#[might also work on smaller threads/replies too]

[saddleups]

James is just so HUGE and I mean like height and muscle likee..,, can I request something with just him manhandling reader…

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 2k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . a slightly possessive james . unprotected p in v . creampie . slightly fluffy ? p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . oh totally , he carries himself quietly but we really see the size/strength of him when it matters most ! also love the concept of james being such a loving , attentive partner who takes care of you ;)

If James passed by you in a cramped corner, he delicately placed his hands on your torso to shift your body slightly so he could get through.

Sometimes, if your seat was too far away, he would reach over and pull it closer to him, eager for your proximity.

And then there was that one phrase: "I can take care of it." How many times have you hard that from him?

From a can you couldn't open, to a spider you didn't want to deal with, James always "took care of it."

It was no different in the bedroom, where his confident touch and skilled hands left you breathless and satisfied. Yet there were days when your desire for him burned so intensely, it almost became unbearable. Waiting in anticipation for him to come home, craving the pleasure only he could provide. The routine sex at the end of the week paled in comparison to the moments when your libido was at its peak.

Much like today where you were eager to be taken care of.

The kitchen was a symphony of clinking pots and sizzling pans. The aroma of garlic and rosemary filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread. You hummed softly to yourself as you diced tomatoes, your mind buzzing with anticipation. James would be home any minute now, and you had something special planned for him. It had been too long since you two had connected intimately, and you were determined to make tonight unforgettable.

The front door clicked open, and you felt a thrill shoot through you. James’s deep voice carried through the hallway.

"Hey, babe, I'm home." he called out, his footsteps heavy and purposeful.

You turned your head just in time to see his tall, muscular frame fill the doorway. His blonde hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and his eyes sparkled with warmth as they met yours. He was dressed in his usual work attire—a crisp white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and well-fitted slacks that accentuated his powerful thighs. Your pulse quickened just looking at him.

"Hey, you," you said with a smile, your heart skipping a beat. "How was your day?"

"Long," he replied, stepping closer. "But it got a hell of a lot better when you texted me about this surprise."

He moved into the kitchen, and suddenly, the room seemed much smaller. His presence was commanding, filling every corner with his energy. As he approached, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, a palpable reminder of the raw power that lay beneath his exterior.

"Mmm, something smells amazing," he murmured, his gaze fixed on you.

You couldn’t help but lean against the counter, letting your eyes roam over his form. "Well, I thought we could use a nice dinner together," you said, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"But I have a feeling it might not be the only thing we end up indulging in tonight."

James chuckled, low and deep. "You always know how to get my attention, don’t you?"

He reached out, his hand curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The contact was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His other hand slid up your back, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head back, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Missed you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "So damn much."

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt as his mouth found the curve of your neck. His kisses were firm yet gentle, each one stoking the fire within you. Your breath hitched as his tongue flicked out, tasting the sensitive flesh just below your ear.

"James," you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "I’ve missed you too."

His hand slipped lower, cupping your ass as he lifted you onto the counter. The sudden shift in altitude surprised you, but you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. His erection pressed against your core, a delicious reminder of what was to come.

"Fuck, you drive me wild," he growled, his lips moving back to capture yours in a bruising kiss.

Your mouth opened eagerly, your tongues tangling in a passionate dance. The world outside the kitchen faded away, leaving just the two of you locked in a heated embrace. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of you with possessive intensity. You arched your back, offering yourself to him completely, your nipples hardening under his touch.

"God, you’re so beautiful," he breathed, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jawline.

His hand dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, sliding up to cup your breast. The rough pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He squeezed gently, his touch both demanding and tender. You moaned, your head falling back as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

"James, please," you whimpered, your hips grinding against him. "I need you."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression fierce with desire. "Tell me what you want, baby," he commanded, his voice thick with lust.

You bit your lip, your resolve wavering under his intense gaze. "I want you inside me," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I want you to take care of me, James."

His eyes darkened even further, and he let out a ragged groan. Without another word, he reached down, yanking your leggings and panties down in one swift motion. Your breath caught in your throat as you kicked them aside, your pussy throbbing with need.

James didn’t waste any time. He adjusted himself, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance before thrusting forward with one powerful stroke. The sensation was overwhelming, filling you completely as he sheathed himself inside your tight, wet heat.

"Ahh!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as he began to move.

His rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last. The counter dug into your back, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the way James claimed your body, his strength and dominance pushing you toward the edge.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice strained with effort. "So fucking tight."

You could barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure. Your hips rose to meet his, desperate for more of his thick, pulsing length. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your nipples brushing against his chest. The friction sent sparks of sensation coursing through your body, adding fuel to the already raging fire.

"James," you pant, your voice trembling with urgency. "Don’t stop… Please, don’t stop."

He captured your lips again, swallowing your plea as he increased his pace. His hips pistoned against yours, the sound of your flesh meeting echoing in the small space. James's hands grip your hips tightly as he withdraws from your wet, throbbing heat. His breath is hot against your neck, his chest heaving with exertion. The intensity of the moment is palpable, every nerve in your body alive and buzzing with anticipation. You can feel the pulsating warmth of James's erection pressing insistently against your lower belly, still eager and ready despite the relentless pace he set.

"Take care of me, James," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "I want you inside me when I come."

James' gaze locks onto yours, as if he's conveying a silent promise. Without a word, he lowers himself, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. The anticpiation makes your breath hitch, your body shivering with need. James pushes in slowly, deliberately, savoring the sensation as he fills you once more. The stretch and pressure are exquisite, sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes," you moan, arching your back to meet his thrust. "Please, James, don't stop."

James's movements are slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the frenzied pace of earlier. Each glide of his thick shaft inside you feels like pure pleasure, the friction electric against your sensitive nerves. His rhythm is steady, controlled, drawing out the tension that coils tighter and tighter within you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside. The feel of his muscular frame pressed against yours, his hard length buried deep within, sends waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails tracing patterns on his skin, while his hands roam possessively over your body, molding your curves, seeking out the most sensitive spots.

His thumb brushes against your clit, just a gentle tease, but it's enough to send jolts of pleasure radiating through you. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as you chase the elusive peak. James matches your rhythm, pushing in deeper with each thrust, his cock sliding along your inner walls with delicious precision.

James leans down inviting you into a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours in a dance of dominance and submission. It’s a claiming, a promise of unyielding devotion. Determined to fulfill the task you gave him, to take care of you. His hand moves from your clit to grasp your hip, angling your body just right to maximize the depth of his thrusts.

"Feels so good," James murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and wet…all for me."

His words fan the flames of your arousal, making your core clench around his invading length. You can feel the pressure building, the tingling coil tightening inside you, growing closer to its breaking point. James senses it too, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate as he strives to bring you both over the edge.

With a sudden, savage thrust, James buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing powerfully inside you. The sensation is overwhelming, your vision blurring as the world narrows down to the pulsing connection between you. His fingers return to your clit, this time applying firm, rhythmic pressure, stoking the fire until it becomes a roaring inferno.

"James, I'm—" You can barely form the words, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm so close…"

"Come for me," James orders, his voice a deep growl that resonates through your entire being. "Let go, baby. Let me feel you come around me."

That final push is all it takes. The dam breaks, pleasure erupting in a torrent of cascading waves. Your body convulses, muscles tensing as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy. Your pussy clenches down on James's cock, milking him with each spasm of your orgasm.

James roars in response, his own release imminent. You can feel the telltale signs, the way his cock pulses and thickens inside you. With one last, powerful thrust, he surrenders to his climax, flooding your depths with his hot seed.

"Inside me," you manage to gasp, your voice shaky with residual bliss. "Fill me up, James."

His thrusts become erratic, his control fraying as he spills himself into you, pulse after pulse of warm fluid filling your waiting channel. The sensation of his cum flooding you, mingling with your own juices, brings a fresh wave of pleasure, prolonging your orgasm even further.

James collapses forward, his weight supported by his arms braced on either side of you. His face buries in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. For a few moments, there is only the sound of your combined panting, the quiet hum of satisfaction.

Then, with a lazy smile, he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes gleaming with contentment. "You were amazing," he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

But before you can respond, before you can even catch your breath, James shifts beneath you, causing a fresh wave of sensation as his softening cock slides out of your well-used pussy. A small trickle of his cum follows, dripping down to pool between your thighs.

"Stay right there," he says, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine.

"I can take care of it."

[engagedtobefree]

I haven’t done a life update in a while, even though there’s been many times over the course of these past several months where I’ve wanted to take to my keyboard and type away. I just haven’t had the time. Things have been a bit all over the place; sometimes in bad ways, sometimes in good ways, mostly in neutral. I have been weaving in and out of stress, hope, anxiety, peace, despondency, and vivacity like a constant thread stitching through life. It’s been a bit nerve-wracking, but I’m doing the best I can.

I’ve been having a lot of financial struggles as this year has progressed, and I’ve finally resigned myself to getting a work-from-home part-time job. I hope to update my resume this week and start sending it out. I’ve been using apps on my phone to make some side cash here and there, but with all the hours I put in and little payoff, my time is better suited elsewhere. I also want to work on some passive income stuff, but that will have to come after I have another job with steady income. I also have some things I’ve been meaning to sell for forever, and I should put those up since it’s the holiday season now. I don’t really ever buy myself anything, and I didn’t even want to purchase the few items I needed for my Halloween costume (luckily I already owned a few things), but I figured life is too short to just put everything towards bills. I also couldn’t afford the vacation I just went on. I can barely afford my groceries. I’ve been using Amazon gift cards from surveys to buy things I need on there. My only monthly allowances are my two book subscriptions and a yoga subscription, which only come out to about $54 a month. I’ve cut back so much on groceries that cutting back even more means either eating more unhealthily, skipping meals, or eating much smaller portions. I’ve resigned myself to start going to food pantries to get a few things. It won’t be a huge help, but if I can knock even $10 off my grocery list every week, that will be something. I was supposed to go to one today, but mistakenly thought they were open until 11:30 when they were only open until 11. I woke up around 9 and got out of bed around 9:25, so I had plenty of time, but I completely forgot about it until 10:30, so I will just go next week. I would be fine financially if I didn’t have my car payment, but I needed a new car last year and I went with the cheapest I could find that was brand new. I’m pretty sure one of my tires might need replacing because the light keeps coming on despite me filling them, which is frustrating. If I taught more yoga classes, that would help too, but I’m not ready to go back to that just yet since my own personal practice has suffered a lot this past year. 

I don’t even know where to start with everything else. I guess I’ll start with Scott. He’s come over to hang out a few times, which is fine. I like being friends. The only problem is, I can tell he still wants more. He always replies to my Snapchat stories (usually with compliments), reaches out maybe every other Friday or so asking if I’m free, then makes sure to compliment me some more once he’s in my presence. He hasn’t tried anything and he’s been respectful, but I think he has hope that he’s going to wear down my resolve and that something will happen between us. It won’t. I made it very clear last year about only wanting a friendship, and that hasn’t changed. Once I make up my mind, that’s it. That’s all there is. It takes me a very long time to make big decisions like the one I made with Scott, so by the time I make it, I am very sure of my answer. I left no room for guessing or doubt. There was one night though that I am kicking myself for. Back maybe 2 or 3 months ago, Scott came over with a 4 pack he thought I’d like. He did good with the drink, I will give him credit for that, but the alcohol percentage per can was almost 12%, which I don’t think he did on purpose. I had 2 cans of those along with another drink or 2, and long story short, I blacked out, which hasn’t happened in like 8 years. I don’t drink that much now that I’m older, so I can’t hold my alcohol well. I resurfaced only once, and I was holding Scott’s arm and chatting away. I am a very affectionate and bubbly drunk. Sober me is not much of a people person, but drunk me just adores everyone. Back in my early 20’s, I would kiss my friends, usually my female ones, all the time. It was always platonically. When I got a boyfriend during that time period, he was still okay with me kissing my girl friends, which was fine with me, as just having a boyfriend would have been enough. Even if I have just one person to give affection to, I’m good. And I am still completely loyal, no matter how far gone I get. That is something that is simply integral in who I am as a person. Obviously now that I’m 33 I’m not acting exactly how I was when I was in my early 20s, but I will still be chatty and affectionate, even if it’s just a light arm touch or something. I am so mad at myself for grabbing Scott’s arm like that though, because I don’t want to send mixed signals. I am not a mixed signals kind of person. I have no desire to lead someone on or to continue dealing with something I don’t want to deal with. I would hope that something like that wouldn’t spark any hope in him, but Scott has persisted despite me giving absolutely nothing else. Hell, he’s persisted despite me setting a very clear boundary for our relationship. I do not know how to handle this from here, because I already previously told him what I wanted. He hasn’t tried anything or asked for anything, so it makes me feel weird to just bring it up out of the blue without a catalyst. But because I don’t want to deal with it, I’m probably going to have to do that. I don’t know. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s frustrating, but I just don’t want to have to deal with it.

Anyway, apparently the night I blacked out, I decided to lay down on my sofa and go to sleep while Scott was still there. I woke up around 8 a.m. the next day, instantly panicked. I didn’t remember falling asleep or Scott leaving. A quick body scan told me nothing happened, and when I went downstairs, I could see Scott turned the bottom lock when he left. I don’t think Scott would do anything to me, but there’s just certain scenarios where I’ve woken up and I’m 21 again and there’s a man’s fingers going in and out of me. I don’t think about it very often, but a part of me still fears that happening again.

Scott hasn’t come over that often, only a few times since maybe the beginning of the summer. There were two nights when he came over where towards the end of him being there, I started to wish he was Chris. I know that sounds kind of weird, and I don’t have an explanation for that, but I felt a really strong desire to be in Chris’s presence and to be talking to him instead. I felt bad because that isn’t fair to Scott, but I don’t think that I would have felt that way had Scott not been hitting on me throughout the night. I don’t want anyone to hit on me except for Chris. Both times, immediately after Scott left, my brain went, “Let’s reach out to Chris!!!” and of course cuz I’m all buzzed I think it’s a great idea. Both times, I told him to have a wonderful weekend. He responded to both some time in the morning, just repeating what I said back to me but with the words changed to fit me instead. However, the second time, he prefaced it with “Ur so beautiful”. That took me by surprise, and I had to stop to process that before reading the rest of his message. He’s called me beautiful several times before, but I guess I wasn’t expecting it, especially since when I went back to look at the pic I sent him (thankfully, I saved it lol), I definitely looked a bit inebriated😑. For whatever reason, when he responds to a selfie of mine, I imagine being in his shoes, opening the picture, seeing what he sees. Even when it’s not selfies and even when it’s my Snap story and not anything I sent directly to him, I wonder what thoughts run through his mind, how he processes everything, what he’d have to say. I’ve never done any of that before, and I don’t know why I’m doing it now. I was a bit frustrated with myself both times for reaching out though. I had decided not to reach out to Chris until I figure out exactly what has been going on, but drunk me had to go and ruin that. It’s not really a big deal, but I thought creating some space would be helpful or beneficial in a way.

My next appointment with Chris is on November 18th, just over 1 week away. I’ve heard from him a few times recently. He reached out to wish me a happy birthday last month, and he responded to my Halloween pics by telling me I look awesome. For well over a month now, I’ve been feeling a certain shift in the air regarding Chris. I don’t know what it is yet; I only know that it’s happening. I also feel that Chris and I will be showing up to my appointment with very different intentions. I don’t know what his are, but I know that mine will be the intention of getting answers. I am not a confrontational or accusatory type of person, so it won’t be anything dramatic, but I do plan to ask questions. It will be more inquisitive than anything else. I have been going over in my mind for some time now how I want to phrase my questions, but I’m still unsure of what I plan to go with. At this point, I am thinking it depends on what sort of opening I have at my appointment, like the context of the conversation. Obviously, I won’t know what that is until I’m actually there. I am hoping to ask him about what’s going on, if he’s leading me on or not, what his intentions are. I also hope to get some answers about the girlfriend scenario, more specifically about when they broke up and if it was before or after he gave me his number and started flirting with me. The second question I anticipate to be a bit more difficult to get in. I said before that Chris doesn’t owe me anything, and he doesn’t, but if he’s been deceitful or at the very least purposely misleading at any point in time, then I do think I deserve honesty about that. He doesn’t have to give it to me, but that does not change the fact that I am deserving of it. I do not know what comes after this appointment. The only thing I can foresee is that this needs to be done, whether I like it or not. 

That brings me around to his girlfriend, or well, ex-girlfriend. I was, for many months, leaving the situation alone. I was hurt, yes, but I saw no immediate way for me to get any answers, so I carried on with my life and put my focus on other things. Of course, my mind still wandered around to Chris all the time, but then I’d reel my attention back in, telling myself there’s no reason to think about someone who is possibly not even single and that there’s also no reason to worry because I can’t change anything and I can’t get any answers yet. That has changed as my appointment has started to loom in the not-too-far-off-distance. So at the beginning of last month, I decided to check her Pinterest account since it’s the only regularly active social media account I could find on her, and to my surprise, she was posting quite often. None of it really gave me any clues though. A majority of it has been crafting and sewing stuff. There was a little craft piano thing she had pinned, but after mulling it over a bit, I decided that wasn’t enough to go off of. For maybe two weeks straight, I was checking a few times a week. About three weeks ago, I started to teeter back, reeling my anxiety back in, resigning myself to simply waiting until my appointment to get any sort of answer. About another week or so passed before I decided to check one last time. My stomach dropped when I saw a day prior, she posted to her “Love” board. That feeling immediately subsided as I clicked because something in me just knew it wasn’t going to be what it seemed. She pinned a quote about grieving the end of a relationship, about always remembering them and remembering what they gave you, but then moving forward by giving yourself love. This was all the confirmation I needed, the confirmation I was looking for, the one that was to turn the tides in a more favorable direction. I paused, processed what I had just read, then waited for the relief to wash over me. It never came.

Instead, what formed was a large knot in my chest. I felt so sorry for her. Immediately, I began to think of my 23 year old self, heartbroken because she believed she just lost the love of her life, that she’d think of him forever, that she was permanently ruined, that she’d mourn his loss until her dying day, that there was nothing and no one better than him and what they had. We were looking at apartments and planning to move in together. I thought we were going to get married one day. The break-up gutted me. I stopped counting how many nights in a row I cried myself to sleep after 2 months passed without a single night of reprieve. I didn’t even really feel remotely better whatsoever until after 6 months had passed since the break-up. When he saw me doing good, he came back around saying he missed me and wanted to try again. I saw him twice before he did a complete 180 and dropped me again. It put me right back where I started. I didn’t get over that relationship ending until about a year and half to two years later, and it took me about three for me to really see the truth of what that relationship was. I realized that he did us both a favor by ending it, that while I cared about him deeply it wasn’t truly love, that he wasn’t a person I really wanted a future with and it wouldn’t have worked between us, and that the right person wouldn’t leave me during a period of my life when I needed them the most. I felt so sorry for her because I know what it feels like and what she’s going through, and even if it isn’t exactly the same scenario and even if she doesn’t come out of it in the same way I did, I do understand in some capacity and I know how much it hurts. I also know it gets better. I went through a similar heartbreak with Scott, even though we were never in a relationship, and coming out the other end of that was also a really good thing. I am so glad things ended. That doesn’t change how difficult those times were though. It sucks when you’re going through it and you don’t see any light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel someone else has forced you down. I couldn’t feel relief at seeing that photo because there was no room for anything else except empathy. I thought it was what I wanted to see, but turns out it wasn’t.

It took me about two days after seeing that picture to realize that Chris was most likely the one who ended the relationship. That made me wonder if maybe I haven’t actually been a second choice. I’ve never faulted Chris for being in a relationship because that would be stupid and unfair, and my mind never even traveled in that direction anyway; my issue has always been if he initiated things with me before he was single and if he was still in a relationship now. Out of the many devastations that came from that knowledge, one has been that I was a second choice, a back-up plan, a safety net to fall back on when the first, preferable option didn’t work out. But what if none of that were true? I mean, obviously, I entered the scene later. What if the original choice couldn’t easily be undone and it needed time to be let go of? It never even occurred to me that Chris would think his original choice wasn’t the right choice. I have only been viewing myself as a possible outlier here, something to be eyed but never bought, a thing to be messed with and not a person to be considerate of. Another thing that crossed my mind is: what if Chris made the right choice in starting this off too early? I started thinking about which was the preferable option: Chris giving me his number while he was still taken or Chris letting me walk out that day without flirting or giving me his number. My reflexive response was to say the latter, but then I stopped to really think about it. What if it had gotten to the point of me asking for his number and he rejected me? Would I have left there mortified? Would I have started going to a different dental office after that? Or what if neither one of us attempted anything? Would I have resolved to go for it the next time or have decided he simply wasn’t interested? Of course, there is that 3rd option, where he could have ended his relationship before my appointment even rolled around. I also started to think about what has been going on on Chris’s end. What drew him to me? How did he know I was interested in the first place? Has anything I’ve experienced happened on his end too? Previously, I immediately assumed there’s no way, that all those weird things I can’t explain were only happening on my end. But what if they weren’t? What if I haven’t actually been alone in this? What if this has all been reciprocal? My thoughts are suddenly shifting in all of these new directions, and I can feel this sort of opening in my chest that wasn’t there before. I guess I never really thought about any of this previously. There had to be something that stood out to Chris beyond him simply thinking I’m pretty. These are all questions for a future day though, assuming all goes well at my next appointment.

I’m not sure when, but for at least over a month now, I’ve been mulling over my past appointments: things that happened, conversations we had, stuff I felt, Chris himself. The result of that has been creating a positive shift within me. It’s like there’s always this tug of war within me between fear and trust, and now the trust side is winning. I do still have things I need to work through and fears about relationships, but for the most part, I have shifted out of that anxiety and into the mindset of staying present with only what is here now. I still have my moments, and I plan to write about all of that soon hopefully, probably on my side blog, which I’ve been neglecting the past several months. There’s a few topics I want to write about on there because they’re so deeply personal and vulnerable, so I’d rather they not be public for anyone to comment on. Not that my long, rambling personal posts are creating any discourse up on the interwebs, but I’d like to completely erase the possibility of that happening, cuz ya know, people 🙄. Anyway, back to the trust thing. The shift started happening many weeks ago, but I do think seeing the picture his ex posted bumped that process up a bit more too. It didn’t have an immediate effect, but I can definitely feel it helped shift me along a bit further than I was. I still want to ask Chris those questions because I want to hear things from him. That’s only fair. Plus, I don’t think I can put any of that stuff behind me until I do confirm things from him and get some more clarity. I think possibly that I simply wasn’t ready before, but now I am. I am tired of always avoiding truths and my intuition just because of stupid messages from other people and society. People are always so caught up in their own ego, needing other people to believe what they believe, live how they live, decide how they decide, think how they think. I’ve gotten to a place where I’m so sick and tired of it and don’t care anymore. I don’t want to live like those people who are only ever in their heads, who don’t believe in the spiritual side of life, who have limited beliefs and mindsets about what is real and possible. I don’t care if anything I say comes off as crazy, delusional, or impossible. I really, truly, do not care anymore. They can stay mad about it. No one has to believe me or believe in me, because I already do. If they’re that upset about my truths, beliefs, or decisions that literally have nothing to do with them, then they’re not focusing enough on themselves and their own life. I don’t want to be like those people and I’m under no obligation to please them, and I’m tired of trying to. 

I am ready for change and I am going to pursue it. I’ve been starting to jump back into astrology, and am just learning about how Pluto leaving Capricorn is ending a difficult 15 years for all of those with their sun or ascendant in cardinal signs (both apply to me). There’s been a lot of hard lessons and upheavals, which have demanded resilience and transformation, but now it’s time to enter a new chapter of expansion, innovation, and liberation. I can feel all of that. My ADHD meds are working great, so I think that’s also helping. I have so much to tackle still, but I’ve slowly been chipping away at getting my apartment clean and organized, meditating daily (sometimes several times a day), getting back into exercising and yoga and moving more, making more time for hobbies, and slowly improving my sleep (the Digital Detox app has been helping me stay off my phone at night). My meds aren’t foolproof, so I still have days that are more difficult than others, but overall, I’d say I’m in a pretty decent place. I’m also stepping out of perfectionism a bit more, shifting my mindset into following the belief that it’s better to do something imperfectly than not at all. I’m very excited to continue down this road I’m on.

I’ve been shifting my thoughts in other ways too lately. Recently, I’ve been starting to change the way I view my physical appearance. It’s more so at the beginning stages, but it’s something at least. I know I’m not conventionally attractive. While when I was younger, there was a period of time where I thought I was ugly, I no longer think that. I know I’m pretty, but I know I’m pretty in an average sort of way. There’s been a handful of times throughout my life where people had something mean to say about my appearance, but those have been greatly outnumbered by the really nice things people have said to me in regards to how I look. At times, especially when I was much younger, I considered all the different surgeries I might get: breast implants, nose job, lip lift. As time went on, I decided against them, and while I still struggle sometimes with accepting myself, I no longer want to pursue going under the knife. I might be open to it once I’m an old lady, but by then I might not even care at all lol. I don’t get hit on that often, though I also don’t really go anywhere to get hit on, and if I do notice someone interested in me, I act like I don’t notice. When I was at my friend’s Halloween party, a younger guy came up to me and started flirting with me while I was standing off to the side by myself (I was mingling too, just had some moments where I wasn’t lol). He jokingly told me he knew I was standing there with my axe to look threatening to keep all the fellas away. I thought, “Hell yeah, this dude gets it”. I wasn’t purposely doing that, but I enjoyed the idea that I could look threatening, even though I know I don’t look that way at all lol. We shared a few laughs and after I didn’t reciprocate any of his flirting, he wandered off. It made me realize I probably would get hit on more often if I went out more, but I don’t want to get hit on so I will not start going out more often any time soon lol.

Recently, Youtube randomly recommended a video to me about the downside of veneers. I never really knew what exactly veneers were since I never cared to look into it. I was horrified to learn that this is a common thing people are doing, where they’re getting their perfectly healthy, normal teeth filed down to put fake, porcelain teeth over top. People thinking their teeth were so unattractive that they needed to get rid of them altogether blew my mind. As someone who always gets told they have “perfect” teeth, I myself am not attracted to the same. I mean, not that I want someone with a bad mouth, but some crooked teeth will get me looking, in a good way. I do tend to sometimes look at people’s mouths when they’re talking, because I just think teeth are cute. I like seeing all the different teeth out there. I do this with everyone, so it’s not me doing it because I find them attractive or am checking them out in some capacity; I simply like the way teeth look. I’m happy my mom got me braces and I don’t mind how my teeth look, but even if she hadn’t done that for me, I can't picture myself ever doing something like getting veneers. Another thing I found out is that people get their irises dyed or get fake lens implants to change their eye color. I thought that was even more insane than the veneer thing. Looking through images, I saw a lot of people getting it done were people of color, and they were usually opting for light blue or green eyes. The green, if not too light, looked okay sometimes, but the blue looked really weird. The rest of their features are darker, so the blue didn’t look right at all. On any of them. My mind immediately went to, “What is wrong with brown eyes??? Or hazel????” I have always been complimented on my eyes and tbh, I do think they’re my best feature. In the light, they are incredibly blue. I’ll never forget when I was working at Wendys as a teen, an older gentleman walked up to order and when he looked at me he said, “You have the bluest damn eyes I’ve ever seen”. The eye color I think is the nicest though? Brown. Yet, there are people getting rid of their brown eyes, giving themselves all sorts of issues like glaucoma just so they can feel more attractive. Any eye color can be attractive to someone. There’s no one-size-fits-all.

Finally the last thing - that I saw most recently - was regarding lips. I’ve always liked my bottom lip, but have always been incredibly more scrutinizing of my top one. I have a pretty pronounced cupid’s bow, so the top points of my lip are more pointed, like mountain peaks. I’ve never liked it. I don’t like how they look when I talk, especially. I’ve never been a huge fan of wearing red lipstick because more than any other color, even darker shades like black, I feel like it becomes more pronounced. I think my lip shape looks fine on other people, like Taylor Swift for example, but I’ve never liked it on me. I’ve always wished for softer, more rounded lips, like the ones all the makeup trends are trying (and failing, imo) to recreate, and the ones that get touted as beautiful in the media (see Julia Roberts and Angelina Jolie - in regards to shape, not size). So then I’m on Reddit, scrolling through some random sub (I don’t even remember what it was, I somehow got from the Wicked movie to Ariana Grande posts, so I think it was some sort of celebrity sub, which is super random cuz I don’t usually care about celebrities), and imagine my surprise when I see a comment with someone saying how they find strong cupids bows attractive. I was even more surprised by all the upvotes and people commenting back in agreement. It has never occurred to me in my entire life that someone would find my lip shape attractive. Never. Then I go to Google, and apparently my lip shape is found attractive by so many people, viewed as “classic” and “romantic”. There’s even a surgery people get to make their cupid's bow more pronounced, and it’s pretty popular. I was completely dumbstruck. A feature I have disliked my entire life people are going to plastic surgeons to recreate. All these features I have that people are paying money to get, ruining their bodies and changing themselves when there’s literally nothing wrong with them. It blows my mind. I had to wear lipstick for my Lisa Frankenstein costume, and it was the first time I put red lipstick on and actually felt excited about it. That was probably also partially due to my excitement about dressing up as Lisa, but I know part of it was because of this too.

It’s also very strange to me how people judge others, like using that on-a-scale-from-one-to-ten thing. Ever since I was a teen, I can remember not liking how people do that, mostly because I heard men utilizing it more than women, but also for other reasons too. First off, when is anyone ever a “10”? I feel like it just sets people up for failure. Also, judging people based solely on appearances is such a shitty thing to do and is so incredibly harmful. Truly. On the same day as I was on that other Reddit post, I ended up in that one group where women rate famous women’s appearances (I forget the name of the group, but there’s also a men’s equivalent where they also rate famous women - it also might be where I saw the Ariana pic), and someone rated Princess Diana a 10 based on more than just her looks, and a few people kept coming at them for it. I don’t get it. Apparently - and I’ve heard this many times - when people are rating themselves, they tend to rate themselves higher than how others perceive them. On my best days, I’d say I’m like a 6 at most, so not really sure where that places me in the reality of things. I just think it’s overall such a terrible thing we do to each other, to judge and point out what flaws aren’t making us look our “best”. Like, what are other people supposed to do about it?? They can’t help what features they were born with. This is why people turn to plastic surgery so often now. Humanity can be so very disappointing.

Anyway, moving on. Another exciting thing that I found out in September is that I qualify for Italian dual citizenship as a person of Italian descent! It’s called jure sanguinis (sometimes also spelled as jus, or even iure, probably because there’s no j in Italian - though the word comes from Latin). There’s a ton of criteria that has to be met and Italy just made a major new ruling that unfortunately disqualifies a ton of people. I know I qualify through my great-grandmother (GGM), but I am waiting to find out if I qualify through my great-grandfather (GGF). It’s easier and less expensive to go through a male ancestor than a female one, unfortunately. This is because prior to 1948, Italy only recognized Italian descent as being passed down through males, so the Italian courts can still reject applications based on the fact that a female ancestor gave birth to your next-of-kin if it was prior to that date. I mean, is a law really abolished if you’re still upholding it in some way, shape, or form? I’d think not, but what do I know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  I’d also need to hire an Italian lawyer to handle my case if I went through my GGM, which is why it’s more expensive. So even after acquiring the extra paperwork, taking the extra steps needed, hiring a lawyer, and paying extra money, you can still be rejected. Gotta love sexism. This is going to be a long, grueling road ahead either way. I’m most likely going to need to get documents amended since they were just putting any old thing on documents back in the day, and this is regardless of whoever I go through. 

Prior to August of 1992, Italy did not allow dual citizenship, so if Italians wanted to become US citizens, they had to give up their Italian citizenship. Italy allows descendants of those Italian immigrants to reclaim their citizenship, but there’s a lot of criteria to meet. So the main criteria is that your Italian-born ancestor didn’t naturalize (become a US citizen) before your next-of-kin was born, or that they didn’t naturalize at all. If your Italian-born ancestor came over as a minor (under 21 according to Italy prior to March 1975) and their parent naturalized, that naturalization automatically passed down to your Italian-born ancestor. This is what’s known as “the minor issue”. It can be a means for being rejected, but not necessarily. However, the new addition Italy just made on the minor issue is that if your next-of-kin was a minor when your Italian-born ancestor naturalized, it is automatically a disqualification. For example, my GGM came over here as a minor with her father (my GGGF). If he naturalized while she was still a minor, then she automatically naturalized too. However, my application for citizenship can still be accepted despite this because the Italian government usually views it as involuntary naturalization and is therefore not disqualifying. My grandfather (GF) is my next-of-kin, so if both of my great-grandparents (GGP) naturalized while he was a minor, then I would automatically be disqualified to gain citizenship through jure sanguinis. However, if only one naturalized while he was a minor, I can still go through my other GGP. So if your Italian-born ancestry had to involuntarily naturalize as a minor, you might still be good, but if your Italian-born ancestor voluntarily naturalized while your next-of-kin was a minor, you’re not good. Idk why they made that addition to the minor issue, but it’s fucked a lot of people over. It was really sad to see people posting about how they spent so much money and put in so much work over the course of many long years just for them to now be disqualified. I feel so sorry for them. 

My Italian ancestry is on my dad’s side, so my line of descent is: my great-grandparents  -> my grandfather -> my father -> me. (I know I have some Italian through my grandmother on my dad’s side as well based off of my DNA tests, but it would be through her father and  we don’t know who he was, so I can’t go that route.) I do not know yet if my GGF naturalized or not. I submitted a request to the US records branch to do a record search and also reached out to local branches in the places he lived. The US branch hasn’t responded back yet, and it usually takes on average about 3 months to a year to get a response from them. I submitted my request at the end of September. The Philadelphia branch had no record of him naturalizing there, but I have to check with them again in December. The local branch in NYC just closed and all of their records are being sent to the Philly branch, but they aren’t expected to be ready until some time in December. Sometimes it’s possible to find naturalization records online for free, but I couldn’t find any for my GGF. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist though, cuz not every single record has been uploaded. I did find my GGM’s naturalization card online, showing that my GGM naturalized in 1944. My GF was born in 1915, so he was an adult when she naturalized, meaning that I can qualify through her, though it’s not a definite approval because of the 1948 thing. Another issue I have is that my GGM went back to NYC to naturalize and used her old address from 20-something years prior. I’m guessing she didn’t know she could have gone through Philly, like maybe she thought she had to do it through NYC since that’s where she first immigrated to. That’s why I’m also thinking my GGF probably did the same thing, hence why there was no record of him naturalizing in Philly. I don’t blame them for that because there was most definitely a language barrier and also our government is not the best with making things very clear even for their native English-speaking citizens, but I do foresee that as being a pain in the ass to work around. Also, if my GGF never naturalized, I would have to get his death certificate amended because it says on there he was a US citizen. There’s a ton of other info I could write about this, a bunch of other hurdles to navigate, and a few more potential disqualifiers (they don’t apply to me), but it would take me the rest of the day to write about all of it, so I’ll end that bit there.

One thing I saw a few times in a group I’m in is people feeling bad about going through this process, like they’re destroying what their ancestors worked hard for. I was completely baffled and shocked to see that sentiment, and when I read the responses, I wasn’t the only one. Firstly, our ancestors didn’t have a choice. They had to choose one or the other: either they became a citizen of the country they moved to or they stayed a citizen of their birth country. It was one or the other. Secondly, how do we know they wouldn’t have kept both if they had the option? Seeing as it took my GGM almost 40 years after she came here to naturalize, I think it’s safe to speculate that it wasn’t the easiest decision to make. In modern times, we now have the privilege of having both citizenships. It’s really confusing to me to see how people think sometimes. Like, the place where my mind went was how cool it is that decisions my GGP made for themselves over a century ago to chart their own path forward is also affecting my own path in the present. That is so fucking cool to think about. My GGP both came over in 1905, and the requirement back then was that they had to live here for 5 years before they qualified for naturalization. Them deciding to wait much longer has the potential to greatly benefit me in the present. This would literally be life-changing. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to live in Europe, but I never wanted to just give up and leave my life here to do so. This is a wonderful alternative route. Being of Italian descent (doesn’t matter if you qualify for jure sanguinis or not), if I did move there, the wait time to become an Italian citizen is a lot less than those who are not of Italian descent: only 3 years vs 10. If I went through jure sanguinis and moved there, I could improve upon the 3 year wait time too, since the application process would be much quicker. I believe it would only take around 3 months to get approved compared to the insane wait times for US residents, though it could still be delayed over there too for whatever reason. It is generally much quicker though. For US residents, I’ve seen people say they waited anywhere from like 1-4 years for approval after submitting their docs, depending on the Italian-American consulate they had to apply to. The Philly branch, which is the one I’d apply through, from what I’ve read, is one of the faster ones. The lengthy wait times are fucking a lot of people over right now with the new ruling for the minor issue. People who submitted their applications years ago and were waiting on approval are now being denied based on the new ruling, which is really messed up. I think it should only apply to people who submitted after the new ruling took effect.

It’s already been worthwhile to simply trace my GGP history. They both came over here two months apart and were from the same region, but they never met until they were in NYC. One day, I decided to see where exactly their towns were located. They were both from the Foggia region, and when I looked up their towns, I noticed they seemed very close to one another. Turns out, they were only a 2 hour walk away from one another, which today is about an 11-12 minute car ride. How crazy is that??? I also found their names on the Ellis Island website. My GGF came over here alone at the age of 20 to stay with a cousin, and my GGM came over here with her father when she was 14 (still have to confirm my GGGF didn’t naturalize while she was still a minor, though I’m guessing she didn’t since I found her naturalization card). I also found a picture of them that someone uploaded on Ancestry. I can tell who my GGF is in the photo, but he’s standing next to two women, so I’m unsure who is my GGM. Oh, and also, their names are Leonardo and Angelina 🙂

My original plan for doing this was to some day, maybe 10 years or so into the future, have a second home. Obviously, I am incapable of affording that now, but this will take many years to complete, so it’s not something I need to figure out right away. I could live, work, and study anywhere in the EU, which is made up of 27 out of the 44 European countries, but if I lived in Italy I’d get many perks, including housing benefits, free healthcare, and tax breaks. There’s a ridiculous amount of benefits just from being a citizen of the EU, plus holding dual-citizenship with the US along with it as well. There’s virtually no downsides. My only thing now is that I wish I had known about this sooner so that I could pursue it sooner. America is not a great country. I know it is a “privilege” to live here, but that privilege only equates to convenience. With all of the businesses here and shipping hubs and attractions and close proximity to cities or places with a lot to offer and whatever else along those lines, we have nothing else aside from convenience. And yet, we have somehow made ourselves the center of the world, forcing our self-importance on everyone else, even though we remain way behind so many other first-world countries in areas like education, work, housing, human rights, benefits, healthcare, the economy. All of that is now about to get even worse with Mr. Fascist about to take office. People who already have their dual-citizenship can choose to go and leave this hellhole for the next 4+ years, and I envy them. I do find it a bit ironic that in order to leave my fascist-leaning government behind, I’d like to go live in the country where fascism originated. It’s almost humorous. Then at the same time I’m like, would it be cowardly to run, to leave everyone else who can’t escape to fend for themselves? Maybe, at least for the time being, I’m meant to stay here. If all goes well and smoothly, on the short end of things, I can be approved for my Italian citizenship within 2 years.

Ever since I was a kid, I have never liked it here. That was before I even knew and understood issues we have here and statistics about where we stand compared to other, more progressive countries. Something inside of me has always rejected the country I was born into. My mom used to get mad cuz she would always say it’s a “privilege” to live here, and as a teen, when I gained more knowledge, I had comebacks for telling her how it wasn’t. When I signed up to vote at 18, I registered as unaffiliated because I never wanted to be restricted with my vote. While I’ve never voted Republican and most likely never will, I at least am not limited to only voting Democrat. I did not vote for Biden because just as I am with Trump, I could not stomach him, but I would have brought myself to vote for him if I wasn’t confident he was going to win. I live in a blue state, so not that it matters much anyway. I had to vote for Kamala despite knowing she too was not the best (though I think she would’ve done even better than Biden), and I am so sick of it now seemingly always coming down to Bad Candidate and Worse Candidate. While Kamala didn’t have much of a plan, she could at least be influenced to do good, just like how it was with Biden. She could have at least been worked with. Trump can and will actively do more harm. It’s highly possible that this term is going to be even worse than his first. And at least the past 4 years with Biden there wasn’t any fucking nuclear bomb threats from North Korea or having to brace myself as I get another ping on my phone in regards to whatever asinine thing Trump said or did the day before or overnight while half of America was sleeping. And every time I have to hear about that man saying whatever is a witch hunt against him, my blood boils. It’s estimated that between 70-90% of victims of witchcraft were (and still are) women, and many of them were either poor, healers of some kind, unmarried or didn’t have children, rejected religious norms, or in some way were non-conforming to societal standards. Women were also more likely to be accused because they were viewed as “weaker” in different ways. This rich, privileged man making accusations of witch hunts against him is so aggravating, especially because he always does it whenever he’s being called out for something he literally said or did. And when Putin and Netanyahu, two politicians currently bombing the shit out of innocent civilians, are celebrating the election of someone, how does that not raise any red flags in some people??? I truly do not get it. “B-b-but the economy!” The economy started going under while Trump was still President, it just continued to worsen under Biden. Yes, someone needs to do something about it, but it’s wishful thinking Trump will get it done. Trump doesn’t care about the people; he cares about himself. He doesn’t even give a shit about his own family. This is a man who while on national tv said he’d date his own daughter if she wasn’t his daughter, all while she was sitting right next to him. He even implied he’d have sex with her. Link 1 and link 2 to clips of those. He has zero morals. While I want to believe he has the capacity for good, odds are he will do more harm than anything positive. The only good thing I can think of from his first presidency is when he got rid of the penalty for people who didn’t have health insurance. When I try to come up with something else, my mind literally draws a blank. I have never liked Trump. I remember being around 9 or 10 and my mom started watching the Apprentice, and I was shocked by how incredibly mean he was. I remember specifically asking my mom why he was so mean. I cannot recall her response, but that memory has stuck out to me because I was horrified by how anyone could be so cruel to other people. The speech Jimmy Kimmel gave about Trump winning was great. He says things more eloquently than I can.

Anyway, I had a few more things I was going to write about, but I think I’m going to put them on the back burner for now. This is already a really long post, and I anticipate another one coming up after my appointment with Chris.

[emystic-old]

Mobile Rules

There is a rule section on the blog as well, this is for all that page be inaccessible to on mobile.

Firstly, this is a hobby. My time will not always be on this blog, I don't stress over being here and I can be incredibly slow or quick about replies it just depends. Please remind me of threads and things I owe, as I may have forgotten just don't be mean or annoying about it.

Please state something is an issue privately when it first arises, this includes people I might associate with. I will not know something unless told and if I have an issue I will do the same. Communication is a key way to fix most misunderstandings. However, I cannot make promises if you have an issue with a person, but I will take what is said into account.

I do not write smut nor will I have it forced onto me, characters can be implied they had sex and speak suggestively. I just don't anyone to force me to write it. It's just not my thing

I do not like automatic romance and I don't want ships forced on me. Exes and FWBs are not romantic by nature but I don't like those on automatic either. Don't mind discussing it as an end game, but also please don't get upset if the discussion isn't always seen eye to eye.

All romantic ships need to be adult/adult and teen/teen. Age-changed and age-specific AU characters are tricky and I will judge by how the mun is general (if I feel like it's done for creepy reasons it's a no-go).

I don't care if muses are not specified, if you have one in mind that's great, and if not that's fine too! I'll try my best to pick one I think fits. However, if I do give a random one that doesn't work please DM and we can work out something different. Also, other multis that strictly want their muses specified I always respect that rule and abide by it.

I only wish to interact with people I am mutually following. Please only follow me if my blog actually interests you, I am not a meme source or someone to boast a follow count. If we barely interact it's okay activity isn't always constant on both ends, as long as I know there is still an interest. However, if I can't even get a word I will unfollow no hard feelings I rather put my vibes onto people who want to write with me.

Smaller things to be aware of:

You are accountable for reading information that was provided or is accessible, if you can't find it or simply just don't feel like looking come directly to me.

I cannot make anyone tag my url in their posts, but I strongly recommend tagging emystic so I can track things easier.

I am a freelance AI trainer so I already do a lot of typing and most of the other times I'm sleeping due to my health issues; unfortunately, I born with one of the worst bodies so if I'm not online all day or even for a few days I'm probably in bed.

[townofinaba]

Rules

-I am tracking the tag townofinaba!

-This is an in-character rp blog for a few p4 muses. I will be highly selective who I rp here with because muse is low and it's mainly to test a few I enjoy. I may not even rp with anyone but friends at first while I do.

-My social anxiety is really bad-- I really struggle to initiate conversation. If a person reaches out I'll happily interact with them though; I'm kind of a social-vampire, and feeling invited in helps a lot. On the other hand, once I'm spoken to, I talk a LOT, so I apologize in advance and hope it isn't too overwhelming. Feel free to tell me to tone it down!

-I think communication is vital to a hobby like this. If you have a question or issue, please let me know! Also, If I do something insensitive or hurtful, please let me know and I'll try to do better next time. Also, this blog does not condone any bigotry, and I refuse to write anything depicting incest or pedophilia.

-I will not do mature threads on this blog. Most of the muses are teenagers.

-I likely am going to be selective in what I rp. I will answer asks and reply to things from anyone, so feel free to send in! But while I want to interact, I also only have so much energy. I have the right to refuse to answer RPs or starters or asks.

-I am also chronically ill in a few different ways, so sometimes I will disappear to recover or not have much energy. I have no problem waiting for replies to rp or messages, and I hope we can be patient with each other as needed to have a fun time. Take your time, and I'll get to you as soon as I'm able, too.

-No autohitting, godmodding, or metagaming. If you want something to happen specifically, talk to me and we can work out why or how.

- I will always give at least a paragraphs or two in an rp response but even if you give me several pages, my reply may be succinct. I'm trying to be better about not putting filler in a reply just to match lengths. I also don't really enjoy backtracking dialogue in a thread, since it gets confusing really fast. I totally get wanting to respond to everything, but doing so to every talking point ends up with the muses having like six differing conversations at once. So I might skip things I want to respond to, to avoid that, and my replies may be smaller to keep the flow of interactions smoother. Hopefully I'll give my partner enough to work with. If not, let me know!

-I'm fine with writing pre-established platonic relationships with canon characters from persona 4, but I'm very hesitant to jump into anything romantic. I've had some weirdness with that in the past, since interpretations can vary wildly. Related, but I'm gonna try to stick to canon, but mine will likely be divergent in ways as well.

-All Icons I use will like be from p4 canon, if i use any. I don't expect anyone to use them to write with me. I also don't format my posts except for fun on rare occasions where it feels fitting. I don't expect anyone to match my format, and I hope my simplicity won't be an issue for anyone.

-Anything triggering or issue causing I will try to tag. The format for tagging will be ‘#cw *insert trigger here*’. Example being #cw injury. I will try to be consistent! Please feel free to ask me if I need to tag anything!

If you read through this, then thank you very much! I hope to interact with you soon, and if not, then I hope your day is great and I appreciate you looking at my blog!

[oddevan]

The last straw, I guess

I’m not leaving Twitter, but I’ll be using it a lot less like I used to.

I wish I could leave outright, but I’ve got too many social connections on there that I don’t have elsewhere. People I’ve met in different places that haven’t moved to other places. (Or they have, and I just missed it—which is likely.)

But after a few days of having to use the official app… it feels like Facebook. Or Instagram. A whole lot of stuff that I don’t care about, even when it purports to only show me what I care about (the “Following” timeline). And I don’t just mean advertisements, I mean:

Tweets from people followed by people I follow

Tweets liked by people I follow

Links to accounts that might be interesting to me for some reason

Out-of-order replies or truncated threads

Throw in some obnoxious UI elements like a new tweet button and a banner proclaiming that there are tweets that I have not seen while I am indeed scrolling up to read said tweets, and I feel like I’m squinting to see through a haze of noise to see the one thing I came to see: tweets from people I follow.

People with more experience in the world of Twitter apps (like Manton and Craig and John) have already said their things, but I’ve got two more data points to add.

First, I recognize that this is a pretty pathetic straw to be the one to make me “leave” Twitter. Others have been dealing with rising bigotry, hate, and a general increase in… uncivil behavior on the platform. This has always been there, and it’s been there since well before Twitter was taken private. Since then, though, the platform leadership has made it clear that this will continue in the name of “free speech,” welcoming back some of the most prominent accounts that encouraged said vitrol.

I want to note that this was something I knew was happening but rarely saw. I used Tweetbot instead of the official Twitter app, and it only showed my timeline in order along with any mentions or direct messages. Since someone of my race, religion, gender, and sexual orientation is not typically the target of hate and harassment campaigns, it was something I didn’t experience. But I followed enough accounts and heard enough stories to know that it was happening somewhere; I just didn’t see it.

The problem is the more the Twitter app shows me what’s happening “on the platform” and less of who I’ve chosen—for the sake of my mental health—to listen to, the more I’ll see. I don’t even want to see trending topics much less whatever tweets people are angry about. Tweetbot allowed me to control what I saw on Twitter; the official Twitter app doesn’t. That is why these third-party clients were so important to me.

Second, this has confirmed that Twitter’s new ad-hoc approach to policy also extends to the API. The theme repeated by app developers has been “respect,” or rather the lack thereof: the banning of 3rd-party apps was made with no notice beforehand and no acknowledgement after. It’s also inconsistent: several smaller apps, including the Mac desktop version of Twitteriffic, have yet to be banned. No respect, no communication, no consistency. If nothing else, this shows Twitter is not a stable platform for building on.

Which brings me to Smolblog. I’ve been working on it off-and-on for years now, and one of the key features has always been a Twitter integration that will import posts from and send posts to Twitter. As part of the big refactor, I was rewriting this module to use the new version of Twitter’s API. It wasn’t until I was most of the way in that I learned that there are still key features—like posting images to Twitter—that are simply not available through version 2 of Twitter’s API.

With the growing instability in the API, I simply cannot waste any more time building a feature on an API that is incomplete and could change at a moment’s notice. The change could be in a data structure, or it could be a policy change that would ban Smolblog. With me already feeling “behind schedule” (an attitude to examine later), I need to get core functionality out, and that means putting any Twitter work on the back burner.

So there it is. Twitter stays on my phone, but it gets shoved into the back page with Instagram and Facebook: apps I only touch when I need to. And I’ll likely need to; there are people, things that I can still only get to through Twitter, and asking people to give up their hard-won audience is no easy ask. But this makes the mission of Mastodon, Micro.blog, and every other independent cross-compatible service that much more important. And I hope one day that Smolblog is in that list.

Jack Dorsey was right about one thing for sure, though: Twitter should have been a protocol, not a company.

[coollyinterferes]

Coming back to 234354657687 p*rn b*ts in the follower count...

“Not t’ be a killjoy, ladies, but I’m shamelessly gay and not interested...” Please go away.

[honorhearted]

Benjamin flinched at that, startled. "I didn't reject you, I just...I-I thought that was part of your personality," he replied, befuddled. "You were quite friendly, and here in camp, the lines of friendliness can easily be blurred by malicious gossip."

Despite his embarrassment, he smiled again at Emma's outrage, arching a brow once she nearly turned around in her chair. "In that case, what about a smaller trained man?" he countered. "I wouldn't mind seeing you take a fist to Abe or Brewster every now and then... But only whenever they ignore my commands, of course."

Perfect?

Despite her insistence that he not question her, Benjamin snorted. If Emma were to ask his superiors, he was the absolute antithesis of perfect, and a gloomy cloud of discontent entered his features. He was so tired -- not just of war and pain and suffering, but the constant search for approval in places he would never receive it.

There was a sudden thickness in the air, and this time, Emma did turn around to regard him. "You... really believe that, don't you?"

Startled by the amount of gratitude shining back in her eyes, Benjamin slowly nodded. "I have much time to reflect and contemplate my life -- others' lives, too," he assured her. "I wouldn't just say things for the sake of saying them."

"And you think there is nothing 'monstrous about me'? Not even my personality? It doesn't quite match what I'm supposed to be..."

Benjamin blinked at her, incredulous. "This is how you're supposed to be," he replied just as softly. "God doesn't make mistakes, Swan. You were put on this earth with your curious way of thinking right now for a reason. And I, for one, am glad to have met you. I have...a certain appreciation for womenfolk I otherwise might never have possessed. You've changed how I view their role in this fight. And yes..." He chuckled, self-conscious. "Even my view on them wearing breeches has altered, but just barely."

Her gaze was soft and full of appreciation, and suddenly feeling a stab of shyness, Benjamin set aside the needle and remaining thread and murmured, "I suppose you'll need me to leave? I'd wrap you in the gauze myself, but due to the wound's location, I fear you'd have to...y-you would need to partially disrobe." Face heating in mortification, he poured a stream of water into his hand from his bathing pitcher, then washed her blood from his fingertips. "Are you also in need of a bath? I could at the very least prepare that for you... I always have other tasks I can perform, so if you need to occupy my quarters for a while, I'd be happy to vacate and seek work elsewhere."

"What do you mean you didn't realize? You rejected me!" Emma laughed, "You were so worried people would think you were giving me special treatment - did you actually forget? Because now that is a blow to my pride." Of course her words were filled with amusement, because she knew he was just like that. Work work, pretending more work. "Ah, yes, food and conversation, but it's only when there is viscera that people are honest. If only because they don't have the... strength to say too many words, and omission is exhausting." She'd know.

She gasped a little, this time sincerely at the mere thought of her hitting a random woman, and nearly turned, but the pain kept her from forgetting his task. "Not a w-a female warrior, a female warrior," she whispered, scandalized, "I would never hit a normal woman! Or... a... smaller untrained man, for what matters. It wouldn't be fair. Either one needs the raw strength or the training to match, or it would be abuse." And he knew just how important fairness was to her. In every sense, given that not long ago she had seen the handsome Mr. Strong in person, on his way to congress, and finding out he was Mr. Anna Strong had brought such a shame over her thoughts about him that she hadn't quite looked at him in the eyes.

"Oh, no, no," she spoke softly, looking behind her shoulder with an equally soft look, "You weren't. Never. Well, maybe sometimes almost," she teased, "But no. You are perfect the way you are." She looked away, back at the side of the tent she had been forced to stare while he worked, "And don't 'nobody is perfect' again, I mean to me."

She giggled at his little typical poke at her eating, "Ah, but I'm not a real man if you haven't noticed. Need the energy more. To punch better. Guns are just not my thing, I fully came to accept that."

He finished and she turned slowly, but his words had her go quiet again, first in endearment and then in wonder, "You... really believe that, don't you?"

Why? How? "And you think there is nothing 'monstrous about me'?" she smiled lightly, but she couldn't hide that it touched her, and she was searching his face for answer when added in tone of jest: "Not even my personality? It doesn't quite match what I'm supposed to be..." While she didn't care about Bradford and others, there was truth in what they said behind her back, which she had her ways to hear, and she did care about what Benjamin thought. And in that moment, if only because soaked in blood and alone with him, in his tent, at night, she couldn't help but question it, and didn't have the strength to laugh it all off yet.

[cherrycola27]

SIREN'S SONG

Chapter 7: Great Balls of Fire

Paring: Roosterx OC Captain Harper Ann "Siren" Mitchell

Warnings: Mentions of Ejection, injuries, cursing, drinking, and allusions smut 18+ only Minors DNI

A/N: This chapter is inspired by the song "Great Balls of Fire... but more specifically the Top Gun Maverick version. This has been my favorite chapter to write so far... please enjoy!

Four months had passed since the mission. The Navy was so appreciative of the success they gave the Dagger Squad some much needed time off. Rooster had settled in well to his new role at Top Gun. He and Harper had also settled in well to being a couple.

When they had returned he officially moved in with her even though Harper insisted he had been officially moved in with her months before. The couple had a well established routine. Work, friends, family, and amazing sex. They were happy. Sure they has small fights about stupid things and they were both stubborn as hell, but at the end of the day they were lovers and best friends. The perfect match.

It was a warm Friday afternoon Rooster was supposed to be meeting Harper at their favorite spot at the beach soon but he needed to make a pit stop first. He had told Harper he had left his phone charger in his office back on base and he needed to get it but in reality he was over at Maverick's.

"Alright Bradley let's see it. Maverick said rubbing his hands together. "Look at it Mav, isn't it beautiful... think she will like it?" Bradley side as he asked his pseudo-father proudly showing off the engagement ring he had in his hand. "Rooster it's beautiful. She is going to love it."

"Thanks Pete, it's just as special to me as she is. The center stone came from the necklace Dad gave mom when they got married. I chose that because I buried her with her wedding ring.... she wore it even after Dad died and I couldn't bear to take it from her." Rooster said tearing up. "The smaller diamonds came with the setting I think they really make the center stone pop. And I went with rose gold because Harper hates yellow gold and she thinks silver is too over done. So it's something one of a kind and unique just like her." Rooster continued placing the ring back into his pocket.

"So the plan is for Penny to fake some sort of emergency at the Hard Deck while we go to the beach and set up. Then I am going to go 'save' her. We are going to take a walk to our favorite spot while you, P, Ameila and the Daggers get the Hard Deck ready for the after party or my funeral... depending on what she says." Rooster explained to the old man.

"Bradley she is going to say yes. She loves you. Stop worrying and let's go!" Pete ushered the younger pilot out the door. He understood how nervous Rooster was. He had been the same way when he was going to propose to Penny. He had also seen the same nerves when Goose asked Carole to marry him.

"Penny Benjamin Mitchell" Harper stated with her hands on her hips looking at her mother. "How do you forget to install kegs? You own a fucking bar... you sell enough beer here every night to fill ten pools I swear! Harper huffed. "It's not that I forgot honey... its just these two are so big it's a two man job and Jimmy is off for the week and you were already here. Penny said struggling against the large container. Her daughter had no idea that entire story was a lie. She might be mad now but she would thank her later...

"Harper.... Penny.... anyone here?" Rooster called out through the empty bar. "In the back!" Both women shouted in unison.

"A little to the left and there.... woo... perfect. Thanks for your help honey." Penny said giving Harper a hug... "any time mom" Harper replied panting

"Well if you ladies are done here.... I believe we have a date Ms. Mitchell" Bradley said taking her had.

"We most certainly do Mr. Bradshaw" Harper replied threading her fingers with his. "Have fun you two" Penny yelled as the couple walking out the front door. Moments later Pete, Amelia, Jimmy, and the Dagger Squad entered through the back door and began to set up.

Harper and Rooster walk happily along the beach talking and laughing. Soon they had made it to their favorite spot where Roosters Bronco was parked. He quickly let the tailgate down and set out a blanket. Harper hopped up as Rooster pulled out his old guitar from beside her.

"Oh.. are you going to serenade me my love?" Harper asked

"Something like that." Bradley replied. He fiddled with this strings and began to slowly play the first cords of a song Harper new all too well

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain" he began at a much slower tempo than normal

"Too much love drives a man insane"

"You broke my will, but what a thrill" He began to sway back and forth. Harper smiled at him

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire"

"I laughed at love 'cause I thought it was funny"

"But you came along and you moved me, honey" Rooster shot a wink at her

"I changed my mind, this love is fine"

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire" he sang earnestly

"Kiss me, baby" Harper blew him a kiss

"Ooh, that feels good, baby"

"Hold me, baby"

"I wanna love you like a lover should"

"You're fine, you're so kind" he began to sing even slower as he walked closer to her.

"I'ma tell the world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine"

He drew out the last note and put his guitar down. Bradley grabbed both of Harper's hands.

"Baby." He began "I have loved you since before I even knew what love was. You have supported me through all of my ups and downs. I don't know how you put up with my dumbass... I swear you are an angel. You have been my biggest support and motivation. You are kind, smart, caring, stubborn, funny, considerate, and so full of love. I could not do this life without you. And I do want to let the whole world know that you are mine now and forever." Bradley dropped to one knee... "So, Harper Ann Mitchell.... Will You Mary Me?" Rooster pulled the ring out of his pocket and held it out while he waited for her answer.

"Oh my God Yes! Yes Bradley I will marry you!" Harper almost shouted with tears in her eyes. With shaky hands. Rooster placed the ring on her finger. Harper launched herself off the tailgate of the Bronco and tackled him to the sand peppering his face with kisses. "I love you so much Harper" Rooster told her cradling her cheek. "I love you so much to Bradley" She smiled back.

"Well... I guess we need to go show off your new ring to Penny and Mav. They should be at the Hard Deck." Rooster told her. Harper happily obliged her boyfriend... err fiancé and they began to walk back. On the way back Harper couldn't take her eyes off the ring. Bradley explained how the center diamond had once belong to his mom and the sentiment around the ring. If it was even possible Harper fell more in love with that man.

"Baby? Why is no one at the Hard Deck and the lights off?" Harper asked as the couple approached the bar and walked in. Before Rooster could answer "Surprise!" Pennt flipped the lights on as the Daggerr Squad, Maverick, Amelia, and Jimmy jumped from their hiding places. The bar was covered in streamers and balloons. Over the stage hung a "She said YES!" banner.

Everyone rushed forward to congratulate the couple. All of the girls fawned over Harper's engagement ring and sighed when she told them the story behind it and how the center diamond had belonged to Roosters mother.

The men of the Dagger Squad congratulated Rooster and gave him a pat on the back. "So as your best man I am obviously going to plan a kick ass bachelor party. I'm thinking Vegas, party bus, bottle service, strippers..." Hangman announced to Rooster and the gang. "Who said you were going to be my best man Bagman?" Rooster asked him.

"Dude I am you'd best friend... I saved your life... its literally my right to be your best man and throw the most epic bachelor party!" Jake said while he dramatically waved his arms. "As much as I am sure you would enjoy your idea for my bachelor party.... I am not down for Vegas or strippers... I was thinking a weekend golf trip to Tahoe." Rooster told him. Hangman sighed dramatically yet again "Ugh fine if you want to have a boring bachelor party fine but we are taking a party bus to the golf courses" Jake stated compromising.

As the night went on there was laughter, happy conversations and lots of hugs. Jake continued to try and persuade Rooster to change his mind about Vegas even going as far as to bet a game of pool on it. Meanwhile Harper asked Phoenix and Halo if they would be two of her bridesmaids. Amelia jumped up and down and hugged her so tight when Harper asked her to be her Maid of Honor.

Soon friends and family started making their way home. Harper and Rooster were the only two left. Penny told then to stay as long as they wanted to just to lock up when they left.

Rooster went and keyed up a song on the Juke Box and then pulled Harper into the middle of the empty bar. They danced together as Elvis sang "Can't Help Falling in Love With You."

Bradley placed a tender kiss to the top of Harper's head as she snuggled under his chin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him.

"Hey Rooster, you big stud" Harper called out using the line Aunt Carole told her she always used on Uncle Goose "That's me Honey" Rooster replied cracking a smile

Harper stood up on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. "Take me to bed or lose me forever"

"Show me the way home Honey!" Rooster called back pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

He laced his fingers with hers and carefully lead her to his waiting Bronco. On the drive him Rooster looked over to see that his fiancée had fallen asleep. The excitement of the day finally catching up to her. He pulled in the driveway and unlocked the door.

He carefully opened the passenger side door of his car and picked up the sleeping woman. He carried her into the house and up the stairs. He made sure to take off her shoes before laying her down on the bed. Bradley had wanted get both of them changed into some sleep clothes, but as she went to pull away Harper had a death grip around his neck. He chuckled to himself admitting defeat and laying down beside her. Harper sighed and cuddled up next to Rooster as she wrapped an arm around him.

And there in that moment, for the first time in a long time, Bradley Bradshaw and Harper Mitchell were both truly happy.

Oh my God my heart almost melted and I may have shed a few tears writing this. This has definitely been my favorite chapter so far. I hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @marvelsvalhalla @shanimallina87 @tallrock35

[archived-kin]

solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts. 

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness  that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ‘[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.” 

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all. 

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. “I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

[atopvisenyashill]

Sorry i took a minute to reply, i wanted to read your meta first <3 I do fully agree that there’s going to be a “last stand” (or what the characters think is a last stand) at the Trident against the white walkers that will finally turn the tide the war, i don’t think i’ve ever posted about it but it was a theory me and one of real life nerd friends had talked about a lot, especially with the all the stuff surrounding the gods eye and the isle of faces.

So I go kind of two ways in my thinking. One where Bran goes south and is king of the Four Kingdoms and one where Bran stays north and is King In The North and of the Trident.

If Bran goes South to become king, he’s giving up his claim to the North. We have it established that when an heir travels Elsewhere, they tend to give up their original claim. Most notably, this is how Dorne is brought into the realm, and what Doran had planned to repeat with Arianne: they give up for titles as Princess of Dorne for the chance to be Queen.

Why would Bran abdicate the North instead of annex it? To protect Sansa. If the North is an independent nation, and Bran rules over the Westerlands, its a way to annul Sansa's marriage to Tyrion; he can't be Lord of Casterly Rock and King in the North because they're now two different kingdoms, so Bran can much more easily push for annulment. This works equally well with Harry Hardyng but I think it’s her marriage to Tyrion that’s going to prove hardest to navigate out of (and we have seen in the books that Littlefinger has been kind of struggling around nullifying it). I also think the northern lords themselves are going to continue pushing for independence regardless of who sits the Iron Throne.

I believe the lords of the Westerlands, Riverlands, Stormlands, and the Vale will be okay with this for one reason: they're going to shift to a constitutional monarchy and do away with an absolute monarchy. The House of Lords weren't particularly powerful at the end of the War of the Roses BUT feudalism was dying a bit at this time and I think George might parallel that by establishing a House of Lords in Westeros in the endgame. It's not out of the realm of possibility in Westeros either; Jaehaerys has his "smaller councils" throughout his reign, the Northern Lords all have a much more active voice in Robb's reign, the Freehold has a parliament of sorts.

Clearly, being united as one kingdom is just as destructive as having dozens of petty kings. But having a parliamentary style house of lords that rules besides the king in Harrenhal will give a bit more stability, check the power of the King, and appease the lords as they figure out what to do now that all the Targaryens and Baratheons are all dead.

As for ruling, I think Sansa will be Queen in the North, Arianne will be Princess of Dorne, and maybe Asha will be the Iron Queen. Maybe. For one thing, who knows what’s going to be left after Euron gets done with them; there could very well be not enough of them left, and perhaps Asha’s friendship with Alysanne is meant as some sort of tie to the main land that will allow Asha to resettle the Ironborn along the shore. There’s also the hanging thread of recalling the kingsmoot and Asha winning it the second time around so again, no idea there. Euron is too much of a wildcard there. But the other two I'm much more sure of.

What I hope is that Rickon is made Bran's heir, and similar to Myriah, that takes him out of the line of succession, which makes Sansa Queen. But I think right now it's just as likely that Rickon dies, in which case Bran's heirs probably come from Arya. I think Arya will do a lot of traveling between the two areas. She has an attachment to the smallfolk of the Riverlands and there is going to be a lot of resettling after the events of the series that Arya would be perfect to help with. After that, I think she goes exploring before she marries due to her continued ties to Nymeria (actually both of those parts of her story - resettling refugees and exploring - are tied to how she’s associated with Nymeria).

Harrenhal will be the new seat of what’s left of the Seven Kingdoms at the ending.

I know a few people have already said bits and pieces of this but I wanted to get everything in one post for my own sanity lmao. There’s three kind of main branches to this theory: geographical reasons, historical reasons, and reasons specific to King Bran theories.

Geography surrounding Harrenhal

It’s the center of everything! Let me show you on the map because i’m a visual learner:

Ignore the North and Dorne and probably the Iron Islands too, bc the first two are not gonna be part of The Seven Kingdoms anymore and the Iron Islands is…gonna be a fucking mess lmao. Lemme zoom in:

It’s a very centralized point in the Riverlands but it’s also fairly centralized to the Crownlands (which will probably get absorbed into the others), the Stormlands, the Eyrie, the Reach, and the Westerlands. It makes sense, from a geographical standpoint, that if the lords need to choose a new ruling seat - and they will no matter what, because King’s Landing is gonna go boom - that a more centralized location for easier access to the capital would be their decision.

The Riverlands is also an excellent choice in general because geographically, they are always getting screwed due to being right in the middle of everyone. They get fucked during the Dance, the Blackfyre Rebellions, Robert’s Rebellion, AND the War of the Five Kings. The only area that really gets screwed over more during the various wars is probably the Dornish Marches, because of the conflicts between the stony Dornishmen and the Storm and Reacher Lords but you can’t really set up there because it’s too far from the Eyrie and Riverlands.

And the thing about the Riverlands is that part of why it gets fucked up is that it’s right in the middle of everything and has no natural defenses. The Eyrie has the mountains, the North has their snow, the Dornish has their desert. The Reach manages to stay out of a lot of fighting because that’s where the food is (although the Iron Islands are about to screw them, but that’s because the war has spiraled out of control) and while both the Stormlands and the Westerlands have seen big battles, they have some protection in their coasts, which gives them ships that the Riverlands just can’t quite access. Having the King set up in the Riverlands gives the smallfolk of the Riverlands some much needed protection and potentially, a break from all the fighting.

So the Riverlands is a good place to set up shop, but Harrenhal specifically? Well, that’s because it’s huge:

Every child of the Trident knew the tales told of Harrenhal, the vast fortress that King Harren the Black had raised beside the waters of Gods Eye three hundred years past, when the Seven Kingdoms had been seven kingdoms, and the riverlands were ruled by the ironmen from the islands. In his pride, Harren had desired the highest hall and tallest towers in all Westeros. Forty years it had taken, rising like a great shadow on the shore of the lake while Harren's armies plundered his neighbors for stone, lumber, gold, and workers. Thousands of captives died in his quarries, chained to his sledges, or laboring on his five colossal towers. Men froze by winter and sweltered in summer. Weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down for beams and rafters. Harren had beggared the riverlands and the Iron Islands alike to ornament his dream. And when at last Harrenhal stood complete, on the very day King Harren took up residence, Aegon the Conqueror had come ashore at King's Landing.

If it’s going to be the capital, it has to be somewhere that can hold a whole lot of people and Harrenhal is ginormous and perfect for holding lots of people. It’s even happened before; part of why Lord Whent stages his big tourney where Lyanna is crowned queen of love and beauty is because likely because Ser Oswell Whent, his brother on the Kingsguard, asked him to stage an excuse to get all the Lords together so Rhaegar could discuss with them what to do about his father and Harrenhal is the biggest castle they can do that in outside of King’s Landing. From The Kingbreaker chapter:

Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together.

It’s also built up to be sturdier than King’s Landing. Whereas King’s Landing was kind of haphazardly thrown together as it built up over the years, Harren the Black had always meant for a lot of people to be housed there. We see how many people can live in it during Arya’s chapters as she runs around inside of it and Harrentown and this is with a ruler who has no interest in keeping a lot of people in it. With a King or Queen living there, it opens itself up to growing in a much more easily defensible way than King’s Landing.

Historical Reasons Harrenhal is Significant

As you can see on the map, it’s built right on the edge of a very important place: The Isle of Faces and the lake that surrounds it, called the Gods Eye.

It’s a key place for the history of Westeros because it’s where the First Men and the Children of the Forest made peace:

Inexorably, the war ground on across generations, until at last the children understood that they could not win. The First Men, perhaps tired of war, also wished to see an end to the fighting. The wisest of both races prevailed, and the chief heroes and rulers of both sides met upon the isle in the Gods Eye to form the Pact…

It’s also notable for being the only place the Andals never managed to conquer:

It is possible that a few [Children of the Forest] survived on the Isle of Faces, as some have written, under the protection of the green men, whom the Andals never succeeded in destroying.

It’s a place associated with peace and negotiations between people, a place to stand strong against war and untouched by its horrors. A monument to what could be, if you will. And Harrenhal sits on its shore; it would add a very rich layer to setting up King’s Landing in a place associated with peace. And this isn’t the only time a succession crisis of sorts is settled there. The Great Council of 101 AC was held there.

To resolve the matter of his heir once and for all, Jaehaerys called the first Great Council in the year 101 AC, to put the matter before the lords of the realm. And from all corners of the realm the lords came. No castle could hold so many save for Harrenhal, so it was there that they gathered. The lords, great and small, came with their trains of bannermen, knights, squires, grooms, and servants. And behind them came yet more—the camp followers and washerwomen, the hawkers and smiths and carters. Thousands of tents sprang up over the moons, until the castle town of Harrenton was accounted the fourth largest city of the Realm.

Once again, we have Harrenhal associated with peace and negotiation in its history. However, that’s not all it’s associated with; there are several very significant battles that take place near the Gods Eye - again, it is in the middle of everything. It’s a place with lots of history and lots of ties to everyone in Westeros. There’s the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye between Maegor and Aegon the Uncrowned, The Battle of the Lake Shore and The Battle Over the Gods Eye during the Dance, as well as the story of Addam Velaryon landing Seasmoke on the Isle of Faces to take counsel from the green men after being accused of treason. It is, all in all, a very significant place in Westeros.

But that’s not the only reason Harrenhal is talked about. Basically every single time Harrenhal is brought up, someone will mention that it’s haunted. This belief comes because of Aegon the Conquerer and Harren the Black. While Orys Baratheon and Rhaenys march for the Stormlands & Daemon Velaryon and Visenya left for the Vale, Aegon himself first turns towards Harren the Black and the Riverlands. All three face opposition but Aegon conquers the Riverlands first because Harren is so ill loved:

So now the riverlands rose against him, led by Lord Edmyn Tully of Riverrun. Summoned to the defense of Harrenhal, Tully declared for House Targaryen instead, raised the dragon banner over his castle, and rode forth with his knights and archers to join his strength to Aegon’s. His defiance gave heart to the other riverlords. One by one, the lords of the Trident renounced Harren and declared for Aegon the Dragon. Blackwoods, Mallisters, Vances, Brackens, Pipers, Freys, Strongs … summoning their levies, they descended on Harrenhal.

And he makes very quick work of Harrenhal, making it the first Kingdom to become part of the Seven Kingdoms:

The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles … and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

Ever since the burning of Harrenhal, no House has been able to hold it without going extinct soon after. For House Targaryen’s rule in Westeros to start with Harren the Black’s hubris and the fall of Harrenhal, and end with Harrenhal becoming the new seat of the King of the Four (??) Kingdoms is a really neat connection.

Reasons Why It Works With King Bran

But wait! you say. Didn’t you just say that Harrenhal is cursed??

Why yes I did. HOWEVER. There is one family that the Curse of Harrenhal supposedly never touched: The Whents.

You see, from Harren the Black up until the Whents, every other House in charge of it has gone extinct.

House Hoare? That’s Harren’s house and we all know what happened there - they don’t call him Balerion the Black Dread for no reason.

House Qoherys? Dead less than three decades later.

House Harroway? Wiped out a decade later.

House Towers? died out within two decades, ending with sickly Maegor Towers and then old and tired Rhaena Targaryen, until the two odd friends died and the holdings were free again.

House Strong? Well…between the fire that kills Harwin and Lyonel, Larys’ shenanigans getting him merced by Cregan, and Aemond just straight committing a minor genocide in the Riverlands, they all died out (except maybe Alys Rivers’ baby but we don’t have any info there).

House Lothston? Interestingly, they hold the castle for several decades, but they too went completely extinct under King Maekar.

So we come to House Whent. They’ve held it for about 6 ish decades and though they’ve also had some bad luck, they’ve had their people grow old - Walter Whent who threw the tourney is called “Old Lord Whent” by Barristan, and Shella Whent is old when she dies. But the most interesting thing is Minisa Whent.

We don’t know a lot about the Whent line, only that Shella refused to bend the knee to Joffrey, fled Harrenhal when it was attacked, and later died. You could say the curse still got them but in every other case, the whole line dies, not just the main line! Even Janos Slynt has no descendants and Littlefinger will have none to inherit either. But the Whents do: they have House Tully. Minisa Whent married Hoster Tully and had Catelyn and Edmure. The Whents are known for their sharp cheekbones and both Catelyn and Sansa, funny enough, are described as having sharp cheekbones. This very close relation could mean that the Starklings have a claim to Harrenhal through their mother.

This fits with King Bran because we know the lords are perfectly fine fudging things and going through the female line if it fits their needs. They did the same thing with Robert and his grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen, who married Ormund Targaryen, Steffon’s mother. Renly says here:

Oh, there was talk of the blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of weddings a hundred years past, of second sons and elder daughters. No one but the maesters care about any of it.

The maesters love a loophole inheritance.

And remember that the odds of surviving the books for the Baratheons and Targaryens is very, very low. It’s pretty much just bastards all the way down (on both sides lmao, because I do not think either Young Griff or Dany are gonna survive). And whenever the inheritance isn’t clear, a Great Council is called. Catelyn even suggested it while parlying with the Baratheons:

Let the three of you call for a Great Council, such as the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send to Winterfell, so Bran may tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them.

Mentioning Bran, of course. A lot of people think it’s far fetched and while I do think him being so young is gonna be a hard sell now that the time jump is gone, I don’t think it’s that far fetched that the lords of the Stormlands, The Reach, the Eyrie, and The Westerlands would be convinced to choose Hoster Tully’s grandson and Ned Stark’s baby boy to rule over them.

And finally, Robb wasn’t called “Robb Stark, King in the North” he was also explicitly called “King of the Trident.” All the talk about who is Robb’s heir but look at how they all think of themselves - “as brave as Robb” “as strong as Robb” or they’ll have sons and name them Robb. Whereas Who Rules The North is all tied up in Robb’s legacy, the Iron Throne isn’t! If King Bran rules from the Riverlands, however, it gives Bran that tie to Robb; he gets to protect and rule from the lands Robb swore to protect, the lands he ultimately fought and died in. For Bran, he still gets to be Robb’s heir, at least in spirit, and I think that would be, to Bran, something very bittersweet.

[idanwyn-et-al]

The Nixie: A Curious Galleon and her Oddly Lush pirate playground Dockhouse. 

When she sails into her home slip in Vylbrand, the Free Trader Nixie turns a fair many beachgoer’s head. She seems too light in the water for her ponderous size: her mainmast encased entirely in crystal; her wooden decks threaded with cermet and darksteel; billowing, well-tended sails above and Garlean-inspired ceruleum engines below.  Rumor has it that the ship is haunted, though each retelling’s specifics vary, different hues of the same leaded-glass window. Some say the old Captain never really died, and her niece is merely covering for her, communing with her in secret. Others say that the ghosts of hundreds of namazu fill the decks at all hours with the squeaking candor of their fins. Still others claim the ship has captured a sea monster of eld, using it to power the peculiar vessel.

Whatever the truth may be, the Nixie’s crew isn’t too forthcoming to many about it, leaving passengers and visitors alike to draw their own conclusions. All are welcome to visit the ship when she’s in her home port, whether it’s to seek passage, to have a shipment delivered, or to enroll with the crew for adventures into uncharted territory. 

|| The Nixie is located on Mateus at Mist, Ward 14, Plot 6, and is the home of the Uncharted Territory FC. The house’s exterior is our dockhouse, gardens, and cafe, while the interior, unsurprisingly, is the ship’s interior. The Nixie’s current IC location can be seen in the Message from the Owner section of our guestbook; we always update it during FC events! || Some more info, including RP and recruitment info, under the cut!

Though the carrd and some restructuring are still in the works (though very close to completion), we are looking to recruit, and will begin doing so in earnest fairly soon (probably May, 2022). The goal will still be to have a smaller FC (50 people at the absolute max), so we’re also looking for other FCs or individuals who might want to RP with us who might not necessarily want to join a crazy haunted ship’s crew.

As far as FC recruitment goes, we are looking for roleplayers that are: 30+; that have an interest in running events as well as participating at least once every other Sunday; that enjoy the PvE aspect of this game to stay current on the story and locations, which we very much use IC; and are generally sociable people who also don’t mind people being quiet and doing their own things. 

IC-wise, we are a motley crew indeed, and can work pretty much any story into our crew’s. We do definitely need a dedicated medic, though. We even have a clinic for you! Not that we get into a lot of trouble out there or anything...

I didn’t plan for this to become RP recruitment post junior, but here we are. If you’re at all interested, please feel free to reply here, send me a DM, or contact me on discord at esper#3592. Thanks for looking!

[arvandus]

CONGRATS ON 500 OMG 🎉🎉🎉 IT'S MORE THAN DESERVED!!!!

Can I put in a request for All Might, #35 with a fluff ending?

Sooo.... I’m gonna be honest, I was so excited when I saw this request because.... angsty dialogue with a happy ending?  That shit is my jam.  And with All Might?  Perfect.

 A couple things before we get started: I went with All Might in his skinny form, cuz the prompt lends itself to that (so sorry if you were hoping for buff Might!) Also, took the artistic liberty of giving reader a healing quirk for this one called ‘Cat’s Cradle.’ You’ll (hopefully) see why it’s called that when you read it…

 I hope you enjoy, and sorry it’s taken so long to get this out!

 Um... Warnings: Blood (sorry, it’s Yagi... kinda a given), angst + happy ending

 Word Count: 3,223 and no regrets!

35. “I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

 There was a familiar knock at your door, and in an instant you knew exactly who it was.  Your teeth clenched, your jaw stiffened.

 You weren’t going to answer it. Not this time.

 Knock knock knock

 You waited, frozen, unwilling to move, yet listening intently.  The sound of wet, guttural coughing reverberated through the wooden barrier.

 God damn it.

 When it came to a certain world-famous hero, it didn’t really take much for you to give up your resolve.  You made your way to the door and peeked through the peephole.  Yagi supported himself with one hand against the door frame as his other hand clutched at his chest.  The front of his shirt was bunched in his grasp, blood coating his pale hands and the white fabric beneath it.  A curse fell from your lips as your hands unlatched the lock on your door, swinging it wide open.

 Yagi looked up at you with grateful blue eyes, sunken deep into dark pits. His wild, blond hair stuck to his ashen face with sweat, his brow furrowed in pain.

 “Hey,” he greeted with a lighthearted grin.

 “Jesus Christ, Yagi…” you growled.

 You grabbed him by the elbow and ushered him into your space before closing and locking the door behind you.

 There was no time to rush him into the bathroom like you normally did.  Instead, you had him sit in a dining chair and began to peel off his blood-soaked shirt.  Just as the fabric lifted off his head, another round of coughing doubled him over, blood splattering the tiled floor.

 “Shit…” Yagi muttered.

 “Don’t worry about it.” You replied.  But it was hardly convincing.  Your tone was cold and hard with frustration.

 You weren’t mad about the floor, though… honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. What mattered was the man currently looking like he was on Death’s doorstep.  It pained you to see him so clearly suffering, his skin covered in sweat and blood even as he tried to smile reassuringly at you.  It didn’t matter how bright his smile was; it held little weight against the scar carved into his side, or the atrophy that stretched over his bones.

 Your heart couldn’t handle much more of this.

 Gently, you pressed your hands against the front of Yagi’s shoulders until he was sitting up, back straight.  Even without his buff form, Yagi was tall.  With your body so close to his, you could feel his ragged breath on your cheek, hear the air rattling from his lungs like leaves.  You couldn’t help but look him in the eyes then, and a faint flush crept across his sallow cheeks that made your own skin feel hot.

 “Stay still.” You instructed.

 You carefully placed one hand in front of his chest and the other behind his back, your fingertips hovering over his body.  Glowing, translucent-white threads emanated from your fingers, passing through him to connect together deep within his lungs. Slowly, you began weaving, fingers dancing and flicking like a game of Cat’s Cradle as your quirk stitched and healed the damaged tissue.  It was painstaking work, what was left of his lungs already in poor condition, and the more he pushed himself past his limits, the harder it was to repair what he’d repeatedly broken.  Sweat beaded your brow as you worked, your hands moving meticulously.  One wrong move, one wrong stitch…

 But you’d done this countless times over the years.  It was nearly second nature to you now… you knew his body nearly as well as your own.  You stared at the glistening red staining from his lips to his chest as you worked, your vision blurred as you focused on your quirk’s senses.

 Slowly, you could hear Yagi’s ragged breaths begin to improve.  His gasps for air filled deeper into his chest, expanding his rib cage.  His exhales followed clean and steady.  The tension in his face relaxed, his brow smoothing over as he closed his eyes.

 Finally, you broke the connection and slumped into your own chair, exhaustion overtaking you.  It was far from perfect, but it was the best you could do given his level of deterioration. You watched Yagi take a few more deep, experimental breaths before he looked up at you.  You opened your mouth to scold him, your brow furrowed into a frown, but froze as soon as you saw his gentle expression become guarded as he prepared for your verbal onslaught.

 An ache filled your throat where your words were supposed to be, and you closed your mouth.  How easy it was to revert back to old habits when you were together.  The two of you were broken; the same old wounds seeping red because they were never given a chance to properly heal.

 You weren’t going to go through it again; not this time.  You were too tired.  And it wasn’t like it made much difference anyway.  It didn’t matter how much you begged, cried, or yelled.  Yagi wouldn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop.

Silence fell between you as you both stared at each other, the space between you feeling empty. No doubt your hurt was evident in your face, your body language, your eyes.  And if there was one thing you knew Yagi hated, it was seeing you upset.  He wanted to hold you.  You could see it in the way his body leaned towards you of its own accord, arms shifting just the slightest bit closer to your torso.  You could see the words on the edge of his tongue too, suspended between parted, bloodstained lips.

 Don’t. A part of you begged.  You didn’t want his comfort.  You didn’t want his excuses.

 Just as his mouth opened wider to speak, you averted your eyes and shifted your body away from him.  It was difficult – painful, as if you were a plant being pulled from the earth, fragile roots breaking in the soil.

 “You should go clean up.” You said quietly.

 Another long pause greeted you before he finally spoke.  “Yeah.  Okay.” He stood.  “Do you still have my clothes?”

 “Yeah. Dresser, bottom drawer.” You replied.

 Yagi excused himself, and a moment later you heard the sound of running water in the bathroom.  You stared at the bloodied floor and the stained shirt balled up on your table.  Nausea filled you, twisting your gut.

 Quickly, you grabbed your cleaning supplies and set to work, watching as the blood soaked into the white paper towels like an inkblot test.  Each fresh bloom of crimson spelled the foreshadowing you tried to erase, until you were wiping and scrubbing at the floor in frantic anger, tears dripping from your lashes.  It felt futile.  No matter how many paper towels you used, you always seemed to need more.

 By the end of it, the trash can was full, the roll noticeably smaller than when you had started.  You added Yagi’s ruined shirt to the top of the pile and stashed the bin away out of sight beneath your kitchen sink.  You’d take it out as soon as he left.  

 You could still hear the shower running in your bathroom, so you went to your living room and slouched onto your couch, waiting for Yagi to finish.

 You had hoped that cleaning up the mess would help reduce the severity from the situation, help you mask your growing fears.  But it was too late.  All you could see was red.  The red on his lips, the red on your floor, the red in the paper towels...

 The emotions you had hoped you could suppress until he left began to crest in you, and you vacated the living room in favor of the privacy of your bedroom. Maybe if you could let a few tears out during his shower, then you’d have enough composure until he left.  You curled onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in your arms as you buried your face into the plush fabric.

 For so long you’d held out, hoping that one day he’d understand.  That he’d see the damage to his body, see how quickly he was deteriorating.  That he’d see the fear in your eyes every time he showed up on your doorstep needing your help.  You’d hoped that your countless conversations would eventually amount to something, your words secretly unravelling the veil he chose to wear over his eyes as he fought battle after battle.

 It was that pesky, lingering hope that had been keeping you going.  Hope that eventually, there’d be an end to it all. Hope that Yagi could finally stop killing himself for the sake of the greater good.  Hope that the two of you could eventually pick up where you’d fallen and live a happy life.

 And it was hope that made you open the door for him each time.

 But now, that hope was finally gone.  You were done trying.  You realized it as soon as you’d finally given up talking to him – finally given up trying to save him.

 An emptiness took its place, cold and heavy.  Its absence gave no place for your love to nest, no place for your dreams to take root.  All you had left was the heavy, gut-wrenching reality that eventually, inevitably, you’d lose him.  Either he’d die in battle, or worse… He’d show up at your doorstep, his body beyond repair, and the only thing you’d be able to do is hold him as his lungs filled with blood.

 Your chest constricted so tightly at that single, horrible thought that you couldn’t even breathe, your lungs burning in a frantic need for oxygen.  There was nothing in the world worse than that single moment coming to life.  But you couldn’t erase it, couldn’t run from it.  It sat there, as real and permanent as the blood-soaked rags lurking in your kitchen trash.  You tried to suck air into your lungs, but the knot in your throat didn’t allow it, a suffocating sob lodged like a rock.  Your arms tightened around your pillow.

 You were going to lose him.  And there was nothing you could do about it.

 Grief settled itself onto your shoulders, heavy as an anchor.  Grief for a future that could never be. Grief for the death of a love that never fully had a chance to bloom. Grief for a man who would eventually slip through your fingers to become bones and dust, leaving nothing but the ache of his memory upon your soul.  You buckled under its weight, the heavy sob finally spilling from your parted lips as tears soaked into your pillow.

 You didn’t even notice as Yagi entered the room to find you curled up in your bed, sobbing.

 “Hey…” He whispered as he rushed over.

 His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you up against his bony chest, your head tucked under his chin.

 “Hey, hey…” he soothed as he held you.

 You leaned into his embrace, letting his presence envelop you.  Maybe you should have fought it; pushed him away instead of letting yourself indulge.  But it felt too good, too safe, and your arms tightened around him selfishly as you cried.  It brought back familiar memories of a time when the two of you had been happy, surrendering to your feelings for each other, before it all fell apart.  

 God, how you missed this.  Love had never been the issue for the two of you.  No, that was the easy part.  But it wasn’t enough.  Not when all of Japan rested on his shoulders, leaving little space for you no matter how deeply he cared for you.

 He held you as you cried, silently holding the space for you, his arms a safety net for all of the emotional weight you couldn’t carry alone.  Your tears soaked his shirt, your arms wound tight around his ribs, as you wished for nothing more than the power to change what was.

 “I don’t want to lose you…” you sobbed.

 “You won’t.” He replied.

 His words were meant to be comforting, but their effect was the opposite, making your heart ache even more at his inability to address the issue head on. He always was an optimist when it came to things of the heart.  It was part of what made him such a great hero.  But optimism wouldn’t save either of you here.

 You pulled away from him slightly, already missing the closeness of him.

 “Don’t…” you pleaded.  “Don’t do that.”

 Yagi looked down at your tear-stained face.  “Do what?”

 Quietly, you grabbed a tissue from the tissue box on your nightstand and wiped at your nose.  The material crumpled into a ball within your fist and you stared at it, your vision already blurring with fresh tears.

 “Don’t try to give me hope.” You replied.

 Yagi stared with wide eyes before withdrawing his arms. His expression fell, wounded by the truth in your honesty.  

 You struggled not to let it sway you.

 “I… I can’t keep doing this.” You whispered as you wiped the last of the tears from your cheeks. “Every time you show up on my doorstep, you’re worse than before. I won’t always be able to help you.”

 He watched you in silence for a moment before looking away in shame, his fingers interlaced in front of him as he leaned forward.  “I know.” He replied.

 Regret filled you at rejecting him.  You wanted him to touch you, to hold you. To have his presence surround you. To feel him alive beneath you, whole and here.  But you had to set a boundary.  You had to stop following him, stop hoping… if you didn’t, it would destroy you.

 Instead, you sat with your arms wrapped around yourself, a pitiful defense against the familiar allure of the man next to you.

 “You keep wanting me to save you, Yagi… but how can I save you if you won’t save yourself?”  You looked at him then, your eyes locking with his.  “You keep choosing to fight, to push yourself well past your limits. And you keep coming here, because you know that I still love you and won’t turn you away.”

 Yagi sucked air into his lungs, his posture going stiff at your words. You were right.  He knew you were right.  His inability to counter your statement was evidence enough of that.  Disappointment and guilt filled you as you broke eye contact to look at your shaking hands.

 “But… I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself. And you shouldn’t expect me to.” You whispered.

 The words were heavy, filling the empty space between you with their finality. You refused to look at Yagi; you knew he’d be hurt.  You knew his shoulders would slump in defeat, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.  Guilt filled you, making your hands fidget and your shoulders tense as you waited for his response.

 “You’re right.”

 His words were a whisper and your eyes snapped up to stare at him, bewilderment on your face.  He’d never said those words to you before... not about this.  His mask had cracked, and you could finally see his emotions flashing across his face as he struggled to transform them into words.  Remorse. Panic. Love. Fear.

 He cleared his throat and repeated himself.  “You’re right.  I have asked a lot of you.” His brow furrowed.  “I don’t know why I keep coming back.  I guess I just get… homesick.”

 Your breath hitched in your throat as your heart pounded like a battle drum in your chest.  You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were stolen from you when Yagi’s eyes met yours, deep and familiar.

 “I miss you.” He stated.

 “Yagi...” You cupped his cheek in your hand.  He leaned into it briefly, before removing your hand from his face and holding it within his own.

 “Listen... I... didn’t intend to come here for your help.  Not this time.  But you know how these things are...” He explained.  “I was on my way over when a villain showed up, and...” Yagi’s words faltered as he saw the expression on your face begin to fall.  He was doing it again, getting caught up in his work, making excuses... hurting you.

 He cleared his throat. “It’s... not important.  The point is, is that there was something I wanted to tell you.  But... I’m not sure it’ll make much of a difference.” He averted his gaze, his brows pulled together pensively.

 Your own brow furrowed in response, confused by his ambiguity.  A part of you was hesitant... you’d truly felt that you were done, that you’d reached your limit.  But could tell that whatever it was, it was important to him, and it was something that he wanted to share specially with you.

 “Just... tell me.” You said quietly, as you emotionally braced yourself.

 His blue eyes looked back at you, and he took a steady breath.  “Alright...”  He took your other hand in his own.  Now he held both of your hands between you as he sat with you on your bed.  “I... found a successor.”

 Your eyes widened, as you felt overcome with dizziness.  You were lightheaded, suddenly floating on his words that still lingered in the air like morning mist.

 “W... what??” you choked out.  Your heart pounded wildly as your hands gripped his, the warm, firm touch barely grounding you.

 “I found a successor.” He repeated, a slow smile starting to spread across his lips at your dumbfounded reaction.

 A smile began to spread across your lips.  “Does that mean... you’re retiring?”

 “Yeah-”

 Your lips were on his before he could say anything more, your arms flinging themselves around his neck.  He laughed against your lips as he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his lap.

 You pulled away for a moment and stared into his eyes. They sparkled with mirth, blue as a summer’s day.

 “Well, that went better than I expected...” Yagi teased.

 “Tell me it’s true.  You’re really done?” you asked.

 “Well, I still have to train my apprentice... he’s got a big heart and a strength in him that I don’t think he even realizes he has yet.  But it’s going to take some time for him to learn how to wield all that power.”  Yagi’s expression turned from happy to serious.  “And... I have to admit that I can’t retire just yet.”

 You opened your mouth to protest, but he covered your lips with his finger.

 “Hang on a second, firecracker.” He grinned.  “I will retire. But I still have remnants of One For All in me, and I need to protect this kid until he’s able to master that power.  I’ll still be All Might until that last spark leaves me. I’m sure you understand that much, right? I have a responsibility to him.”

 You brushed aside his long bangs, relishing in the feel of the golden locks between your fingers.  Of course, you understood.  You’d never expected it to be immediate anyway.  But at least things were in motion.  All he had to do was survive.  And if Yagi was good at anything, it was surviving.

 You had to believe in him.

 “Yeah...” you whispered.  “I understand.”

 Now it was Yagi’s turn to be surprised. “Really?”

 You smiled and kissed him again.  “Really.”

 You had hope.

[rafael-silva]

in your safety: a tarlos fic

A thought crosses his mind and he finds himself grabbing on to it. He carefully moves up in his bed, turning on the side lamp sitting on his nightstand. He grabs his phone and opens a recent text thread. TK: [11:17 PM] Are you awake?

—

TK can’t really sleep after he’s discharged from the hospital. One night, he goes searching for comfort and a shoulder to lean on. He finds both.

A 1.09 missing scene.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + insomnia

emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, angst, comfort, fluff, worried carlos reyes, cuddles, soft kisses, tk strand needs a hug, missing scene

2.8k | on ao3

*****

TK is no stranger to insomnia.

He’s been dealing with it on and off since his parents’ divorce, trying to come to terms with it. It was hard at first, he’d find himself lying wide awake in bed, thoughts racing as he tossed and turned, sleep never finding him. Other days he’d have a hard time waking up, or he’d wake up exhausted, almost like he didn’t sleep at all.

It got better with time, though. Some remedies helped along the way, as well as talking to his dad about it and working through some of the thoughts that had kept him wide awake, lurking in the depth of his mind.

TK would say he’s been doing better overall, aside from a few nights here and there where sleep had proven to be difficult or he’d be restless, he’d come a long way since he was a little kid.

Until he got shot. And for the nights following his release from the hospital, he found himself transported back to when he was seven years old, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t even burn off the restless and anxious energy with tossing and turning due to the stitches in his still-sore chest.

It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots between the shooting and the insomnia TK is experiencing. He can’t remember the events, but there is still something nagging at him in his gut, keeping him awake. Keeping his mind switched on.

TK would sometimes find Owen still awake after a round of fitful sleep and they’d talk about anything, falling into a light conversation that would help ease TK’s mind and quieten his thoughts.

But TK had convinced Owen to go back to work once he was settled at home, and Owen was currently halfway into a twenty-four hour shift. TK isn’t the biggest fan of Owen’s well-meant hovering, it sometimes making him climb the walls, but if the firefighter was also being completely honest, the house is too lonely and silent for his liking in this moment. He could use a little bit of comfort or someone to talk to.

A thought crosses his mind and he finds himself grabbing on to it. He carefully moves up in his bed, turning on the side lamp sitting on his nightstand. He grabs his phone and opens a recent text thread.

TK: [11:17 PM] Are you awake?

TK places his phone next to him, worrying his bottom lip as he waits.

His phone pings a minute later.

Carlos: [11:18 PM] Yeah.

Carlos: [11:18 PM] Everything okay?

TK’s anxiety starts getting the best of him, and his mind is suddenly searching for ways out.

He aware he’s taking too long to answer when another message comes through.

Carlos: [11:22 PM] TK?

Carlos’s growing concern is palpable through his text.

TK: [11:23 PM] Sorry. Yeah, everything’s fine.

Then TK realizes he owes Carlos an explanation.

TK: [11:23 PM] I can’t sleep.

Carlos’s reply comes immediately.

Carlos: [11:23 PM] Are you home alone?

TK: [11:24 PM] Yeah. Dad’s on shift.

TK draws in a deep breath and continues to chew on his bottom lip.

TK: [11:25 PM] Can I come over?

TK’s face starts to heat up as the anxiety continues to brew in his gut, watching the three grey dots appear and disappear a few times. He’s starting to dread he’s asked for too much.

He doesn’t know where he stands with Carlos, especially when it comes to a request like this one. He’s gone to Carlos’s place multiple times before, but when the officer had asked him to come over. TK’s never asked himself and he’s worried he crossed a line.

They haven’t talked about what they are, and TK hadn’t even given Owen a straight answer when his father asked. Owen put one and one together when Carlos stood in the doorway of TK’s hospital door with tear-streaked cheeks, figuring out that there’s…something between him and his son, but even after some playful teasing from Owen’s side once TK woke up, the younger man still hadn’t given him much. He didn’t deny it, though.

The truth is, TK is falling for Carlos. And it scares him. Confusion has been his one constant feeling since he woke up in the hospital, feeling like his entire life was turned upside down. Not only was he still healing from what happened in New York, but he had absolutely no intention of starting or getting into anything until he got back on his feet when he moved to Austin.

Then Carlos Reyes strode into his life and effortlessly began tearing down the walls TK had built around himself. After attempts to run and hide and the failure of said attempts, TK let him. Because even a part of him couldn’t deny that it felt right with Carlos, it felt natural. It was a tug of war within TK, the desire to build his walls back up with cement and the desire to let Carlos in. And TK certainly didn’t expect to fall for the other man as quickly as he did.

That doesn’t change the fact that he still doesn’t know what he and Carlos are and where they stand. He felt a shift in their relationship in the couple of weeks prior to getting shot, with a lingering impression that this thing between them might be going somewhere.

Then a bullet to the chest gave TK a run for his money and halted all. It circles back to confusion for TK, about who he is, what he wants to do with his life. And all that confusion inevitably ties in with Carlos, and the nature of their relationship.

The fog of confusion had been growing more and more in the days after his hospital release, as TK began to doubt everything.

TK may not remember getting shot, but he certainly feels his life crumbling in the aftermath.

So yeah, he wasn’t exactly sure how Carlos was going to respond to his request. And he couldn’t really make an educational guess either. He knows Carlos has a kind heart and a warm soul, but everyone has lines and limits, and TK isn’t sure where inviting himself over to Carlos’s place falls on the officer’s. He prays he hadn’t crossed either.

But Carlos is safety, and TK will hold onto that for as long as he can.

TK doesn’t have to wonder about Carlos’s response for much longer because another ping brings him back from his thoughts.

Carlos: [11:26 PM] Of course. I’ll leave the front porch light on.

TK feels a weight lifted off his chest. A small smile tugs on the corner of his lips as he types back a reply.

TK: [11:26 PM] Thanks. I’ll be there in 20.

After throwing on a hoodie and sneakers, TK orders an Uber and waits outside. The car arrives in a matter of minutes, and he finds himself heading to Carlos’s in under five minutes from sending the last text. He sends a message to his father this time, telling him that he’ll be at Carlos’s place.

Carlos is wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweats when he opens the door for TK. He smiles, stepping to the side to let the firefighter in and locking the door behind him.

TK lingers close, hands stuffed into the pocket on the front of his hoodie as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, nervous as he watches the officer.

“Would you like anything? Food or water?” Carlos asks TK once he’s sure everything is locked and the lights are turned off.

“No, thanks, I’m good,” TK replies. “Thanks for letting me come over. Sorry if it was a weird request, I just—”

“TK, it’s okay. You’re welcome here anytime, and I’m glad you reached out,” Carlos’s smile widens a little, reaching his captivating brown eyes.

TK reciprocates, albeit with a smaller smile than Carlos’s and then his eyes go a little wide when Carlos extends his hand towards him.

“I was about to get into bed,” Carlos explains, his face soft.

TK nods and takes Carlos’s hand, letting the slightly larger man lead them up the stairs. The warmth radiating from Carlos’s tough helps calm TK’s racing heart, the touch grounding him and offering comfort. The comfort he was searching for.

TK unconsciously tightens his grip on Carlos’s hand, trying to hold onto that support for as long as he could. Carlos gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and something in his features tells TK he’ll have it for as long as he wants.

They enter Carlos’s bedroom, separating their connection as the officer walks over to his preferred side of the bed. TK makes his way to the other, tipping off his shoes and removing his hoodie. Carlos pulls the duvet back, plugs his phone into the charger and climbs into bed. TK watches him for a few moments before following, crossing his legs on the mattress, sitting criss-crossed now and drops his hands into his lap.

“You okay?”

TK shrugs.

“Have you been sleeping at all since you got home from the hospital?” Carlos asks, having noticed the black bags hanging under TK’s eyes and the exhaustion written on his face.

“Few hours every night,” TK whispers.

“TK…” Carlos sighs.

“I know,” TK looks at Carlos. “But I just can’t sleep.”

Carlos’s response is interrupted by TK’s phone pinging in his pocket.

He fishes it out of his sweats and reads the new text.

“It’s from my dad,” TK says. “I told him I was coming here so he doesn’t worry.”

“And?” Carlos wonders, suddenly nervous himself about Owen’s reaction.

“He said okay and to call or text him if I need anything,” TK answers.

“He’s not surprised,” Carlos states rather than questions.

“No,” TK chuckles weakly. “He knows, about…” he makes a back and forth gesture between him and Carlos with a hand. “He kind of put one and one together. Asked me about it when I woke up. Not directly, though.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at TK, intrigued about that conversation between father and son.

TK playfully rolls his eyes. “So, he’s been seeing this Psychology professor, head of the department actually and he didn’t mention anything before. And she was at the hospital with him when I woke up. Later I ask how long he’s been seeing her, and he said he’ll tell me when I tell him how long I’ve been seeing the cop. His words.”

Carlos winces slightly, but still a slight blush colors his cheeks. “Yeah, that’s on me. I stopped by after you were out of the surgery.” With tear-stained cheeks goes unsaid.

TK nods. “Yeah, dad mentioned. That’s how he connected the dots.”

“I’m sorry if that made it uncomfortable or anything, or if you weren’t ready for your dad to know about…I just wanted to see you. I was getting updates from Paul but it wasn’t the same,” Carlos confesses.

“No, no,” TK shakes his head. “Not at all. I get it, don’t worry about that. I…wanted you there.”

“I was just…really glad to hear your voice when you called,” Carlos expresses, his voice gentle.

TK gives him a small smile. He had called Carlos after he woke up, and the cop’s heart had soared and the fear lifted upon hearing his name tumble out of TK’s mouth once again. Perhaps his favorite time TK had said his name since they’ve known each other. Carlos stopped by the house once TK was settled in, and now is the second time they’re seeing each other since TK was sent home.

They don’t bring up their relationship status or what they are, both sensing that the other is tired and drained and it’s not really the time or place for said conversation. TK knows they’ll eventually have to talk about it, but for now, he’s satisfied just being close to Carlos. They can deal with the rest later.

“You can sleep, I don’t want to keep you up,” TK speaks. “I’ll probably be up for a while.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I’ll stay up with you. I don’t need to be up early, I have tomorrow off.”

TK gives him a grateful smile in response, happy for the company as they slip into comfortable silence.

It’s Carlos who breaks the quiet. He lifts his arm for TK while moving closer to the firefighter.

“Come here,” Carlos murmurs, an invitation which TK accepts.

TK gets closer to Carlos, and careful about his stitches, glues his side to Carlos’s. He rests his head against Carlos’s shoulder and Carlos wraps an arm around TK’s. Carlos runs his hand up and down TK’s arm, to help sooth and relax the injured man.

“So, there’s something I’ve been thinking about,” TK begins. “Since I got home. My insomnia is definitely related to what happened, falling into the pattern of it getting worse with stressful situations. I can’t remember a thing from getting shot, no nightmares or anything but I keep thinking about the kid.”

Carlos tightens his hold on TK, more instinctively than anything else. And TK’s words take him back to that night.

Carlos could immediately tell it was Judd speaking, his words echoing through the radio, the Texan firefighter’s usually steady tone laced with panic as he reported, dispatch, we have shots fired, firefighter down, I repeat firefighter down…and Carlos will never forget how his heart dropped into his stomach, his gut twisting and turning and there was no way he’d know who was down from the team, not yet, but it’s almost like he sensed it. Like he felt it. He had already driven away from the house and it took every ounce of his control to not take the first u-turn and race towards the hospital.

And when his phone had continuously vibrated in his pocket, Carlos’s heart sped up in his chest, fearing that his gut was right. The caller ID was all the confirmation he needed.

“Is he okay? He’s not…” Carlos had wasted no time after answering Paul’s call, trailing off, not even daring to utter the last word in his thought process. Because if TK was okay, he’d be the one calling him or would have sent him a text.

TK’s voice seeps into his ears and brings him back to the present, Carlos’s grasp on the younger man never faltering or loosening. He knows they both need it.

“That poor kid,” TK continues. “I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. I can’t even remember and I’m struggling with it, how heavy this must be for a little boy…”

Carlos leans in, closing the distance between them by brushing a kiss to TK’s temple. He then drops his head a little, touching his forehead to where he planted the kiss. TK leans into Carlos a little more, as much as he can without pulling at his stitches.

“I want to go see him, the kid,” TK reveals. “I think it’s going to help him, to see that I’m okay and to know that I don’t blame him.”

Carlos pulls back to watch TK, and he notices how his green eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“That’s very thoughtful and kind, TK,” Carlos softly speaks. “I think you should, too. And I also think it’s going to help you, as well.”

TK turns to face Carlos.

“You’re healing from something you don’t remember happening,” Carlos says. “That in itself is taking a toll on you, it’s tough to deal with. But I think seeing that boy is going to help you come to terms with what happened. I think it’s going to make that weight sitting on your shoulders lighter.”

TK draws in a deep breath at Carlos’s declaration, letting his words sink in and just then realizing how much he needed to hear them.

Without a word, TK cuddles closer to Carlos, resting his head above the officer’s heart and draping an arm over his waist. He closes his eyes, taking even breaths guided by Carlos’s steady heartbeat.

“Do you think it will come back to me? That I’ll remember it?” TK asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” Carlos replies. “Only time will tell.”

“I don’t want to feel this pain again if I do remember it one day,” TK swallows against his throat.

“I can’t promise that you won’t feel the pain,” Carlos admits with sadness coating his voice. “But I can promise that I’ll be right here for you. You’re not alone, TK.”

TK sniffs, a tear rolling down his cheek.

He wants to stay here and not move, engulfed in Carlos’s arms, his touch, his scent. In Carlos’s safety. In his heart.

He hears Carlos’s voice from above.

“Get some rest, TK.”

And contradictory to his earlier statement, TK is already drifting off, his mind calm and heartbeat even. He finally feels at peace.

The kiss Carlos presses to the top of his head is the last thing TK feels before falling asleep.

And for the first time since he was discharged from the hospital, TK sleeps through the night.

[procrastinatorproject]

Fic writer review, thank you to @thelaithlyworm  for the tag <3

how many works do you have on AO3?

Ten? Oh no, it’s actualy 12 now!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

86,468

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Grand total of 1: Star Trek: Picard - although my latest offering might branch a bit into other Trek as well.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

“Passengers”

“And a Barrel of Gagh”

“CMO’s Log”

“Preparations”

“Game Night”

Which is actually kinda interesting. I wrote Passengers, Preparations, and Game Night while the fandom was still a lot more active (especially in the Aramis in Space corner), so that makes sense. The CMO’s log has had chapters added every few months, giving it probably the most exposure of any of my fics. Barrel of Gagh, though? I think I’m gonna attribute that to Thimblerig turning it into a truly, TRULY brilliant piece of podfic. Also the fact that it’s whump involving a character played by Santiago Cabrera. ‘tis A Thing..... :D

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love talking with people in the comments and just... thanking the people who found the time and energy to leave comments. But especially in the last few months I have gotten very bad at keeping up with the comments and now there’s about two dozen that I have neglected to reply to for a painfully long time 🙈

But I will get there! Because I love that kind of interaction!

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

So far, none of them have had angsty endings. Angsty middles, yes, but not endings. I’m just a sucker for everyone being happy in the end. Or at least on the way to being better, and supported and cared for on that way.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t yet, but I’m definitely not opposed. One of the threads of my 200k unpublishable whump scenes takes place in a continuity that has existed in my daydreams for... I wanna say six years at the very least, probably longer. It’s mostly straight-up Star Trek, but with the twist that it involves the Wraith, the telepathic, hive-minded alien race from Stargate: Atlantis that suck the life force out of you with their hands? Or, well, at least a variation thereof.

I once typed up the world building for that particular setting and it took me three hours to try and make it all make sense. So it’s... involved. But not necessarily “crazy”. And I’m not sure I’m ever actually going to publish any of the stories I have set in it (not least because that would envolve finishing any of them and bringing them into a form that is interesting to read for anyone but me...)

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Hm, not yet. I do enjoy reading smut, but only under very specific circumstances. I think I may eventually try my hand at smut, but the inner prude is still very strong. Writing about Rios and Xyr making out (which, honestly, was really tame, all things considered) made me melt in a puddle of blushing embarrassment, so full-on smut is probably beyond me at the moment. One day!

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Though litigating that in a fandom like ours would be... tricky. ST:Pic is way too small to steal stories outright. But similar or the same ideas pop up all the time. And it’s a complete coincidence. Reading the book that recently came out and that has a kinda similar setting to a lot of my stories (pre-season 1, early in Rios’s history as captain of Sirena, dealing with original characters, holo shenanigans, friendship with Raffi, etc.), I was struck by just how many elements, both scenes or story beats and little details, were similar to things that have cropped up in my writing. And it is entirely coincidental, because I am beyond certain that the author doesn’t read fanfic. Just... for legal reasons. Not to mention I wrote a bunch of the things I saw parallels to while the book was already in production, and some of them are only in my drafts.

So there is a ton of convergent evolution going on in this particular section of the fandom, and trying to litigate who came up with certain plot ideas or character beats when would be a sysiphean disaster. Some things are clear and whenever I use any of them I give credit where I can, but people will have very similar ideas. It just happens. So no, I haven’t had either a full-on story or “an idea” stolen, and I might change my tune if it ever does happen, but so far, I’m trying to practice equanimity, so I’ll be better at it should I ever need it.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Sadly no. My dad keeps complaining that all my fic is in English so he can’t read any of it, but honestly? I’m kinda glad for this very convenient excuse. Maybe if I ever feel like I want to practice my interpreting skills, I will give translating the stories into German a shot. We’ll see. Otherwise, if anyone feels inspired: Have at it! Just let me know, okay?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not quite. I have a draft of off-the-cuff worldbuilding that I wrote on Discord with @curator-on-ao3 and that I would love to turn into an actual short fic (letters from a conference on holo-ethics), but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t really do shipping.

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I WILL NEVER ACCEPT DEFEAT!!!! One day, I will write the next installment of Star Trek: La Sirena! I have so many ideas for that continuity and those characters. I’m not going to abandon them!

what are your writing strengths?

Hmmmmm. Probably detailed worldbuilding? Ask me something about, say, a technological or cultural aspect of Star Trek and chances are, I have thought about it in the past or will come up with three different sets of intricate lore within half an hour. (Things like... the architecture of San Francisco, or Will there still be taxi drivers? or the treaty between IKEA Intergalactic and the Borg Collective, or the Universal Translator, or Emergency Services or Why There Are Very Few Ambulances On Earth Anymore etceterah etceterah...)

I’m also good at slapping together off-the-cuff plot ideas (if, say, you need an explanation for how Seven and Agnes ended up stranded on a desert island, I could probably give you three different scenarios pretty quickly. Just don’t ask me to make them poignant or actually write them.

I’m also very, very good at beginnings.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Everything that isn’t a beginning. Especially endings, or rather: finishing something, but also just... keeping momentum.

I think my dialogue is somewhat samey and not distinct enough between characters. (Also my witty banter is... let’s just say it doesn’t come to me naturally...)

And I also struggle with keeping things brief and to the point. I can write you 30k of whump covering a span of three hours, but fitting a whole story in the same space? Much more difficult!

I have also avoided writing full-on action so far, but where it has crept in it has always been a struggle and been workshopped a lot with the indefatigable beta.

Otherwise, I don’t know. My self-perception is always a little warped, so I’m not sure what other people would say my weaknesses are.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Oof. Well. I have used Spanish sentences in my fic and done the thing where they’re translated in the end note, but I’ve mostly done it sparingly. I’ve also done the ‘“What do you want?” he said in Spanish.’ It’s tricky. But I will likely keep doing it in some instances, even if it’s a bit annoying.

(It also really helps to have a native speaker of Spanish as a beta, even if it’s Spanish from a different region than you’re character.)

Speaking of regional: I’m also torn about the whole “phonetically writing out accents” issue. Some people love it, some people hate it, I’m really unsure because I’m not a native speaker of English, so I’m not even sure I’m consistent in my narrative voice’s regional quirks. So far, I’ve mostly gone with describing that an accent is happening, and only writing out when phrasing actually differs from standard English. Like Ian (Scottish) saying “dinnae” but not writing “I” as “ah” as you’d see on, say, Scottish twitter.

Though it can be a very useful tool if, for instance, you want to indicate a characters accent getting stronger as they get tired or upset. 🧐

Anyway, I don’t think there is one right or wrong answer here and everyones milage will vary.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Published? ST:PIC

Actually first? Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Pretty much simultaneously, though I did write more for LotR. On graph paper, mind, with my fountain pen turned upside down so I could write smaller. I still have folders worth of those stories that I urgently need to digitize before they fade and I lose them forever...

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m going to quote @thelaithlyworm here: I Love All My Children Equally! I honestly couldn’t say. They are different and I love them for different reasons but I love them all.

Thank you for the tag! ❤ I’ve kinda lost track of who all has done this already or has already been tagged, so feel free to ignore me! But I tink I’m tagging @curator-on-ao3, @aini-nufire, @29-pieces, @flowers-creativity, @highfunctioningflailgirl, @cristobalrios and @the-goofball. And anyone else whom I forgot or who feels inspired to do this!

[silvertonedwords]

#40 kisses prompt if you haven't had that asked yet please and thank you.

A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

I felt like expanding this.

“And, why are people staring at us?”

Tina clears her throat as they walk past gaggles of well-dressed employees at the Ministry entrance, then waves her wand at a stand of this morning’s papers so that one flies into her hand and falls open to the second page. “The usual.” She passes the page over to Newt, her beaded charcoal gown rustling between them.

Many of the guests pay them no mind, but Newt is right to notice the odd person pointing or whispering with badly concealed glances in their direction. 

“ ‘Scamander and Auror Wife to Split’ details on page 10′” he reads. “Merlin’s beard, not again.” He skims the article briefly before sending the paper back to the stand with a flick of his wand and a frustrated sigh. Frequent absences for work. Sources close to the couple. Chilly atmosphere on a walk last week after Mr. Scamander returned from his research trip.

“Mm-hm.” Tina rolls her eyes, fighting hard to brush it off entirely, although she knows these articles bother Newt. Not all of them—not the ones speculating about the color of ink he uses at book signings or the financial arrangement he has with his publisher for a second edition. He finds those easy enough to ignore. And the articles that anger him the most are those with misinformation about his creatures. But she has noticed that it bothers him when the papers speculate about the state of their relationship. Is it so impossible for people to see how we feel about each other? he’d asked the night after the second article had run, his face cast in shadows on the pillow beside her and his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along her ribs. 

She can understand the frustration. As secure as they are in each other, it stings that the rest of society seems to have decided that their feelings deserve suspicion and ridicule. A single article would be one thing, but to have the baseless stories repeated over, and over... (Who’s gonna marry him? she remembers asking Newt on the day they met, in reference to Jacob of course, but it feels apt now—the question everyone else seems to be asking of them.) Tina is a generally private person, and she knows it wouldn’t help, but sometimes she wishes she could make these foolish people listen to her as she describes her husband—his kindness, and wit, and energy. How unusual and wonderful he is, and how lucky they both feel every day, even when one of them is in a terrible mood, or they’re about to be separated for work, to have stumbled into each other on a New York street. 

The specifics of the articles change each time, but the implications remain more or less the same. Some speculate that she is always at work, too busy to support his success, and too disinterested a wife to care. Others suggest that he is too strange, too cold—that he couldn’t possibly care for her. And always, the articles seem to say, it was destined to be a disaster, and if ever there was any passionate feeling between them, there certainly isn’t now. She’ll take the criticism of her feelings and know it’s absurd, but the self-satisfied hints about Newt are enraging. 

They make their way to the east wing of the lobby and up a set of stairs, where floating chandeliers and draping gold and navy fabric adorn the usually bare hall. Newt must have picked up on her scowl, because he slides his hand into hers and squeezes tightly. She squeezes back, trying to shake off her frustration as she waves at a couple of auror colleagues. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you hate these things.”

“You hate them too,” he protests.

“Yes, but I’m the one who’s required to go.”

His thumb sweeps across the back of her hand, his fingers threading through hers. “I’d do far more, you know.”

She does not try to hide her soft smile, lovestruck though it must be. “I know.”

They reach the top of the stairs and turn left, making their way past tables of bubbling drinks and towards the ballroom’s heavy wooden doors. Newt drops her hand to avoid a floating platter of chocolates, stepping to the side to rejoin her a few feet later. A camera flash goes off in front of them. Wonderful, Tina thinks. More fuel for speculation.

-&-

The first part of the evening goes as well as can be expected. Tina has few enough people that she’s interested in talking to; the only reason the Auror Department is required to attend these soirees is ‘to demonstrate to everyone that England is doing just fine in our efforts to stop Grindelwald’. 

At least Perkins had pulled Newt deep into conversation about the creatures he’d come across on assignment in Brazil. They’d wandered off fifteen minutes earlier, leaving Tina to sip her drink and watch the rest of the senior aurors and department heads mingle. Occasionally, she has a brief conversation with a colleague, but they, like her, keep moving around the room, taking stock. Even if she were the kind of person who enjoyed parties, she supposes, her job would probably ruin them. There are too many people to keep an eye on--too many people that she’s learned by reputation or experience not to trust.

Since Newt left for a smaller anteroom, she has also found to her great annoyance that the gossiping has become somewhat bolder. There are a few whispers around her--a couple of women from the press office pointing at her with sympathetic sighs; a man turning to his wife and saying I didn’t think it would last, you know. He’s so odd.

She has just turned back for another drink when Mrs. Selwyn spots her. “Ah, Tina darling, how are you?”

Tina moves her glass to her left hand, reaching with her right to shake the woman’s hand. The Selwyns have purchased hippogriffs from the Scamanders and have known both boys since they were little, although they are not, Tina has gathered, a particular favorite of either. “Fine, Mrs. Selwyn,” Tina replies smoothly, keeping an eye on new arrivals passing through the ballroom door.

“You know, dear, if you ever needed--well, if you needed someone to talk to...”

Tina swallows a cough at the presumption. “What about?” she asks cheerfully.

“Oh, well. I’m sure I don’t know. Married life. That sort of thing.”

Tina does cough at that, covering it with a sip of her drink. Any anger on her part, she knows, will only be taken as confirmation of the story. The nerve of these people though, and the nerve of those so-called journalists with their smug implications, that no one could really fall in love with Newt; that a woman and an auror could not possibly have a happy marriage; that because Newt doesn’t follow her around like a crup at every event saying ‘yes dear’ and ‘of course dear’, he couldn’t possibly be in love with her. Never mind the way he looked at her from across the room a few minutes ago, when he caught her gaze mid-sentence. Never mind that her heart still takes off like a niffler in a jewelry store whenever he fixes her hair or kisses the back of her hand.

“Tina!” she hears, grateful that for once, her brother-in-law has good timing. “Could I borrow her for a moment, Mrs. Selwyn? Auror business.”

Mrs. Selwyn looks between them, raising an eyebrow as though deciding whether to be offended, and then nods and turns away.

“Thank you,” Tina murmurs under her breath as they walk towards the opposite wall.

“I’m quite put out, you know,” Theseus replies good-naturedly. “My brother and sister-in-law are splitting up for the fifth time this year, and they didn’t even bother to tell me.”

“Don’t you start,” she warns.

Theseus glances at her, then nods towards Mrs. Selwyn’s retreating form. “Is that what that was about?”

She hums in acknowledgement. “Offering ‘marital advice’.” 

“Ridiculous, if you ask me. ‘There was a chilly atmosphere on their walk’,” he quotes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Mm, particularly given the fact that we’d spent the majority of that day in bed.”

Theseus chokes on a sip of firewhisky. “Tina, he’s my little brother, would you please not—“ She grins, and he scowls back half-heartedly. “You say things like that just to make me squirm.”

“It’s good for you.” Her grin melts into a softer smile as she catches sight of Newt, who is still engrossed in his conversation with Perkins half a room away, his hands flying through the air with his enthusiasm.

Theseus’s voice has gentled beside her. “I don’t know how anyone could pay attention to the two of you for five minutes and believe anything those articles say.”

Well, Tina thinks with a rush of impatient energy, perhaps that’s what everyone needs to put an end to this stupid speculation. “Back in a minute,” she tells Theseus, downing the last of her drink and setting the glass on a nearby table. 

She strides across the room to where Newt and Perkins are still talking. “Could I borrow Newt?” she asks, one hand grazing Newt’s elbow once he’s seen that it’s her.

“Hello,” Newt offers once they are facing each other. He swallows hard, she presumes at what must be a rather fierce expression on her face.

“Hi,” she returns, touching the edge of his fringe. 

He catches her hand in his own, turning to press a kiss to her palm, the touch comfortable and breathtaking in equal measure. “Is something the matter?”

She shakes her head, falling into the tender amusement of his searching gaze. The auror in her had crossed the room with a plan, but as she slides a hand along his jaw and brings his lips to hers, she does not think about who might be watching them, or who would care. She does it because she wants to, and because she loves him, and because they can. Because she’s caught glimpses of him looking at her all evening, and knows that she’s been doing the same. 

Newt is as wrapped up in them as she was in an instant. He tilts his head further and cups her jaw to keep their mouths joined, his other hand settling on her waist to steady them. The kiss is intense but not frenzied, the press of lips and tongues a familiar give and take, their soft gasps muffled into the space between them.

Tina slides her hand around his neck, slipping her fingers up into his messy hair and smiling against his lips when he arches into the touch, and Newt coaxes her closer with his hand spread across her back. A shiver works its way through her as his calloused hand settles against her bare skin where the cut of her dress has left it exposed.

They part slowly, first to their foreheads pressed together, and then enough that Tina glimpses the dazed expression that matches her own. 

He watches his fingers curl into her mussed hair and tuck it back behind her ear, and Tina melts into the tenderness in his touch and his eyes. “That was…” he manages, his voice rough.

Her teeth dig into her lip, her eyes dancing to find the beginnings of a smile on Newt’s lips. “Unexpected?” She fixes the ends of his collar, although they hardly need adjusting. “I thought maybe we could put a stop to the rumors. They were starting to bother me.” She fingers his bowtie. “I think they have been. A little. Not because—but the things that everyone assumes about you are...“

“I know.” His brow furrows, his fingers curling around hers. “I think the same about you.”

A camera flashes beside them.

Tina sighs as, reluctantly, they pull apart. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t appear in the papers. But if they’re going to, at least it can be a little more accurate, and less likely to send nosy women and thoughtless Ministry officials their way with cruel assumptions about Newt’s heart. 

The story runs the following day as a caption to a photograph from the evening, an ever-repeating moment of their hands tangled and eyes fixed together as they separate from their kiss.

Newt Scamander & Auror Goldstein Like Newlyweds at Last Night’s Soiree, the headline reads. 

Theseus drops a copy on Tina’s desk the next morning with a shake of his head and a begrudging grin.

“So, did that go how you’d planned?” Newt asks that night as they’re getting ready for bed. 

Tina grins as he settles under the blankets beside her. “I saw you tear out a copy of that photograph and put it in your case.” 

He settles a hand on her hip, and she grasps it to tug him closer, until he’s pressed up against her back, his voice behind her warm and sleepy. “Your eyes in that photo, Tina.” 

She cranes her neck to glimpse his face, reaching an arm behind her to tuck his face into her neck. “I may have left a copy in my desk. I prefer yours.”

[alicemitch09writes]

the babysitter

pairing: reader x peter parker

summary: Babysitting the little Stark is an adventure, of some sorts. Well, being a (adopted) Stark is an adventure in itself. However, nobody told Peter Parker about the Stark babysitter.

author’s notes: I love Morgan Stark. I would die for her. Kill for her. MURDER even, just to keep her safe. Also, I love how easy we can just make her and Peter come together because they’re Stark’s kids (one biological, one is a sort of surrogate). Also, this idea is a common trope but eh, what’s not to love about it? Had to tweak it a bit by making reader two years older. And yay, I finally got to finish this before its initial release date (which is on Valentine's haha sorry yes am cliche like that sue me).

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

"Ah, shit."

"Shit!"

You froze, quickly turning on your heel to find a mass of brown hair and big brown doe-like eyes, filled with innocence and mischief all at once.

"Morgan! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she replied easily, tilting her head to the side. "Mommy said she has something to say to you."

"Oh, really now?" releasing a breath - not really shaky but something sort of relief, frustration, and a little bit of nervousness, you kneel to her level, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. "How long have you been looking for me?"

"A few minutes. Maybe 30."

With a smile, you get up. "Well, best not keep her waiting!"

Morgan giggles, seeing through you. She was always too sharp for her age.

You smile with her, a painful tug at your heart when you see the twinkle in her eye - an all too familiar twinkle.

Swallowing the dread, you plaster a quick smile and get to your feet. "Come on now, munchkin!"

She willingly lets you take her in your arms, walking along the compound down to Mrs. Stark's office.

Your relationship with the infamous CEO of Stark Industries was that you’re her cousin's daughter, making her your aunt-in-law. And in the absence of said cousin - your father, as he lived far off or on the other side of the planet, and after some unfortunate events, you were under Pepper's care. 

Well, at least for the last 8 years of your life.

And since then, you could always remember how uptight, stern, and organized she was. It came with her job apparently. As was being stressed 24/7 because she had been dealing with the one and only Iron Man, Tony Stark.

Pepper had a great way of dealing with things, keeping some things to a T, and to keep a cool head with it all. Also, she was adamant about keeping you from Tony, away from the epitome of a machine of a man that he was. Oh, many were the nights where you were a witness to just how frustrating the man was, to how much Pepper had to keep herself from breaking down. You were not very fond of him – to say the least, you kinda hated him.

But upon meeting the man, later on, you found that he wasn't all that bad. In fact, he reminded you a lot of your father - workaholic to an extreme, and a bit of a softie. Just big on his ego.

As an added bonus, he completely won you over for being the guy for Pepper after deciding that you weren’t some runt after all.

After the events of Ultron, Tony decided to take you in and take you as if you were his own, treating you like his little assistant. (As he wasn't comfortable with having kids just yet.) You were pretty young, Pepper had that argument too and was fairly backed by Happy, but Tony was all, ‘then best start them young!’ and all went his way, one way or another. You were a smart cookie, at least that’s what Tony said, Pepper added that, and Rhodey – who still didn’t want to force something on to someone so young. And thus, your life with the Stark-Potts couple would never be the same - for better or for worse.

After the Accords, however, things were different. Much different. Both Tony and Pepper were never the same even way before that, but the former looked like a hollow of a man he once was.

As much as Pepper had more rights over you, she didn't want to be unfair and cut you off from Tony completely, and thus, let you do as you please. Honestly, it hurt having to go back and forth between the two, seeing two of the strongest people in your life thread on thin ice. Try as you might, you even attempted to get the two together only to end up with nothing. Happy was there, at least, to make you sane and moving. Rhodey, who still scares you, keeps you in check and on your toes.

However, things managed.

Then a lot of things happened: Tony and Pepper finally patched things up, finally got married - you were Pepper's maid of honor, you were whisked to some Ivy League thanks to Pepper and Tony’s recommendations, Tony suddenly was whisked away to the stars to save the universe, some war FRIDAY relayed in Wakanda, and then half the population turning to dust. A week later, Tony came back - with new friends from different galaxies, you all moved far away – far away from the Avengers, Tony insisted you to help Pepper to keep you busy, Morgan was born, you finished university, and were working on a master’s degree.

And then...Tony-

God, just the thought of him - what he did - still chokes you up. It hurt to hear from Pepper what had happened, to see her – the strongest iron lady you know and love – break into a million pieces, crumbling to the ground and disregarding every rule about grace and poise. Tony. He was like a father to you, the best and worst one you could ever ask for.

After his passing, you made it a point to keep his legacy alive, to ensure that it was protected at all cost - Morgan. 

You loved the littlest Stark with all your heart, like the little sister you wished you had. Ever since she was born, already, you vowed to keep her from anything.

She was Tony's legacy.

Well, one of many...

There was that kid from Tennessee, Harley Keener, whom you had the chance and pleasure to be acquainted with.

And then there was-

"Who're you?" a voice asked behind you, breathlessly, curiously.

Turning on your heel, you found a guy - brown hair, pale skin, average height, fit in build, looked like he was around your age - walking in, looking like he had run a marathon.

Scrunching your nose, not really like the way he was trying to piece who you were, you fixed him a questioning look. "I'm-"

"(NAME)!" a bubbly voice called behind you, causing the two of you to turn.

Eyes widening, they then relax, you then sagged in relief and all but ran towards the little girl, taking her in your arms.

"There you are! Where've you been, you?" you ask, tucking strands of hair away from her face.

Giggling mirthlessly, eyes twinkling with mischief, she replied. "Nowhere~"

You rolled your eyes at that, playfully. Her grin grows, eyes crinkling when her lips lift, exposing dimples.

Looking over your shoulder, you nearly forgot the guy behind you, hoisting Morgan up.

"Oh, I'm (Name)," you tell him. "but I think you got that already."

The younger teen looks from the brunette in your arms to you, the cogs in his head whirring. "Are you...?"

"Nope, I'm just a babysitter." Quick to dismiss his question, you shake your head lightly. "An on call at that."

"Ah," was the only thing he could say, not sure what to say next.

"Peter!" the girl in your arms says, a smile still in check.

"Morgan, hey." he walks up, about two feet away.

It was your turn to look between him and the brunette in your arms, fixing an inquisitive look as to the cogs in your head begin to turn - two and two adding up. You did hear things from Pepper, Happy, and Tony. 

Like a light bulb moment, you pointed at him. "You're the Spider-Man, aren't you?"

First, he sputters, face morphing into a look of surprise, shock, and embarrassment which ends with his face flushing to the tips of his ears.

Little did he know that you knew long before his cover had been blown.

"Don't worry. Happy's not really that good at keeping a secret." You assure him. At that, Morgan chuckles. You chuckle with her, sharing a knowing look as you bump your noses together. "Well, more like, he's slipping."

"Or getting old!" Morgan chirps.

You share a laugh, again. This time, Peter joins in.

"Anyway, is there something or anything you needed?" you asked, remembering his sudden appearance, adjusting your hold on Morgan, who now was resting her head on the crook of your neck.

"Oh...I, uh, I was just..." he fumbles, fidgeting with his fingers as you stand there, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence. "...um, I was told to come over...?"

Puzzled, your brows narrowed together. "By who?"

"Me." A voice booms, you all turn, staring at a dark-skinned man donning familiar colors. A taller man stands by him, almost like a shadow.

In the years under Tony and Pepper’s tutelage, months spent and having unlimited access to nearly everything that is related to the Avengers, you found yourself in contact with the new Captain America and his trusty companion, the Winter Soldier.

At first, it was quite intimidating. They were intimidating. But soon, you found yourself warming up to them. They were like brothers, you adored them so much.

Suddenly, the room felt like there was purpose as the two men strode in, and you felt even smaller in their presence.

Just as you motioned to leave, Morgan pipes up, “Sam! Bucky!”

Over time, Peter became a familiar face in the compound.

Aside from helping clean up the mess that Quentin Beck and his lackeys did to the poor boy, he was also heralding in for his part with the new Avengers - Sam Wilson, now bestowed with the mantle of Captain America, with the infamous Winter Soldier, Sgt. James Barnes, as his right hand, much to the displeasure of many governments.

Then again, who were they to decide what's best for this world when they knew nothing of the battles these brave men fought for? Who were they to decide who carries the mantle? It's not theirs, government-issued or not.

Also, in the past years of their hiding, and fighting off Zeemo, they've proven themselves countless times and earned the hearts of many. Whether they like it or not, they were the best choice to serve and defend the innocent.

For Peter Parker, physically 18 years old, filling in his spot for the team was huge.

He was in leagues with a whole bunch of other heroes – Hulk, Dr. Bruce Banner; War Machine, James Rhodes; Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff; Dr. Strange, Dr. Stephen Strange; Ant-Man, Scott Lang; Wasp, Hope Van Dymme; and off the grid were the Asgardians of the Galaxy, and Carvol Danvers, Captain Marvel. Just to name a few. Sure enough, there would be more heroes coming in, it’s only a matter of time after all.

It was a big world - universe, rather.

Eventually, the kid also grew on you, for many reasons. But in those many reasons, it also felt kind of weird - you werethree years older than him. Physically speaking.

He would have been 23, just three years older than you, had he not been snapped away. Or blipped away. 

Yawning, you leaned back, stretching your arms overhead. Peeking back at your laptop, to your dismay you found that was still 10 in the morning, there was still a lot of work to do!

Groaning, you made sure to drag on said groan as you massaged the back of your neck. There were a bunch of emails to check, some invitations to decline, and one Thaddeus Ross to bitch about-

“Coffee?”

At the sound of the voice, you looked up and were met with soft brown eyes belonging to one Peter Parker.

“Peter, hey!” reaching for the cup, you wrap both hands around it, relishing in its rich aroma. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Having to face your laptop for hours' end, glancing up just barely with how slow your morning was, it really was. Taking a sip, you let the beverage warm your system and kick in, shoulders sagging. “and a savior.”

The corners of his mouth lift, eyes shining a bit, awkwardly shifting foot to foot. “W-Well, I know how much you work. And how much you love your coffee" he does, strangely enough, to note that you loved it black in the wee hours of the day with a bit of cocoa nibs.

"That I do, Petey, that I do."

He watches you take another sip, your eyes momentarily meeting your laptop screen before looking away quickly - nope! Here's your coffee break, take it.

"I see, uh, that you've been busy."

Sighing, you lean against your seat. "Kinda. Sorta. But, yes."

A little while after you first met, you made sure to properly introduce yourself to the lad, keeping in mind that he was an Avenger and that he'd see more of you now that you worked for Stark Industries, and the Avengers.

"Even though you should be…” he glanced away, words failing him.

“I should be…?” you picked up on the end tail of his sentence.

Gulping, his gaze suddenly drops, looking around helplessly. You sat there, worried, taking sips time to time.

It might be his sixth sense – aptly dubbed as his Spider-senses, but he seemed to know exactly how much you loved your coffee. That, or he was really observant.

“Peter, are you okay- “

“Writing!” he suddenly bursts out. “You like writing, right?”

His eyes land on the books on the side of your desk, and a framed article you had written years back for TIME magazine.

Following his gaze, causing you to turn in your seat, you can’t help the soft expression on your face. “Ah, that.”

Using the heel of your foot, rolling forward, you reached for the frame then rested your still warm drink between your thighs fingers smoothing the corners. “Funny story, Tony made me write it. Pepper gave me the idea.” The article was basically about questioning Thaddeus Ross and the Accords and if it was really pro-government and pro-hero at the same time. “Mind you, at the time, things had just been rocky with the whole mess of the Avengers, Tony and Pepper were not in good term. Writing this had been the closest I got them to speak again, because of how I had written it and its effects.” Memories of Pepper giving snide remarks at people who talked shit to you, rebutting gracefully, and Tony, wisecracking any troll who messed with you online. Those were fun times. Messy, but fun times. As you spoke, Peter quieted down, eyes never leaving you as you spoke. Looking at the article one last time, you set it back on your desk before picking your drink and taking a sip. “So, yeah. I do. Love writing, I mean. “

“And haven’t you thought of doing that instead?”

Noting his implication with a hum, you continued. “Instead of handling hero-related antics, right?”

Instantly, his face flushed, expression mixing up as he jumbled on his words. “N-Not that what you’re doing is wrong or anything! I-It’s just…you can-“

“Relax Peter!” You laugh, hand raised to calm him. “I know what you mean. It’s just that,” pushing yourself back, you swayed a bit in your seat “this is my job now, something I’ve been doing for a while and one I enjoy. Stressful as it is, it’s still fun. At the very least, I’m still writing. Plus, I get to be with you guys! So, that works, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” breathing returning to normal, he nods, replying breathlessly. “yeah, yeah, yeah. T-That’s true.”

Tilting your head, seeing that he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer, you humor him. “Given the chance, I would’vebeen in the writing field. Who knows? Writing as some underground slob, some hermit, or rise amongst the ranks of those high-profiled writers, or for TIME...”

Smiling wistfully, you were just about to take a sip again when it dawned to you. “Oh, what are you doing here, anyway? Do you have a meeting with Pepper?”

“Miss Potts- oh. Oh, no!”

“Did you wanna see Morgan then?”

“No, no!” he was getting more panicked, which was worrying. Putting down your coffee, you brought both hands to your desk and pulled yourself in, the desk separating you and Peter. He was muttering something under his breath, something you didn’t catch.

“Petey?” ducking your head, for a closer look at him, getting a closer inspection of how hazel brown his eyes actually are.

“U-Uh…” he gulps under your gaze. "...um..."

“Hey, (Name), I need your help with someth-“a new voice pipes in.

The two of you turn, (E/c) eyes widen at the new visitor, instantly, you were on your feet and running towards him.

“Harley!” engulfing him in a hug, you laugh mirthlessly at his presence. “Oh, my god you’re here! How are you? What are you doing here?”

Dang, you forgot just how tall he was!

“Uh, I’m supposed to work on my grant with Miss Potts,” he says, almost carefully staring from you to the lad behind him.

“Ah, yes,” you nodded, snapping a finger and pointing at him in realization. “that was today. Unfortunately, Pepper’s busy with something. Fortunately,” you tilted to your side, hands clasped in front of you then pointing index fingers at him. “Ican lend you a hand.”

Harley smiles at this, especially at your dorky dramatics, you grin back toothily.

Then you remembered that you weren’t alone.

“Oh! Where are my manners? Peter, this is Harley Keener, one of Tony’s boys.”

“You make it sound like I'm a booty call.” Harley grumbled beside you, making you snort and elbow him playfully.

“Well, Tony has a way of calling people and it rubs off pretty easily when you’re around him a lot.”

The taller lad rolls his eyes – playfully, used to your language and overall attitude as a reminiscent of one Tony Stark. Peter, who was still standing there, looks dumbfounded between the two of you, unsure what to do before you called on him.

“Sorry Peter, but I have to attend to Harley. Guess I’ll see you around?”

“U-Uh, sure…yeah.”

Hooking your arm around Harley’s you both walked out, but not before grabbing your still warm coffee from your desk. “Thanks again for this, Petey, bye!”

“He seems nice,” Harley comments, once the two of you get to the elevator.

“Yeah, he is.” You nod, sipping your coffee. “Now tell me, any updates on that crush of yours?”

At this, Harley’s face burns as the elevator doors open.

As Pepper’s assistant, you were basically tasked to help make Pepper’s job easier. As PR, at the same time, you were tasked with dealing with the Avengers’ publicity and ensuring that they look good and handling whatever the media throws their way. Because you were practically raised by Pepper, and the one and only Tony Stark/Iron Man, schooling the media was child’s play to you. Plus, it was really fun dealing with famous people who weren’t super-powered.

Still, as much as you enjoyed your job, you especially loved the quirks that came with it. One of the obvious being that you get to hang with the Avengers. Half of them – who were Tony’s faction during the Civil War bullshit, you grew up with, and the rest just grew on you later.

It was a Friday when you found yourself swinging by the training grounds, looking for Bucky or Wanda with a bag of cheeseburgers to share with and some papers. However, the floor seemed to be empty. Just as you were about to call for F.R.I.D.A.Y. (the AI), you found yourself slipping on some liquid, falling backward with your arms flailing in the air, smacking a nearby tray holding a pitcher and glass.

Faster than you could react, a blur was by your side, a firm grip on your shoulder, and with his free hand, easily caught the tray, the pitcher, the glass, and its contents. All before you could even blink.

“W-Woah…” you breathed, feeling your heart beating wildly against your chest. That could’ve been one nasty accident where you could’ve been wet, hurt, or both!

“(N-Name)! Are you alright?” asked your savior, making you blink at him.

It was Peter.

“Peter…” you said, almost to yourself.

Effortlessly, he set the tray aside, his hand still on around your shoulder, making you feel his strong arm around you.

“I-I’m sorry about that, must’ve tried to do some physics trick but ended up failing and all…” he replied, looking at the water on the ground.

“Ah,” you responded, getting the idea. Surprisingly, with a crinkling sound, you were still gripping unto the cheeseburgers and the papers- no, wait, they’re gone.

Turning your head around, you searched for those papers – which probably should be on the ground from the way you threw them up from the slip.

“Here,” Peter suddenly appears in front of you. Upside down.

“Woah, this is cool,” you remarked all wide-eyed, taking the papers from him, watching him bend over the ceiling to drop to the ground. “Seeing your abilities up close and personal.”

“I-I have other abilities, too!”

“Yeah, I know. You have superhuman strength, enhanced agility, and a super brain.” You list off, heading to the counter to drop the cheeseburgers and papers Pepper assigned you to send around. "No, wait, Happy mentioned it was something else..." scrunching your face, you ransacked your brain for it. "Er, what was it...oh! Peter tingle, right?"

He nearly tripped on his feet but caught himself instantly. "Spider senses! It's called 'Spider Senses'!"

"Ah, is that what it's called?"

That makes Peter sigh, almost frustratingly – like he was to throw a tantrum then and there. He really is a child, you thought.

“I’m teasing you, Pete.” You laugh, leaning against the counter, watching him seemingly deflate, ears slightly red. “But, if you don’t mind me asking," folding your arms behind you, you carefully approach him "can you just break it down to me just how your Spider Senses work?”

Caught off guard by your question, Peter puffs his cheeks. “Um, err…” he shuffles, scratching the back of his neck as words fail him.

Circling, you hop on the counter behind you, patiently waiting on him.

Seeing just how genuinely interested you seemed to be with his powers, it excited him a bit. You weren’t being pushy about it either. In fact, he’s seen you quite a handful of times, and you were always sure to be nice and welcoming, treating him Peter first, Spider-Man second. There were only about a few people who were genuinely interested in how his abilities worked really, one of them was Ned, then there was Mr. Stark, then there was Sam, and then Bucky. And then, you.

“So, um…I’ve got these senses.” You nod encouragingly. “And, uh, they help me be keenly aware of my surroundings and help me react.”

“Meaning, you have times ten the reflexes?”

“…kinda?”

Recalling the almost incident earlier, it was amazing to know just how quick he responded before the inevitable. “That’s cool. I didn’t know spiders could do that.”

“Y-Yeah…” he could only reply, noting how pleased you were with his explanation, how your beating calmed him-

“If this were a comic book, then what you have would probably be the most overpowered ability of all. Still, thanks for telling and trusting me.”

Clearing his throat, he slowly approached you. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

“What, I can’t be here?”

“N-No- th-that’s not-“

Really, he was so cute with the stuttering and all.

“Are you always this awkward around people? Or just girls?”

You really reminded him of Tony Stark with your charm and quips.

“You’re kinda difficult to approach, I guess?”

“Oh, so, I’m a science problem now?”

Peter’s mouth gaped at that, at a loss what to say next. Which in turn, caused you to laugh, head pulled back.

“You’re cute, Peter Parker.” Hopping off the counter, you reached out to pinch his cheek before turning back to fetch the paper bags. “I brought burgers for Bucky and Wanda, sadly, they’re not here, wanna eat them?”

Ever since the spider bite, life for Peter Parker was never the same. And it was probably a given to those who wielded great power, and now, he was one of them.

However, he would never imagine that because of that very spider bite, he’d be in leagues with people he’s admired for a while – the Avengers.

His life would forever change the moment Tony Stark sat in his apartment living room, chatting casually with his aunt, interrogated, and basically recruited him to his faction. Unofficially, that had marked his joining the Avengers.

But it was the Battle with Thanos months later that he was officially an Avenger, which later resulted in him dusting away for five years, then he came back for another fight for his life and the universe, they won but at the cost of Earth’s mightiest heroes. Months following after that were spent in constant fear and mourning that he tried to fight with his teenage life.

Funny thing was, just when he thought life was going his way, there’d always be something to nope him out of it. Mysterio, for one, hijacking his Europe trip and revealing his identity to the world.

For a while, his life was sure to spiral out of control and he’d be torn from his life. Nope.

Because he was an Avenger, not only was he backed by his colleagues, the government – what good half of it anyway, S.H I.E.L.D. and good civilians who were recipients of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’s kindness, the fear of his civilian life was protected and secured.

He just never expected that with becoming an Avenger, he’d have the chance to go places, experience new and exciting things, still be himself whilst growing up-

"Alright, little munchkin, open up!"

-and then there was meeting you, (Y/N) (L/N).

By blood, you were Pepper Potts-Stark’s niece-in-law, but by paper, you were practically her daughter/sister, more so as her trusty assistant.

Physically, you were three years his senior. Had the Snap not happened; however, he’d have been three years older than you. Still, he towers over you despite being the ‘littlest guy’ – as Sam would put it.

Using his heightened hearing, he followed after until the voices were closer, and he was standing by the doorway to the kitchen where you were.

You weren’t alone though. No, sitting by the counter, happily watching and smiling at you was little Morgan Stark.

It's a first for him to see you like this - in more casual, comfortable clothes, especially in shorts where he can see your legs. He had to pull himself out of it as he remembered that Morgan was there, singing some song as you sang with her.

It was a Disney song, he realized, from that one movie.

While the two of you were having a mini-concert, the smell of something being cooked filled the kitchen.

“Pasta,” he thought to himself, aloud.

“Peter!” the littlest Stark called from the counter, struggling to hop down, before you helped her down, tiny legs barreling towards him.

Anticipating her approach, he knelt to catch her in his arms, twirling as he entered the kitchen – the smell growing stronger.

“H-Hey, (Y/N),” he says to you, standing straighter.

Offering a smile, you turned back to check on the pasta sauce you were making. “Hey Peter,”

Unsure of what to say next, he lets Morgan play with his hair before coming up with a reply. “F-Fancy seeing you here,” he said lamely.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Realizing his mistake, he nearly drops Morgan, sputtering words. “T-That’s not- No! U-Um,” you were calmly stirring the pot, body turned to him, letting him know that you were listening. “I-I…It’s just, I’m not used to seeing you so casual…I guess?”

“Ah,”

Seriously, why was he so lame?

“It’s my day-off.” You say simply, switching the fire off. “And I make sure to use up my time keeping sane with the help of the world’s most adorable little girl, isn’t that right, Morgan?”

"Working too much is evil!"

"Sometimes I wonder where and how you learn these things," you mumble laughingly, head shaking. "must be a Stark thing."

He laughs with you in agreement. Morgan was scaringly too smart for her own good, clearly from her Stark genes.

"Most definitely a Stark thing," he agrees with you, laughing, eyes glued on your form as you hunt around the kitchen for something. "Need some help?"

"Ah, yeah." Pointing at the pot of sauce, you say. "Can you be a dear and bring that to that table over there?" with the same hand, you bring it back to the small dining table behind you, where plates and utensils sat. "Oh, and be sure to use mittens," you add, producing two kitschy kitchen mittens - one that was an embroidered goldfish, of some sort. "I'm not sure just how strong you are, but you can't be that strong against heat against metal."

"Ha ha, a science joke, I see." he says, taking the handle with both hands.

"It's not rocket science, silly." Holding a bowl full of pasta, you hastily grab a pair of tongs, before the two of you were walking towards the dining room. "Okay, there we go. Oh, just put it right here, Petey." you point at the empty coaster next to the pasta bowl, where he carefully lays it down. "Great, thanks!"

Hands on your hips, you admire your work, clasping both hands together before rubbing. "Okay, lunch is set! Now, where's my little Morgan?"

It was almost too cliché and overused at this point, but nobody that deny that charity galas were almost always a selling point to earn the trust of the most esteemed, high-profile, and probably the snootiest people in the world- all of which, were Tony's words that he had told you years back.

You hated these kinds of events, but again, they sold off to the rich and the famous. And they were a great way to rub elbows with just about anybody.

Never leaving Pepper's side, the both of you welcomed in guests after guests, receiving warm regards from ambassadors, warding off leering looks from power-hungry businessmen, laughing with nobles and socialites, and being graced by esteemed guests. Honestly, you had to give it to Tony and Pepper for bearing with these lot, just being in the same room with them and inhaling their pricey perfumes made you feel ten times older.

When all was said and done, you rushed towards where the Avengers were - all of which were dressed to the nines, all looking like literal gods in a sea of mortals.

Laughingly, half of them seem to enjoy the festivities, some looked bored to death (but came for the chance of exposure), some looked uncomfortable, and mostly seem to just enjoy parading themselves.

It was easy to spot Peter Parker among them, being - as Sam put it - the littlest guy because the rest of the women were in heels.

Meeting your gaze, he lifts his hand into a tiny wave. Giggling, you winked and gave him a peace sign, before turning to a waiter offering drinks. Taking a flute from his tray, you were unaware of the boy's eyes locked on you as you clung to Pepper's side, wearing a polite smile that illuminated your face and the dress you were wearing.

It's just...You look pretty in that dress. Like, really pretty. Maybe prettier than usual

Well, you were always pretty to him whatever you wore - may it be office wear, casual wear, even a bean bag, but tonight, that dress made you look mature, exquisite, and divine. The makeup on your face highlighted some of your features quite well - not too much, but enough to really emphasize your cheeks, your lips, your eyes. And your hair was in a simple style but enhanced your look. Overall, again, you looked really pretty.

Too engrossed in his stare, he nearly jumped in place when Shang Chi came into his field of vision, smirking knowingly down at the young boy.

"That's an intense stare you got there, wanna go talk to her?" the newest Avenger asked, golden eyes alight with life.

"U-Uh...?" he sputtered, feeling the blood rush to his face, just as he saw your face light up - if possible, it made the whole place shine brighter - when Morgan ran up to you. Her dress was a poofier and lighter version of yours.

"No worries, little brother," whispered the man, smirk still in place as he watched you nuzzle Morgan's nose with yours. "I'm not telling."

Okay, he felt screwed.

With all the glitz and glamour that filled and surrounded the life of one Tony Stark, it takes a certain amount of temperament and training to turn one so thick-skinned and fluent in the art of socializing from the regular folk to the nouveu riche to the beau-monde. Despite careful years of watching, observing, absorbing, and taking things into action, the results were the same: it was pretty exhausting.

You didn’t know how Tony did it, nor do you want to know. I mean, there were years of alcohol and therapy. Not to mention, his hands just itching to tinker.

Pepper fared in the best way she could. Seriously, she was the personification of the phrase, ‘grace under pressure’.

Well, maybe until she has someone she can finally rip apart.

Having excused yourself from the scene, you desperately needed to be away from all the glitzy fanfare – too much of it might actually render you insane.

You find yourself in what seems to be a lounge area. There were plants, paintings, some comfortable sofas. Music could be heard from the gala nearby, but here it came as a gentle thrum and hum.

“How’s the party going?” someone asked.

You whipped your head around, searching, finding an old man sitting by one of the sofas.

Putting on a smile – tired, but polite, you say. “Well, it’s still going,” he laughs at that. “Starks’ legacy continues to fill the night. Hopefully, it’ll end well for business and pleasure.”

He laughs again, a gentle, hearty laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. And quite the expectation.”

“Well,” you didn’t mean to sigh so heavily, brows raised slightly. “it is what it is.”

Nodding at the older man, you were just about to find a balcony only to stop in your footsteps.

Slowly, very slowly, you looked back to the lone soul sitting by the sofa – sharply dressed, small, frail, but his posture said otherwise, as did his smile.

And his eyes.

Suddenly, you realized why that old man with astoundingly baby blue eyes with a kind smile looked familiar. You were careful in your approach, as to not bring any attention. "Mr. Rogers?"

Familiarity radiated off his features as he took you in, the same familiar smile on his face. "Hi, (Name),"

"Hi..." you said back in awe, unsure what to do, or say.

"Wow, you're so big now." Baby blue eyes take you in, so warm and threatening to swallow you whole. "And you used to be the littlest thing."

Memories flash of a younger you meeting the famed war hero, Tony by your side. His dashingly, boyishly handsome face. Walks around the compound or the park with his gentle hands in yours. Warm hugs after a bad day at school. The sad look in his eyes when he left the compound. Regret, guilt, and sadness during Tony's burial-

"Come sit by me," he invites, patting the spot next to him.

That seemed to snap you back to your current time, forcing your legs to move. One step becomes two, then three, until you were next to him, (e/c) eyes not leaving his now small and frail form. A far cry from the hulking teddy bear of a man you're used to.

Gentle music from the gala filled in the silence, which just dragged on.

Steve smiled, simply smiling by the silence, blissfully knowing your state of confusion by his presence. But he was content, to say the least, to share the silence with you.

This man, Steve Rogers to many, known as Captain America to all, but to you – and a select few, he was more than that.

In spite of what happened – Ultron, Sokovia, their Civil War, Thanos, this man meant a lot to you, had a special place in your heart that rivalled only to Tony Stark.

"You know,” you said slowly. “Pepper never blamed you...after everything that had happened."

Turning to you, his eyes widened slightly. "Did she now?"

You nod, earrings dangling with you. "It was inevitable, ever since Tony was kidnapped and Iron Man happened. Since the moment those two fell in love, and the Avengers came to be." Breaking into a short laugh, you added. “Maybe even before you and I joined in the mix.”

"Did you blame me?" he asked you, suddenly, his baby blue eyes, though faded with age still held so much emotion. 

That question would've been easier to answer then - after months of seeing Pepper and Tony's relationship in turmoil, Pepper in tears, Tony's PTSD, Rhodey's injury, Happy's added stress, the death of the closest thing to a father you'll ever have - but now, all things considered, and with Tony's annoying way of rubbing off you, you knew your answer now.

"No. I don't think I could." You reply, smiling softly at him. "Plus, you remember his speech, right? 'Part of the journey is the end'? Somewhere, deep inside his clusterfuck of a brain, he knew that his death was something he feared very much yet knew would put things into perspective."

"You are Tony's girl alright,"

You scoff, ducking shyly, comforted by his words. "Adopted, maybe."

Lifting your head, it felt like you were young again, meeting Steve Rogers for the first time. Except this time, there was no Tony by your side, but you took comfort in knowing that the phantom comforting chill running down your spine was him.

Steve smiled, one that reached his eyes.

"It's so good to see you again, (Name)."

"Me, too." Eyes misting as you broke into a huge grin, it really felt like you were a kid again.

And it that moment, he couldn't help but feel the same.

"Would you care to indulge this man with a dance?"

"I would love to."

(E/c) eyes wandered about to all the couples that had gathered on the dance floor, humming to the beat of the music – jazz, was it? Maybe something gypsy-like? Do they even allow those kinds of music to be played? Soft jazz, maybe.

The music was gentle, soothing, fitting for the event. It was enough to make your heart settle, after a long, engaging, and rather exciting night.

And It was probably far from over.

From where you stood, the second floor balcony that overlooked the whole area, a rather grand view as though you were some lord. But no, you just needed a breather, to slow down the night that was far from over.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, rather loudly to catch your attention.

Looking over your shoulder, you find that it was Peter. "Y-You...uh, you look really nice, (Name).”

Lips quirked up, you reply. "Thank you, Peter. This is all Pepper. And, well, Maria." After much thought, fingers smoothing over the fabric of your dress, you added, with a pained smile. "And Morgan. Wanda. Sam. Bucky." You tick their name one by one with your fingers.

"Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes?" he was stood next to you now.

"They convinced me to come, after much protest. Morgan picked my dress, really."

"You sound so out of place." His brown eyes search yours. To be at the receiving end of those eyes of his, such big, kind, and warm eyes, made you feel all sorts of funny.

"Oh, trust me, I am. This isn't my scene, y'see, also because I don't really go to these kinds of events. I'm more used to being behind the scenes, working back, or doing my homework while everyone partied." A certain memory roused from the back of your brain, making you chuckle sadly. Having sensed this, thanks to this spider senses, Peter looked up. "Tony," shucks, the mention of his name still hurts. "he would annoy the hell outta me, Pepper, too," she chuckled, almost garbled by the emotions thick in her throat. "but both never forced me if I didn't want to. Sometimes, they'd finish up extra early and bring home junk food to keep me company." Finishing with a sigh, she looked out the dancing couples before her eyes landed on a familiar strawberry blonde woman effortlessly elegant in her own right, ethereal under this light, but ever so heartbreakingly lonely and painful to look at.

Peter followed your gaze, swallowing thickly at that.

"Sorry you had to hear that sob story," you says, in an attempt to lighten the mood, quirking into an easy expression.

Downstairs, the music peaks up, a new song being played.

"Well, to make up for it, do you want to take your mind off it with a dance?"

That made you jump, turning to the younger boy, who was red in the face but had that look of determination in his boyishly handsome face.

You had to chuckle at that, heartily. "Wow, you're good. But okay."

Bucky didn't like it - that little punk was crushing on (Name). Bad.

Thing was, she was pretty oblivious to this. Bucky didn’t like that either. As much as she was Stark's girl, when it comes to things concerning her, it just passed off like the wind. Or maybe water. No, oxygen. Point is, she'd never know unless it was pointed out.

“If you look any harder, the kid’s head might combust.” A voice says next to him, belonging to a familiar blonde – Sharon Carter.

The Winter Soldier made a noise in his throat, eyes cold. "I don't like the way that kid's looking at her,"

"Make you think of Becca, Buck?" Steve asks, humor in his tone.

“Shut up, punk.”

“Well,” Sam appears, elbows on the railing, faint smile quirking his lips. “they are kinda cute.”

Well, fine, they are kinda cute together.

“Good luck trying to tell her that, though.”

But he won’t say it out loud.