And boy do they not want things to go wrong with you at all.

I feel like to them, it doesn’t matter if you like/love someone else, are dating/married. They just want full, uninhibited, and exclusive access to that wrinkly brain of yours. They don’t even see anyone else as competition because everyone else is just so easy to decipher unlike you.

It’s just sad to see you avoiding them at times or choosing another person’s presence in stead of theirs.

But they know you’ll come to them in the end.

It’s inevitable.

You don’t really think you can beat them at their own game, did you?

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 30

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: none (in this chapter)

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s still dark outside when my alarm starts blaring through the room causing me to wake up with a shock. I quickly reach over to shut it off and then look to my side where Jensen is laying on his stomach fully dressed. He rubs his face and blinks up at me.

“Mornin’ beautiful.”

“Mornin’ sleepyhead. You can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll just take a few to get ready.”

He sits up and stretches out. “Nah, I’ll walk you to work then head back to the hotel for a shower and change. What time do you finish? We can grab a quick lunch before your matinee, then I’ll drive you to the theatre?”

“Jens…I don’t-”

“I can be inconspicuous. I wanna talk to your boss anyway, I got a message from the director of the set you’ve been catering anyway.”

“Good I hope.”

He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Of course, they have a great manager running the program. He’s very impressed and I’m very proud.” He crawls over me, out of the bed and then slips into the bathroom.

I call out, “You’d better be quick in there, I really do need to get ready!” I get up and gather my clothes so I’m ready to go shower as soon as he’s done.

After a few minutes the door opens and he comes back out. He quickly pulls me into his arms and kisses my forehead. “All yours, Darlin’.” All I can think is that I could get used to starting my day like this. As he starts to pull away he says, “I’ll see what I can whip us up for breakfast.”

I look up at him. “You used my mouth wash, that was the rush?” I shake my head. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for staying.”

“Go get ready before you’re late.” He kisses my head and pulls back before spinning me to face the bathroom. I shower, brush my hair and teeth and get dressed in almost record time not wanting to make him wait or waste any of our time together.

When I come out Jensen has two coffees and two plates with buttered toast on the island bench. He’s typing something on his phone when I sit down beside him. I don’t try to pry, I just sip the coffee. He puts his phone down, takes a bite of his toast and then looks over at me and asks, “So what time am I picking you up?”

“11:30, but only if you want to. I won’t have much time between my shift and the show.”

“I’ll bring lunch then, something quick, easy and light. Then a proper dinner between shows?”

“I won’t say no to that. But don’t go overboard of anything, you’ve already done so much. And I obviously haven’t got much to offer,” I say holding up my half eaten toast.

We both finish eating and then he kisses my cheek. “It’s alright. But uh…Do you know any decent cafes around here where I can get a little extra?”

“Maybe…” I glance at his lips which are close to mine before my phone sounds, alerting me that it’s time to go to my shift. I pull away and stand up. I dump our empty dishes in the sink, grab my bag and then hold my hand out to Jensen as he stands up.

“Are you sure? Us, going out there together, especially holding hands…There’s already rumors. People from the theatre must’ve been recording on their phones.”

“I don’t have time to worry about it right now, I’m gonna be late.”

“Alright, come on.” He takes my hand and we walk down to the Mamma Jo’s together. Before going inside he lets go of my hand. I unlock the door and let us inside. As if playing a part perfectly, he says loudly, “So, is your boss here? I got a message from Bob Singer.”

I hear Stewie’s office door creak open and I quickly turn to face him and control the situation, “Hey Stewie, sorry, I know we’re not meant to-”

Stewie cuts me off, “It’s okay, Kiddo, I got it. Just open as usual.” He then turns to face Jensen and holds out his hand to greet him, “I’m the owner, Stewie, let’s go talk in my office, it’s more private. This place’ll get full of uncaffinated people the second she flips that sign.” Jensen shakes his hand and then follows him into the office. 

I distract myself by arranging the till, filling the displays and prepping the coffee machines. Then I finally flip the sign. After a few minutes Stewie and Jensen come out of the office. Stewie comes over to me just before the customers start to realise we’re open and says, “Hey, Y/N, can you box up some stuff for this nice man to enjoy?” He looks over at Jensen, “Just let her know what you like, it’s on the house as a thank you for well, everything.”

“I’d be happy to pay,” Jensen says while looking at me.

Stewie looks at me and holds his hands up before quietly saying, “If you insist, but just tips for my best waitress and manager, nothing for the food.”

Jensen looks between us and smiles. “Works for me.” Stewie goes back into his office and then Jensen wanders around to the front of the counter and checks out the display. He quickly glances back over at me. “What’s good?”

I go to answer, but then my colleague shows up, so I put on my best professional acting, “How about I get you a selection? Any allergies, Sir?” He swallows heavily, bites his lip and then shakes his head.

I quickly place a few different treats into a box and hand it over to him. He slides his hand into his back pocket and I’m concerned he’s actually going to tip, but then he stops, leans in and lowly says, “Dessert tonight?”

I nod, and as he pulls away –despte knowing I’m playing with fire and that I shouldn’t– I say, “Enjoy your day, Sir,” with a bright smile. He shakes his head as he turns and walks out. Once he’s out of sight I turn my full attention to the slowly growing line and helping me colleague.

As we cross paths she says in a hushed tone, “You know who that was, right?”

I shake my head. “Just a customer. He was talking to Stewie when I came in, he just said to box him up something to go. I didn’t ask. Why? You think he might be one of the actors or producers from the show we’ve been catering?” I say attempting to play dumb.

“That was Dean Friggen’ Winchester!” She whisper-shouts.

“Oh, really?” I say as I walk back to hand a coffee to a customer with a smile while she works on making the next order. The next time we’re close enough to talk I ask, “Dean Winchester…Sounds familiar. Does he kill vampires or something?”

“Monsters! All kinds of monsters with his tall and sexy brother. Sam’s so angsty and brooding and sexy.”

I shake my head as I take the next coffee and go about my shift. She makes multiple comments throughout the shift as we pass each other. After a while I feel a bad about leading her on, but I know I can’t afford to be honest. However I do regret not just keeping my mouth shut. Once a couple more of our juniors arrive I finally do a quick briefing and then hang up my apron and clock out. The second I spot the black Range Rover on the street I smile and the exhaustion and regret slips from my mind. I get into the passenger seat and look over at him. His hair’s slightly damp and he’s changed into a black sweater and off-white Chinos.

“I checked it out, there’s a secluded park behind the theatre. I was thinking lunch there?” Jensen says as he pulls out from the curb.

“How are you real and why are you so set on me?”

He places his hand on my knee. “I’m definitely real, but I’m just treating you like any decent guy should. Your second question though is harder to answer. You’re just different, special…And I enjoy talking to you and spending time with you. You make my days better, you give me something to plan for, look forward to. But I uh…I don’t wanna overwhelm you. I know you’ve been through more than most.” He pulls a park overlooking the quiet park and then reaches over to the backseat. He pulls two sandwiches out of a bag and holds one out to me. “I wasn’t exactly sure what you like, but I hope it’s okay.”

“Thanks. I really can’t afford to be picky, so it’ll be great.” I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s perfect; not too heavy before the show, but filling enough to make up for the meagre breakfast. After I swallow I look over at Jensen and say, “I enjoy spending time with you too. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to make any jumps or official statements, but I’m working on it and I like where we’re at right now and the pace we’ve been moving at.”

“There’s no rush. I’m happy too.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich and after he swallows he says, “I uh…I didn’t get tickets to today’s shows but I want you to know that you’re gonna do great and that I’ll be waiting for you between them for dinner and then again after the one tonight.”

“That’s okay. It’s one thing to do the same show every night when you’re in it, but it would get boring if you see it too many times.” 

“I’d never get bored of watching you, but Grease…maybe a little. But instead, I’m gonna find us something great for dinner. How against eating out together are you? If it’s a hard no ‘cause of the paps then I’ll figure out something else.”

“Yeah, not yet…But I know a place, it’s not far. If you organise the food, I’ll give you directions.”

“Perfect.”

We both finish eating while sharing small talk. He tells me some fun stories from set and I tell him about my shift after he left.

When I come out after the matinee show, having taken my rightful and comfortable role back in the back, I find Jensen’s hire car at the back of the lot and I get in. He looks me up and down taking in my hair and makeup that’s still done to save time for the next show. “Hey there Beautiful. How was it?”

“Honestly…a little strange being back in the shadows after being the lead. But it was also less stressful. So, uh, dinner?”

“I have no doubt you’ll get the lead one day. Just enjoy soaking up all the experiences along the way. And yeah, I got it covered. Directions?”

“Yeah.” I put my seatbelt on and then navigate Jensen to one of my favorite places in New York. It’s a playground that’s full of hippopotamus statues. I know it can be busy at times, so I’m just hoping mothers with young kids are not his normal demographic, but even more than that I’m hoping it’s not a place that paparazzi would go looking for celebrities.

When we get there he grabs a bag from the backseat and then follows me. I lead us down one of the back paths to a secluded, grassed area under a tree. I sit down on the lush grass and lean against the tree. Jensen passes me the food and then sits across from me.

“If I knew we were having a picnic I would’a grabbed a blanket.”

I look around and then it dawns on me that I’ve taken a rich TV Star to an old park to eat on the dirt. I instantly feel ashamed and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come up with something better. I can’t believe I…when it’s just us sometimes I forget the life you’re likely accustomed to…“

He reaches out and gently squeezes my outstretched leg. “Hey, I don’t mind. It's been a long time since I had a picnic but I enjoy the outdoors and it’s quiet. I’m not complaining. It’s actually nice that you just treat me like a normal guy, I love my job but it doesn’t change who I am. And the fact that you generally don’t treat me any differently is probably what draws me to you so much.”

“I swear one day we’ll go somewhere that’s up to your standards.”

He pats my leg. “Who says this isn’t up to my standards? Who wouldn’t want to eat dinner in a park full of hippos?” He says as he gestures over at the playground full of cement hippo statues. “Now, shall we eat before we run out of time?”

I shake my head and let out a breathy laugh as I open the paper bag. I pull out the cardboard boxes and Jensen describes everything he bought. 

Once we finish eating, Jensen takes the rubbish to the bin and then comes back over and sits beside me. I scoot forward to let him lean against the tree and then he pulls me so my back is leaning against his chest while his legs are stretched out either side of me. His arms wrap around my shoulders holding me close. We both sit quietly together and watch the few children playing on the playground and riding fake hippos. 

After a few minutes he breaks our quiet, “Don’t take this the wrong way, it’s pure curiosity nothing more…but would you ever want kids?”

Without needing to think too much I nod. “With the right guy, at the right time, yeah. When I can afford to give them the life they deserve. You?

“With the right girl, at the right time…my work keeps me so busy, I’d need someone that can understand that, but I also want to be in a position where I wouldn’t have to miss so much.”

I place my hand on his knee and twist slightly so I can look up at him. “Are you sure you’re happy to wait for me?”

He looks down and meets my eyes, “Absolutely. Look…I’d ask you out right now, but I know you’ve been through a lot and you’re just finally getting the help you need. So I’m happy to wait and just be here for you until you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I want to be with you…I just-“

“I know. No rush.”

Knowing our time is almost up by the setting sun, I try to lift the mood back up, “Oh, you know do you?” I say teasingly as I squeeze his knee. 

He tilts his head down so his lips are near my ear. “As a matter of fact, I do. You wanna know why?” I nod and he continues, “Because you’re letting me hold you, you let me kiss you at times, and you continue to open up to me. But we’re doing this all at your pace.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey, @kamisobsessed

[theflyindutchwoman]

I got asked this question and loved it so much, I wanted to open it up to the group.

If you could choose 5 Chenford scenes to rewrite, which would you choose, and how would you rewrite them?

Oooh thank you for 'tagging' me, Becca ♡ It is a great question! Let's see…

4.17 - The ending So technically, this isn't a Chenford scene… But this is partly why I would want it to be rewritten. Let's start with the most egregious part : having Lucy apparently forgive Chris and act like he hadn't just callously triggered her… or like she hadn't just watched the video recording her own death… That ending bothered me so much. Ideally, I wish she would have kicked him to the curb - or, at least, ask for some space after what he did… and I would have loved a final scene between her and Tim. One where she would have confided in him about watching the cam footages, where they would have talked about that day and her trauma… I love that she was able to work through it all by herself, that she found her voice so to speak and refused to play Rosalind's mind games… But somehow, I can't help but think that not having a single Chenford scene was a missed opportunity.

5.04 - The ending Since we're on that topic… Now, this was an even bigger missed opportunity. I still can't believe that we didn't get a scene between Lucy and Tim following Rosalind's death. And by that, I mean, a proper scene with some emotions and some feelings… I get that during the episode, they were too busy trying to find a way to save Bailey. I also get that things were still awkward between them. But come on, I don't believe for a second that this would have stopped Tim. This is the same man who didn't even think before grabbing her hand in the middle of their undercover op when they found out about Rosalind's escape… the same man who was panicking when Lucy was radio silent… I needed that same energy here. What we got instead was a bit too cold for me.

5.13 - Missing scene : the morning after You have no idea how much I was hoping for this scene… Something soft and domestic… with a reference to the DOD tattoo!

5.16 - Their fight about the five-player trade That scene still puzzles me. It felt forced and clunky. We didn't really get to see Tim's perspective and why he was mad at Lucy. In the shop, it sounded like he was upset with how her move would reflect on him… But in his office, they only talked about her going behind his back. So, in the end, it felt superficial. I'm not saying he was wrong by the way… I just wish his point of view could have been explored more. Both of their perspectives actually. Especially since Lucy paid a hefty price in the end. I guess the point was to show the cracks in their foundation, but it could have been done in a better way.

6.01/6.02 - Their fight Lucy's anxiety and potential doubts about UC were just swept entirely under the rug and the narrative simply focused on Tim's own issue with UC. But one issue doesn't negate the other. There were two problems here and only one got addressed - and barely at that. After all the crumbs from s5, all the times Tim walked away from having a real conversation on the topic, I needed more than 'I will deal with this' / 'we'll figure it out'. It's great that he was finally honest with himself but it still didn't go any further than that. And then, there's Lucy. I was hoping her anxiety would be the precursor for a bigger discussion about Lucy's future and her mental health, about her feelings about UC outside of Tim… but nope. Her spiraling was already forgotten in 6.02. And it is a bit frustrating.