#‘’i wish it wasn’t so focused on couples :/‘’ make it about your friends. your family. the floor’s your oyster

[worldlydesiretemple]

an awesome reminder for valentines day since it’s coming up soon is that it is Not Romantic Exclusive. valentines day is a day about love. not just romantic love, no specific love, just love. love your romantic partners! love your queerplatonic partners! love your friends! love your enemies! do whatever you want there’s no Romance Police to jump you on this

[guiltyasdave]

sweet nothing

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: exactly 700 words hehe

summary: An interesting man keeps coming back to the museum you work at.

tags/warnings: able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst all over the place babeeeeeyyyyy

a/n: my entry for @iamasaddie's zodiac sign au writing challenge. i got javi and a museum au and this is what i came up with. thank you for always hosting these challenges aly <3

once again thank you @sizzlingcloudmentality for pushing me to even participate and for letting me ramble about this <3 you’re an amazing friend!

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs to get notified when i post a new fic :)

You had noticed him the first time he came in. A little lost, a little out of place, not the kind of visitor that usually frequented your workplace in the middle of a weekday. 

It was a time that was usually reserved for the odd tourist couple, sometimes families, wandering the mostly empty halls, occasionally halting their steps to take a closer look at one of the historic paintings or sculptures. You preferred it to the weekend rush, liked to breathe in the cool air and relish in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere. 

He had wandered for a bit too, before seating himself on one of the benches in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the large painting on the wall in front of him. Your gaze had followed him, as was your job. Not a sign of your interest in this visitor in particular, you told yourself. 

When he came back two days later, it wasn’t a big deal. You hadn’t thought about him, hadn’t imagined running into him on the street, hadn’t wished to get a closer look at his face, weirdly intrigued, an almost magnetic pull to that man that you had seen for all of thirty minutes. 

Then he kept coming back. Always in the middle of the day, never sitting in the same spot, never staying longer than an hour.

Eventually, after weeks of your eyes trailing his movements, you decided to take the leap. 

“You must really like this type of art,” you say quietly, sitting down next to him, hoping that he’ll catch the joking undertone in your voice. 

His responding chuckle, a rich, deep sound from his throat, has a pleasant shiver running through you. 

“You want to know the truth?” 

You hum, not wanting to appear overly eager, but the entirety of your attention focused on him. 

“I just— It’s not really about the art. I just like coming here during my lunch break. My type of work is very… demanding.” He clears his throat, his voice stumbling over the word. “Coming here makes me feel further away from it. It’s—” He hesitates for a second, searching for the right expression.

“Quiet,” you finish for him. 

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. You’re mesmerized, so close to him now, finally able to take in his deep brown eyes, to let your gaze linger on his plush lips for just a second. Just long enough that you’ll be able to remember. 

He heaves a sigh, standing up. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.” One hand rubs over his face.

“No, don’t be. It was nice meeting you—?” 

“Javier,” he says. 

You provide your own name in return, smiling, trying to not think about how warm his hand is, how it’s dwarfing yours as he shakes it. 

You don’t always talk to him after that, not wanting to disturb the quiet and peacefulness that he’s seeking here. But you keep looking at him, keep thinking about him. Keep wishing for more, but are too shy to pursue it. 

He nods and smiles at you every time though, and it’s the highlight of your day every time. Sometimes he comes to you, chats with you. You start to notice the subtle differences in his demeanor, how when his shoulders seem particularly tense, he likes to keep to himself, how the smile he gives you then doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When two weeks pass by without a sign of him, you try your hardest not to worry. Maybe he had to travel somewhere for his work. Maybe he’s on vacation. Surely he’s fine. 

However, you promise yourself, that if— when he comes back, you’re gonna have to be braver. Ask for what you want. Ask to meet him, outside of these halls. 

He does come back. Looking tired, circles under his eyes and shoulders slumped like he’s carrying an enormous weight on them. Still, you ask him. Certain that if you don’t do it now, you never will.

His lips curl up in a weak smile, remorse painting his gaze. You know at this moment that you’re not gonna see him again.

“You don’t want that, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you enjoyed this :)

[cringefaecompilation]

DORIAN STORM, ROBBIE DAYMOND, AND THE CRITICAL ROLE FANDOM: AN ADDENDUM

aka: zoinks, scoob! it got worse!

(same disclaimer as before: we’re talking about racism, not how annoying you think xyz white character is or how much you want to punt all xyz shippers into a fire. keep your comments focused on dorian himself; it feels counterproductive when conversations about the racism experienced by actors of color and the fictional characters they play snowballs into shitting on fictional white characters and completely ignoring the former.)

as should be obvious, this is an addition to my other long post about dorian storm's racist treatment by fandom which can be found here. now onto my suffering for the past couple of weeks!

so in my original post, i said the following:

i guess i shouldn’t have jumped the gun on how racist people really could be, huh?

now, i did initially want to discuss the people who immediately assumed dorian would be vocally anti-god upon reuniting with the hells and join the vanguard in that post or wished death on him for abandoning dariax. i was already frustrated at how eager everyone was to jump on that train; there’s certainly something to be said about people wanting him to join the vanguard because it’d be “sexy” which very much ignores the fact it’s a soul-sucking cult that uses emotional manipulation and violence to keep its members in line. why would you wish that upon a character you allegedly like?

but there were enough people who were just happy to see him again to drown them out for the time being and it wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before: both orym and laudna had tons of people insisting post episode 63 that they were turning evil and imogen couldn’t have so much as sneezed without people insisting she was a pure evil bitch destined to become the bbeg. maybe this, too, would peter out. and it seemed like it did when everyone was hunky-dory with dorian returning up until episode 102.

the cr cooldown for episode 102 had robbie say that he could see what ludinus was getting at: the gods struck first so ludinus was on some level, justified in his actions and orym’s family just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. he could relate due to seeing melora and lloth basically team up to kidnap opal and maul cyrus to death. fandom went berserk and assumed he would join the ruby vanguard immediately and bell’s hells would need to kill him. usually orym for angst, but i did see a few people who really hated dorian already because of do/rym shippers that wanted imogen to kill him to spite said shippers and prove her innocence. these people legitimately assumed that he would tell orym to his face that his family deserved death because the gods made ludinus sad.

so, what about when the exact opposite happened in canon and orym more or less told dorian that if ludinus hadn’t activated the malleus key, then his brother wouldn’t have had to die by the gods’ hands? or that if his brother had been killed by ludinus or the vanguard, then he wouldn’t care about the gods having done awful things in the past?

the best-case scenario here is that orym overstepped in trying to keep them away from ludinus’ dangerous rhetoric of letting everything burn down out of spite and didn’t think his example through before saying it. the worst-case scenario is that orym told dorian he’s insincerely using his brother’s death as an excuse for ludinus’ fascistic actions and isn’t actually traumatized by it.

eithher way one thing is clear: intent and actions are two very different things. his intentions (prevent his friends from being indoctrinated into a murder cult no matter what) were good but the implicit statement that he does not trust dorian to make the right decision without being herded into it is nothing short of condescending. i can imagine he’ll apologize for this, but as it stands it was an incredibly awful thing for him to say, especially after coming off him realizing how nasty he’d been to laudna in the past few weeks. it hurts even more when you take into consideration that dorian trusts orym as a leader and protector over anybody else and took his side in an argument completely no more than two days ago.

fandom, of course, did not see it that way. from calling him a spoiled brat who sympathized with the evil wizards of aeor instead of the gods because of his royal status (misapplying intersectionality and implying the squall is the same as a fascist mageocracy, ew!) to directly telling him to watch his tone (holy fucking shit) or shut up because he was an idiot that didn’t know what he was talking about.

even “nicer” posts about the situation tried to imply it was all dorian’s fault for not being forthright with everything that had happened to his brother and the crownkeepers and if he’d just done that, orym wouldn’t have been such a jerk. which, if i may crib the tags off @tiredqueermushroom, why do people of color need to explain their motivations in detail when white characters can just insinuate something and their (usually) white fans will headcanon themselves into complacency? and no, he didn’t omit any details or underexplain, both orym and fearne looked miserable after finding out what happened to their old team! they knew damn well what happened and how it affected him! others said that he needed to be educated by all these white people on how great the gods are which is... uh… please read a history book. please.

and this starts to form a pattern: how come deanna was tone-policed and accused of being emotionally abusive for questioning an awesomely being that could vaporize her out of existence but fcg is treated as being completely innocent and kind when he asked the exact same question to another awesomely powerful being? outside of this campaign, how come beau had to be seen sobbing about her abusive family for episodes on end and explain all her motivations in detail before anyone believed her or gave her the time of day outside of characterizing her as an asshole, but caleb was allowed to be self-centered and objective with only his own trauma as an excuse? outside of race, how come astrid becke, a woman groomed beginning at age fifteen was seen as an evil cackling minion to the bbeg, but essek thelyss, a grown man who made the active decision to screw over his entire country out of spite is a sad innocent baby who was tricked by a mean ol’ hubris wizard and has no agency in his actions?

and again, almost none of the fanbase acknowledges he’s native or even that he is a person of color, which makes all of this even more horrific! does your racism really run that deep that even past all your whitewashed headcanons, you see an actor with an ounce of melanin and instantly assume the worst? is it because he's here with his own opinions and a narrative you cannot personally control that makes you uncomfortable?

in the words of the great lou wilson: y’all freaks.

[alexendria-rose]

~Dance with me~

Sherlock Holmes X Reader

Y/n watched as Sherlock Holmes played the violin so beautifully and elegantly for his closest friends. Her eyes completely focused on him. The way he felt the music beneath his fingers and soul made her smile in awe. His eyes open darting towards her giving her a small smile that was only for her, because as soon as his gaze wasn’t on her; his face went natural once again and she cherished that. Y/n was the person that has been by his side as long as John has. She was the person that would tag alone cases with him, the person that would grab him milk because he always forgot to when John asked and when she thought he died she was constantly wishing it was all fake, that it wasn’t real; finding out she was right made her open her eyes about how she felt about Sherlock. The way they would sit and talk about different cases and how to solve them at 1AM while they drunk tea, the way Sherlock made sure he wouldn’t let his legs go so fast so she could keep up. It was always Sherlock and Y/n and as she stared at the way he looked at Mary and John, she knew she wasn’t stoic and distant and cold. He was human, more human than anyone she’s ever met. She was in love with her best friend, the man who was content in being alone so he says.

Sherlock finishes the song, John dipping Mary giving his now wife a chaste kiss on her lips. Y/n grins clapping along with the crowd. She watched as Sherlock walks up to the two smiling and laughing with the newlywed couple. They soon disperse, as Mary and John continue to dance and talk to their families and friends. Sherlock looked around the room scanning for the person who mattered the most to him, his eyes immediately finding her a small smile playing on his lips about to take the steps to go towards her, realizing someone already got there first.

Y/n eyes were locked on Sherlock when Greg Lestrade comes up slurring his words.

“Oh bloody hell Greg how much have you had to drink?” She laughs putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

“Maybe a bit too much?” He groans leaning against the wall they were beside. Y/n rolls her eyes turning to head to look back at Sherlock noticing his presence was not there. She crinkles her eyebrows giving her glass to Greg.

“I have to go, don’t kill yourself with alcohol please.” She mumbles hearing Greg scoff before leaving her spot looking around the dance floor to see if she could spot Sherlock. She moves her head towards the exit noticing the curly mop of hair leaving the building. She follows swiftly behind him making her way out of the crowed room.

“Where are you going?” She says as soon as they’re outside. Sherlock whips his head around his coat in his arm as well as his scarf. He notices her confused expression, but her sad one as well.

“Weddings aren’t my thing.” He mumbles softly, keeping to himself the exact reason he was leaving. Because he knew he was going to end up alone anyways.

“I wouldve left with you.” She whispered shyly walking her way closer to him.

“I didn’t want you to leave your fun because of me.” He mumbles turning his face away from her his jaw flexing slightly.

“I was waiting for you.” She admitted to him placing a hand on his arm. “You played amazing tonight,” Sherlock glances at the way she rests her hand on his arm.

“You were?” He questions. She just smiles softly at him.

“I remember the time you told me that you always loved dancing as a child.” She giggled remembering the way he told her like it was a secret. “I wanted to watch you dance and enjoy your time. I know why you’re pushing away.” Sherlock laughs softly at her memory but soon as she mentioned him pushing away his face snapped away from hers.

“I’m not pushing anyone away-“

“Sherlock, you’re afraid of change.” She whispered softly keeping her hand placed on his arm. “You’re scared that it’s not just going to be the four of us chasing you around all the time.” Sherlock looks into her eyes trying to read her wondering why she was so soft spoken with him, why she’s never been offended at the way he was so blunt and honest.

“It may not always be the four of us, but I will always be here for you Sherlock.”

“Why are you?” He moves himself closer furrowing his eyebrows. “Why are you always here for me.” Y/n clears her throat shaking her head.

“It doesn’t matte-“

“It does, please tell me. I’ve been trying to deduce that for years and for the life of me. I can’t figure it out.” He steps closer to her noticing the way her breathing became more uneven, and her eyes dilating.

“Because I care about you.”

“It’s not just that.” He mumbles tilting his head grabbing her wrist to feel her pulse. “Your pulse is abnormal, your eyes are dilated…” he freezes his eyes lifting up from her wrist to her eyes. “Love?”

Y/n eyes widen moving her wrist away from his grasp.

“Sherlock it’s fine I’ve already come to terms with all of it.” She waves her hands to stop this conversation going any further, not wanting to hear that love is a defect, or even worse the rejection that he will never ever look at her that way. Instead he just chuckles, running his hand through his hair, setting his stuff down on the ledge of the fountain.

“Dance with me.” He says lifting his hand out to her. She looks at him with a confused look before taking a hold of his hand. He pulls her hand bringing him close to his chest starting to slow dance with her. She squeals as he brings her to his chest looking at him with flustered cheeks. “Do you know the reason why I always want you near me?” He asks his feet moving swiftly but slowly keeping her in her pace.

“Because I’m useful?” She laughs softly looking up at him noticing his eyes soften as he looks down at her.

“Well yes, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met but no.” He smirks softly their bodies moving gracefully together. “Because you are the one person who doesn’t see me as a robot, or just a detective, or just someone who’s impressed by me.” He pauses turning his face away from her. “You’re someone I want to spend my time with, someone I always think about whether I want to or not.” She bites her lip softly watching his face turn valnerable and completely in tune with her. “I’ve always said that love was a weakness, and now I know that isn’t the case because of you.” Her heart quickens at his words.

“But that would mean-“

“I love you, all I want to do is protect and hold you. You’re all I think about, so yes tonight scared me because I cannot bare the thought of things changing between us. I’m scared of losing you.” His gaze focusing on hers not noticing there dancing has stopped as his focus was on her and only her.

“I love you too.” She whispers softly and delicately afraid this moment would just end. He chuckles deeply lifting her chin up with his index finger.

“You have my heart Y/n.” He mumbles leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. She sighs softly as there lips touch. It was quick but it was full of passion and love knowing this won’t be their last kiss, that it was just the beginning.

[justalonelyslytherin]

Legacies | Ten

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Kazansky!OC

Summary: Iceman is dead. At his funeral secrets are revealed. Hangman doesn't take this revelation too well, causing more hurt and heartbreak.

Warnings: military inaccuracies, mentions of dying, mentions of parental death/parental loss, funeral

Wordcount: 4k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: Here it is. The big bad chapter. I hope you got your tissues ready. This was hard to write for me too. I wish I could promise that the next couple of chapters are going to make it better but I fear for now we are in the droughts before it can get better again. Feel free to slide into my asks if you need some pick-up or fluff to handle it in between the wait! There is so much more to say for this story and pairing.

Taglist: open, message me or comment to be added, will be put as reblog

So how do I say goodbye

To someone who's been with me for my whole damn life?

You gave me my name and the color of your eyes

I see your face when I look at mine

So how do I, how do I, how do I say goodbye?

Admiral Thomas ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, Commander of the U.S. Pacific Fleet was dead.

The news had come unexpectedly, surprising everyone who hadn’t been part of the late Admirals closest circle and family. Grief over the loss of their Commander had taken the Navy by surprise. Many had met the aviator and worked with him over the course of his impressive and long career.

There wasn’t a single sailor in their branch that didn’t have something good to say about the man. He’d inspired many, friends and colleagues alike to the men serving under him.

Now he was gone.

The daggers shifted uneasily in their stiff formal uniforms, arranged in a line at the front with many other servicemen on the military graveyard. A large crowd had gathered today to honor the legend. 

Men and women had come flocking from every part of the US, some even from other parts of the world. And while a majority of them were in service uniforms, the uniformous dark silhouettes of civilians weren’t to be disregarded either.

Each one of them stood tall and proud, representing, their eyes remained forward as the ceremony was taking place. Maverick and Cyclone stood to the side of the casket, flanking the late Commander's family.

Jake hadn’t taken much notice of them, too occupied with standing still and occasionally also thinking about Ana. As the repeated ring of shots from the rifle detail sounded on, he couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing, certainly going through a similar ceremony saying goodbye to her father.

Once the honor guard had folded the American flag, Cyclone stepped forward to take over and represent Iceman’s widow with it. It was then that Jake’s eyes for the first time focused on her. And it was then that he noticed someone very familiar, clad in a black dress, just beside her.

It was Ana.

Red-rimmed eyes, even from this distance Hangman could see how heartbroken she was, her face barely holding the neutral expression she’d put on. The two women were holding hands, Ana clutching her mother’s hand and staring blankly at the casket.

As Cyclone stepped towards them they had to let go of one another. Ana’s eyes briefly broke away and turned to the side. She glanced at the flag only for a short moment, set to look away again. Her eyes strayed toward the crowd, and when they did they met his.

The eye contact didn’t last long but it was enough for Jake to realize who she was. He hadn’t been able to piece it together until now. A part of him hadn’t wanted to believe it to be her, but as she’d looked at him there was no denying it.

She was Kazansky’s daughter. The rumored Top Gun graduate who had changed her last name in order to hide her identity and to not be associated with her father.

Anger rose in the pit of Jake’s stomach. Fiery hot and acidic, it threatened to boil over and consume him. Disappointment settled into every cell of his, not that Jake would have been able to realize so as the anger masked any other sensation he could have felt. 

Ana’s eyes widened in surprise, the recognition that had settled over him now overcoming her. 

Her secret was out. 

Just as quickly as they had crossed she averted her eyes but Jake couldn’t help but continue staring at her. There was nowhere else he could look at now, than at her. 

She wouldn’t look toward him again.

Perhaps it was better so. Jake wasn’t sure he’d have been able to hold himself back had their eyes met once again. Even now the emotions in him boiled close to the surface still, eating away at his resolve and composure. His body was engulfed in flames. 

It was an ugly sensation, rotten and tainted. He felt betrayed. Hurt and angry. So many emotions swirled inside him, he couldn’t name them all. They blurred together to form one shifting, rising monster. Its low rumbles grew louder as its sharp talons dug into him, demanding to claw its way to the surface.

It was the betrayal that hurt the most. No small measure, she’d kept something as momentous as this from them. Their teammates. Their friends. Even after being asked about it, she’d feigned ignorance.

Navy funerals were short. They were straightforward and to the point. Jake barely caught the ending of it. As the group of sailors and civilians slowly dispersed he found himself once more looking out for Ana, rooted to his spot.

“Are you coming?” Halo stood beside him with an arched brow. 

“I’ll be there in a second.” Answer enough for Halo, she turned around and followed the already retreating group of their team members.

Their path led them through the rows of gravestones, toward the front of the lot where the guests were gathering, soon to split into the private mourning party for the following funeral meal and the soldiers and others who would return to work and their own lives.

But Jake couldn’t leave yet, even if he had assured Halo he’d follow. He hadn’t even looked at her during their short exchange, instead, his eyes had searched the crows for the familiar - or now not-so-familiar - person.  She couldn’t have moved past him, he’d seen.

At last, his sharp eyes found her. Ana remained motionless in front of the fresh grave, inconsolably staring at the spot her father had been lowered down mere minutes ago. His final resting place was covered in fresh soil. The dark color stood in contrast with the white marble headstone and the vibrant flowers the remaining family members had placed on top of it. Flower wreaths and bouquets would follow in the next few days, crowding every available space.

The dewy grass made soft noises, scrunching under his feet as Jake stepped toward her. Mere meters away from her he was when Ana looked up. A pang of empathy erupted in his chest, painfully spreading through him, worse than any bullet wound could ever hurt. He hated seeing her this sad and crushed.

Her cheeks were wet with streaks of tears, eyes red-rimmed. A quiet sniffle carried over to him guided by the soft breeze. It ruffled her hair, carefully tucked away in a bun that showed some dignity and semblance to her usually tidy and proper, uniform glad, appearance. Wisps of hair gradually loosened now hanging down, having been pulled out through bouts of nervosity and great emotional distress, framing her face, painted an altogether different picture for him.

Any notion of commiseration was overtaken by the wave of anger crashing over Jake in an even more violent way than during the ceremony. Failing to reel his emotions in, to shove them back into the deep pit he’d had them banished mere moments ago, he lost all control over himself. 

Any composure he’d had was gone and with it, his inhibitions and smart thinking had left as well. Jake would surely hate himself for it the second he’d step out of the cemetery but right now he couldn’t care less. 

“You lied.” The accusation was vile, thinly concealed anger brushing at his lips, demanding to be unleashed.

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You lied to all of us.” 

You lied to me

“It’s not what you think, Jake,” Ana whispered, her voice barely loud enough for the breeze to carry it.

“Oh?”, he scoffed, “Then what is it? Why do you think you didn’t lie to us? Does this not qualify as dishonesty?”

“All my life I have been the Admiral’s daughter. Kazansky’s youngest,” her own name was hard to voice out loud in this difficult time, reminding her too much of the loss. “Ever since I was little people looked at me and only saw my father’s daughter. They made it easy for me, treated me better, gave things to me just because I was who my name made me when all I always wanted was to be looked at and for them to not see my father’s daughter but me.

I wanted to just be me. Not Ana Kazansky, daughter of the famous Iceman.

Just Ana.”

There was a pause, a brief lull, in her explanation in which she looked at him with hopeful eyes. But the hostility with which he eyed her quickly had the hope wither away. She’d never seen him this distant and closed off, not even when he was fully immersed into being Hangman. 

“I knew I could never prove myself and achieve something on my own if I was known as the Admiral’s daughter. Everyone would say I didn’t work hard enough to get so far, that my father’s position got me everything. I didn’t want to be labeled a fraud and be accused of illicitly getting into the Academy and Top Gun. 

So I decided to become someone no one would know by taking my mother’s maiden name. 

I became no one.”

What was his entitlement to judge her on a decision she’d made for her life? Long before she’d ever known him or any of the others? She did not owe anyone but her parents and herself an explanation for her choice. Had she not done it, someone would have found fault in her decision either way.

Yet it hurt much worse for Jake to be this angry about it than any other person. She didn’t give a damn about a stranger's feelings on it and frankly even her colleagues and friends, yet why did it bother her so much to see him with his jaw tightly set in tension and nose scrunched in anger.

Jake kept quiet for too long. Her words echoed in his head. He didn’t want to understand her. His anger made him irrational, refusing to see any reason or logic in it. Even if he wanted to understand her, his anger wouldn’t let him. The monster that had grown deep inside him forbade him from doing so. It wouldn’t let him back down.

“And you think that makes a difference? You still deceived us.”

He forced himself to turn around without another word. One foot in front of another, mechanically he marched away from her. No, not entirely. 

Two more graves lay between them when he turned around once more. The small, fiercely fighting part of his good conscience had lost against the bitter, petty monster that was his hurt, his betrayed feelings, his anger.

“I suppose you won’t come back to finish the mission. Better like that anyway. We don’t need someone we don’t actually know in the air with us. We need someone we can trust.”

Ana watched him turn around, letting her stand there. He marched briskly, calculated steps carrying him through the narrow rows of graves toward the front of the cemetery.

All she could do was stare at the hat-clad back of his head and his tense, impossibly tight squared shoulder. Mind left reeling it felt like with his retreat he’d pulled the earth beneath her feet, plucking her into a dark, endless descent.

First, it were her lips that trembled as fresh tears misted over her eyes, then her hands, and soon her legs followed.  Ana felt the world coming down around her, its weight ready to crush her. Was she not already crushed? The loss of her father had felt like the worst pain she’d ever felt. A hole where her heart had been, she was sure it had been laid beneath the ground with his human remains.

Why then were it Hangman’s words that ultimately brought her to her knees? All strength drained from her limbs, her knees buckling beneath her as she slowly sank down. Down, down, down until she crouched there, head hung, arms wrapped around herself in a feeble attempt for comfort. The endless waterfall of tears dripped onto her knees, wetting the dark fabric of her dress.

Rooster clenched his fists beside his body, teeth churning as he watched her crumble to the ground. All because of him. Hangman. 

Unbeknownst to either of them he had watched their exchange from the distance that was the gravelly front of the graveyard. The attendees of the funeral all gathered there now. 

As Hangman reached the group that was the Daggers everything in him screamed to intercept his path. To knock the arrogant bastard onto his ass and punch a couple of his perfect white molars out. 

Even if Rooster had had his own differences and fights with Ana, she was still as close to a little sister as he could have and no one - but especially not Hangman - got to hurt her like that. Not when she was already hurting enough. He wanted to look out for her, albeit punching the blonde menace and causing a scene now weren’t the best way to do it. 

So instead he glowered at him, a death glare as strongly as Rooster could muster it, and in that he was a master. Hangman breezed past him and most of the rest of the group for that. The gravel under his feet crunched. While the others didn’t understand what was going on, they took the blonde’s initiative to also leave.

“Rooster, you coming?” Phoenix stepped beside him. Her eyes briefly went to the opposite side of the yard, where the private funeral party had gathered. The Kazansky’s. Maverick.

“Go on without me. I’ve got a ride back.”

Phoenix eyed him a moment longer than necessary, gauging his words before she nodded. They’d all come to the graveyard together, shuttled by a navy bus. Her hand briefly landed on his shoulder, squeezing him before she turned around, joining the rest of them on their way back to the bus.

Straightening his back Bradley walked over to the people he considered his extended family. Many of the familiar faces acknowledged him with small nods or waves and the more or less successful try of a smile mustered. He walked past most of them after a polite nod, aiming straight for his aunt Sarah.

Outwardly she seemed composed, her face embellished in the same stubborn mask Ana had worn during the procession. As he pulled her into a hug her composure grumbled and he felt her slump against him, softly crying. Bradley muttered his condolences into her ear, holding her tightly against him. 

He knew best how it was to lose someone important. They’d been there for him after he’d lost his father and their presence had been even stronger when he’d lost his mother to sickness and Maverick to betrayal. There wasn’t one moment in his life in which he remembered the Kazansky’s not being there for him. It was time to give some of this unwavering support back in this dire moment of need and hurt.

It took Ana a long while to calm down enough so she could stand up again. Even then her legs still trembled. It took her even longer to be ready to move. When she was, she felt still rattled, as if the glue that was holding her had come undone.

Hands clenched at her sides and her head turned downwards toward the grass beneath her feet, she was walking quickly. Bouts of electricity shot through her, one after the other feeling like she was shocked by an outside source.

The cemetery was mostly empty now, safe for her family. Before she could reach them another person stepped into her path. Her eyes traveled from the shined shoes, upward the crisp black pants toward the face she least expected to see.

Bradley stood across from her, the rest of the Daggers nowhere to see. A fact she was rather grateful for at the moment. Still, the sight of him put her on edge. She wouldn’t be able to handle it if Bradley were to treat her with hostility now as well.

To her big surprise, there was no harshness, no cold distance in his eyes. Not like the last time he had looked at her. Ever since their talk on the tarmac, he’d kept his distance from her. Either outright ignoring or avoiding. 

Entirely opposite now Bradley eyed her with warmth and compassion. He walked over to her, with every step he came closer Ana felt herself start to tremble again. By the time he reached her, her lips wobbled dangerously, eyes once more watery.

“Bradley,” she whimpered, falling into his arms as he enveloped her. Damned be the navy regulations on uniforms, she didn’t care as her hands clawed into the fabric of his jacket, holding on for dear life.

“Shh, Teds,” she heard him rumble, a strong and warm hand rubbing soothingly over her back.

“Do you think I was out of line not telling the team who Dad was?”

Doubts had started to gnaw at her the moment Hangman had accused her of it. She’d never seen it as lying to them, as being deceiving. What would that information have changed about her ability to fly the mission? What would have changed about her hard work?

Bradley pushed her back enough to be able to look into her tear-stained face. She looked miserable. Broken. 

Another wave of anger washed over him, silently cursing Hangman for causing this. Not long ago he had accused her of the same thing. In his anger over the situation and the close proximity with Maverick, he had misled and directed his anger toward her.

“No, you weren’t.” Reaching out he wiped away her tears and made sure she looked at him, that she saw the seriousness in his eyes.

“You did what was right for you, what was the right decision for you. You chose to do this long before any of them knew you. You didn’t do it to deceive anyone did you?”

She shook her head, sniffling quietly. 

“It is understandable that you didn’t want to be reduced to your familial connections or last name. No one can blame you for the choice you made to be yourself.” Bradley watched her lips tremble once more, eyes glossing over as new tears threatened to fall. Once more he pulled her into his embrace.

“You earned it. Every single thing you earned on your own. Your place at the Academy, graduating as one of their best students. You became a naval aviator. You got into Top Gun and graduated first place. That’s all your doing. You did that, all on your own and no one can take this from you.

On top of that you are an amazing person. Sure you are a great pilot but you are an even greater friend. Doesn’t matter if you are Ana Lawson or Ana Kazansky. The name doesn’t change who you are at your core. Anyone who can’t see and accept that isn’t worth it.”

Hangman wasn’t worth it. If that arrogant bastard couldn’t see who she was but more importantly who she was no matter her last name, then he didn’t deserve to be even in the same city as her.

Bradley didn’t want to pour more salt into the already irritated wound so he kept quiet about the blonde. Instead, he let her cry against his shoulder, the same way not long ago her mother had done so. If this was how he could help them, he’d let them soak every shirt he owned with their tears.

After a long silence in which Ana’s sobs had gradually lessened, she lifted her head off his shoulder. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks wet, hair even more mussed up. Softly Bradley brushed a piece of hair behind her ear before his hand at her back carefully guided her to the parking lot.

Ana stopped in her steps, refusing to move as she saw the practically empty lot. There weren’t any people to be seen. Where was her mother? Where were her siblings? Panic settled over her as her eyes frantically began to search the place up and down, and then a second time. But still, no one had remained.

“Where are they?” There was a panicked hitch in her voice. They hadn’t left them, her, had they? They wouldn’t have done that? Had she lost them now too?

“Hey, Teds, take a breath for me.” Bradley once more stepped in front of her, his hands settled on her shoulders, softly but firmly grabbing her there. He was keeping her from hyperventilating, from outright panicking.

“I told them to go ahead to the house and that I would bring you two back.” 

“Uncle Ron,” Ana breathed, her voice filling with emotion once more. She sidestepped Bradley, walking straight into the opened arms of Slider.

“Heya little chip.” The old nickname had her chuckle wetly and sniffle as she hugged him tightly. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, similarly to Maverick. She’d missed him just as much. Up and down Slider’s hand rubbed over her back in a comforting way. 

“I’m there for you Teddy. Always. If you need something, don’t hesitate to call me.” Ana nodded against her uncle’s chest. He’d always been her hero. Slider had never not been anything but utterly devoted to her and her siblings.

“I promised your dad I’d look after you if anything were to happen ever and I’m planning to uphold this promise. If I have to, I'll cross the entire planet for it.” 

Her heart warmed at this, the sensation was so strong it even overshadowed the pang of grief.

“Alright, now you two will get your asses into my car. Your mother will lynch me if we take too long.” 

Water gurgled as it filled the vase. Droplets of it escaped the crystalline brim, traveling down the outer edge of the vessel and ran over Ana’s fingers. The cold sensation stood in contrast to everything else. Over the course of the day she had gradually numbed down, drowning noises alike out.

As the water overflowed she glanced down at the tap, shutting it off. Some of the water she emptied again before she placed the vase on the counter beside her, where one bouquet of the many flowers they’d gotten laid. 

The big table in the dining room and the kitchen table were littered with them and stacks of condolence cards. It was overwhelming. As the flower slid into the vase, their stems submerging into the water, her mind drifted off once more.

Sighing heavily, she ultimately placed her hands down and let her head hang low.

“Mum?” The word left her lips hesitantly. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to utter the words, even less so to hear the answer. Her lips were dry and her throat tight. “Did I make a mistake?” Her shoulders started to shake, a sniffle leaving her lips.

“Did I make a mistake hiding my identity in the Navy? Did I–” She choked. 

“–did I hurt Dad with my decision?” Close to breaking down at the thought of it, Ana heard the kitchen chair behind her scrape over the floor. Then her mother's arms were around her, Sarah hugging her from the side. 

“Oh sweetheart, no. You didn’t make a mistake. You chose what was right.”

“Was it though?”

“Teddy, look at me,” Sarah softly asked, wiping the tear off her cheek. “Your father understood you. More than you believe.”

“You resemble him in so many ways,” sadness overcame her mother’s features as she looked at her, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are so alike, he was exactly the same when he was your age. Wanted to prove himself and make it on his own. There was never a moment in which he wasn’t proud of you and standing fully behind your every decision.”

Looking at her mother with tear-streaked cheeks and heaving shoulders Ana couldn’t help but sob again. It felt like crying was the only thing she had done ever since.

“I miss him, Mom,” she whimpered, hiding her face on her mother’s shoulder.

“I do too, my sweet little girl.

He is looking down on us from above now. Watching out for us. Don’t ever think he won’t be there with you, for you.”

[blackfilmmakers]

I pirated wish & the movie was just so mid. The concept art look more finish then the actual movie. Asha wasn’t really adorkable as people was complaining about since they saw how she acted in the trailers but rather she have no personality to me. The choices made in the movie was dumb like Asha asking for her grandfather’s wish to be granted during an interview. It was like asking for a raise during an interview for a job. And the king showing how the wishing process work make his look foolish until they had her be an apprentice already. Also I’m sure the whole kingdom would knows that not everyone wishes will be granted since Asha’s grandfather is 100 and still hadn’t gotten his wish granted which would also apply that the king is way older then he look since it was stated he built the kingdom. They could had made him want to keep the wishes to keep him immortal. And it suffer from show don’t tell cause people losing their wish doesn’t really affect them nor did anyone seem miserable in the movie until the king turn evil. It would had been cool to see them lose their creativity. Plus even if you forget your wish once you gave it to the king, won’t your family and friends remember it cause I bet you would tell them what you wish for. It would also had been interesting for as the person change so do their wishes which would reflect to something else different then what they originally wish for when they was 18. That way the king can keep an eye on his subjects since the wish show what’s in their heart. And I wish they based Asha on Tiana since they both lost their fathers and it could show Asha processing it still through being a great apprentice and seeing the king as a father figure so that when he show his true colors, it would make Asha feel like she lost another father figure. She rarely ever mention him and we don’t even get to see his face or any flashback. And I wish they kept the villain couple and star being a star boy because star wasn’t even important since it only made animals and plants talk . I wish they added the romance in the movie for Asha, considering Disney don’t do romance that much in movies but that have been happening just as they starting putting more girl of colors in lead who deserve to see themselves desire. Wish just felt like it failed black girl and black women again like they did with princess and the frog except worse because instead of turning Asha into an animal, they didn’t make her into a character at all.

It really was a nothing movie wasn't it?

I hate that Disney chose to do this with a Black princess once again, because they refuse to turn back to 2D again

They just somehow managed to be more lazy with her design and background heritage, and worldbuilding ontop of it

And then they have the nerve to say Wish isn't doing so well, because they made the mistake of pandering to the 'snowflakes' and focused more on representation rather than story

Like no yall just suck, and you didn't represent anyone in this story. Not the Amazigh, not Spanish people, not disabled people(according to some mutuals that pointed out Dahilia's cane isn't designed properly, and she walks like an abled-bodied person using a cane), not animators

I can't even see Asha having a love interest, because she just doesn't have a personality. Ontop of concept art pointing out that human Star was meant to look like her grandfather. But in terms of romance in the story, the concept of "love conquers all" used for the villain couple? That I could get behind

Supposedly, the reason they didn't go with this is because studios didn't want the monarchy to look bad? Skill issue, but anyways hmmm almost sounds like this could be an easy fix by making Asha a princess

[shrinkthisviolet]

8 + Cisco and Morgan for the angsty writing prompts.

Gladly! This takes place during Chapter 8 of i still love you (i promise), with flashbacks to were you lying to me (and the family)?:

Cisco couldn’t stop thinking about what Joe had said.

“Did you know he was friends with Simon Stagg? General Eiling? Do you know how many contacts he has, in very powerful positions?”

He’d known about Eiling, but…not Stagg. And he couldn’t deny that Dr. Wells being so cozy with people like that…it made Cisco nervous. More than he was willing to admit.

But it wasn’t just that. The part that really stuck out to him was…

“Or, actually, let’s start smaller: what about the way he treats his daughter? The way he talks to her sometimes?”

He didn’t want to admit it. He really didn’t. But…it was true, wasn’t it? The way Dr. Wells sometimes spoke to Morgan like she was years younger, a little girl instead of a teenager…sure, teenagers were still kids, and every child was their parents’ baby, but this felt…this felt like more than that.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it when he went back to STAR Labs, as much as he tried to distract himself.

Naturally, given his luck, he walked right into a question of ethics.

“It seems Ronnie’s fight with the Flash has exacerbated the FIRESTORM Matrix—it’s unstable.” Dr. Wells sighed. “Exponentially increasing the rate of fission inside his body.”

“Well, how long does he have?” Caitlin asked, frowning.

“If his temperature keeps rising at the current pace…no more than a couple of hours, I’m afraid.”

“But you can fix it, right?” She insisted. “I mean, you…you can separate them before it’s too late.”

“Caitlin…” he sighed. “Any attempt we make to separate the two of them could be catastrophic…a nuclear explosion.”

“So it’s the same consequence either way?” Morgan spoke up, worried. “Then why shouldn’t we try?”

He frowned. “You would risk the life of our colleague—of your self-proclaimed brother—on the basis of a foolish hope?”

“At least we could say we’ve done something!”

“Yes, I suppose we could,” he agreed sharply. “We could delude ourselves into thinking we know best, that our judgment is sound—we could make a deadly decision that only a miracle could save us from. And I’m afraid we’re fresh out of miracles. So go on, Sentry, self-proclaimed protector of all metahumans, do tell: is this really the path you wish to pursue?”

Cisco froze. That…that was so much worse than anything before.

Before, Dr. Wells had patronized her, talking to her like she was younger.

Now, though? Now…he spoke to her like she was older. Like the world rested on her shoulders, like the onus was all on her—

This isn’t fair, this isn’t—why?! Why are you talking to her like that?!

And then it got worse.

“You want to kill Ronnie?” Caitlin’s expression reflected the horror they all felt—how could he, how could he—Ronnie was their friend, Caitlin’s fiancé—how could Dr. Wells suggest—

“No, I don’t want to kill Ronnie,” Dr. Wells retorted, cold and clinical, as if Ronnie was a specimen rather than a person, “but in this scenario, Ronnie is the host body.”

“If you kill Ronnie, you kill Stein,” Cisco retorted, “that’s two people!”

“I don’t know how else to stop it. And my guess is that if Ronnie and Professor Stein knew the consequences that we were all facing, they would make the same decision. It’s two lives for millions. I know you can all do that math.” His gaze drifted past Morgan and settled on Caitlin.

Cisco was all too glad to leave that room, secure in knowing that Caitlin would chew Dr. Wells out for even thinking of that solution, let alone saying it like that.

And in the meantime…

His gaze drifted to Morgan, who looked terrified, shaking in her shoes.

He couldn’t imagine how horrible that had been for her.

“Did something happen in the past few days?” She spoke up suddenly, turning to him.

“What?” Cisco laughed nervously. “No, nothing, why?”

“You just seem kinda jumpy,” she said gently, her fear seeming to dissipate as she focused on him. “And…look, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just…really worried.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Well, you should worry less about us and more about yourself, Mo.”

She flinched, pulling away from him. “Well, all right, then. Sorry for…just…sorry, I guess.”

Stunned by her reaction, it was a few moments later when he finally called, “Morgan,” and started after her, desperate to explain…but she didn’t seem to hear him, turning the corner without so much as a backwards glance.

Cisco, for his part, scrubbed a hand over his face, tears welling in his eyes.

God, how was he supposed to deal with hero worship chipping away in the worst way possible? How many times had Dr. Wells spoken to Morgan harshly, how much had Cisco missed because he was so desperate for Dr. Wells’s gentle smile, his approval, his praise—so desperate for a father figure who loved him without reservation?

And that was rare for Dr. Wells too—he was reserved with nearly everyone except their little tight-knit Team.

(And Hartley. But Cisco refused to think about Hartley.)

But Morgan…

Cisco knew he could stop at this. He could make excuses for Dr. Wells, could go on justifying him to Joe, could comfort Morgan—he could keep having it all.

…or he could do the right thing and protect Morgan from what appeared more and more to be a clear danger of some kind.

And Cisco…well, he was a hero through and through.

But he also knew he couldn’t do it alone…and that one person, one of the most important in this equation, wasn’t yet on board.

Maybe this would be just the thing to snap Barry Allen out of his ridiculous anger.

prompt list!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs

@thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

@miss-eli-starfleet

[shadowisles-writes]

Heatwave (Part 3) [Elriel]

A/N: I’m a little late for the writing circle but very excited to be posting my first Elriel fic. I’m not used to this ship dynamic so it was super fun to explore! If you haven’t yet, you can read part 1 by @secret-third-thing and part 2 by @starfall-spirit by clicking on the links. You can also find all the works from this writing circle in this masterlist. The fic is also available on AO3 here, and all the works can be found in the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 collection.

Word count: 2094

.

Elain smiled at the pastel pink decal she had just finished sticking on her window. The beautiful logo Feyre had designed for her was perfect to match the vibes she had wanted for her flower shop. It was printed all over business cards, stamped on tags and on the paper she wrapped her bouquets with.

After a couple of months on the road, she was ready for her new start. Travelling had provided her with a desperately needed break. She had gotten space from her old life, from her family, from everything that had been holding her back.

Elain had used that time for introspection and somewhere along the road managed to make decisions to grasp the life she truly wanted. For now, it looked like an apartment close to her sisters and her own pastel colored flower shop.

And Azriel.

Elain wished she could say she wasn’t settling somewhere because of a man she hardly knew, but she was. Azriel had been a constant in her life even while traveling. She sent him pictures of the places she visited, he replied with pictures of places he’d take her to when she was back in New England.

They talked every day. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for quick check-ins or to reply to a picture the other had sent. Gradually, pictures of the places Elain visited began to be more focused on Elain herself in said places. It didn’t take long for selfies to be exchanged at random times of the day. Elain in ridiculous tourist hats, Azriel at work.

She didn’t really know when they slipped up to pictures in bed. Perhaps they’d been talking too late one evening, and the only selfie Azriel could take was a shirtless one. Elain rarely slept in more than a tank top, and it was all downhill from there.

They hadn’t gotten far, but her hidden folder already included some of those pictures where he was obviously displaying his muscled chest. They weren’t inappropriate per say, but considering the feelings they elicited in Elain, she preferred keeping them out of her regular camera roll.

She could have traveled for another month, maybe more, if it hadn’t been for him. The pull between them had been undeniable from the start. They had been stumbling over their words, hanging out and obviously attracted to each other but too awkward for it to lead to anything. The separation had helped them become more comfortable, and they had fallen into an easy friendship the moment she came back.

Since then, Azriel had been in the shop every day to help her paint and set up for her opening date. Her sisters had stopped by too, but they hadn’t been willing to get their hands dirty.

“It looks beautiful,” Azriel brought Elain back to the present. He stood beside her, admiring the sign they’d been so stressed about sticking on straight.

“Thank you,” she beamed. “For everything, I mean… I could have never done this without your help.”

“Sure you could have,” he smiled. “All I did was tell you there was space available and give you a phone number.”

“Oh, is that all you did?” She raised an eyebrow and turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “How about going to see said space for me while I was traveling to send me the exact measurements and make sure it was suitable for a flower shop?”

“It was no trouble,” Azriel shrugged.

“Uh uh,” Elain continued. “And building all the shelves and stands?”

Another shrug. “I had time to spare.”

“Setting up the counters and sink in the back?”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting a friend do that alone.”

“Yes, because friends is what we are,” Elain’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

That was deserving of a lengthier answer at least. “You’re opening in five minutes, do we need to have this conversation right now?”

Elain felt her heart squeeze. “Are you anticipating it’s going to be a long one?” She asked carefully.

“No.” The lack of hesitation in Azriel’s response helped her settle. “I’m anticipating we’re going to spend a lot of time not talking.”

“Oh,” Elain realized and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Her face burned and she knew she must have been red, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Flip the sign, El.” Azriel nodded to the door. “Today is about you, and your new start here. Tonight we can talk, and not talk, if you’re up for it.”

“It’s a plan.”

Elain turned her newly painted sign so it would show the word “open” to the people on the street and wiped her sweaty hands on her clean apron. She walked around the stand in the middle one last time, checking that every flower was in the right place before she went to stand behind the counter.

Azriel sat on a stool close behind her and surveyed the street through the window. It wasn’t busy with how early it was, but Elain’s heart was still hammering in her chest as she waited for her very first customer.

Her sisters and their husbands had all promised to stop by for the opening; Elain had asked them to wait until the afternoon. She didn’t want her first sale to be to them, she needed a real client, enticed by her window display or whatever else could drive them in.

The shop was silent. They waited five minutes, then ten, then twenty. People walked past on their way to work, too busy on their phones or running to catch a bus to look toward the shop. Minute by minute, Elain’s hope for a successful first day deflated.

She hadn’t expected a crowd, but someone—anyone would have been nice. They didn’t even need to buy, just come in, say hello and maybe something nice about the shop or the arrangements Elain had spent hours making.

“Is it always this quiet?” Elain eventually broke and turned to face Azriel.

“It’s not even nine,” he reminded her. “You’re seeing the working crowd rush past, but the rest will be out soon.”

“I guess,” she nodded. “Do you think I should have put something outside?”

“Do you want me to put on a giant flower costume and go flip a big sign pointing to the shop?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elain rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. The idea of Azriel who was always dressed in black in some ugly flower costume was enough to make her want to laugh again. She knew he’d do it for her—even as a joke—if she really asked. “I’ll just wait.”

“It won’t be long,”

“Sure,” she walked back to the front of the shop to get a better look at the town square. “You don’t have to stay here, by the way. It’s not very exciting right now.”

“It’s your first day, there’s nowhere else for me to be.”

Elain smiled, pretending to detangle the golden pothos that hung in close to the window. “Who knew you’d be so awfully romantic.”

“I’m sitting in a flower shop with a woman in a long pink dress, I figured romance might be your thing.” Azriel tapped his fingers on his thigh, head cocked to the side with a knowing smile.

He wasn’t wrong, but Elain had already learned he was more sensitive than he let on. “Don’t go pretending you’re cold hearted yourself.”

“Definitely not with you.”

She snorted. “You’re getting mushy again.”

“Stop deflecting, El.”

“You’re the one who said we should talk later tonight, now you’re distracting me—” Elain faced him with her fists on her hips. “You’re distracting me.”

“It worked,” Azriel gave her a slightly guilty look, but it was edged with a smile. “Though I can try harder if you’d like.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Will you?” He licked his lips and looked her up and down.

Elain felt a rush of heat blaze beneath her skin. She didn’t move as he got up from his stool, suddenly making them much more aware of the size difference between them. He stalked closer, her eyes fixated on him with every step he took. A predatory grin spread on his face, and Elain would have melted on the spot if it hadn’t been for the gentle chime of the bell she’d installed above the door.

“Good morning!” She slipped into her cheerful persona in an instant, greeting the woman and toddler who were just entering her shop.

Azriel disappeared, silent as he slipped behind the counter and hid in the back of the shop. He was probably eavesdropping to find out if her first customer bought anything, but at least he wouldn’t be a distraction when she needed her focus.

“Hi!” The toddler exclaimed and waved just as the woman said a soft hello.

“If you need advice or help finding anything, don’t hesitate to let me know,” Elain gave her most charming smile and tucked herself behind the counter so her customers wouldn’t feel too watched as they went around the shop.

The woman let go of the child’s hand, letting him walk past plants and bouquets. She gently placed a hand in front of his when he tried to reach for a yellow flower, reminding him that they were fragile and he couldn’t just grab it. Elain smiled at the exchange.

She remembered being young and wanting to pick every pretty flower she found, whether they grew wildly in a field or in a big decorative pot in the middle of a street. Her parents never had that gentleness when scolding her.

“What do you think, this one or this one?” The woman asked from behind the stand, holding two bouquets Elain couldn’t see. The young boy didn’t hesitate and was trusted to carry the bouquet all the way to the counter.

“Thank you,” Elain leaned over to grab it when he held it up as high as his little arms could. “That’s a very good choice.”

It was made of pink peonies, some fern and foliage to make the pastel colors stand out. The bouquet was classic—simple but pretty.

“Did you find everything you needed today?” She began to wrap a pretty pale pink paper around the bouquet and tied it off with a brighter ribbon in matching tones.

“Yes, thank you,” the woman smiled. “This is a beautiful shop, I’ve never seen it before. Did you open recently?”

“Thank you so much, I just opened this morning,” Elain beamed.

“Well we’ll make sure to come by again.” The woman pulled out her credit card as Elain told her what the total was and handed her a card to go with the bouquet in case she wanted to write a note.

“That would be lovely, and oh, hold on a second,” she stepped through the small alcove to the back of the shop, grinning at Azriel who leaned against a wall to wait, and retrieved a yellow flower identical to the one the little boy had reached for.

“Oh,” the woman smiled. “Look at that!”

“This is for you,” Elain went around the counter and bent to the child’s height.

“Thank you,” he gave her a toothy grin as his mother reached for the bouquet she had just bought.

“Thank you,” the woman echoed. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Elain waited until the door was completely closed to let out an excited squeal. She turned around to find Azriel already close and threw her arms around his neck. His hands rested on her back, pulling her closer as he kissed her temple.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Elain breathed out, still grinning. She pulled out of the hug and shook her hands out excitedly. “God I know it’s just one sale but that felt really good.”

“Step one to the most successful flower shop in the city. I think we’re going to need a celebratory dinner tonight.” Azriel smiled back.

“I agree.” She checked her apron was still in place and glanced towards the door to see if they were still alone. “I can also think of other ways to celebrate after dinner.”

“Enlighten me.”

The chime of the door was just in time to save Elain from the rush of blood that was sure to make her cheeks bright red. Azriel retreated, but she knew he’d continue their conversation the moment they were alone again. The push and pull would go on for the entire day, as if there wasn’t already enough anticipation between them.

Elain would need all of her patience to resist falling right into him before closing time.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 13

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Part 12 🍂 Part 14

Pairing: Syverson x ofc

Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"

Chapter warnings: confusing family dynamics

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: @keanureevesisbae Keeps me busy! I owe 17 now, too! You go girll!!!

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @omgkatinka @summersong69 @diegos-butt @beck07990

“Babe, there is no way I have room for all of these clothes,” Patrick said as Jules pulled yet another box from the car.

“Well, you’d think they wouldn’t fit in her apartment, either, but here we are.” You put the next box – also labeled ‘clothes’ – on the floor in the hallway.

“Please tell me these are the last ones?” You both laughed at the way he said it. He looked around the hallway, which was filled with boxes, most of them containing parts of Jules’ wardrobe, and sighed.

“It was the last trip, but Sy’s still on his way,” Julie said as she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend.

“With some furniture,” you added quickly, “Jesus, Jules, you’re going to give the man a heart attack.”

As it turned out, ‘moving in with someone’ was just code for ‘yelling at your partner while your friends did all the real work’. And not even in the privacy of any room you weren’t in, nope; right in front of you.

“If they’re not done by the time we put this closet back together, I’m makin’ popcorn,” Sy whispered at you – but not softly enough.

“Sy, stay out of this.” Jules definitely wasn’t happy. To be fair, she was in the right, and Patrick was being stubborn. You rolled your eyes at Sy. “Lara, what do you think?”

“Hell no, doll,” Patrick said before you could even tell Jules you weren’t getting mixed up in their argument, “I don’t get backup, you don’t get backup.” That made you scoff. There was no way Sy would side with him.

“What’s funny, Sugar?” Sy said with a look on his face that was suspicious at best… Oh my God, he thought Pat was right? You raised an eyebrow as your mouth literally fell open.

“You’re with him on this?” you managed.

“It is his house,” Sy replied.

“I think both of them living here kinda makes it their house, and it doesn’t make sense to have friends sleep on the couch when you’ve got an empty room and a second bed!” It was unbelievable that your first fight at a couple not only took place at a friend’s house, but was also on the topic of what they should do with their spare room.

“Patrick, I need one more door between him and us. You can have your man-cave when he’s out.” She glared at Sy before walking out of the room. Pat slammed his hand down on Sy’s shoulder so hard you almost felt it, but Sy didn’t even flinch.

“So, you haven’t found anything yet?” Sy shook his head at his friend.

After the adventure of moving Jules into Patrick’s place, the four of you focused your attention on planning the weekend camping trip the boys had been talking about. They were also mostly the ones planning it – neither you nor Julie knew anything about camping. That didn’t mean you weren’t excited to go; Sy had shown you some pictures of the area, and it looked absolutely beautiful.

“It’s not too far from where Sy and Patrick grew up, actually,” Julie told you.

“They grew up together?” You were surprised no one had ever brought that up. It definitely wasn’t a secret that they were close, and they owned the company together and everything, but you had no idea they’d been friends since childhood.

“Yeah,” Julie said, “Pat’s dad started work at Sy’s grandfather’s ranch when he was sixteen or so. Became really close friends with Sy’s dad.” Oh, so their dads were besties? Cool…

“And he became even better acquainted with my dad’s eldest sister.” Sy sat down next to you and put an arm around your shoulder. You loved it when he did that; something about feeling the weight of his arm on you relaxed you.

“’Better acquainted’ as in…” You almost refused to believe what you were hearing. Not because it was so hard to believe it was true – it was kind of a mild story, actually – but because no one had ever bothered to tell you this. “You’re cousins.”

“The way my old man tells it, Uncle Johnny was mad as all hell when dad started going out with ma.”

“Which my dad doesn’t deny, by the way,” Sy added, “it’s just that in his version, he beats the shit out of Uncle Rick.”

“Wait, are you both named after your fathers?” Sy and Patrick both nodded – and grinned when they saw the incredulous look on your face.

“Eldest son, right? My full name is Jonathan George Syverson,” Sy laughed, “Named after both my father and my grandfather.” You almost laughed at hearing his full name. Hearing his first name was weird enough, or his full last name, even.

“Wait, who’s your father named after, then?” you asked. Jules quickly raised her hands before either of the guys could answer.

“Lara, stop!” She pointed at the innocent eyes Sy and Patrick were conjuring up. “They can do this for hours. And it wouldn’t even be a start in preparing you for whatever kind of family gathering you’re no doubt going to be dragged along to. Oh my God!” She suddenly seemed really excited about something. “I don’t have to do those alone anymore!”

Sy pulled you close.  “She’s right, Sugar, we can do this for hours, I’m sorry.”

“And you won’t have to do any family gatherings anytime soon, doll,” Patrick said. “We’re doin’ the holidays over at your parents’ if you don’t mind…” All three of them laughed as if that was supposed to mean something, but to you, it didn’t.

“Wait, why?”

“My youngest sister just got married and had her first kid.” Whoa? Kids?

“You’re an uncle?” You looked at Pat wide-eyed. That was not something you’d heard before.

“Three times over,” Jules answered. You must have looked surprised, because she continued: “Sy has more nieces and nephews.”

“Wait, you have siblings?” How had this never come up?

“Five of ‘em. Three sisters, two brothers – they’re twins.” Sy laughed apologetically. You thought back to any time he’d mentioned his family. He had talked about a sister twice, and about his brother once, you had just assumed they were the only ones. “And a combined…” You could tell he was counting; he mumbled some things you couldn’t make out, and he was almost hesitant in his final answer: “ten nieces and nephews.” Ten? Ten?

“So, you’re Uncle John, too?” You were curious now. Pat and Sy both shook their heads, and then looked at Jules.

“He’s uncle Sy, right?” She clearly wasn’t entirely sure, but the guys nodded.

“Why do you go by Sy, anyway?” You asked. A couple more of these questions and you’d start to sound like Julie, with her infernal interrogations.

“When I got to middle school, there were six Johnathan’s in my class. Refused to listen to my full name, couldn’t go by my middle name because I have a brother named Georgie, so… Sy.” That made so little sense to you that you just nodded with a blank expression on your face.

“And it stuck,” Pat added, “even his mother calls him Sy now.”

“But wait, back to the start,” you said as you suddenly remembered something, “what was the connection between your sister being married and having a baby, and you guys not going to family gatherings?”

“Oh, they just hand you the newest baby and start telling you several million times ‘how good it looks on you’ and ‘when are you two finally getting married?’ and all that kind of stuff.” Jules shuddered.

“Besides, they’re living in sin now,” Sy said. Somehow, the look on his face kept you from laughing – or from even believing that he was joking.

“You’re kidding, right?” you asked just to be sure. To your surprise, they all shook their heads.

“Nana – our grandma – would throw a fit. I think Meemaw – our great grandma – might actually die.”

“She survived Uncle Charlie’s wedding,” Pat said, and you were officially lost. You looked at Jules for help, who quickly clarified the situation with the word ‘gay’. After about another half hour of this, your head was spinning with all kinds of information about a whole bunch Syversons – and some of the Dawsons. It turned out Sy’s dad had a brother and two sisters, and those two sisters combined had seven children, some of whom also had children. Why were there so many? And why was every other woman either named Mary-something or something-Marie?

“We’ll draw it out sometime,” Sy said as he watched your understanding slowly drain away. Yes, that would be good. Probably wouldn’t make it any less intimidating, but at least it would be clear…

“Hey, I found some listings for you,” Julie sounded sweet as she dropped a small pile of paper on the table in front of Sy. She couldn’t hide her ulterior motive, and she didn’t have to. Sy knew she wanted him out of the house as soon as possible, and who could blame her? She’d just moved in with her boyfriend, and he was absolutely an inconvenience, he couldn’t deny that. But none of the houses he’d looked at so far were right… He flipped through the papers Jules had given him. He found something wrong with every last one of them within seconds.

“Are you even looking for a place, Sy?” She put her hands on her hips, that was never a good sign.

“I am, look,” he turned his laptop so she could see the screen.

“Those are rentals,” Jules said. She was clearly surprised, which wasn’t strange. Sy hated renting, she knew that for a fact. Everyone who had talked to him for more than five minutes probably knew that. But here he was, nodding in reply to her question. “You’re looking to buy.” Sy shrugged. “Everything that’s for sale is…” He made a vague gesture instead of finishing his sentence. Jules rolled her eyes. Everything for sale was missing that one thing…

[thepixarau]

My little review of “Elemental” (spoilers!)

Imma be honest my expectations weren’t insanely high. I wasn’t expecting it to be fantastic but I didn’t think it would be bad (Pixar movies almost never are) so I just went in neutral. I saw it with my friends and before we went in they kept bashing it solely bc of how bad the promos are—and honestly they’re right. The marketing for this movie sucks. Do not let any of it fool you, please watch this film. I guarantee you will end up enjoying it.

Now I know everyone was making fun of the character designs since the first teaser was released. I’ll admit some of the background characters are a little lazy and while the designs could’ve been better, the animation made up for it because holy shit is it beautiful. The visuals are absolutely stunning, and I just love the way the characters move and interact with each other and their environment. I can’t imagine how tough it was to animate all of that, especially when your main protagonist is made of fire and therefore is always moving in some way.

I won’t go too much into the whole interracial relationship/struggles of multicultural families aspect because I feel like other people reviewing this movie can explain it so much better than me, but I gotta say really appreciate the fact Elemental had a romance plot but still focuses on the values and importance of family, especially because in most kids films they choose to solely focus on one or the other. I’m glad media is showcasing familial love but not completely abandoning romantic love either.

I’ve seen a lot of people try and compare this to Zootopia, I guess cuz it takes place in a metropolis city and features a mixed ‘race’ main duo and racism/oppression allegories. Honestly tho a lot of movies do this, it’s not a “rip off” of Zootopia cuz it takes place in a city. In Zootopia the city is a prime focus, it’s almost like it’s own character. The whole point is that it’s a place special to mammals because it’s where dreams can come true, where all animals live in harmony together. It’s a dream home for its main character who has to come to terms with the fact it’s not a perfect place. Elemental isn’t as focused on its location and that’s ok. It’s a sanctuary for Ember’s parents when they first arrive, but overall the story isn’t about the city.

Ok now I’ll get to the part you’re here for; Ember and Wade’s story. Wholehearted truth; I love their dynamic and development so much. I definitely felt like they needed more screentime at first (to me the pacing in general was a little rushed in the beginning, then slowed down towards the middle). Call me a hopeless romantic but I’m just sucker for that forbidden love type shit. I’ve seen people try and call this a Romeo and Juliet romcom but I didn’t personally get that from them. I can see why some might interpret it that way cuz they were hiding it from Ember’s dad, Bernie. But really, I wish we’d stop comparing every forbidden relationship to Romeo & Juliet cuz A. that play is so fucked up and is barely a love story and B. there are a million tales of forbidden love out there, it’s intriguing. It sells well for a reason and if you do it right it makes an amazing story!

Anyway, I really adore their dynamic. It’s so refreshing to see a non-married couple say “I love you” in a Disney movie. It’s a simple yet deep, beautiful expression of one’s feelings, I was not expecting them to go that route but I’m so happy they did. I’m even more happy they kissed (I was trying so hard not to squeal at that part, you don’t even know)

I’ll be going on and on about how cute Ember and Wade are on this blog. I’m super excited to add them to the Pixar AU, can’t WAIT to write all kinds of one shots about them tehe.

Sorry if you were expecting a more deep and profound review, I’m just here expressing my thoughts five hours after leaving the theater. I plan on going to see it again sometime so maybe I’ll have more to say after that.

Overall I definitely recommend giving this one a chance. Don’t listen to critics or dumbasses on tik tok, go see it! For me this movie already has a special place in my heart and I hope you guys will enjoy it as much as I did!

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart  Chapter 25

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title:  An Alluring Proposition

Notes: /

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +130K

Chapter:  25 / 27

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Around midday, you went to see where that Ash Man had vanished off to and found him, along with Gawain, in the small field behind the fort.

They were sparring and both were very focused on it as well. Gawain fought like a warrior but tried to always keep a distance. Lancelot on the other hand showed no fear for getting close and personal.

Where Lancelot was distant in day to day life towards others, his true nature shined through in battle.

Gawain, much like his heart, remained wary at all times.

It was interesting to watch it happen.

In a way, the two opposites fitted well together, no wonder they got along quite well.

The knight would block an attack and the Ash Man would throw himself into the spar with more vigour.

The way Lancelot fought, like his feet rarely touched the ground, was much like a dancer.

There was an elegance in his fighting that you’d never seen before.

What had once been a task forced upon him since childhood had now become an activity to have some entertainment with a friend.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, the way he moved and the confidence…

It wasn’t until you became aware of your staring that you forced your attention to the grass for a little while. Your face felt hot and it wasn’t the only response your body had to seeing him like this.

Your gaze had glided over him more than once and left your legs a little unstable.

Once they noticed your presence, the sparring stopped and Lancelot said something to Gawain before walking over.

He touched your arm and led you a couple of steps further away “I have something to show you.”

Off in the shadow, against a tree, were a couple of swords made from wood.

He picked one up and presented it to you “The woodworker is making more. They are excellent for practice. See how similar they are to the real ones?”

While he presented you the sword, he noticed you seemed rather…flustered?

The swords were indeed impressive, they were made to look and act as a weapon, but the blade wasn’t sharp.

Lancelot appeared excited, he must have wished he had these during his upbringing instead of having to dodge the steel.

You plucked the sword from his hands to examine it, not even a splinter was on it “Do you plan on teaching the children here?”

He sounded quite pensive about the idea “They would fear me less.”

It sounded like a good plan to you “I think you should. You’re already teaching Percival and planning to teach Neia. If other children see, they will approach you too.”

He gave a witty comment “As you approached me all those years ago.”

That was true…

You handed him back the sword “See. A child’s curiosity is often stronger than their fear. And once they know of your magic, they’ll be coming at you like flies.”

The possibility brought a shy smile to his face “You believe so?”

With a hum, you confirmed it “I do.”

His eyes fell on the sword, clearly considering the idea “I will teach anyone who wishes to learn. The children are the future of the Fey, but we have to build a world that is safe for them.”

“Well said.” You admired the wisdom.

There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You noticed it and how he was trying not to smirk “What?”

He was not going to speak of it, but now that you had asked…

Lancelot watched your reaction like a hawk “You were staring while I was sparring with Gawain just now.”

This was just an attempt to tease you.

You didn’t let it happen and were forward with the truth “You move well. Graceful.”

He hadn’t expected the truth to be spoken so openly “Thank you.”

It clicked not a second later that that must have been the reason why you had appeared so flustered.

The compliment had meant more than flattery about his skill with the sword.

Should he reciprocate this polite flirtation?

Even now, you often had to look aside or risk staring again. Since living here, he looked healthier.

A healthy color. More calm and yet more energetic.

The confidence grew in him, especially when it came to being around others.

And physically he had gotten much better too, he wasn’t dehydrated like he often would be from all the work he did for the Church.

No, he was taking better care of his health and it was visible to the eye.

His skin, his eyes and even his hair, it all carried a healthy glow.

Your eyes had fixed on him again.

This time he did not hide the smirk “You keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” You asked, mentally scolding yourself for how your voice had wavered.

There had been a change in your scent, faint but enough to set his mind into a spin.

Lancelot lowered his voice and leaned a bit closer “You do not have to pretend, I know what is on your mind.”

Any hint of doubt on that disappeared when he, not so subtly, let his gaze roam over you.

You didn’t know where to look anymore after that.

That sudden shyness was quite alluring to witness.

After regaining your confidence, you casually asked “How do you know?”

That curve in the corner of his lips now warned you.

The knowing look in his eyes said it all “The mark is not the only thing responding to me, your body is too.”

It took a moment for it to dawn on you what he had meant and when it did, you resisted the urge to flee from the spot.

His sense of smell couldn’t possibly…

You had crossed your arms in front of your chest, it made you feel quite exposed to know that he could sense something as personal as that.

He saw the instant flicker of self-consciousness in your eyes.

Should he have kept quiet? It was not his intention to cause embarrassment.

When you took one small step away, alarm flashed through his expression.

Lancelot closed the distance at once “Forgive me-”

You shook your head “I know you can’t help it.”

He opened his mouth to speak but the chance was stolen from him when Gawain came to stand between you.

“Mind if I spar with y/n?” Gawain suddenly asked.

You were surprised at the request and willing to jump into action now that the chance was offered.

The Ash Man was slow to reply, betraying his reluctance to approve of it “I do not.” he put the wooden sword in Gawain’s hands “Use these.”

Then another was put into yours.

The knight looked at him incredulous “Lancelot-”

He would not yield on this “She has yet to learn, Gawain. Be careful.”

You wished he would have just let you use your sword instead of letting it sit at your side like decoration.

You gave a quiet sigh at your intended “I will be fine.”

Lancelot dryly answered “Yes, you will be. Because you will not use steel.”

The sword was stolen from your side and planted into the ground a little further away by him.

Then he gave Gawain an expecting look and the knight drew his sword before sticking it into the soil as well.

Of course Gawain did not do it without remarking “I will ignore your lack of trust. Rest assured I would never hurt the future queen of the Ash Folk.”

With wide eyes you stared at them both, Lancelot let the comment slide.

An Ashen Queen…

“Come on, don’t fall asleep on me.” Gawain taunted when you were lost in thought for a blink.

You held the wooden sword just like Lancelot had taught you and surprised Gawain by being the first to step forward and try to strike.

Of course he dodged the wood with ease, it had been a purposely slow hit.

And so the sparring commenced.

Gawain was cautious and couldn’t resist giving some advice here and there.

At one point it turned more into a lesson than a spar, with slow movements that he helped you with.

All of it happened under a pair of watchful eyes.

The knight called out to the Ash Man “I won’t cut off her limbs with this sword.”

Lancelot dropped his attention to the ground.

Had it been so obvious that he was worried and ready to step in if anything went wrong?

Gawain was skilled in battle just like him, surely he had enough control too.

As a sign of faith and trust in Gawain, he tore his attention away from the sparring and noticed Arthur walking over to him.

Arthur came to stand beside Lancelot, after a moment of talking, they walked off together. There must have been something Arthur needed help with or something he wished to show.

  Gawain continued to teach you some basics, how to block an attack and what not to do.

After a little while of this, you voiced your grievance “I wish I could just use my own sword. These wooden ones aren’t bad, but Lancelot gave me a sword and now it feels like he is afraid of me using it.”

The knight heard your concern “He’s afraid you might get hurt.”

You pointed out the flaw in this “I will get hurt if I don’t learn how to fight with my own weapon.” your voice betrayed the sadness it was causing “He promised he would teach me…”

And now it felt like he was growing reluctant…

Gawain took pity on you and went over to where your sword stuck out of the ground, he pulled it free and came to hand it to you “I understand his concern. And I understand yours as well. You’re right, it is best to learn with steel but it is dangerous.”

You looked down as he placed your sword in your hands “Then let’s not spar. Maybe just show me some things?”

Gawain approved of the idea and went to collect his sword as well “Alright. But do as I say and move slow. Understood?”

You nodded and agreed to the terms.

The tricks he showed were easy to learn for a beginner, the swords collided slowly.

After some practice on a certain trick, he allowed the pace to quicken.

Again and again it was the same trick, repeating it over and over until you got the hang of it and were able to do it in normal speed.

And let that be the unfortunate time when Lancelot returned to the spot. Gawain was fast enough to stop.

But you were disarmed, grabbed and then pulled along by a furious Ash Man.

He didn’t manage to get you far before you tore yourself from his grasp.

“Don’t drag me off!” You snapped at him.

His reply carried the fury “It is the only way to stop you from getting yourself killed!”

Did he really believe you were so incompetent? “I am not a child, Lancelot! Don’t treat me as one.”

It slipped from him “Stop behaving as one.”

By walking away, you showed how done you were with listening to him after that.

He did not let it go and intended to follow, it was Gawain that stopped him from doing so.

The knight did not approve of the way he had reacted “Calm down! She was never in any danger. You know I wouldn’t cause her harm!”

Lancelot bit the words at him “Then why go behind my back with this?!”

Gawain kept a calm head “Can’t you see that you are hurting her with this? She just wants to do what we do, you can’t keep excluding her just because you fear she might get hurt. I know you want to protect her. But remember what you said to me once, she is not as helpless as she pretends to be to some.”

He stepped away from Gawain, not acknowledging that he had in fact listened to the advice.

  You were already walking past the stables by the time Lancelot caught up with you “I can’t believe you did that.” you spun around to face him “It’s humiliating! If you had stopped for one second, then you would have seen that we were being very careful!”

His own fury had not simmered down fully “Not long ago, you were struck down by a rock! It is unwise to be doing this! One moment of vertigo and you could have been struck by the blade!”

Why did he always have to be so overprotective? Why couldn’t he just have let you ‘spar’ with Gawain?

Your frustration matched his “No. I trust in Gawain’s ability! Besides, have you forgotten how you vanished in the middle of the night with Red Spear to try and kill Wicklow? How come you can take these great risks, but when I take a little one you act like this?!? I am starting to get the feeling that you just don’t want me near a weapon at all! I can’t rely on you being there to protect me all the time, I need to learn to protect myself!”

He met it with silence, mostly because this was drawing the attention of people who were passing by.

“Forget this.” You quietly muttered, hating to argue with someone.

When you proceed to walk away, he caught up with you.

His hand on your arm stopped you, he appeared calmer “Come.”

You saw him gesture to the stables and he let go.

By your own free will, you choose to follow him inside.

He closed the large wooden door with some difficulty and put his attention back on you “I will not keep you from the sword.”

You were surprised to hear it “You’re saying-”

Lancelot paced around a bit “I cannot always be there to keep you safe, you were right about that. I want you to learn how to wield a sword so well that enemies will fear you at the sight of it.”

There was an issue for him, you could tell “But?”

The confession took a while to come “Your bravery in the face of danger worries me. I fear one day I will lose you to it.”

The sliver of anger still rang in your words “I fear the same for you. But I will not take your weapons or forbid you to spar with a friend.”

He crossed the small distance and stood before you “I am not treating you fairly.”

He came to the conclusion on his own.

You nodded “Please, believe me when I say that I won’t deliberately put myself in mortal danger. I care for you far too much to put you through such a thing. I haven’t forgotten how upset you were when I wanted to go after Wicklow myself.”

Your sword was offered back to you by him.

The apology came along with it “I am sorry for behaving the way that I have.”

You sheathed your sword back in it’s holster “You were concerned for me.”

He wouldn’t hear how it would be brushed off “That does not excuse it. Protecting you is one thing, I should not be shielding you from everything in life out of fear that something could go wrong.”

Finally he understood…because he had listened.

You brought your arms around him and nested yourself into his chest when he closed his arms around you.

He said it so matter-of-factually “I do enjoy to see you stand your ground against me. Your eyes spit fire when you are angry.”

Your eyes narrowed at that audible change in tone, his voice had deepened, his hands were low on your back “Those hands are getting quite low there, Ash Man.”

His breath touched your temple “Too low?”

You teased without shame “Too high.”

The invite could not have been more blatantly obvious.

You hooked your finger into the collar of his shirt, damning the aketon he wore to protect himself, the only thing you could touch was some of his collarbone.

He caught your hand and stated “You are trembling.”

You weren’t even aware until he mentioned it “At nightfall, will I be welcome to visit your room?”

Lancelot offered an excuse for you to use “You fear it will be cold tonight?”

Your honesty took him off-guard “No. I want some time alone with my intended.”

He loved to hear that “I see.”

You scrambled all your courage together and lightly tugged at the aketon “And without this.”

His brow arched, eyes fixed on your face with great interest “Anything else?”

The smugness was dripping from his expression and increased your boldness.

Your gaze traveled over him, slow and in appreciation of what it saw “Yes.”

The next breath was forced into his lungs, his head tilted to the side.

Curiosity was flooding him.

When you released him from the embrace, one hand left your back and cupped your neck, his thumb trailed from your chin down your throat.

He played with words “What is my intended intending to do?”

You thought about it for a moment and got an idea “How is your back, does it still hurt sometimes?”

Where were you going with this?

“Sometimes.” He admitted, finding the truth slip out of him under your enchanting gaze.

The offer glided of your tongue like silk lathered in honey “I will get some salve from the infirmary and make sure it feels better by tomorrow morning.”

You’d never seen his pupils enlarge so much before.

The smug look was replaced with one so innocent that you could hardly wait until tonight.

He cast his attention to the ground for a moment to collect his thoughts and to wait for his voice to return.

Those weeping eyes returned to yours, he traced his thumb under your bottom lip “That is very kind of you to offer.”

You broke free from his touch, wishing to save that building tension for tonight “I think I will go and see if Gawain is still willing to spar with me for a while…”

His thoughts were rather preoccupied now and he slowly nodded “Be careful?”

You smiled “I swear it.”

Now that he seemed more at peace with it, you went to walk past him and out of the stables.

You made it to the door and opened it a few inches before it was pushed shut again by him.

You could feel his presence right behind you and a second later you felt him against your back.

With an arm around your form he held you close.

He nosed your hair and you heard him inhale quietly.

“You smell so good.” He had let his voice drop into that husk.

The shiver that ran down your spin had you turning on your feet and softly pushing him back again “I’d better not hear you tell anyone else that you can sense what is going on with my body.”

His eyes betrayed where his mind was going “It will be our secret.”

It was noticeably affecting him to know what was happening and why…

Still your face burned at thought of it “Swear it!”

The smug smirk curved his lips again “You have my word.”

He’d better keep to his word…

You tapped against your cheek with the tip of your index finger “Now, before I go…”

Had you ever seen him so puzzled before?

When it took too long for him to understand the hint, you playfully reached out and tapped against his lips before tapping against your cheek again.

He chuckled at his slow response and gave what you had asked of him.

It was a miracle he had enough self-restraint to end it with the polite kiss to the cheek, because you got the sense that he wished to do more.

Again you opened the door, with some difficulty from the rusted hinges, and this time he let you walk out of the stables.

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  This time he had let you spar with Gawain in peace.

Afterwards he did mention that he would correct any faults that the knight had taught you later, while Gawain was there to hear it.

It had led to the following conversation.

 ~“And exactly what faults would that be?”~

Lancelot had failed to detect the sarcasm in the knight’s question.

~“Mostly your footing.”~

 Of course that had led to a spar between them again. They could bicker like brothers and Gawain hated how smug Lancelot could be about his skill with the sword, so he always tried to teach the Ash Man a lesson in modesty.

But from experience, you knew those lessons would be forgotten quite soon again.

You left them to their foolishness and headed into the fort.

How odd, you had not seen Percival or Neia since breakfast, usually they would search for you or Lancelot a couple of times during the day. How suspicious…

You made a beeline to Percival’s room, finding it empty.

On your way to Neia’s room, you ran into Arthur and asked “Arthur, have you seen Neia or Percival? I haven’t seen them since this morning.”

Arthur did not recall seeing them either “I haven’t. Have you been to Percival’s room?”

“I have. No one was there.” You were getting worried “I was on my way to see if they were in Neia’s room.”

He touched your elbow “Come on, we’ll go together.”

In a haste, you made your way towards Neia’s room.

The screams of children rang from beyond the door and you feared they were injured.

Neither you nor Arthur moved after you had barged into the room.

Chicken feathers rained down from the air to the floor, hay covered the carpet in the room. Inside where Percival and Neia, who had ruined their pillows in a battle between them.

Arthur quietly blurted out to you “Gawain will lose his mind if he sees this.”

“Uhuh.” You nodded.

The two children looked as caught and guilty as could be, the linen in their hands that had once been pillows were now almost completely empty.

You looked at Arthur, Arthur looked at you, clearly neither of you knew how to respond to this situation appropriately.

Neia jumped down from her bed she was standing on and rubbed her arm.

Percival stood frozen in place and swallowed audibly.

“There’s four of us.” You looked at Arthur pleadingly.

He understood what was being asked “Double the hands, lessen the work.”

You clapped your hands together “Alright everyone, let’s start collecting feathers and hay. Just put them back in the fabric.”

To your surprise, the children did not protest and got to work right away.

The task was actually far less tedious than first expected, it was quite pleasant to spent time with Percival and Neia like this, working together to reach a common goal.

Of course you did mention that you’d prefer this not to happen again, but didn’t jump to a harsh response when they seemed willing to fix the situation.

Once it was done, you took the children out of the room and suggested they played the pebble game instead until it was time for dinner.

They took the idea to heart and went outside to play.

“Thanks for helping.” You told Arthur.

“You’re welcome.” Arthur made a slight bow of the head “Speaking of help, would you mind helping me out with carrying the new wooden swords that the woodworker has finished to the fort? I think Gawain asked for a lot to be made, I got word some were finished.”

It wasn’t a long walk from the woodworker’s shop to the fort so that didn’t sound bad “Not a problem, I will help. Do we go and fetch them now or?”

Arthur was glad to hear it “Oh, now would be perfect. I’ve got some time.”

“Great. Let’s go.” You began to walk with him to the exit of the fort.

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  After three trips back and forth from the woodworker, you had to agree that Gawain had indeed asked for A LOT of these wooden swords. After seeing the quantities, Arthur and you decided to store them in the shed next to the stables.

With all that work done, you were done for the day. Thankfully, the children had worn themselves out enough to have gone to bed on their own.

You had grabbed some soup for dinner and decided to slurp that up in your room while letting your legs rest.

It was a risky situation to drink soup while just having changed into your nightgown, if it spilled you’d have your work cut out for you to get the stains out of the white fabric.

Afterwards, you spend some time washing up and erasing the signs of the days work.

You intended to honor what you had offered Lancelot today.

Like a thief in the night, you sneaked towards the door at the end of the hallway. The bowl of salve was in your hands thanks to Pym, you had kept it close to a candle to make sure it wasn’t too cold.

Quietly you knocked on the door and prayed it woke no other.

The door creaked open and made you wince and look around in a slight panic.

Lancelot held it open for you, with a slight head tilt he welcomed you into his room.

Right away you walked in like the place was your own and placed the bowl of salve on the small bedside table, then you took the candle from the dresser it was one and placed it beside the bowl.

“I am trying to keep the salve warm, so it won’t be uncomfortable for you.” You explained.

He arched a brow, smile growing on his lips “How very thoughtful. I assume you were serious with your offer today then?”

Had he thought you’d forget the offer?

Oh, no, you had planned everything to make this as pleasant as it could be.

“I am.” You gestured to the shirt he was wearing “If you are still interested, you may remove your shirt and settle into bed.”

An audible breath of air escaped him, visibly overtaken by nervousness.

You warmed your hands near the flame, and without looking back at him, you patted a hand on the bed playfully “I won’t bite.”

Had you forgotten how you had once bitten him when he had wanted to help you up from the ground back at the monastery?

After fighting back most of his nerves, he pulled the shirt over his head and draped it over the foot of the bed.

There he stood with great uncertainty.

You turned around upon sensing it “Lay stomach down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll do the rest.”

With some directions, it went smoother for him.

For him, laying stomach down wasn’t something he was much fond of, he could never fall asleep in this position.

It was too easy for an enemy to overpower him in his sleep.

Once the salve felt decently warm, you approached the bed and warned him “Don’t be frightened. And if you want me to stop, tell me and I will.”

He gave a nod and dug his fingers in the sheet below him where you could not see.

He had believed you would just sit beside him while doing this. To his grant surprise you straddled his hips instead, placing one knee at either side of him.

Needless to say, he was taken aback and also reminded of how much more comfortable and open you were with matter such as these.

You let one drop of the warm salve drip down on his back and he jolted a bit “Warm enough?”

“Yes.” He sounded quite approving.

It pleased you to hear it “Perfect.”

With caution you began to put the salve where it was needed most first.

There was no haste in you, each scar was giving a first layer of the thin substance until it was absorbed fully into his skin.

He did mention that the scars became less sensitive once the salve was on them. Still you worked with feather light touches of your fingers.

Only after all of them had received their first layer of salve and not a trace of it was left visible to the eye, you poured some in your hands.

You warned him again before continuing “I will be careful. But if it hurts-”

He already felt himself relax significantly “I would tell you.”

The playful praise fell out of your mouth “Very good.”

Down you brought your hands, palms coated in the aromatic salve to relieve the pain and stress from his back.

Of course you couldn’t resist giving a playful pat here and there, he underwent it all without a single complaint.

The muscles near his shoulder and neck were the most tense and were given more attention to sooth them.

He was barely able to muffle the satisfied groan that tumbled out of him.

The kneading of your hands had him silent, you continued to do so long after the salve had run out.

Seeing him so comfortable like this felt like a victory.

Still, you did not expect him to fall asleep and yet he did.

“Lancelot?” You leaned down to whisper and upon seeing him well asleep it took some effort not to giggle and accidentally wake him.

It was a small challenge to crawl off of him carefully and place yourself next to him on the bed.

You moved the sheets over him to keep him warm.

Well, either it had bored him to sleep or he enjoyed it so much that this was the result, you preferred to believe it was the latter.

Whilst laying on your side to watch him sleep, it crossed your mind that this could likely become a common occurrence.

The face of the one you loved to be the first thing you saw when waking up, and the last thing before falling asleep.

You scooted closer, paused, and got even closer.

Finally you were where you belonged, at his side.

It was a string of tiny movements to get close enough to nest yourself against him without waking him. Minutes passed before you were comfortable and let your eyes fall shut.

When they opened again, time had passed and he was still sleeping peacefully.

Thirst had woken you from your slumber, you were parched for some water and none was available in the room.

Just as it had been a challenge to get closer to him, it was a challenge to get out of the bed without waking him.

With weary eyes you trippled out of the room and did your best to prevent the door from making a noise.

It was a small distance to get to your own room, once inside you filled a tankard of water and drank it in one go. After some thought, you decided to just take the jug of water and the tankard with you.

After tiptoeing through the hallway, you were back at his door that you had left open an inch.

With your back against it you opened it more and intended to do the same to close it.

In the darkness of the room it took you a blink too long to notice the shadow figure standing near.

The unforeseen presence startled you enough to spill nearly half the water in the jug over your nightgown.

When you had left he’d been vast asleep, how could you have known that he’d be up now?

“Shit.” You cursed crudely.

His eyes were better adjusted to darkness and saw the accident happen, one touch on your nightgown and he felt how soaked it was.

You pouted at the state you were in now “I thought you were still asleep.”

He sheepishly explained “I woke up and found you gone…” then he offered “There is a towel in there.”

What he gestured to was a small room just large enough for one person to clean themselves.

He lighted a candle and led you to the small space, then placed the candle holder on the tiny table were a bowl of water was and a towel.

Now in the light and near the small mirror, the mess the water had made became visible.

“Oh…” The drenched white of the fabric was exposing what it was meant to shield from sight.

The dim light of the candle offered some modesty.

Quickly you grabbed the towel and tried to dry the gown as best as you could.

With the distraction, you failed to notice the way his eyes were drifting over you.

You scolded yourself “I’m such a klutz.”

It was the absence if a witty remark that pulled your attention to him.

He was leaning against the door frame, eye fixed on a place where the fabric was undoubtedly betraying you.

Had he even heard you speak?

You squinted your eyes at him “I am starting to think you won’t offer to fetch me a dry gown.”

Well, in truth it had indeed not crossed his mind.

It looked like wanted to look apologetic but it was clearly feigned.

You dunked your hand in the bowl with water and proceeded to wave the countless drops in his direction “Go pray. You seem to need it.”

Lancelot did not let the water scare him away “I rather enjoy you like this. Wet and arrogant.”

The ambiguity of his words hit him right after and he visibly felt some regret over his choice of words.

You send him a knowing look, your brow arched “Wow.”

He could feel his nose start to get warmer.

Thank the darkness of the night for letting him keep some of his confidence.

You had expected him to take it back or apologize, but he did neither. That was new…

When you carried on drying the gown off, his eyes lifted from the floor again.

The gown was sticking to your skin on various places “I won’t be able to get this dry. It’s too soaked.”

What a delight to his eyes.

He hummed and stepped into the small space, again he touched the fabric and noted that the towel indeed would not be able to fix this “It is.”

To hear and see him so distracted, made you laugh quietly “You’re not much help right now.”

And he was well aware of it.

The linen towel was plucked from your hands and placed aside on the small table again by him.

With a firm but gentle hold on your arm, he turned you to face him.

His fingers were lacing themselves into the wet fabric over your stomach, his forehead came down to rest against yours “Don’t leave my room.”

The plea was carried in that warm timbre that had your heart vibrate in tune with it.

With the little clarity your brain still offered, you stammered “But my clothes…”

One hand brought you closer, the other caused you to shiver when he brushed it over your jaw and neck up and behind your ear.

His voice deepened as those blue orbs dropped to the curve of your mouth “Do not worry.”

Your eyes drifted between the heavens present in his eyes and the alluring lips he was blessed with.

Lancelot pulled you into him and caught your mouth with his, trapping your lips in the searing kiss.

He rained down on them and every drop nourished the planted seeds of affection that had waited for him, you let it drown out all else until all that flowed between you was the passion it bared.

His hand had wandered so low that it was almost on your rear.

He was used to taking charge, but this?

No.

It would not surprise him if he was told to remove his hand from where it had so brazenly journeyed to.

You paused only to lock eyes with him.

Feeling him brush a hand over your back like that had you purring playfully “Searching me for Fey signs?”

Even now, you would tease him, two could play this game.

Instantly both hands glided up past your waist until they reached your ribs “If I was, I would search here…”

Your breath caught when they followed the curve and felt along and between your shoulder blades.

You had to tilt your head to the side, he was close enough that it was almost an embrace.

It continued, far slower than he had ever done during this procedure.

He lifted your arm and felt along the back of it “And here.”

It was sending shivers down your spine.

Then the tip of his nose followed the curve of your neck up to your ear “I would capture your scent.”

His hand came up to the back of your neck, thumb drawing circles behind your ear “The ears are the easiest to spot signs near.”

Truly, such inspections had not been so slow and intimate, or had they?

It fell out off your scrambled thoughts “Is that what you did with the women at the abbey?”

Was that a pinch of jealousy he heard?

He would not deny it “I did this with all who needed to be inspected.”

But not with enthusiasm, unlike now.

And never this close and personal. Back then, he just wanted it to be over and done with as fast as possible.

You couldn’t resist asking everything that crossed your mind “You could feel it through clothes?”

Where were you going with this?

“Yes.”

“Even through mine?”

“Yes.”

Your coy smile was suggestive “Are you sure?”

When you saw the innocence in his eyes, you almost felt bad for teasing him like this.

Sometimes you needed to remind yourself that he was raised a monk.

You reeled yourself back in and ‘apologized’ by giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek “Forgive me, Lancelot. I wish I had a quarter of the self-restraint you have.”

That ‘self-restraint’ had gotten much weaker the second you walked into his room tonight.

His mind was still catching up “Did you just proposition me again?”

It made your cheeks burn to admit it, especially because it was asked so politely “Sorry.”

His hand left your neck and fidgeted with the sleeve of your nightgown a little.

You could just feel the atmosphere take a palpable shift “I will just go and fetch something dry to wear and return here afterwards.”

Slipping from his touch and out of the small space felt a little awkward.

But you would not have him think that you expected something else to happen other than sleep. Why did you have to tease him with this…

What if it had made him uncomfortable and he feared to say it?

Once you reached the door, the other candle that still stood on the dresser grew a bright green flame the second you reached for the doorknob.

You halted and stared at the candle in disbelief, that candle had not been lighted, the flame had grown from nothing.

“I have been practicing.” The Ash Man stated with pride.

In awe, you stared at the Fey Fire “I can tell.” through the wet sleeve, the mark showed it’s silver glow again “My mark…”

His eyes were drawn to the glow passing through the sleeve “Please, stay.”

Something in his voice sounded quite vulnerable and made you turn to face him fully.

The will to point out that you needed to go and fetch dry clothes left you upon seeing the look in his eyes.

There was something he was trying to say…

“Lancelot?” You quietly spoke.

The floorboards barely creaked under his calculated slow steps.

He took your hand and led you away from the door slowly, and when you did not protest he cupped your face and closed the distance.

Your noses were touching and you tilted your head pleadingly for his affection.

He resisted, barely.

It was a whispered prayer that caressed your cheek “I want to share this night together.” he left no room for misinterpretation “I want you.”

You leaned back at once, speechless by what it implied.

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[ohwynne]

TIMING: Current. PARTIES: Wynne & Cass' letter SUMMARY: A letter is read. WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation, sibling death (past)

The letter was read in one go, eyes focused even though their vision blurred with tears. It was a letter from another world, from a universe where Cass had left the town barriers and gone somewhere beyond, rather than leaving through that definitive way called death. 

Wynne,

Out of everyone, I feel like maybe you’ll be the one who gets it the most. Maybe not entirely, but at least a little bit, right? I don’t know if you or Ariadne will get your letter first. If she did, she’s probably already told you. If she didn’t, I guess I’ll be the one to break the news: I’m leaving. Or… left, I guess, by the time you’re reading this.

I didn’t want to do it this way, you know? I wanted… a world where both of my families could exist together. Where we could have, like, family dinners and stuff. All of us. You, Ariadne, Metzli, Leila, Nora, Van, my dad… But things don’t always work out the way we want them to, I guess. Family is complicated, right?

I’m sorry for what I said to you in the cave that day. I know you were just trying to help. Maybe you weren’t entirely wrong about my dad. He’s intense sometimes, I get that. But he’s still my dad. He still loves me. I know he loves me. He’s just been through a lot. He’s lost a lot, and he’s scared of losing more. People do bad things when they’re scared sometimes, you know? That doesn’t make them bad people.

I was scared, too, when you came to the cave. I was scared that you’d hate me, or that Aria did. I was scared that my dad would leave, and that you’d all forget about me, anyway. And I said really mean things to you because of it, and that sucked. That really sucked of me. I wish I hadn’t done it. None of it was true, you know? You have a family. I know you do. Maybe they’re not the same people who raised you, but that doesn’t matter. Family is family, and you have a good one here. You deserve a good one here.

I wish I could say we’ll see each other again someday. I wish I could know that we will. I want to, you know? I want this whole thing to just… be a couple of months somewhere else, and then back here. Back home. But it’s one of those things that takes as long as it takes, right? I need my dad to get better, so he can belong here. So we both can. And if that takes a few months, that’ll be good. I can come back, and I can make it up to you in person. But if it takes a lot longer than that… I don’t know.

I’m glad I got to know you either way. I’m glad that you’re my friend, even if I wasn’t a very good one to you. I’m glad you and Ariadne found each other. I think you two are meant to be in, like, the hardcore, Cyclops-and-Jean-Grey, written-in-the-stars cosmic way. And I think that’s great. I think you both deserve that. A lot. 

I’m really sorry, Wynne. For everything. If I don’t see you again… take care of each other. Okay? And take care of yourself, too. You’re worth it. You’re worth everything.

Love, Cass

It had been two and a half months since Wynne and Cass last spoke. Since they both delivered those cold, harsh words that had created a rapture in their friendship that they hadn’t attempted to mend. Something had shattered then. Those words – just because your family didn’t care about you doesn’t mean mine doesn’t care about me – had made them turn away and they had never turned back.

Cass was right. Fear made people horrible creatures. It made them sacrifice their children. It made them clutch their daughter’s shoulders tightly and manipulate them. It had made them not go back to that cave, where magma shone and Cass was cruel to them. It had made them scared to try again to make her see what they thought they saw — that her father was no good, that even if he loved her and cared about her, he could still be bad. But Wynne hadn’t gone and Cass hadn’t come and between them was that rupture of mutual insult.

And now Cass was dead and Wynne was holding a letter of apology and there was no possible way to accept it. No way to say sorry back. No way to embrace her and be embraced and just try to get back to their previous ways, of Cass introducing them to her large catalog of favorite movies and Wynne blinking with anticipation. There was no way — 

It still seemed there was no way she was dead.

They had seen people die. Perhaps too many for their short life, especially considering the cruel ways in which they had died. But it seemed a pattern, that the deaths of those that mattered most to Wynne happened when they had turned their back. First, their brother. Now, Cass. They cursed others to be the messengers of their deaths and sat with their disbelief and denial like something ungrateful and immature. Weren’t they supposed to know better about death, by now? It came. Without rhyme or reason, without mercy, without good timing. It came outside of rituals and old age. It came sudden, like this.

But some things could be prevented. What-ifs poured down their mind. What if they had taken their brother with them. What if they had come back to the cave, swallowing their own hurt and prioritizing the thing that they had seen unfold in front of them, with Cass and their father? What if they had taken Nora back sooner? What if — 

It was a level of delusion not yet shed. Wynne had been brought up to believe they were a savior of some sort. That their life (or the end of it) could have a positive effect on the livelihood of others. And now Cass was dead, and the last time they had seen her, they had let their pain take front stage and they had given up. So of course there was blame now, dark and dreadful, swirling in the deepest, unchanged depths of them.

Wynne locked their phone. The letters ceased to dance in front of their eyes. Grief was waiting for them around a corner but not yet there, not fully. It was the what if, they thought of still. That alternative world where Cass had written this letter and was still breathing as they read it. That alternative world where Cass had stepped outside of the cave without her father, just for a moment. That alternative world where apologies were said out loud. Where Ariadne did not look shell-shocked. Where Van and Nora were not given more grief to grapple with. Where Cass was still alive. 

[wildflowerteas]

hey, hello. i’m not sure if you’ll recognize me, but this is mania.sama on ao3, and i just now found your tumblr on my for you page. i havent had tumblr very long, and it’s surprised just how many people i’ve enjoyed works of (writing, drawings, etc) are here. especially surprised to see you — not in a bad way, of course!

i’m not sure what to say. sorry, maybe, for not reading / up to date with your current fic. i want to be reading it, i really do, but i was caught up reading “crime and punishment”, focusing on my academia, etc, among other issues that’s kept me away from committing to any long-form fanfictions. i wasn’t even reading one-shots or writing anything for a little while. hopefully i will be getting back onto your fic so, because from what little i’ve read already when you first posted it, it’s going to be life-changing.

i want to say more, i think. ask a question or two? i’m just very excited to see that your also drawing — amazing artwork for the second perspective!! i genuinely couldn’t believe it was real at first — and also a similar age to me, which i find nearly unbelievable due to your insane talent and skill.

hm. i think i’ll ask this question: what are your top favorite books? this could be fanfiction, short-form stories, novels, series, etc. you can list as many as you want; if they seem significant to you, have changed you, or were simply that well done and enjoyable. you dont need to treat this as a book recommendation; think not what other people should read. just express your own thoughts on why you have chosen these works as your favorite! i’m excited to see what you have to say (should you chose to answer, of course!)

again, hopefully i will read the second perspective soon <3 thank you so much for all the work you���ve done so far.

OH MY GOD IT'S YOUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to start this off by saying you quite literally changed my life. I go back from time to time and I read our little conversation in my comments threads and I get a little teary-eyed ( embarrassingly ). You gave me such a different perspective on my own writing and I've spent a while wishing there was something I could do to make you feel the same way in return. Do NOT apologize for not reading it!!! I'm absolutely in awe and so grateful you enjoyed the first one so much and if you enjoy TSP too that would actually make my head spin. Also, we're the same age?????? Hello?????? I'm so glad to hear about your life in the interim, though. I hope you enjoyed Crime and Punishment ( isn't it so good??? ). Also, you briefly mentioned writing yourself, so I may have to go back and stalk your profile for your works now.

Hmmm . . . to answer your question. This is pretty difficult because I've loved a lot of books over the years for nothing specific at all ( some of them are quite ridiculous if I'm being honest ). But here goes nothing:

When I was little ( maybe three-four ish? ), I loved Tumtum & Nutmeg, a series about a mouse couple living inside of a refurbished cupboard, because the books always came with recipes at the back ( that I would make for my family ). When I think about reading/my favorite books when I was a child, I always go back to this blurry rose-colored vision of me sitting on the couch at seven a.m., Tuesday morning, waiting to go to school, and talking my mother's ear off about the pastries in the book while Planet Earth plays on the TV. Lately, though, I've enjoyed reading Breasts and Eggs by Kawakami Mieko. Which, for a lot of reasons, has deeply resonated with me and kind of ruined my life. Womanhood in Japan, and womanhood in general, is dissected so well and explored with a lot of different character perspectives. It's just an incredible work and deeply personal to me as a queer, Japanese, and afab person. Empire of Pain, which was recommended to me by a friend, has become one of my favorite books as well. I've never really done well with non-fiction, but reading about the Sacklers definitely changed that. No Longer Human, and School Girl by Dazai Osamu. NLH I read in a school context ( Japanese language-learning classes ) and I wasn't really allowed to love it because of that ( who likes required reading? ). But I went back to it a few years later, when I was really struggling mentally, and it became something to me that I can't quite name or place. Not really a comfort. I'd actually say it was more of a wake-up call to teen me that actually prompted me to seek out help and rip down the fourth wall I'd put up between myself and others. School Girl I love for more technical reasons. Dazai really was a once-in-a-century talent. Poor Folk, by Fyodor Dostoevsky, was my reading-for-enjoyment book during spring semester of my first year at college. I loved a lot about it, but it's on this list because I'm emotionally attached to the characters because we were together for so long. On a less serious note: Bungo Stray Dogs ( Obviously, despite whatever Asagiri is cooking up) and Yona of the Dawn by Kusanagi Mizuho. Next to BSD, it's one of the manga I've been a fan of for over a decade, and I just could not imagine my life without it. Flowers for Algernon. I read this . . . oh gosh. Years ago. And I never reread it. That's all I'll say about that. Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata. Again, a Japanese author ( there would be more, but I'm keeping myself contained here ) who would have thought? I think, by now, it's pretty clear I'm Japanese myself. Kira-Kira ( a Japanese onomatopoeia/mimetic word meaning 'sparkling' ) was a tearjerker, yes, but it also made me look out into the world and at my own identity with a much kinder lens. I fell in love with my own name ( which is the mimetic word for 'smile' --- niko-niko ) all over again. And I think, for that, it makes the list.

Honestly, I'm not sure these are my favorites. They're just the ones that come to my mind when I think about reading and liking literature in general. I'm sure if I was an English major or a CompLit major ( or if I was feeling particularly pretentious today ), I'd have more to say about them in terms of actual 'quality' or about their themes, but I don't.

I also want to say thank you so much for reaching out and asking this!! it's been so fun ( especially since I just got done writing a mind-boggling mess of a chapter for TSP hehe ). I really enjoyed talking to you the first time around and now that you're here on tumblr!!! I hope we can interact more I'd really love to be friends :,) <3 tysm agh. I hope you're having the loveliest of days. niko <3

[espithewarlock]

Hello! I loved Deep Dive (and the first Mermaid!Charles fic of course) and am taking you up on your request for prompts related to that au. 😊 If you’d like, I’m curious about Max’s POV for (a) the decision to tell Marko about/capture Charles (like - how did he think that would go?!??), and (b) what his whole deal with Daniel is (does he think Daniel isn’t seriously into him or what?). If you’re not interested in those things no worries, and thanks for the lovely hours I got to spend in that world - it really helped distract me yesterday when I was otherwise in an angst spiral about some stuff happening today.

Hello! Thank you so much for the ask! It means a ton to me that these stories helped you in some way, shape, or form. I hope that things are looking up for you! 💚

I’m going to answer these in reverse, so apologies for inflicting you with my chaos!

For B - Max has a lot of…weird hang-ups on relationships. In this AU, his home life wasn’t exactly the beacon of positive, healthy romantic relationships to say the least. Then, in high-school & university he was always comparing and trying to differentiate himself from Pierre. 

After one too many rejections, (and a couple of people trying to get close to him to get close to Pierre) he sort of built an identity out of being “above” or “better than” romantic relationships. He didn’t think anyone could be interested in him, so he resolved to not be interested in any relationship. 

Thankfully, Daniel is also a stubborn bastard and can see the goofy, carefree, loveable side of Max that he lets slip around his friends. I combined your prompt with Daniel meeting Charles in this chapter and I hope you enjoy it!

Now A is something I’ve thought about. A lot. And I’m probably not going to actually write the snippet because it’s not a happy one. Max is selfish, more than a bit of a bastard, and I don’t like thinking about how he completely discarded his friendship with Pierre. The highlights look something like this:

Max makes the connection that Pierre is visiting with Charles on his lunch breaks when he sees the picture Pierre finally shares with them at Trivia night

He tries following him a few times, then finally has success and sees Charles

In shock, the first person he runs into is Dr. Marko and he basically blurts out the secret that mermaids exist without thinking

One thing leads to another, and before he knows it, he’s making plans to capture and study Charles

At one point, guilt and doubt start to creep in, he second guesses what he’s doing, but Dr. Marko talks him out of it. Basically convinces Max that his friendship with Pierre is holding him back and he’ll never find success if he’s tied down like that

It’s very reminiscent of things his father has said about achieving success, so Max basically shoves all those feelings away and focuses on the plan

After Charles is captured, Max is hit with a ton of guilt when his friends ALL choose Pierre over him. Instead of apologizing, he doubles down and stubbornly tells himself that he doesn’t need them. He’s going to be famous and they’ll all wish they sided with him.

Over the months that Charles is in the lab, he sees little glimpses of the care Pierre and Charles have for each other and how much Pierre is destroying himself over this

Max realizes about 6 months in that he truly fucked up. He hasn’t gotten a single text from a non-family member in that length of time and that’s when he decides to do what he can to fix it.

Everything else pretty much happens on-screen. Max helps with the escape and slowly re-integrates into his friend group. It still takes him a while to get together with Daniel, but at least he has support from his friends for that one.

I hope this satisfies your prompt request! I've got a few more prompts in the queue and feel free to send me anything else you're interested in reading!

[ohtobeascruntycat]

asoryuu 18 or 23 for the kiss ask?

I went with 23: In Relief from this list!

Have some forbidden hospital scene via our neo-noir au

CW: mentions of injury

Did this hospital room really need to have a clock in it?

Did its blank, white face and incessant ticking serve any other purpose than driving patients and visitors completely fucking insane?

It really wasn’t necessary. It could be a digital clock or one with more quiet gears that didn’t echo through a too-silent room or it could just not be there at all. Most people had their phones on them all the time anyway. There was no need to check a wall clock for the time.

Kazuma wanted to break it.

He’d been nothing but terrified for the past couple of days, he was still scared, but he wanted to break something. He wanted to rip the clock off the wall and smash it into the ground; he wanted to shatter its glass face with his foot and tear out its mechanical insides with his bare hands.

But if he did that then he would get kicked out, and the worst possible thing he could do was get himself kicked out of this room.

Kazuma glanced back at Ryuunosuke’s passive, sleeping face. He looked… fine.

He would be fine, the doctors had told him after he practically begged on his knees for them to let him see his love even if he wasn’t family. Mikotoba, the one who found Ryuunosuke, told him he was lucky; that if he had gotten to him any later then they likely wouldn’t have been able to save him. Even being told this, Kazuma still sobbed in relief when he saw Ryuunosuke lying peacefully in his hospital bed.

He tightened his grip on his partner’s hand and tried to chase away the image of him bleeding out on his office floor with a bullet in his stomach. He wished he would wake up so he could stop either replaying that horrible moment in his mind or staring at that fucking clock.

Hours or maybe only minutes ticked by, but it felt like an eternity before Kazuma finally heard Ryuunosuke groan and felt his hand tighten in his.

“Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke murmured as he groggily focused on him, “you’re here…”

“Of course I am,” he responded just as quietly even as he struggled through his tears and the thickness in his throat, “I promised you that I wouldn’t leave you ever again. I thought I lost you…”

“Hey, shh, I’m alright. It’s okay.”

Ryuunosuke winced as he tried to sit up so Kazuma quickly moved to help him, adjusting his pillows and ensuring that he didn’t overexert himself.

Once he was comfortable, Ryuunosuke spoke again, reaching out and lightly tracing his fingers over the bruises around Kazuma’s eye and the cut on his lip, “What happened after I passed out? Are you alright? What happened to your face?”

“It’s… It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m fine. I got the evidence we needed.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah, I’ve already taken care of it. That detective friend of yours said it was enough for her to make sure that bastard will be rotting in prison for the rest of his life.”

A heart-stopping grin lit up Ryuunosuke’s face and he wrapped his arms around Kazuma’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Ow!” The kiss stung against his split lip, but he didn’t actually care, not with Ryuunosuke here, safe and happy.

“Sorry, sorry.” He pulled back a little but kept his hands on Kazuma’s neck. “I’m just so relieved it’s over. You’re safe now. We can finally get back to our lives a-and have a family,” he stuttered and looked away like he was still unsure about that.

Kazuma just smiled, pressed his forehead against Ryuunosuke’s, and whispered back, “Yeah, we can.”

[female-malice]

metrofamilymagazineDOTcom/time-to-be-brave/

i beg you to post this article.

'We did make the first move eventually, with someone who was as new to the process as we were, and one weekend a lesbian couple met a gay man and Queer magic happened.'

WHAT THE FUCK

It was about three years into our relationship that we started talking about having a baby. This conversation also included a “getting married” conversation; not because of any traditional reason, but to establish Kris’ parentage on legal documentation. But there was time for that—and we had to find sperm first.

The use of “known donors” certainly isn’t unheard of in our community. Many of the conversations we found while researching our options focused on cost, convenience and legal concerns. Legally speaking, the most secure way to conceive is to use a sperm bank AND complete a second parent adoption. However, that would mean our child would not have access to their biological heritage, much less a relationship.

It wasn’t until a friend described their straightforward and successful experience using a website that serves as a connecting platform for known donors and recipient parents that we took the plunge. And what a plunge it was! After creating a profile we were immediately inundated with offers, which was disconcerting given that WE are the ones asking for a gift of profound significance. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m the kind of lesbian who likes to be the one to “make the first move” with my sperm donor, not the other way around.

We did make the first move eventually, with someone who was as new to the process as we were, and one weekend a lesbian couple met a gay man and Queer magic happened.

Then the two week wait. The positive test. The joy! The shock.

The anxiety.

I know many pregnant people develop anxiety because of the 24/7 access to horror stories that is Google. Now add to that the horror stories of known donors who sought legal custody as soon as the baby was born. Or the known donor who turned out to be a pedophile. Or the known donor with so many progenies that there’s little hope of ever knowing them all. The what-ifs about the future of that relationship, combined with pregnancy fears, and trauma from our familial rejections served as the emotional setting for Warren’s birth, induced a month early because of complications.

The family that we were establishing came with more hurdles than we anticipated. It’s not like our community comes with a guide on “How to Build Your Queer Family That Does Not Conform to Heteronormative Standards Because You Will Never Fit in That Box.” Our donor did things in the beginning of the pregnancy that were very sweet, but also scary to us because of this uncharted territory. Being vulnerable with someone is already hard enough. But being vulnerable with your baby and your family with someone else is terrifying!

The fear and anxiety caused a hiatus with our donor. He respectfully gave us space but was heartbroken–his idealism and sensitivity is so like Kris in that way and one of the reasons we chose him. During that hiatus, I found a group of donor conceived people on social media, which was immensely eye-opening to things we had never considered. Kris was particularly moved by one of the people talking about her wishing that her parents understood that the donor might have been THEIR donor, but he was her DAD. So many of them talked about wishing they had the opportunity to know their biological people growing up, including siblings. As Queer people, we knew what it was like to have our parents do things their way for their own comfort.

It was time to be brave. Time to have hard conversations, tear down walls, communicate boundaries, manage our fear and “Build Our Queer Family With Our Standards Because We Get to Decide What That Looks Like.”

We reconnected with our donor, in hopes that he was still willing to be a part of our lives. He was hurt, but he’s brave, too.

–

What a fucking nightmare.

You know those "donor conceived people" support groups are led by homophobic Christian research organizations, right? They publish misleading studies with extremely small sample sizes. The vast majority of children with two moms grow up without ever longing for a dad. Fuck.

So anyway, this straight man went on a "known donor" site and claimed to be gay. And now the birth mother is his wife and he has full custody of the kid. He tore apart a 5 year lesbian relationship. He tore apart a family. And the Oklahoma court has ruled that the mom with no biological tie to the child has no parental rights.