#But everyone has to start somewhere right?

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

can I request ‘accidentally calling the other wife/husband’ for lando please 🥹

girlfriend? wife? ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Prompt: 63. accidentally calling the other wife/husband

𓆉 ln x reader 𐙚

𓆉 fluff 𐙚

masterlist ☾☼

1. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

just as the car reached the hotel, lando immediately held your hand. there were crowds of people on both sides, restricted by a barricade.

"you know what to do, right?" he asked you, softly.

"yes, lovie. we've done this hundreds of times before," you replied, unable to keep the smile hidden.

"i know, i know. i just worry. ever since my tiktok started showing me all those videos of celebrities getting attacked, i've been paranoid,"

"i'm aware. you forget, though, that you're the celebrity,"

lando tsked, "half the time, these people talk to me about you. the only reason they're fans of me is because of you,"

you laughed, and lando opened the door, stepping out. you followed. immediately, you walked inside the hotel with your head down, and watched lando from inside the safety of the hotel.

lando was taking his time and signing whatever was getting shoved in his face, smiling and interacting with a few of the fans as well. he took selfies, marvelled at the nail art that some of them had done, had brief discussions about tattoo designs for the fan. he loved it.

somewhere between the cheers of the fans, lando looked at the hotel entrance, searching for you. when he couldn't see you, he pouted, whispering to himself, "where's my wifey?"

the fans nearby heard him, and began cheering louder. lando's eyes widened as he realised his mistake.

well, fuck.

2. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

they had another mini break after singapore. the team were all gathered at the mtc, just reviewing the past few races, and discussing what they were planning for the upcoming races.

zak and andrea had given speeches, as were expected, and then oscar and lando were called on stage as well.

oscar gave his speech first, though, it was just him thanking the team, andrea, zak, and lando, and how he was grateful for all their help in hungary and baku especially.

then, it was lando's turn.

"i think, oscar summed it up pretty well, actually. nothing left for me to say."

people laughed.

"um, yeah, no, i'm really thankful for all the hardwork that every person in this room has done. i mean, like oscar said, it wouldn't have been possible with any of y'all. our wins are yours, because really, we just go out and drive. everything else is all you," he said, gesturing to the room full of people.

"and, while i am so happy to be able to work with all of you, i really need to give special mentions to andrea, zak, oscar, jon, my mechanics, my wife-"

the crowd burst out in teasing "ooohs" and lando slapped a hand over his eyes as he laughed.

"we're not married yet. i keep doing that. we're not married yet. besides, when we get married, i'd call all of you. most of you. some. no, all." lando broke off again, as the crowd laughed.

he turned towards his girlfriend, and said, "babe, i've made a commitment now. we gotta have a huge wedding,"

everyone laughed again, including you.

"i'm gonna go bankrupt with so many people at the wedding,"

people continued laughing.

"how about this, the reception would be from mclaren?" zak said, wrapping an arm around lando's shoulders as he laughed.

"oh, how nice of you, zak,"

"no! it's gonna be all papaya! i'm not getting married in papaya colours!" you shouted from the side, smiling.

"huh? it's gonna be all papaya? well, babe, we gotta make sacrifices here," lando said.

the laughs of everyone mixed together, and eventually, lando composed himself enough to continue his speech.

3. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

max was streaming on twitch. he wasn't doing anything in particular, really. he was just there, chatting with the chat, but mostly talking to lando who was sprawled on the bed behind him.

niran was on his way to max's apartment, and max and lando were just patiently waiting for their friend.

max began reading some of the comments in the chat, and responding, when one of them caught his eye.

"who is lando texting so angrily?" max read out loud. he turned and looked at his friend, who was still quickly typing on his phone.

"mate, who are you texting?" max asked, watching lando's concentrated face.

"the wifey," lando mumbled.

immediately, max turned to the chat and said, "he's not married! he's a dumbass who gets words mixed up! they're still only dating!"

"huh?" lando looked up, confused.

"you called her your wife." max explained.

lando groaned, "it keeps happening, i don't even know why,"

"right, cause that makes so much sense. what are you fighting with her about anyway?" he asked.

lando looked at his friend, confused, "we're not fighting,"

"then why do you look so mad?"

"do i? we were just planning our trip next month, and i was focused on that," lando revealed.

"that makes sense. do y'all fight though?"

lando's attention was back at his phone as he began typing again, "no. i do something stupid, she yells at me, i apologise,"

"what if she does something stupid?" max asked.

lando looked up from his phone, and the two best friends stare at each other for a few seconds before they burst out laughing. lando rolled on the bed as he laughed, and max fell off his chair.

the chat buzzed, trying to figure out what was so funny, but max and lando couldn't stop laughing.

"what if she does something stupid? oh, max, that was the funniest shit you've ever said," lando laughed.

"i knew it the moment i said it," max responded through his laughter.

"the only stupid thing she does is me," lando said, calming down a little.

"oh, for fuck's sake, lando!" max yelled at him, making him dissolve into laughter again.

+

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧˚.

lando was sweating, his cap on his head was hiding the mess that his curls had become. he ran a hand through his face to wipe off the excess sweat as he paid attention to the question.

"so, lando, first pole position of the season in the very first race. how do you feel about that?" the interviewer asked.

"um, i mean, i feel good about it, obviously. seems like a good start, honestly, and the car is working beautifully, so i have no complaints there. it all just comes down to me, really," he said, grabbing his water bottle.

"that's good to here. do you think you'll be able to win tomorrow?"

"that's- uh, that's hard to say. i mean, we've got competition from both ferraris, and then there's max and george, who are also excellent drivers, so its hard to say. our goal for today was a pole, and our goal for tomorrow is a podium, if not a win,"

"right. and, who do we have with you as a support for the first race of the season?" the interviewer took a lighter tone, and lando immediately smiled.

"i've got my family here, a few of my friends who could come down here, and i've got my girlfriend," he responded.

"that's beauti-"

"no, wait. my wife. my girlfriend. no, my wife, my wife. i've been so used to calling her my girlfriend in public and my wife in my head that i keep getting them mixed up," lando laughed, holding his left hand up where his wedding ring glimmered.

"oh yes! you got married at the start of this year!"

"yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. finally married her, and then got her to sign the license. burned it the next day so there's no way she can divorce me now. we're stuck together for life," lando said, making the interviewer laugh.

"it's a beautiful wedding band," the interviewer complimented.

lando put his hand up again, showing the ring to the camera, "right? she picked it. she has amazing taste in stuff like this, i can't even tell you. she's just perfect, man,"

"alright, well, it's nice to see you in such good spirits! crush it tomorrow, yeah?" the interviewer said.

"for her? anything," lando said, scoffing, as if the mere thought of him not doing anything for his wife was just plain stupid.

the interviewer laughed again, as lando walked away.

𓇼🐚☾☼🦪

honestly, one of my favourite things i've ever written. i hope i've done justice to the prompt, anon! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04

[sylusplushie]

''My dragon...''

summary; when mc is facing death and has no choice but to save her, sylus is forced to show his other side. in the end, no matter how much he tries to hide it, his horns are visible

This was my end, I was sure of it. I couldn't go any further; my strength was completely depleted. Warm blood streaming down my face blurred my vision, but I knew they had surrounded me. They were shouting; their voices reached me in a muffled way. I could hear my own breath, my heartbeat. I felt like I could faint at any moment.

I had no strength left to fight them; all I could think about was Sylus. I thought of all the moments we had spent together. If my life was flashing before my eyes, then my entire life was about him. Without realizing it, I felt myself smile. Despite being on the brink of death, just thinking about him soothed my soul. When I noticed the weapon raised toward me, I knew everything would end. I knew he wouldn't hear me, but I wanted to call out to him anyway. "I love you, Sylus."

I closed my eyes tightly, bracing myself for the end as much as I could. But suddenly, a violent sound rang out. It was so intense that I had to cover my ears, thinking the sky had split in two. Filled with chaotic emotions, I, like everyone else, looked up at the sky. My heart was racing; could things get worse than this?

The sky looked more terrifying than ever. The redness blending into the night's darkness was captivating. Everyone was stunned and frightened. "Did you do this?! Is this one of your tricks?!" they shouted at me, but I was too frozen to answer. There was something moving in the sky—a silhouette? I didn't know, but it seemed like… something huge.

"ANSWER ME, YOU BASTARD!" They aimed the weapon at me again, and that sound echoed once more, like an enraged roar. I was trembling; I had never heard anything so terrifying. When I looked up at the sky again, I couldn't believe my eyes. Was a massive creature flapping its wings, or was I losing my mind? Before I could comprehend what was happening, the ground began to shake. The creature roared with such fury that I was sure even the atmosphere was trembling. Everyone was running in fear, but I was losing so much blood that I felt my vision darkening.

I fell face down; the ground was shaking, everything was shaking. My vision was getting blurrier, and I had no idea what was happening around me. I wished so desperately for everything to be a nightmare. I was going to die there; there was no escape or salvation. I could clearly hear the creature's roars. It looked furious, destroying everything and everyone in its path. The surroundings had turned into a ring of fire and chaos. I was forcing myself to stay awake, but it was futile; my strength was dwindling.

I saw the creature descend, its massive body hitting the ground with a thud that shook everything. My vision was blurry, and I couldn't help but think my mind was playing tricks on me. Could the thing I was seeing in front of me be a dragon? No, it couldn't be. I wasn't in my right mind; this had to be some kind of illusion. Until I felt its breath. Warm and ash-scented, it surrounded me. Damn, it was real. I was face-to-face with a dragon, and I had no strength left. What could be worse than this? Maybe this was worse than death itself.

Yet, there was an inexplicable feeling of safety I felt toward this creature. It was as if I knew it wouldn't harm me from somewhere. I thought if I had encountered a dragon before, I wouldn't forget it. For some reason, I felt very calm; my heart and mind were at peace. It was a strange feeling, one I couldn't even explain to myself.

My vision was getting blurrier; the blood flowing from me was no longer warm. I felt my body starting to freeze. I had no idea how much blood I had lost, but I didn't even have the strength to move a finger. Even though my vision wasn't clear, I was sure the dragon had transformed into a human form. "I'm losing my mind… I must be… or maybe I'm already dead…"

This couldn't be possible, it shouldn't be. It was approaching me with heavy steps, and at that moment, I began to tremble like an injured bird. I didn't know what would happen to me, and I had no strength left to endure. Just before I fully closed my eyes, a familiar scent reached my nose. I knew this scent. I definitely knew it. My body was screaming silently to wake up again. I had to see, I had to be sure. My mind wasn't playing tricks on me; I had to be sure of it. I was battling with my consciousness as if it were a war, trying to open those delicate eyelids had never been this difficult.

I managed to barely open my eyes, and I was being carried by someone. When I lifted my gaze, I saw the owner of that familiar scent. Sylus. It was him. It was really him. I wanted to cry, to shout, but I could barely keep my eyes open. What was all of this? Could it all have been a simple illusion? I didn't know. All I knew was that I knew nothing.

My consciousness was slowly returning. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was so intense that it took a while. I looked around; I was in a hospital room. I was bandaged all over, and I still hurt a lot. Everything I had seen came rushing back to my mind. I had remembered everything; it was impossible to forget. My heart was racing, and I couldn't control my breath. It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. I didn't want to consider the possibility that it was a dream. The door opened, and Dr. Zayne entered. The last thing I remembered was being carried by Sylus; he must have brought me here. Dr. Zayne was taking the best care of me.

Finally, I found the energy to speak. I parted my dry lips. "Dr. Zayne, do you know who brought me here?" My voice was so faint that Zayne had to lean in to hear me. I saw him sigh and frown. I hoped he wouldn't hide anything from me. "Sylus brought you here, but don't worry, I'll take care of you—"

"Can you call him?" I felt bad for cutting Zayne off, but I couldn't suppress the excitement and the need for answers inside me. I wanted to know. I wanted to know what my visions meant. I wanted to know what had happened. Zayne looked at me silently for a while. "I don't know where he is, and I don't think I can reach him. You just need to rest and relax. Don't think about it now."

If only it were as easy as he said, not to think. I didn't have the energy to argue. I thought Sylus would come to see me eventually. I didn't know how many days had passed, but only Luke and Kieran had visited. Sylus hadn't come at all. I knew he was getting information about me from Luke and Kieran, but what I didn't know was why he hadn't come personally. When I asked them, I always got the same answer. "The boss is very busy."

The days in the hospital felt endless. Even though Zayne was taking the best care of me, I had been eagerly waiting to be discharged, and finally, that day had come. Luke and Kieran were accompanying me. I wanted to ask them more questions about Sylus, but I tried to comfort myself, thinking he might be home. It was a silly thought, I knew. Finally, we arrived; I was still having a bit of trouble walking, but I refused to accept any help. "I can manage on my own." When I entered the house, it was exactly as I had expected—Sylus was nowhere to be found. I narrowed my eyes, clearly, he was avoiding me. I turned to Luke and Kieran, who seemed ready to give me the same excuse. "No, Sylus is not busy, and you two are going to tell me where he is."

They looked at each other. I was sure Sylus had instructed them; I knew him well. I stared them down, determined not to leave them alone. "Something is going on, and I'm not stupid. You're going to tell me where he is, or I'll go look for him myself." My wounds were still healing, but I was already prepared to search everywhere. "No! Something could happen to you, your wounds haven't healed yet," Kieran said in a panic, which gave me a chance to manipulate him. "Oh yes, but you can't stop me forever. So, tell me where Sylus is, and I won't exert myself. Or I'll go everywhere to look for him and lose sleep." It wasn't exactly manipulation; I could do more than my best to find him.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other again, knowing how stubborn I was. I crossed my arms and gave them a challenging look. I wasn't going to give up. Sylus had never avoided me before, and I wasn't going to sit idly by when there was an obvious problem. Finally, Luke sighed. "The boss is going to kill us."

According to Luke and Kieran, Sylus was at an abandoned church in the forest. I had no idea what he was doing there; I couldn't even guess. Even if I thought about it, I wouldn't have imagined him being there. By the time we reached the forest, it was already night. I turned to them and said I wanted to go in alone. They weren't very eager to argue with me; both looked uneasy.

The forest was gloomy and silent; I could hear the crows. The ground crunched under my feet. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. No matter how much I hesitated to admit it to myself, I was nervous; my palms were sweating. When I stood in front of the church, the only thing I felt was the urge to run. There was something inside that was causing me to feel that way; it was heavy, sinister, mysterious. Still, my curiosity and longing for Sylus didn't let me take a step back. Slowly, I opened the old door. I had to put all my strength into it, but eventually, it opened with a creak.

The interior was dark and dusty. I had to cover my mouth with my hand. There was very little light inside, just a few candles lazily placed on the floor. It was clear they had been lit recently, which meant he was here. I took a few steps inside, unable to see anything until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I looked around, but it seemed as if there was nothing. The sound of my footsteps echoed inside. My heart began to beat faster; I didn’t know what awaited me and I was scared. "Sylus…?" Even I could barely hear my own voice, but for some reason, I didn’t want to call out to him loudly. I moved forward into the church, I had come this far, and I wasn’t going to turn back. Near the window, I finally saw a silhouette with its back to me. It was him; it couldn’t be anyone else. He knew I was here; it was impossible that he didn’t. But he didn’t move; he just stood there as if waiting for me to approach. I even began to doubt whether this was the Sylus I knew. I was scared, and I didn’t want him to sense it. Yet I slowly walked toward him; he still didn’t turn to face me.

"Is it always this hard to get rid of you?" His voice rooted me to the spot, my whole body stiff. He spoke without looking at me. "Why did you come? Couldn’t I have wanted to be alone for a bit?"

"You don’t want to be alone; you��re running away from me, Sylus." I took another step toward him; the least he could do was look at me while we talked. "I’ve come this far, but you’re still running from me; you’re not even looking into my eyes." I was filled with complex emotions; I felt like I was going crazy as I failed to understand what was happening. "What’s going on, Sylus? This isn’t you. You’ve never acted like this."

Sylus sighed, his breath fogging up the glass. "Maybe you don’t need to know everything. Some things aren’t worth bothering your little head over."

I frowned; yes, the situation was becoming increasingly infuriating. "I almost died there, and when I opened my eyes, I was in your arms, and then you started avoiding me. You didn’t even visit me in the hospital. And now you’re telling me I don’t need to know everything. Something is happening, but am I supposed to act like nothing’s wrong?"

I heard Sylus growl, though I couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or impatience. His fists were clenched. Slowly, he turned to me, his cold red eyes seemingly piercing my soul. He was still the Sylus I loved, but there was something off. "Why are you so eager for answers? I saved you in some way, and you’re alive; focus on that."

I took a few more steps toward him, now standing directly in front of him. Whatever was going to happen, let it happen; he could be as mad at me as he wanted, but I wasn’t going to hold back anymore. I looked into his eyes, but there was no sign of softening. "What did you do there? Was it some kind of illusion? What are you hiding from me?"

Sylus closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly. I couldn’t see his expression, but I was sure something was deeply troubling him. I cupped his face in my hands and lifted his head to look him directly in the eyes. The coldness was gone; instead, he looked so vulnerable, as if he had no strength left to hide anything. I gently caressed his cheeks with my thumbs; there was no rush to speak. I had to understand him too. "Please, Sylus, I want to know what’s bothering you so much," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

Sylus placed his hand over mine and brought it to his lips. I felt his cold lips on my skin. He stayed like that for a while, then looked at me with his half-open eyes. "Would you promise never to give up on me, no matter what happens? Or no matter what I become?" His voice was soft, very soft. I looked at him for a moment, trying to understand his words. "I would never give up on you. I care only about you, not what you are."

He slowly released my hand, his brows furrowing. I didn’t know if I had said something wrong, but I was sincere in my words. He stepped back a few paces, leaving some distance between us. I was afraid he would disappear again, run away. My heart was beating rapidly. He never broke eye contact with me. "Turn around."

I turned around immediately. I had no idea why I didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t afraid of him; I could give him my very soul. I just hoped he wouldn’t disappear anymore. The only sound I heard was the fluttering of something. "Look at me."

I turned around, trying to prepare myself for whatever I might see. But there was no way I could have been prepared for this. I held my breath. I had no idea what expression was on my face at that moment. Sylus… he had horns on his head, a tail behind him. He opened and closed his wings as if to show me. He stood so calmly. I knew he was waiting for me to say something. At that moment, everything felt surreal. While seeking answers, I found myself with even more unanswered questions. My tongue felt tied, as if I couldn’t utter a single word. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you happy?" His voice brought me back to reality. I was still in shock, but I knew I had to shake it off. "Sylus…" I whispered; it was the first word that escaped my mouth. He chuckled, nodding as if he had received the reaction he expected. "Now you understand why I hid myself, why I ran from you, don’t you? I didn’t want you to know what I was."

Sylus looked at his claws for a moment, while I still didn’t know what to say. "I didn’t want to show you this side of me anymore. I was trying to leave it behind. You should have believed everything you saw was a dream." He looked at me again with those cold eyes; it felt like a dagger to my heart.

"What are you talking about?" I walked toward him; he wanted to distance himself from me, but he couldn’t. "What made you think I would give up on you?" He leaned in close to me, our noses nearly touching. "It seems like you still don’t remember anything."

At that moment, I felt like I had shattered into a thousand pieces. I had no idea what he was talking about or what he meant. Before I could gather myself, he continued. "I was hoping you would remember in some way; then I wanted to show you my true self because if you remembered, you would…" He sighed deeply, locking his gaze away from me. "Forget it. Even if you remembered, you wouldn’t want to continue your life with a monster. Nothing would change."

My body moved without my will. I suddenly held his face, looking directly into his eyes. I could feel my eyes filling with tears, and I was trembling… I was filled with so many emotions that I couldn’t describe them. My breathing was becoming irregular, but he didn’t break eye contact. "What nonsense are you talking about…" I finally managed to say, unable to hide the trembling in my voice no matter how hard I tried. "How can you call yourself a monster, Sylus? After everything we’ve been through together, how could you think that I wouldn’t want to be with you just because of this?" Finally, tears started streaming down my cheeks. I held his face tighter; I didn’t want to see anything but his eyes. I wanted to see him, just him.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to remembering. Maybe… maybe you’re talking about those illusions I saw. And you wanted me to think that what happened that day was also an illusion. You wanted me to think that the dragon that appeared in the sky to save me was an illusion, but it was so real…" I smiled softly; I would give anything to see that illusion again. To fully remember, to completely understand what Sylus was talking about. But here we were, in this moment. Just because I couldn’t remember something from the past didn’t mean I couldn’t guide this moment. Sylus listened to me silently, saying nothing.

"I love you, Sylus. I love you. I don’t care what you are or what you’ve become. I love you with everything you are. I love you in this life too—"

Sylus suddenly pressed his lips to mine; I could taste the salt of my tears. His kiss wasn’t filled with desire but with longing. We had kissed before, but this was the first time he kissed like this. I held him tightly, grasping his horns. I had no intention of breaking the kiss. Our tongues entwined, our breaths mingled. He held me so tightly I felt like I might be crushed.

When he slowly broke the kiss, he wiped the tears from my eyes. I leaned into his touch, words failing to describe the emotions between us. He planted a kiss on the top of my head and held me tightly again, as if he never wanted to let go. I inhaled his scent, feeling his wings wrap around me. I buried my nose into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes.

"My dragon…"

this is the first time i have written so long. PLEASE let me know your feedback, good or bad. i hope you liked it ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ִֶָ mullet!stan pines x farmer's daughter!reader ♡༉‧₊˚.

honestly idk what happened i just wrote this in like 40 minutes because the idea wouldn’t leave me alone, i never write this fast sorry for the random but i love that dynamic 🤍

Gravity Falls market days were a real mess you’d grown up in but never quite adjusted to. the sun sat high and too mean, slanting golden light across the rows of wooden stalls and voices carried sharp over the sound of shuffling feet. you didn’t mind the noise because it made the hours feel faster.

your hands worked quickly, sorting the last of the peaches into the old wicker basket, as you clearly remembered your mom’s words “don’t bruise the fruit, honey; folks don’t buy what looks spoiled.” you smoothed your palm over the fabric of your overalls, standing up straight to greet the next customer and—

he wasn’t what you expected and you weren’t sure what to make of him. broad shoulders under a faded red jacket, hands stuffed into his pockets, huge dark bags under his eyes. he looked rough, unpolished you'd say, like he’d stepped out of a life far removed from your quiet one and found himself here by accident.

he nodded toward your baskets. “how much for the peaches?”

you sized him up. “depends,” you answered. “you actually gonna pay?”

that caught him off guard, did he really look that bad? his lips twitched into grin. “didn’t know this place came with an interrogation.”

“it’s not interrogation,” you shot back, leaning against the edge of the stall. “it’s just business. besides, you look like the type to run off with free samples.”

he laughed then. “well, guess you caught me,” he held his hands up like he’d been caught red-handed. “but im starving here. what’s it gonna take to get one of—”

“ahh, you must be the scientist everyone talks about.” you interrupted him, shifting the basket awkwardly against your hip.

“uh right, that's me.”

“mom mentioned you,” you continued, even though he didn't seem in the mood for conversation. “said you were. . . weird.” the word came out of your mouth before you even realized it, and your cheeks instantly flushed. great. off to a fantastic start.

but he didn't seem offended. on the contrary, he looked amused, slightly raising his eyebrows. “weird, huh?”

“her words, not mine,” you explained quickly, though it wasn't exactly untrue. “but yeah. she said you moved out here to study something? bugs? dirt?”

he chuckled. “somethin’ like that. but im pretty hungry. so what’s it gonna take to get one of those?”

you should’ve turned him away, told him to come back with cash like everyone else. but your gut told you he’d actually gone a little too long without a decent meal. yeah, thats how bad he looked.

so you reached into the basket and handed him one.

“on the house,” you said.

he blinked at you, caught somewhere between surprise and suspicion. “seriously?”

“just this once,” you warned. “but if you come back, i expect full price.”

“aww, isn't that adorable, thank you, sweetie.” he took the peach, turning it over in his hands. “heard people here mentioning you're generous girl.”

...

the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as you ride your bicycle down the lonely country road. the day has been long, filled with selling farm food. your hat shields your face from the fading light, but a chill is settling in as the evening approaches.

the basket on your bike rattled with what was left of the day’s haul, less than you’d hoped for but enough to keep the house running another week. your legs ached from pedaling though. the cold was creeping in now.

when the headlights appeared behind you, cutting through the soft twilight, you almost didn’t notice. but then the car slowed, pulling up beside you and you heard the window roll down.

“need a lift?” a smoky voice asked.

it was him. Stanford. the same red jacket, the same grin. he surely hadn’t been expecting to see you but was damn happy about it anyway.

you hesitated as you looked at him and his car, tightening your hands around the handlebars. “and leave my bike?”

“throw it in the back,” he told you, jerking his thumb toward the back seat. “unless you’re real set on freezing out here.”

you glanced at the empty road stretching ahead of you, then back at Stanford. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to offer something for nothing, but he also didn’t seem like the kind to push it if you said no.

so you nodded. Stanley gave you a reassuring smile. “hop in, toots. it's getting cold.” you let him haul the bike into the back before climbing into the passenger seat. the warmth from inside is immediate, a stark contrast to the cool evening air.

he didn’t say much at first, just flicked on the radio and kept his eyes on the road. but then, without looking over, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“here, take this. it’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

you took the fabric and when you putted it around your shoulders, you felt the softness of it against your skin, grateful for the gesture. “thank you,” it was too big, the sleeves hanging loose past your wrists, but it was so warm. although it smelled very strongly of cigarettes.

he shrugged modestly. “no problem. it’s the least i can do after the way you treated me last week.”

“so,” he said after a beat, glancing over with that same crooked grin. “what’s a farmer’s daughter doin’ out on the road this late?”

you pulled the jacket tighter around you. “work doesn’t stop just ‘cause the sun goes down.”

“hard worker, huh? guess your mom was right about you.”

you glanced at him in surprise and furrowed your brow. “you keep bringing up my mom like you actually know her.” you said suspiciously.

“ran into her a couple weeks ago,” he admitted. “she was real proud, talkin’ ‘bout how her daughter’s the backbone of the farm.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you turned your gaze back to the road. “she talks too much.”

“nah, she’s just proud of you.” this time, you stayed quiet, letting the hum of the engine carry you the rest of the way home.

...

the next time you see him, it’s at the farm on early morning, when dew still clings to the grass and the sky’s a pale, watercolor wash. you’d barely had time to start on your chores when that same old car rumbled down the dirt track.

Stanley stepped out, wearing that red jacket you’d given back last night, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “you forgot your bike.”

“you didn’t have to bring it all the way here.” you smiled shyly

“well,” he glanced around, assessing the place, “figured you could use it more than i could. besides, wasn’t much of a detour.”

in addition, it was the first time Stan met your dog as he stayed at the farm to try the freshly baked apple pie that you offered.

you were hauling a basket of fresh vegetables from the field when you heard a low, warning growl. you looked up, biting back a grin. “she won’t bite.”

“uh-huh,” Stan said, standing frozen in place as the big scruffy mutt circled him.

you set the basket down, whistling low, and your dog trotted over, tail wagging now that you’d given the all-clear. “this is Molly,” you said, ruffling her ears. “dont worry, she’s just protective.”

Stan crouched slowly, one knee to the dirt, sticking his hand out like he was afraid she might lunge. Molly sniffed him once, then pressed her head against his palm, tail thumping in approval.

“well, look at that,” he said, scratching behind her ears. his hands are so big, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. Molly leaned into his hand, letting out a pleased huff. “she likes me.”

but then Molly rolled over, flopping onto her back in the dust and he laughed. “spoiled,” he said, rubbing her belly as she wagged her tail.

“you don’t even know the half of it. she gets the best scraps off the table. mom says it’s why she’s got such shiny fur.”

Stan grinned. “lucky dog.” oh, how he wished he could be in Molly's shoes. to be needed at least by someone, to be taken care of, to be fed. “so, you sellin’ this week?”

you nodded, but your gaze drifted toward the fields. there was still so much work left to do, rows and rows of crops waiting to be picked and sorted. you sighed, already feeling the ache in your arms.

Stan seemed to catch on. “well, if you’re ever lookin’ for extra hands, i know a guy who owes you a couple favors.”

...

you don’t know why you start bringing him food. it’s not like Stanley asked for it and he’s certainly not the kind of man who’d admit if he needed it. but you, the sweetest girl in town, noticed how he looked that first day at the market, hunger written all over him like and that makes it impossible not to.

it started with a couple of peaches tucked into a paper bag which you carefully left on the counter of the Mystery Shack with a quick, “thought you might want something fresh.” but then it grew into a jar of honey. then. . . in a bundle of wildflowers tied with twine.

one day, you showed up with a loaf of bread so fresh it was still warm, wrapped in an old tea towel embroidered with little sunflowers. Stanley was tinkering with something behind the counter, muttering something about journals but when he saw you, he stopped, wiping his hands on his pants.

“you know, you don’t have to keep bringing me this stuff,” he said even as he took the loaf from your hands.

“i know, yeah, but you’re always here, and I figured. . . well, everyone deserves a decent meal now and then.” he looked at you for a long moment, longer than felt normal, trying to figure out if you were pulling some kind of trick.

“thanks,” he said your name. “that means a lot.”

and it becomes a thing, fresh eggs one day, a loaf of bread the next. you don’t stay long when you drop them off, because Stanford always says he's kinda busy here, dealing with some of his "scientific research”, so you quickly greet him, maybe say some comment about the weather, but every damn time he sees you, his face softens, genuine smile appearing on it, his shoulders relax too. maybe you’re not just bringing food but something else he’s been missing.

and sometimes, Stanley feels too lonely, so he pulls out an old chair and offers you coffee, the two of you sitting on the porch while he tells you about his life.

[eand47]

Prologue | Denial

Summary: Being an artist was your life purpose and you figured it out at a very young age. No one was surprised when you quickly made a name of yourself among the art communities around the world. Everything was going according to your life’s plan, until you were diagnosed with a life changing condition - Parkinson's disease. Since that day everything started to slowly collapse for you. Looking for an escaping, moving to a small, forgotten from the world sea coast town was the only solution you could think off. Buying an old beach house, which was screaming for renovation, was the greatest escape - until you met your annoying next door neighbour and his dog. A neighbour who had his own issues and demons to deal with but somewhere between the pain and the obstacles life has thrown to both of you, you found comfort in each other. All because he had the right colour of blue paint for your staircase banister.

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader (female)

Description: Modern AU | Early 40s retired Captan!Ace and Artist!Reader

WARNINGS: ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, major age gap between Reader and Ace (!sixteen years!), 18+ only, angst, hurt/no comfort, family trauma, emotional distress, !mentions of Parkinson's disease!, mentions of depression, mentions of death/lost of a loved one, slight hints of abusive relationship

Word Count: 3,4K

story masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter ->

NOTE: It's finally out. Thank you everyone for your patience ♡ I want to warn you all in advance that this story will take a little longer for its chapters to be uploaded as a lot of the topics take a lot of research. This is a story which I believe will turn out very beautiful and sensual but also very emotional, so please keep this and mind and if you don't feel comfortable reading about disabilities and major age gap - I don't recommend reading it ♡ The prologue is just a little introduction to what has happened to Ace and Reader before they cross paths, as I intentionally kept Ace's part shorter than hers (+ his happened 3 and a half years prior to Reader's exhibition). Something super important please keep in mind that - yes, this is a ModernAU, but the time period is early 2000's so the use of social media and ect. aren't a thing in the story. Again pay special attention to the warnings as I don't want anyone to get triggered. Thank you and enjoy ♡ !english is not my first language so if you see any mistakes let me know!

Nothing but darkness could be seen in the vast sea, until lightings flashes and thunderclaps across the night sky and its horizon. Dark clouds obscure the moon and the stars as hurricane storm has taken the big cargo ship hostage. The massive ship has no other choice but to take the hits of the waves, which are looming over them embodied with all nature’s wrath. Stuck in the middle of the storm, the crew has no other choice but to do everything in their power to get out of it. With each ferocious wave attack the ship is getting more and more damaged. Located on the top deck of the ship, the windows which provide an unobstructed view of the water in all directions of the wheelhouse are trembling as another wave crashes into them. The whole lower deck is covered in sea water as the angry from the storm sea is trying to overpower the ship.

“Captain, what course should we keep?” The helmsman of the ship loudly calls to the tall black-haired man in charge, which is standing next to navigational officer, while trying to get in contact with the nearest port or a marine pilot.

“It’s pointless, Ace. There is no signal at all.” Says the navigational officer. Frowning his dark thin brows the captain curses under his breath.

“Keep the course straight.” The captain tells the helmsman while looking out of the window watching waves taking over the container on the ship. “Okay, men. This isn’t my first storm at sea nor is it yours.” His deep stern voice fills up the space. “Put the fear aside and hold still as this storm doesn’t seem to want to calm down anytime soon.” He turns to his crew as he straightens his posture and taking look at each of his men eyes, which are full of fear. “We all have been prepared for such situations, we all have been through storms, so this will be another one to add to the list, right?” Everyone nods in unison to their captain. He nods back and turns again to face the inky void in front of him. “I will get you all home, I promise.” He whispers to himself.

****

“Okay, so the catering company will be there at three thirty pm, so they can arrange the tables and drinks the way you have instructed me to tell them, and then the first and most important guests are arriving at six pm sharp, as you have promised them a detailed explanation about how you have crated you pieces, and then… (Y/N) are you listening to me?” Your assistant, Nami, a tall young woman in her late twenties, is now looking at you in disbelief. Shaking your head as you have zoomed out for a thousand times today, you give her a questionable look. “(Y/N) you are starting to worry me. You are so easily distracted nowadays.” She scoffs at you. “Please, listen – it is important for you! This is your first biggest exhibition, and you are not even paying attention to me when I talk to you.”

She is right, you aren’t paying any attention to her. Recently this has become like an impossible task for you. The feeling of fatigue has taken over you for some time now and hearing Nami nagging you about your upcoming big night tonight is only adding to your stress.

“I know Nami. I’m sorry, I’m just feeling extremely tired.” You say while looking for a place to sit in the gallery. Your walk and posture are hunched and slowed a bit, something you have noticed recently, but you blame it on all the stress and working hours preparing the exhibition.

Tonight is your big night. You are having your first ever big exhibition in one of the most famous galleries in the country, the Gagosian Gallery. This is your dream coming to life. Six months ago, you received the call that the gallery wants to exhibit your paintings, and for such a young and upcoming artist like yourself, this is once in a million opportunity.

You have been an artis since you can remember. Your mother used to tell you that since you were a baby, you were always mesmerised by colours and the moment you were big enough to hold a paint brush properly you never let it go from that day on. From private art lessons as a child, to art school as a teen and then to one of the most prestige universities for fine arts in your early twenties – you have been an artis your whole life. You can not imagine life without a paint brush in your hands, and you don’t want to.

Nami’s high heels can be heard loudly around the gallery as she is running after you. Your assistant is the short-tempered type, but that is why you hire her in a first place. She is as demanding and as much of a perfectionist as you are. You know that with her next to you, every demand you have for the exhibition will be followed and fulfilled. Siting on one of the sofas in the middle of the gallery, you observe one of Andy Warhol’s famous dollar sign paintings hanged right in front of you.

“Hey, Nami.” You interrupt her and whatever she is talking about. “Can you believe it? My paintings are in the next room, and they are in the same gallery as one of Andy Warhol’s pieces. I feel like a rockstar, right now.” Your chest fills with pride and a big grin spread across your face.

Taking a seat next to you, Nami sighs loudly as her head hangs low. You are quite the demanding boss and sometimes it is a pain in the ass for a person to work for or with you, but you are an artist. A unique one on top of it and very talented. Nami has a previous experience as an artist’s assistant which were nothing compared to you, in both talent and skills. No matter what how hard it is to work with you sometimes, you are still the best boss she has ever had.

“(Y/N), why don’t you get home and come back here around four pm? In the meantime, I will handle everything here.” She pats you on the back and with tired eyes you look at her and nod. You need some rest before your big night, and you are not turning this offer down.

“If there is something important let me know immediately.” And with this you make your way home.

****

Walking into your spacious apartment you sigh once you take off your shoes. Calling out for your fiancé to check if he is home, you get no response back. Going straight to the bathroom you take a nice hot shower before you put some comfortable cloths and drift to sleep.

It isn’t a long nap as you wake up not even two hours later and you look at the clock next to your bedside table. It is just one pm. Lifting your hand to massage your temples you can see and feel it trembling. This has been happening a lot lately, but you blame it on stress. It has been like this for the past year now, every time you are stressed your hands just tremble and that is it.

But recently the tremor in your hands and the stiffness in your body is bothering you. That is why a week ago, you went to check with your doctor. You wanted to make sure that everything with you is okay, especially your hands, but you won’t be getting any results until the beginning of next week.

Getting up from bed you make your way to the kitchen as you feel your stomach ramble. Walking into the specious kitchen you see your fiancé’s back facing you as he is talking on the phone. Sneaking behind him, you wrap your arms around his torsos and kiss the back of his shoulder. He looks at you over it and points you with his eyes to leave him alone as he is on the phone. Continuing with his business call you just let go of him not wanting to irritate him even more. Opening the fridge, you find it empty as always. You never learn how to cook so you and your fiancé – Doflamingo, usually go out and eat somewhere or order take away. Reaching for the portable phone on the kitchen island you dial the Thai place close to you to order some food.

The food arrives after twenty minutes but Doflamingois still on his phone. You decide not to wait for him as soon you need to start getting ready for your big night. Not even finishing the whole box of Thai noddles, you leave it on the side and go to the bathroom ready to glam yourself.

You have just finished doing your hair when Doflamingoenters the bathroom. He comes and hugs you as he wraps his arms around your middle.

“Did you talk on the phone until now?” You are observing him in the mirror.

“It is an important client, baby.” He response as he starts kissing your neck and runs his hands down to your hips.

“I don’t have time for this I should be in the gallery in an hour.” You are quick to push his hands away as you are a starting to get anxious for the upcoming night. Doflamingo just rolls his eyes at you and instead of following you, he just walks back to the living room. Walking out of the bathroom, you enter your bedroom going straight to the big walk-in closet. Taking off your clothes you grab the long silk silver metallic dress hanged in one of the hangers. Putting it on with the matching silver high heels you are ready to go.

Looking for Doflamingoaround your apartment you see him sitting on the sofa with the remote in his hands.

“Doffy, I’m going now. Be on time, please.” You say to him, with a little hope that he will turn around a look at you, make you a compliment or something for all the effort you have put, but no. Doflamingo is Doflamingo– if it isn’t a football game or an important business call, which would grant him at least a few thousand or hundred of thousands dollars, he doesn’t really care to pay much attention. As he says, ‘everything is an investment’ and sometimes you wonder if you are seen as one as well.

“Yea, yea I will be there.” He replies, his eyes not moving from the screen where the last football match he has recorded plays. With a bit of hurt and disappointment you turn around and go to call for a taxi.

****

The night so far is going great. The first meeting with your special guests has gone smoothly and now a lot of your friends, colleagues and fellow artist have come along to observe and admire your exhibition. As you are talking with some fellow artist you spot your big sister – Rebecca, and excuse yourself.

“Becca.” You call out and she turns. Her face lights up when she sees you and with a quick run she comes and hugs you.

“My little sister, you made it.” She squeaks with excitement as you are tightly wrapped in her arms. “Mom and dad would have been so proud of you.” Tears build up in Rebeca’s eyes, while you just swallowed hard.

Your father has died when you were only two years old, so you don’t have a single memory of him. Everything you know about him is from your mother and sister, which is ten years older than you. Her and your mother have been your biggest supporters, but sadly for both of you, you have lost your beloved mom two years ago. It was unexpected and so sudden which caused a big distress and sorrow on you two. Both of you took it very hard, especially Rebecca and because of it you tired to be the stronger one. You have barely cried or talked about it, keeping it all for yourself, but it could have been sense and seen in your paintings from back then.

You wish your mother was here today on your big day, but life has taken her away. Life has taken a lot from you in the past two years, but you shake the thoughts away. Pulling away from Rebecca you smile at her and brush away her tears.

“Thank you, Becca.” You reply and you take a look around. “Where are the kids by the way? Where is Koby?” Your sister has been married for almost a decade now and has two beautiful children with her nice and loving husband Koby. Your nephews – Kyros, who is named after your father and now should be eight years old and the newest member of the family Scarlett, which is named after your mother and it’s only one years old.

 “Ky got sick, and Koby had to stay with him home, so I just left Scarlett with them as I don’t think art exhibitions are the best for babies.” She giggles once she sees your frowned brows.

“The younger you teach them culture the better.” You cross your arms across your chest as you shake your head at your sister. “Anyway, kiss them from me and say hello to Koby. And I hope little Ky recovers fast.”

“He will, but anyway where is... Doflamingo...” Your sister clears her throat as she doesn’t like your fiancé at all, and she doesn’t hide it.

“Yes, I have been asking myself the same thing, but he should be here soon.” You give her a reassuring smile, but Rebecca is not only your sister, she is also your best friend, she knows you like the back of her hand and she can see the hurt in your eyes from the fact that your fiancé still hasn’t shown for your big night.

“I still don’t understand what you see in this cruel man (Y/N). All he sees is a beautiful young woman who he can show around as a price, he doesn’t see your value or you as a person. You can find so much better than him.” Deep down you know that Rebecca is right, but you don’t want to have this conversation now.

“Stop saying it in a way like he is your age, we have only four years difference.”

“I don’t like him and the fact that soon you will be carrying his name, you don’t look and fit his cruel family Donquixote, it makes me sick to my st-” You are quick to shush her as you see the man in fact coming towards you.

“Hey, Doffy. You finally showed up.” You don’t want to hide the fact that you are pissed at him for being later but also you don’t want to start any scandals with him right now.

“Traffic, sorry baby.” He pulls you closer to him and kisses the top of your head. “Rebecca, pleased to meet you as aways.” He gives her one of his arrogant smiles which makes your sister shiver. Rebecca hates this man.

“Well, I still haven’t seen all of the paintings and rooms in the gallery so if you two excuse me I will get going back to it.” She is quick to excuse herself and but not before she gives you a hug. “Be careful.” Rebecca whispers in your ear before she turns around and goes.

“What took you so long?” You turn to Doflamingo with a frown. “You know this night is important to me.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says again as he tries to kiss your lips, but you pull away. “I had a more important call than this, okay? But now, I’m here be grateful.” You are so used to this behaviour at this point that you just turn around to go and speak with other people. Of course, he finds a way to ruin your night as aways. Catching you fast he pulls you close to him and with serious tone tells you. “The doctor called and said you must go to the clinic on Monday as your results or whatever you did are done. And cut the attuite.” He warns you once again and grabs your hand locking his fingers with you. You have no choice but to stay by his side till the rest of the night as it just clicks to you – he isn’t here for you, he is here for future partners for his business.

****

Siting in the doctor’s office has you on the edge. From the moment you enter the hospital, and his assistant welcomed you to his office, something doesn’t sit right in your stomach. Your hands are trembling, but again you blame it on stress. Entering the room the grey-haired man takes a sit on his chair and places his hands on his desk. You look at him with expectation in your eyes.

“Hi, Doctor Hiriluk. It is because of stress, right? Nothing that I should worry about.” You get straight to the point.

“Overall, you are healthy.” The doctor starts speaking, but you can sense a ‘but’ in his sentence.

“But...” You raised one eyebrow at him.

“From all the information you have given me last time we saw each other I’m afraid that there is a big possibility that you are...” Taking a deep breath in the doctor looks at you with pain written on his face. “I think that you are in a very early stage of Parkinson’s disease.” The doctor tells you and you are trying to process what you have just heard.

It can’t be. It won’t be. It feels like someone has thrown an ice-cold water at you and you can’t move. ‘No, this can’t be’ you are telling yourself repeatedly in your mind. This can’t be happening to you, not you of all people. This isn’t fair, it’s not fair to anyone, but this isn’t fair. Why now? Why when you are in your prime years? Why when you just start stepping on the steps of success?

Suddenly the room starts to feel small, and oxygen seems to not reach your brain. This can’t be happening. No, you refuse to believe this, there should be some mistake.

“Please, calm down Miss (Y/L/N). I can’t tell for sure, yet. I will give you the contacts of a friend of mine, Dr. Kureha, she is a specialist in neurology and I’m sure she will be able to put a better diagnosis than me.” As he tells you this trying to calm you down, he calls for his assistant to bring you water as he can see that you are almost at the verge of a panic attack. “I can’t be sure even though from what you have told me, you check a lot of the boxes with early symptoms, but this is not my speciality. It is Kureha’s.” His tone is very calming despite the situation.

Taking the glass of water from the assistant you lift it up to your lips and take a sip off it. Lowering the glass and holding it with your hands in your lap you can feel them trembling again. This can’t be it. Doctor. Hiriluk gives you some time to gather your thoughts before you can continue with your conversation.

“Is it there a possibility that you might be wrong?” You ask after some time passes and look up at Dr. Hiriluk.

“It might be, but don’t get your hopes up Miss (Y/L/N).” Dr. Hiriluk takes a deep breath. “That is why I want you to go and speak with Dr. Kureha, she will be able to diagnose you and guides you on how to handle because she is the best neurologist in out there.” Hearing this, all you can do is nod.

Doctor Hiriluk continues to talk, but you can’t focus to listen. Your mind is a mess. If his diagnose is in fact correct, then it means that at some point the only thing which brings you happiness and peace will be taken away from you. Art is everything you have, it is your safe place, it is your escape of the world and the way to express the pain within you. This can’t be. This won’t be. ‘There should be a mistake.’ You think to yourself.  

END NOTE: I hope you enjoy reading the prologue as again it's only a slight introduction of events which will cause the meeting of them two (Ace and Reader). Next chapter will be way longer and it will take place and time where the main story will be happening. Any feedback and comments are welcomed and appreciated as always ♡ Feel free to like and reblog if you enjoyed it and again thank you for reading it ♡

writing, format & dividers © eand47 artwork @mxhxkxcx ©eand47, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[cjsmalley]

Party, Wedding, and Time:

It was an ambush.

Marinette was walking home alone. Still flushed and happy from Adrien properly asking her to the upcoming impromptu dance that night, when someone strong grabbed her from behind and another put a large bag over her.

She fought back like a feral raccoon, not even thinking about transforming.

“Quit fighting, DC!” Chloe’s voice rang out sharply, commandingly, “This’s for your own good!”

Marinette went limp; she was hefted across a pair of shoulders and moved into a vehicle, which started at Chloe’s command.

The bag was pulled off her, it was a laundry bag from Chloe’s hotel, to find at least half the class looking at her. All the girls, Marc and Kim.

“What’s going on?” Marinette demanded, none of them looked to be akumas so why had they kidnapped her?

“We’re getting you ready for the dance,” Ayla said, eye twitching as she continued, “Chloe’s in charge.”

Chloe was busy texting someone but she looked up, “Sabrina and the boys are on Adrien; Adrien knows how to dress himself. You, on the other hand, have to be taught certain standards now that you’re dating Adrien. Don’t worry, do as I say and we’ll all get through this with our dignity intact.”

“Guys, it’s just—”

“Your first official dance with Adrien,” Ayla reminded her, beaming at her blush and shy nod, “we’re gonna make sure you look so beautiful he can’t even think!”

“Why is Kim here if the boys are—”

“Someone had to grab you, duh.”

Chloe left unsaid that taking Ladybug by surprise should not have been possible and that they were all lucky that Marinette hadn’t transformed, “By the way, I’m signing you up for self-defense lessons, DC. And paying for it. You’re dating a former model, and he still has fans. Fans that get crazy.”

Chloe so wanted to tell Marinette that she knew the Secret but kept mum about it. She did not want to make herself a bigger target, thank you very much. But she could make sure Ladybug could at least fight half-way decently while a civilian.

“I don’t—Chloe, you can’t—”

“Oh, I can, I will, I already have. Six months, weekly appointments, one-on-one with a handpicked instructor. At the Hotel. And I will have a car pick you up for them.” Chloe threatened, nicely.

“She’s right, girl,” Ayla admitted, “you remember that crazy stalker Lila? If Adrien’s new dad hadn’t put his foot down who knows what she could have pulled. And Lila was only verbal threats, right?”

Everyone was looking at her expectantly so Marinette slumped, “I’ll ask my parents—”

“Already did,” Chloe flipped her hair, “Daddy talked to them. They were happy to agree, especially after the trouble with the crazy bitch.”

“Language!”

“Sorry, not sorry, Anciel. Grow up.”

The limousine finally pulled up to the Hotel and Marinette was escorted to a dressing room where a professional hairdresser and a professional makeup artist were waiting. She was marched into the chair while Ayla and Chloe left; they returned, a half hour later, with the dress Marinette had been working on in her spare time for formal events. And the fabrics needed for it.

Then Marinette saw Chloe slip a cookie into Marinette’s purse and gaped, eyes wide in fear.

Chloe caught her eye and nodded, making the motions to zip her lips and throw away the key.

Still Marinette mentally fretted even as she forced herself to relax; Chloe knew the Secret, her most precious Secret. Did she know Adrien’s? Did anyone else know?

“Relax, DC,” Chloe said, picking up the purse, “I’ve got it handled. I’ll keep your purse safe tonight."

And all Marinette could do was trust her.

A seamstress came in, was given Marinette’s notes on the dress, and set to work finishing it as Marinette herself was prepared.

“Adrien’s suit—” Marinette began, for she had made Adrien a suit that tastefully matched her dress.

“Already delivered, DC,” Chloe was perched somewhere behind her, also getting ready. The entire class was, “Got Daddy’s best tailor on him doing final fittings. Everyone else has last year’s clothes to wear. Except me. I was smart, ordered a dress for just such an event.”

“Chloe had her people pick up our clothes as soon as we heard,” Ayla added, “relax, girl. Everything’s covered.”

“The school—as class president, I—”

“Professional party planners,” Chloe sighed at her, “don’t be so ridiculous, DC. When I say don’t worry, I mean it.”

And so Marinette shut her mouth and let the stylists get on with their work.

Unbeknownst to her, Adrien was in another dressing room in the hotel, also being prepped under the watchful eye of Sabrina and the boys of the class.

With Marinette the girls were in overdrive, treating the entire event like…well, a wedding or something equally serious.

“Something old!” Chloe ordered and one of the girls, Alix, hung a pocket watch from Marinette’s neck.

“I’m not marrying Adrien tonight!” Marinette protested. She was ignored.

“Something new!” was the next call.

Ayla scurrying up, holding a lace veil that accentuated the dress.

“Guys!” Marinette sputtered as the veil was put on her, “We’re only sixteen!”

“Isn’t red the traditional Chinese wedding dress color?” someone asked, and Marinette couldn’t see who through the veil.

Marinette’s dress was a deep red, Ladybug red, “Yes but—!”

Kagami stepped up without prompting, sliding a dagger into Marinette’s sleeve, “My favorite dagger.”

“When did you get here, Kagami?” Marinette asked, confused.

“Chloe called me. She said you are having a practice wedding, an engagement ceremony—”

“GIRLS!”

“And something blue,” Chloe stepped up and tucked something into Marinette’s bra, “for Adrien, you two are ridiculous but he’ll need it. Seeing you. Trust us, Marinette.”

Marinette quieted and thought things over before saying, “This is all just…practice?”

“Yeah, Daddy wouldn’t give special permission without your parents’ permission,” it sounded like Chloe was pouting and Marinette gave a sigh of relief before giggling, “Okay.”

Her classmates cheered and hurried to dress themselves; then they formed a wall around her to stop any peeking should they see Adrien, and escorted her out to the limousine.

The school gym had been done up based on one of Marinette’s daydreams scribbled into a sketchbook; how Chloe had gotten her hands on that specific sketchbook…Ayla had some explaining to do.

 Still, seeing her possible wedding a reality, even if it was just “practice”…

Ayla took her duty as “Maid of Honor” seriously as she, in lieu of Marinette’s father or mother, escorted her to Adrien.

Adrien, whose jaw had dropped at the sight of his “bride”.

There was a table behind him, holding an array of finger foods and drinks, and he leaned on it heavily the closer Marinette came.

Nino, the “Best Man”, snickered, “If you’re reacting like this now, imagine your actual wedding!”

Chloe, unseen, took up a position behind the table as the couple reunited and cleared her throat.

Everyone jumped and she smirked, “Daddy did give me the speech a priest would say—Who’re you?"

Everyone was suddenly on guard as an unknown adult entered the gym; he had white hair and was thin though muscular. He was dressed in a pinstriped three-piece suit.

The man smiled warmly, “I am Adrien’s new grandfather, please call me Adam; I came in to visit my grandson when I heard there was a wedding rehearsal occurring—Adrien, your father did tell me to give you this as proof.”

He held up an envelope. Nino grabbed it for Adrien who opened it and quickly read the missive, his eyes widening before he smoothly said, “My apologies, Grandfather—”

Adam chuckled, “Do not worry, grandson. So, what is going on here?”

“Just a pretend wedding,” Ayla spoke up, already filming, “Adrien and Marinette can’t legally get married for another two years but we all know they will. So we decided to throw a pretend wedding.”

“I see,” Adam spoke, nodding gravely, before looking to Chloe, “If I may, Miss? I am ordained and can officiate.”

“Grandfather…”

“All is well, Adrien. Your marriage to Miss Dupain-Cheng has been foreseen…by the family.”

“Grandfather,” Adrien walked up, guiding Marinette with him, “may we speak in private?”

“Of course.”

Adrien led the trio to the nearby boys’ restroom and locked the door behind them as they entered.

“What’re you playing at, Grandfather?” Adrien hissed.

Clockwork rumbled a laugh, “You should be happier, this is your first wedding day, Adrien.”

“Grandfather.”

“If you “pretend” to marry Miss Dupain-Cheng today,” Clockwork explained, “it will be registered as real in the Realms, because you are equals and opposites and Destined.”

“Adrien, who is he?” Marinette lifted her veil.

“One of Papa and Mama’s most trusted advisors, if not their most trusted period,” Adrien introduced, “He…oversees Time. You could call him the God of Time for the Realms…We call him Grandfather out of respect.”

She nodded in understanding, “And you, Monsieur, are saying if we play pretend today it will be real in Adrien’s fa—Papa’s Realms?”

“Yes, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Clockwork bowed slightly, “but you must also know that by marrying Adrien, whenever and wherever you so choose even if not now, you shall become an unofficial princess of the Realms. As befitting His Highness’ status as unofficially a prince.”

Again she nodded, thinking before asking with a sharp blush, “Will we have to ah….consummate the marriage?”

Adrien blushed as well as Clockwork answered, “While that may be required of Mortal Marriages, Ghost Marriages do not require it so much. It is preferable, yes, but not required.”

“So we could get married tonight, by the Realms’ reckoning, but put off consummation until we want,” Marinette nodded yet again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead, as she thought some more, “Our parents…”

“Adrien’s parents are already aware and are watching through a special portal,” Clockwork explained patiently, “they are not…happy, they wished Adrien could remain a teenager where he could, for marriage in the Realms does emancipate one from one’s guardians, but they respect any decision made. Their only request is that you do not consummate the marriage until you are older and considered adults under French law.”

Adrien gave a sigh of relief before asking, seriously, “But, Marinette’s parents?”

“You will tell them that as Ladybug and Chat Noir you had to undergo a ritual. One of the side-effects of this ritual is what can be called a “Soul Marriage”. That your souls are bonded and many magical beings will recognize you as married, in mundane terms…It is a version of the truth they can palate.”

Adrien looked to Marinette, “I’m in. I’d marry you for real, legally, here, in this bathroom.”

Marinette beamed, “Oh, Adrien. I’m game.”

Clockwork coughed and revealed a set of rings, “From their Majesties, with compliments.”

The bands were plan silver, though Marinette’s had a large ruby embedded in it, not unlike her promise ring. Not so large that it couldn’t be hidden beneath her super suit, however.

Someone knocked on the door, Chloe’s voice ringing out, “Hello?”

Bride and groom, for there was no pretending anymore, exited the bathroom and took up their places.

Kitty Section had somehow arrived while they were talking with Clockwork and, led by a smiling Luka, played the traditional wedding march perfectly as Marinette was once again led to Adrien.

Adrien who was beaming and weeping tears of joy and love at the sight of his Lady walking so confidently towards him.

Adam took his position behind the snack table turned podium and led everyone through the ceremony with a practiced air.

There classmates and guests gasped at the sight of the rings and everyone suddenly knew that this pretend wedding was somehow very real even if it wasn’t legal…yet.

Chloe quickly bullied Nino out of his position of Best Man, replacing him.

Once the vows were said, improvised yet heartfelt, and the rings were exchanged, Adam announced the Fenton-Chengs as Adrien and Marinette walked down the makeshift aisle as Kitty Section played.

Nobody who had ever wielded a Miraculous dared mention the ribbons of magic now binding the two together; they were only briefly visible, after all, could have been a trick of the light. Nothing to speak about.

Nobody also mentioned that Adrien’s grandfather disappeared as soon as the dance turned reception was in full swing.

It was Paris; he probably had a plane to catch. He was American after all.

Chloe had shanghaied her father’s baking team to create cupcakes based on a fantasy wedding cake from Marinette’s sketchbook and Adrien’s preferences.

Nino took up his post as DJ and curated a playlist of both modern and classic songs, including the First Dance song he himself picked out for his friends.

And the party went on.

The next day at school Alya nearly screamed in joy when she noticed Marinette and Adrien both wearing their wedding rings on chains around their necks.

The two considered themselves married.

And that was that; at least until summer when they had a Realms’ Wedding fit for a prince and his princess.

And when they turned eighteen, finally, and were wed legally under French Law.

Back in his Lair, Clockwork would smile at each wedding; time was going as well as possible for that universe.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[pikachicachan]

I just thought of something and now it won't leave my head, so here it is:

[At The Table]

Florida: Heyyy Human Torch! Living up to your name I see!

[California glares while wheezing and sweating]

Cali: Now's [wheeze]... not the time Florida... [coughs up smoke]

Gov: Don't worry California, the emergency funds have been approved and help is on the way to Los Angeles. Hopefully the weather calms down soon so we can start to put out the fires...

[Gov warily glances over to Mother Nature]

Mother Nature: Hmmm, I've never conjured up a firecane before... sounds fun! A great way to start 2025, right?

Florida: I like the way you think! I wanna see it!

Gov: No! Both of you stop it!

Cali: [wheezes] Yes dude, please don't! 5 fires are burning in the LA area... and as of now, [wheeze] 0% of them have been contained due to the heavy winds... [wheeze] this is hella crazy. [coughs]

Florida: You know, I read something very interesting earlier...

Gov, Cali, Texas and New York: [turns to Florida in confusion]

Gov: I... I thought you didn't know how? Did you actually learn?

Florida: Ha — no! I just wanted to get your hopes up! Anywayyyy, I heard from somewhere on the internet that the firefighter budget in LA got cut by about $18 million last year which was given to the LAPD — even though crime has been soooo much lower and there aren't many cops! [chuckles] Like, what are they doing with all that money??

Gov: EXCUSE ME?? [turns to Cali] You did what?!

[New York raises his eyebrow in interest]

Cali: [coughs] Umm —

Texas: [shivers in his 5 layers of clothes] Oh-ho! [grins] N-Now that's interestin'! Didn't think that all the w-way through, huh wildfire?

Cali: [glares and wheezes] Oh yeah? Looks like [wheeze]... you're not fairing well either! [baby voice] Awe, is it getting too cold for the 'big guy'? Seems like it seeing how Ted Cruz left you again!

Texas: [seethes] Why you little —

Gov: Alright, enough!

Louis: maaais, lemme get a daiquiri 'eal quick! Dis is gettin' good.

Florida: [giggles] Oh yeah! I also heard that Ted Cruz leaving is like the Waffle House Index of Texas — but for winter storms! Did he go to Cancun again? Cause that would be sooo wild!

New York: [grunts] we need some kind of miracle dis year to get things movin'. [nudges Gov] ya know, I know a guy... [smirks] name's Luigi —

Gov: Alright, alright! This is getting out of hand...

Gov: [sighs and drags his hands through his face and hair]

Gov: ...but what else is new?

Florida: [chuckles] Happy 2025 everyone!

... this is the only way I can cope, pls —

But also, my heart goes out to those affected by the fires and I hope action gets taken soon to extinguish the fires! 🙏🏼

[griefabyss69]

Paths and Angles

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'NEW' wc: 517 | rated: T | cw: None

When Eddie's stuck inside for a week, he gets bored, and when he gets bored, he gets creative. It's too bad he creates with his dick and his heart, not with his intentions. Maybe the 100th fresh start will turn out differently?

Eddie sets up a fresh canvas, but it doesn't really matter, so he opens up a new sketchbook—or grabs a sheet of lined paper—no, he tries a xeroxed copy of an empty character sheet.

Paint, ink, graphite, charcoal, coffee, an accidental glob of spit, it all fits together, becoming a repetition of a single fucking subject.

Steve's body—or his thoughts, or his feelings, or Eddie's feelings, about Steve. Even the gnome he rolls stats for ends up with high charisma, good hair, and a bat to bludgeon shit with.

Eddie's got to be going through a winter of his creative spirit, if winter was a lust fueled week where he was basically held prisoner inside his room so he could "rest", because he tore his stitches again.

Rest!

In these circumstances! Every melody he picks out on the ol' Dragon Slayer is borrowed straight from Steve's mouth!

There is a solid twenty minutes where Eddie thinks he's finally got something—new material, not the trampled path he's been beating down—except during the twenty-first minute he realizes he's strumming the familiar cadence of Steve's footsteps, and he wants to beat himself down.

Right in the face. With the acoustic.

It's cruel to leave him like this. Rest doesn't involve a chafed dick and permanent dents in his lip from biting it so much.

He rubs paint off of the side of his finger—blue, because Steve's all browns and tans and caramels, Eddie had thought he was safe with blue—while he stares into the distance.

"Maybe sculpting," he mutters, trying to remember where he put the package of air dry clay he bought like three years ago. Art supplies, man. You buy them and forget about them.

He doesn't find the clay, but he sneaks out while Wayne's at work and finds a nice healthy stick to try to whittle into like, a wooden knife or something.

It goes well at first. He's sitting outside on the deck, listening to the buzz of everyone's porch lanterns, the buzz of the shitty streetlights, the buzz of the teeny tiny wildlife in Forest Hill's most least brown grass. He's enjoying the air, the slight violence of his creative activity, and the surety that he can't just stumble his way into whittling like, Steve's eyes.

Except there's only so many things shaped like a long stick on a person and what he has does not resemble an arm or a leg. He stares at the uncarved base of the stick—rounded, wider than the rest—and realizes they look like balls.

Sure, he hasn't seen Steve's dick and only knows he's circumcised from rumors, but what was supposed to be the handle of a sick dagger doesn't look ornate, but human phallus instead.

At least it's small, so when he feels weird about hucking it somewhere for someone's dog to find and prance around with between its teeth, he can easily hide it in his room and pretend it's literally just… a carved wooden penis.

Yeah, he'd have something like that, and he couldn't possibly have modeled it after Steve.

There.

Finally.

A new subject.

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (19)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.

“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”

“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”

You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”

“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”

“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway. 

“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”

“Shit.”

You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out. 

And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”

“Fiance?”

“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”

“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”

She spat, then screamed in frustration.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.

“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same. 

“W-what?”

“Just do it.”

Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.

You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.

But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.

And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound. 

God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.

You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.

“I hear you’ve been difficult.”

A spit.

“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.

A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.

You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.

A minute passed.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”

The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.

You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.

You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.

Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table. 

“Who’s in the house?” You asked

“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”

“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”

“Mr Winchester left for work.”

“It’s only 7.”

She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”

Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.

“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”

Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now. 

“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”

You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that. 

Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.

The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.

Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.

“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.

“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.

A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?

“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”

“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”

“He told you that?”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”

The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.

“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”

Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”

“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.

He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.

“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”

You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.

“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue. 

You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.

“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.

“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”

Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”

“What plan?”

He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”

Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”

Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”

“What?”

“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”

Tears sprang in your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand against your cheek. 

“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”

“Buy a girl,” you finished.

“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”

The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket. 

Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”

A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.

“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”

He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.

“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”

“A stalemate?”

“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”

The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”

“The boss?”

“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”

“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”

“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”

You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.

“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”

Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well. 

His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”

“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”

“What did you ask for?”

“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”

“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”

Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.

“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.

“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”

“I promise.” 

The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.

“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”

You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.

“Oh, that son of a bitch.”

“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.

“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”

“How come?”

Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”

“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic. 

You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”

He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”

“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.

“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”

“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.

“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”

There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.

“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”

“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.

You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”

Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”

And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried. 

Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.

As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.

“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”

“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”

You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.

She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”

“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”

Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he say anything at all?”

The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?

You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too! 

No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.

*****************************

A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.

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[ruubyys1]

Lower

synposis: you have wanting to tell him your secret for a long time, but still deciding to do it or not—

su x gn!reader . wc: 1.9k words

.☆ content warnings/notes: herrscher!reader, slight angst?? (if u squint), basically mentions of ppl making rumors about you, mizu5 and ena2 inspired fic (from prsk), expect some grammar mistakes here. —first part focuses on reader mostly while second part focuses on both reader and su.

.☆ a/n’s: Hello!! This is my first time publishing a full fanfiction. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, expect this fic to have some mistakes and a little confusing so please bear w/ me and understand. 🙏🏼

taglists: @rukianaa

You kept running.

Running, running, running away—

From among those few who already knew about your 'secret'. The secret about you being a herrscher to everyone.

You would never want to spill it, would you? Herrschers are evil, dangerous, killing machines that are destined to destroy humanity. Yet, what about your destiny? What kind of path will you take?

…Yet however, there is someone you think would accept you just as you are. Your relationship with him may not remain the same even if you try.

He was your light during the darkness, your savior,

—and especially, your most dearest.

Su.

But, will he actually love you?

…

Sitting on the bed with your legs crossed, you sigh softly in your room while gazing at the chilly ceiling and chatting to yourself. You thought of your "secret" while tapping your fingers softly on the mattress.

“I want to move on forward…” Those thoughts whisper down to your body with a sharp sense, biting you off with the feeling of wanting to tell others you are hiding. However, you decide to keep it a secret for the remaining years that you serve as a MOTH soldier.

"…I got to this point because I've been running the entire time and running like that…." It is true that you have continued to flee with the secret far away, from one place to another, long enough to avoid what is coming. Being a MOTH soldier and Herrscher at this point is hard for you due to how you were born.

—Nevertheless, he is there. Your dear friend Su, who would you always entrust with your feelings and everything no matter what.

“I will keep waiting for you if thats what you want.”

You just had that flashback in your head, remembering how Su once told you he'd wait until you were able to fully express yourself.

“Even if I rely on Su’s words a long time ago…”

“Yet…”

In your quiet room, you held your breath and then courageously released it.

“I want to talk about it.”

You placed your hands on your chest, holding to yourself tightly as if you never wanted to let go of anyone’s kind heart.

“If I’m going to talk about it… I have to tell Su first. Since he has been waiting for me this whole time…”

Starting now, you decided to plan whether to meet Su somewhere in a place you have both been before, even though you are still unsure whether to do it or not. Now, those sharp feelings returned to you, but this time, it seemed as though everything between you and Su will soon be surrounded by emptiness and darkness.

Like a faint ominous bell ringing in anticipation of the end of the world, it pierces your eyes as you come to a realization.

—Shoot.. You shouldn't think of that. Everything will go smoothly, right?

“A herrscher? Are you kidding me?”

A voice in the crowd, perhaps spreading rumors about you, and one of them being true, gave you a flashback that made your chest ache. You bit your lip, slightly clenching your fists, and attempted to calm down slowly, but the coldness in the room prevented it, leaving you struggling.

“…..I don't want to run away..” This time, your voice sounded shaky, like shattered glass that will never be able to be put back together. Then, you bravely grab your phone on the other side as the screen brightens up in your presence. Slowly, you typed out a message to Su in his contact. However— your fingers are also trembling from finding proper words, stumbling deeper and deeper to try to talk with him about your secret.

"My hands are shaking… I can't type well…" As you approach the end of composing your message, your fingers still tremble. While trying to find a way to calm down, the option you could take is to think about Su, your dearest friend, and how he once vowed to always be there whenever you have troubles ahead.

“…Calm down. Because if I take it slow, it will be okay—”

You finally completed the words that you typed on that screen.

“…Alright. All that is left… is to simply send it… Then maybe—”

“Eh…? Ah, that’s true. They may be a Herrscher.”

You are struck by another flashback, this time with a voice from an old acquaintance. Were they talking badly about you or only making up rumors?

“They are hard to deal with.”

“That’s how an ordinary herrscher talks, right?”

Again,

“Don’t they just want to stand out with humanity?”

And again.

Your mind is filled with increasingly familiar voices, as though they are repeating the same things over and over again. Were you genuinely human, or were you a herrscher set on destroying humanity?

The more you remember, the more it starts to hurt your head.

“It might be a misunderstanding, right?”

"Well, that sounds awful, doesn't it?"

“They’ll eventually betray our backs one day! Do you not ever even notice?!”

You tremble uneasily once again as more voices start to observe you from a distance.

"Everyone won't do something like reject me, will they? Su can easily ease someone's suffering if I believe…“

You clenched your left arm, suppressing the agony that has plagued you for years. Su is probably the last thing on your mind.

“I’ll keep waiting forever.” He spoke those words, which were as warm, consoling, and reassuring as a ray of sunshine. You came from the dark, and he was your light. Will he accept you for who you are, even though you intended to give him a sincere thank you?

He is kind, and so are the others. His warm smile fleeting in the bright sky onto yours, illuminating the shadows that kept you between.

How lovely Su was.

You have been close friends with Su as long as you can remember. In high school, he bumped into you and the two of you ended up exchanging texts.

His friendship would remain the same to you even after the incident— where he was trying to find you from the rubble and dirt that built up from destruction. Su would successfully find you when time passed, and he promised to protect you as always.

Su was calm and polite to you, and he was willing to understand your feelings, troubles, and secrets. He accepts and supports you in what you want to do and what you want to be.

He is kind, right? Will he be willing to accept your secret about you being a Herrscher?

For now, you'd like to think about that, but you're unsure because you are the honkai - and Su is a fighter. If you betray him now, would he hate you for what have you done? No. He won’t, right?

…

You spaced out on your work just as you were about to submit a file on Su’s documents. In that sight, you were only thinking about him, his lovely smile, and everything else about Su until it shifted towards your secret. Your eyes looked like they were about to empty and lose their shine too, as you only stared into the blinding light illuminated by the lamp.

“Su…”

“Yes, [Name]?”

You shifted back quickly to reality when Su called you behind, placing his warm hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright? You seem to be spacing out for a long time.” His face was a touch of concern even from the doctor himself. You try to find the words in your mind— until you decide to tell him that you are doing “alright”.

“Ah— I am okay, Su. I was thinking of something..”

That was a lie, and he believed it easily.

“I see… If you need help with any of your feelings— you can ask me.” Su smiled gently at you as if he drowned fully in your lies and mask. You smiled at him back too, however guilty also for the words you have said. You want to tell him more of your feelings, especially the deep ones, nevertheless, you do not want to pressure yourself fully.

“And about the file on the cure—”

“I’ll submit it tomorrow early morning. That’s all.”

You quickly assured him with almost raising your tone, which almost startled Su in his mind.

Shit.

“…Ah, alright then [Name]. See you tomorrow then, and goodnight to you.” His calm demeanor returned as his gaze softened to you, as if he was falling for your lies.

He waved his hand and left your office in the sound of the night.

You lied and lied again.

“…Hah. How can he easily follow with my words?” Your tone went blunt and straightforward. You cannot believe how pathetic he is to listen to you, always lending out a hand, and eventually comforting you. He was a warm heart indeed, like a bathing sunshine flowing in the wind, that is what you see in him.

He was your friend and always been.

Will you eventually deceive him with your secret one day?

…

Su sighed in his place, continuing the write one of his documents about researching a cure for the honkai— and for his patients as well.

In reality, he was thinking of you, especially on your tone since earlier.

“[Name]… Are they alright?” He spoke in the silence of his own office, slightly fidgeting the pen and staring at the paper. Sighing, he rested his hand on his cheek.

“I’m hoping that they feel well at least, I don't want to pressure them further…” Su’s voice full of concern wanted to think about you more; those positive moments that contained your genuine smile and unique personality. He loved you no matter what type of person you were, and would always continue to do those.

Even in the current time when honkai is invading, he promised to always be there for you as always.

…

You lie softly down in bed getting ready to sleep despite the time being 1:00 AM. —All of that hard work has been paid off, right?

You sighed staring at the empty-looking ceiling leaving your eyes to wander where you are and what you are doing.

“…Ah, alright then [Name]. See you tomorrow then,”

That flashback replayed in your head just now, almost letting out a gasp. You acknowledge that you did lie to him and he seems to simply accept it. Even if you are a dear friend of Su, you should not make a lie to him as he sometimes can perceive it in a way.

From your perspective, it seems you've been wanting to tell Su about your secret for as long as you can remember. For everyone, you also wished to reveal it too.

Unfortunately, if people found out, they would hate you and throw you out to death instead, especially in an organization called MOTH. Back then, you covered your identity as a herrscher and joined to find a purpose in your life.

—In that life, you were only a little person who yearned to find more of yourself, only to realize that you shouldn't belong here in this world.

Yet, one of your loved ones loved and accepted you for what you are. You were harmless, kind— and happy.

However, where did all of the happiness go?

You sighed once again, pulling the soft blankets in your bed and covering up the coldness. You clicked off the switch on the lamp shifting to complete darkness. To get rid of the negative thoughts in your head, you slowly close your eyes.

You thought about Su instead, his lovely smile.

Your lovely friend, and your savior.

—And eventually, you’ll go lower with him to discover your secret soon. Maybe in your imagination, he could accept you and keep it a secret ‘no one knows.’

thanks for reading! there will be a part 2 of this

©ruubyys.1 2024. all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, modify, or plagiarize any of my works without permission.

[wormwoodartemisia]

[I needed a wee funny bit and this came to my mind. No real context.][Don't get irritated by the title. There’s only this one part so far]

TF 141 have retired after a mission almost gone too wrong. Together, they now run a farm for holiday guests in a rural part of Scotland. Everyone has found new responsibilities and even their families appreciate this new life.

TF141 (shortest appearance: Price); main focus is on Soap - which is Ghost's fault, somehow...; afab!Reader (who's good at cooking) with relatively short appearance; no other specific description; no use of y/n

Warning: no smut (but maybe something that would count as implied reference to smut?); mentioning of food; no animal was harmed

(About 5.5k words)

(All dividers by firefly-graphics)

(Excerpts from a journey to happiness)

Funny Farm Life

Episode 5:

"Watercress down"

Soap has already been collecting some herbs, edible flowers and watercress in his willow basket by the small stream that's running along close to the main farmhouse building for a while when he decides to take a wee break.

Placing his basket in the grass and getting out of his boots, he picks a nice place to sit by the lazy waters and allow his feet to take an invigorating dip. Leaning back on his elbows, he enjoys the calm chattering of the creek, breathes the fresh air, smiling, and can’t but feel happy about his decision to let his life take this direction. With closed eyes, he bathes in the shy rays of the introvert Scottish sun above him. He could fall asleep like that easily, but there are still some tasks at hand. So after some beautiful minutes, he collects his thoughts and prepares to get up again.

Suddenly he sees it. That small green bit on the foot he had dangling in the stream mere seconds ago. Just above his right toe. A tiny frog staring up at him with a look somewhere between annoyance and admiration.

Soap smiles down at it, carefully lowering his foot again towards the water, but this only has the frog climb up his leg with careful, reluctant steps, making its point. It doesn't want to get wet.

So the Scotsman slowly lifts his leg to place it into the lush grass, his eyes always on the small creature as not to hurt it. Just that the frog keeps resting on him... Soap starts turning his leg to the left, to the right, to no avail. All the animal does is retreating back towards his toes. He leans on his elbows again, lifting his foot high into the air, but the frog remains unphased. Sees no need to jump off and flee...

Then Soap bends his knee and draws it close to menacingly stare at the living green spot. The frog stares back. Can frogs grin? The man rolls onto his left side, stretching his muscular body to its full length, placing his right foot close to a rock. Maybe stone is more to its liking than cool water and high grass? No, it’s not...

"Whit dae yi'll want fae me?", he asks, but the frog only tries to provoke him with a croak, a small, high-pitched sound.

"A'richt, challenge accepted."

With some more rolling, he is on his left knee, hands propped onto the ground, right leg still in the air. Might be that he’s now looking like some male dog marking their territory, but this is not important at the moment. Nobody around anyway. So what?

He's stretching his body again to reach a low bush with his frogged foot, tenderly touching some soft leaves. However, the animal doesn't move. Making itself smaller, cowering on the human skin, its sole reaction. No, wait! It's moving! Yes! Soap can see it reach the tip of his toe - and disappear on the underside of his foot... With a mildly frustrated growl, the Scotsman turns back to sit down in the grass again, taking his foot in hand, carefully turning it towards his face to eye the intruder of his personal sphere.

"Ah will git ye."

Cautiously he reaches out his left hand, trying to invite the frog onto it when suddenly the animal hops away. Short-term relief only. It's on his left lower leg now... Second try. With both his hands formed like cups, Soap does his best to catch the animal in between - just to make it jump again, higher up his thigh, landing onto his knee.

"Dinnae jump up ony higher, ye wee de'il!", he threatens in a low whisper, grinning, although he's perfectly aware that this cheeky beast better not find its way under his kilt.

Slowly the Scotsman gets up, his kilt pressed tightly to his body, and bends his knee back and forth. This leaves the frog totally unimpressed. How come is it sae pernicketie tae git it aff me? The warmth of his skin, maybe... Then Soap feels the little creature move again - with tentative steps into the direction of his popliteal fossa. When he, in order to get a better look, bows down his upper body towards his knees, he suddenly freezes mid-motion.

On his right shin, there's a second frog, wearing a darker shade of muddy green!

"Need tae ca' yer siblings fur support?"

Keeping his kilt secured, he runs his hand through his mohawk thoughtfully.

Tis back tae hee-haw fur me...

Keeping his left leg outstretched so he wouldn't squeeze the one frog in the hollow of his knee, he sits down again, already playing with the thought to simply let the frogs stay where they are. While walking through nature, why shouldn't he walk with nature at the same time?

There's a third frog. Light-green. On his left toe. Maybe this one would behave differently. Perhaps the darker one as well...

Soap starts lifting his legs again, slowly waving them in the mild, friendly air. The frogs stroll to the back of his legs. The first frog jumps off him.

"That's it. 'ere we gang."

So does the third.

"Guid laddie. Or lassie. Or baith."

Then a fourth one lands on him. Or is it the first one, a second time?

Maybe he should try laying back once more, on his stomach perhaps? Perform some more energetic variations of movements? Should thae meddlesome critters settle onto his clothes, he could try to carefully dress down and shake them out tenderly...

Meanwhile, Ghost is staring through the open kitchen window, his freshly brewed tea in hand, watching Soap by the creek. He is more than just mildly fascinated by the fact that the kilt - despite the vast majority of elaborated exercises - has never ridden up any higher than the middle of the Scotsman's thigh. Maybe an ability every Scottish boy was born with...

He takes another sip and since Johnny doesn't seem to be willing to end his excessive stretching in slow motion any time soon, Ghost takes out his smartphone and starts filming this idyllic summoning of all yoga deities.

It's this moment that Kyle enters the kitchen as well, following Ghost's direction of view while preparing a mug of coffee for himself, joining the other man at the counter in front of the window. For some time both men are watching Soap in silence. But Kyle is curious.

"What's our Highland fling doing over there?"

Ghost lets out a non-committal noise and his answer doesn't even sound half a question. "Honouring the national animal?"

Kyle takes a thoughtful sip, then nods slowly. "Sounds 'bout right." Another moment of comfortable silence. Then: "For how long's he been doing this?" - "Past 20 minutes or so." - "Huh. What you think. How long will he keep going?"

Never only for a second does Ghost put down his phone but goes on filming. Johnny's movements are hypnotising. "Forever, perhaps... 's got a course at 0300, though." - "That Nature Walk something, right?" Ghost hums an unspecific grunt as answer.

"If need be", Kyle offers, "I could take over. I'll be at the meeting point. Either Soap shows up or not." - "Cheers, mate."

Soap's next exertion has both men simultanously tilt their head to the left for almost 90 degrees. Kyle's brows couldn't go up any higher. "How does he manage to-" - "No bloody clue."

When Soap enters the kitchen later with his basket fully loaded of green delicacies and his mohawk an attractive, ruffled mess, Ghost looks up from his laptop. The Scotsman is mumbling some incomprehensible Gaelic tirades before he finally notices Ghost at the table. "We really need tae pay attention tae those clingy frogs. They be like glued tae one's skin, ye ken?"

Ghost doesn't even blink. "Sure, Johnny."

But the other man has already grabbed a box of crackers plus cottage cheese and is on his way out again. Most likely to meet his Nature Walk group. At least Ghost hopes so. Then he goes back to work on his own project once more.

The dining table is fully set when Soap comes to join Ghost and Kyle, who had both taken the responsibility for preparing dinner tonight. The Scotsman looks slightly puzzled, blinks and lets himself fall onto the next chair, fully ignoring all the tasty food laid out before him. "Fer some people, th' guid land air seems tae be too much, ah s'ppose."

Ghost and Kyle look at each other.

Soap leans forward, placing his arm along the edge of the table. He seems about ready to let the two others in on some secret.

"The sisters from Birmingham, ye ken, Mallory and Valerie? Was on my way tae bring the rest of my greens, those ah didn’t need on our Nature Walk, intae the cold storage, but Mallory and Valerie came out of nowhere and wouldnae let me enter. Going like 'We had no clue, ye should hae said something. Sign us up!' Ah told them tae just show up tomorrow fer the next Walk, just like they actually did yesterday as well, but they were 'Nah, yer yoga lessons!' Meanwhile Adeline and her daughters had arrived as well, together with the twins from Stratford. Na idea where they a' suddenly came from... Wanted tae know if they had tae wear skirts or if this was up tae themselves tae decide. Nora started a discussion about mini or maxi skirts, the advantages and disadvantages of flowing or heavier materials -"

Ghost taps a few times onto the display of his smartphone before wordlessly showing the screen for Kyle to take a look -

at the homepage for their farm. At the headline plus a video showing Soap's waterside exercises. Kyle's eyes go wide and he has to press a hand over his mouth as not to laugh out loud.

'Kilted Me - Rural Countryside Yoga-Experience'

Both men are staring at the screen now, at Ghost's muted video (where the Scotsman's skin is glistening in the mild rays of light, the colour of his tanned skin the perfect contrast to all the shades of green framing him, highlighting him as the one attraction to stare at, Mother Nature's gift to those who want to see, his movements flowing with the motion of the lush grass beneath him) and at the significant amount of likes and comments below the video clip constantly going up.

Kyle whispers "Damn good quality, mate. Looks professional even. The way you cut it too." while Johnny keeps wondering, lost in his memories, gesticulating with one hand.

"- before Lucy asked no-one in particular, although it was me she looked dead in the eyes, if anyone minded her doing sports without bra. Tha was the moment Dana asked whether it would be ok tae keep at least a tank top on or whether tha would limit the full experience the countryside could offer. And Valerie wanted tae know whether ah would still feel comfortable at all with dressed ladies around in this intimate situation we would share -"

Kyle leans closer to Ghost: "When did he take off his shirt?" - "Not long after you'd left."

"- like overcoming dictations of society and liberating yer inner goddess or some such... So when Paula asked fer the specific schedule - because it was nowhere tae be found as all of them claimed - ah told them nothin has been scheduled yet, tha we were workin on the issue, though ah have na idea what's goin on - but tha was the only way tae get rid of them..."

He blinks twice before leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, looking, somehow utterly lost, at Ghost and Kyle alike, as if they might be willing to offer an answer he knew they couldn't give...

"Well," Kyle tries a start, at the same time with Ghost: "Johnny."

That's all they can manage.

On passing, John Price sticks his head into the kitchen. "Simon, the missus would like to have a word with you before dinner. Regarding marketing strategies and video placements, I think. I didn’t know you were into that. Better not keep her waiting."

The door to her office is open so Ghost enters without knocking. She doesn't look up from her papers but there's something about her that tells him she's aware of his presence. Her finally lifting her head is his invitation to sit down opposite her, her huge desk only creating a distance between two people who would not be close to each other.

"For how long has this been on?"

No introduction at all. No need between the two of them. He knows the question is rhetorical.

She goes on. "Not even two hours. But there's quite a resonance. Have you got any idea what you've done?"

Sure he has. Dramatically underestimated the way people are willing to go unhinged in the seemingly impersonal spheres of the internet - or when being directly confronted with Johnny's barely covered body...

"Miscalculated Johnny's appeal."

She's grinning now as her eyes land back on the huge screen of her computer. Then her eyebrows draw together and she brings her face closer to what can be seen there right now. "Absolutely... Incredible...how his hair is shining in the sunlight... I really need to ask him about his shampoo... "

Bloody hell. I should have known. Should have posted it in the group chat only...

"Have you read the comments, Simon?"

"Not all of them yet."

"No problem. I've just listed some of my favourites. Of course the gifs are frozen on paper, but you'll get it." She hands him a printed page.

HannaSmith86: "Your Kilted Me can come over and revitalise my Wilted Me!🚿🚿🚿"

-‐---------------‐----------------

cherryfalls: "Some utterly handsome piece of Scotland!🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🦄"

-‐---------------‐----------------

DannyBoy: "Be brave, my heart... 💗💓💝"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MaggieMac:

"This better not awaken anything in me! 😳🤯😏"

-‐---------------‐----------------

butt'a'cup69: "could need some good stretching too🥴"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ananymous: "how i would let this scottish unicorn #€%* me with his #€%* before #€%* him #€%*

-‐---------------‐----------------

Judyssister: "Would love to see his more rural parts💋"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MoanaLisa: "➡️shortygo: most important question: the english riding coat or raw? 🥵😻😽😈

-‐---------------‐----------------

WellKnownAnonymous: "oh praise the highlands but don't forget his lowlands"

-‐---------------‐----------------

anonymous: "mmmmmoist 🥵💦"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ham'n'eggs: "Never thought I was a nature guy, but..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

greenlady: "Cernunnos, where are your antlers?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

jingleprincess: "The way you move your body is just so...so...

(gif by retardell)"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Knittin'Kittin78: "... nothing more attractive than a man being one with nature..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

sophisticatedlullaby: "Oh, foraging for ages..."

-‐---------------‐----------------

LuMarsh05: "Where can i book the course? Here i come! 🤤😏"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Some comments are new to him. Will it be necessary to delete the more explicit ones? he wonders briefly on shoving the sheet of paper back to her.

"Harmless fun. As quick as people are about to write stuff, they'll forget about it too. Nothing that should have any negative impact on our business. Quite the opposite. We need to show Soap. Might boost his ego."

"Oh, I'm not worried about Soap's ego. And you're right about these commenters. However, those are the ones that will spread the news, link us and make your video known even long after their original post. Soap would have enough to do if each of these posts reached only two potential guests.

And then there are those comments that would imply some actual interest in coming to us."

She has already prepared a second page that lands in front of him.

PeggyShawŒ: "is this private lessons or would i have to share kilted me 😉"

-‐---------------‐----------------

wormwoodartemisia: "👍Where can I sign up?!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

ShortyGo: "Timetable? Availability? Pricelist?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

kellylarson7/2000: "OMG!!!! I've just booked my stay!!!!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Yogafreak1999: "Is there a list to sign in for the course? I couldn't find one... 😔"

-‐---------------‐----------------

BerlinerYogarolle: "Does it have to be a kilt or would a skirt do?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

GreenWanderer: "Can we book the course as a group?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

underamoonlitsky: "Hey! This looks so peaceful and relaxing. Is prior knowledge necessary for participation at your yoga course?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

1KnowingMeKnowingYou1: "How interesting! What positive effects do the exercises have on the body?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

alexnichollspublicrelationsmanagement: "Hello, dear 141-Farmers! Sorry if I overlooked that info but I couldn't find anything: What exactly would be the schedule? One hour on several days, several hours on one day or even intense seminars for a weekend or even for one whole week? I'm very interested in a weekend course or a week for a group of about 25. Have a nice day"

-‐---------------‐----------------

RachelWalsh: "Same question as PeggyShawŒ! Also: is it mixed groups?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

DamianBlack: "Is the yoga experience included in all the bookings? There is no schedule/price list shown on your page!"

-‐---------------‐----------------

cookieslover: "He's real, isn't he? If I book a stay, he'll be there, right?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

MasonJar: "Do I have to book a stay or can the yoga seminar be attended separately?"

-‐---------------‐----------------

Diana118: "The yoga experience would not be cancelled in case it rained, would it? I would definitely yoga with him in the rain! Whether group or one-to-one lessons doesn't matter. (I would prefer one-to-one!)"

He looks up at her. A statement: "You haven't told the old man."

"That's correct. Not before clarifying with you, of course. What would I fuss about to him? Especially with you supporting me the way you do."

"The way I do being what?" He knows what she has in mind, but he needs her to say it.

She leans back in her office chair, a smug smile on her lips as she purses them at the same time, lifting one eyebrow. "You know it, Simon."

"Use your words, love. That's always been the deal with me."

"Convince Soap to host your 'Kilted Me'-yoga course. You might not have had anything like this in mind, but there's a lot of money to make with."

For some time, they're staring at each other in silence. He could probably talk Johnny into this idea, but would Johnny really enjoy such lessons or merely do Simon a favour? He'd find out and take the responsibility in case Soap would dislike the idea. This joke was on him.

"What if MacTavish prefers to keep his sporty side to himself?"

"Choices have consequences, honey. The 'Kilted' is part of the title. If it's not Soap, then I'll put you in a kilt and have you show your sporty side."

"I'm almost tempted to let you try that, sweet'eart."

"Who said anything about trying?"

With a wicked grin he lets her believe that she might have won. "The people went crazy about Johnny's charme. Not me to compete with that."

"Don't underestimate the attraction that comes with a pair of strong, nice, long legs and a kilt, handsome."

"Nothing too appealing about some pale bloke who probably couldn't stop a kilt from riding up over his hips."

"Then you should be very careful, Simon. A traditional Scotsman doesn't wear anything beneath his squared piece of cloth - but neither does a ghost, eh?"

He slowly tilts his head so that the gesture almost looks like a bow that would not reach the rest of his body.

If it wasn't for the dark gleam in his burning eyes, she would dare to believe he gave in to her.

Then he's on his way out.

She calls after him. "Great camera work, by the way."

"Could just as well have been Garrick's video, you know?" - "Nah. Kyle's camera would have caught Soap differently - including more nature to the rural experience instead of adding more of Johnny's nature to the countryside."

She might have a point...

When Ghost returns to their dining table, you have already set the hot, steaming pie everybody loves so much in the middle of the table and taken a seat between Soap and Gaz. Though you are paying attention to what Soap is telling you, you can’t help but notice the quick look Simon and Kyle exchange. It feels as if they've just had a whole, unspoken conversation within one heartbeat.

"...wis pure surprised, fur a've ne'er seen any frogs aroond afore, especially nae four at th' identical time climbing me. Hae ye?"

You and Kyle shake your head in unison.

Then Kyle, seemingly holding back a laugh, turns to Ghost: "Soap has just informed us about a wild bunch of frogs making the area unsafe for those getting too close to the creek. Any experiences or thoughts of yours to share, Simon?"

"About croak and dagger agents? Well, seeing Johnny in their territory might have let them jump to the wrong conclusions... Maybe they thought he'd like to play some Hop-Scotch."

"Gey funny. Easy tae say fur ye! Ye dinnae ken whit ah hud tae dae tae git rid o' thaim! Ye hae na idea!"

"I'm in the picture, Johnny, believe me." While fetching his smartphone out of his pocket, he mumbles "Everybody is." before handing it to Soap, the screen showing again the latest add-on to their homepage.

From the very moment Soap catches sight of the title, he falls very silent.

With each passing second during which the Scotsman is watching into what his droll frog encounter has been transformed, you can see how all the strange pieces of his conversation with their guests fall into place. Each tiny progress of understanding is written on his face.

It's a clip of six minutes. Underlaid with not only the soft sound of a happily flowing creek, but also with a solemn, instrumental piece of a yearning bagpipe, accompanying its compatriot as if the two of them were made for each other.

For Simon, it's six minutes of growing, palpable noiselessness - which have started a dizzy ringing in his head after the first minute -because Soap refuses to say anything.

Then, as soon as he's through, he goes back to different moments, lifts the screen closer to his eyes, zooms in now and then, reading as well. Still keeping mum.

It's nerve-wrecking. Right now, Ghost would rather be... targeted by a sniper, maybe? Well, actually, that is exactly what's going to happen...

He cannot disappoint Johnny...

Finally. Finally looking up, Soap decides to address his former superior.

""Oh, to be countryside under this man and all around…"?! Christ. This is serious, Simon. Filming me wi'oot mah consent 'n' putting it oan th' homepage wi'oot asking allowed…"

Johnny is right. There’s a sudden pain in Simon's stomach that comes with the realisation of the impact his joke? prank? whatsoever actually has. How did this fuckin stupid idea of putting the clip on their page even come to his mind? It's true that Soap has already posted a variety of fitness videos but of course that doesn't mean he could decide over the Scotsman's head... There must be something about retirement and the permanent close private proximity with his former teammates that actually fucks up his brains... or maybe he could blame the Scotsman's shampoo? Anyway, he will have to find a way to make it up to his friend...

"Listen, Johnny, I'm sorry. I'll take the video off and make sure it'll disappear-"

Soap doesn't blink. His tone is distinctively serious. "That wilnae dae." Suddenly, his stern expression is taken over by a bright, wolfish grin. "This bloody video looks pure dead brilliant. So muckle better than a' the ones ah took o' myself! Ye can even see they frogs if ye take a really close keek! However, choices hae consequences, LT." Second time within 30min to get to hear this... "From noo on, ye will take on tae filming me whenever ah'm feelin th' need. Ahh, ye'r sae guid at this. Should hae kent earlier."

If he notices, then Soap doesn't comment on the sheer relief springing to life in the gaze Simon has fixed on Johnny.

"Plus: ah wasn't aware that doing gymnastics in a kilt would add sic pure tough dynamics tae every exercise... We'll hae tae explore this further."

Doesn't sound too much like a punishment for now...

"Additionally, just for the records: Ah think mah freish shampoo does mak' a difference."

You watched the video together with Soap and followed Soap an Simon's talk afterwards without getting involved, just like Kyle. Now you are checking the clip again as well as the comments on your own smartphone.

"He's right. You can actually see something on his leg here. Look!", you remark and show Kyle while Johnny and Simon go on discussing the way the video is designed. Kyle nodds. "True. Though I doubt that anyone else would notice without being told." Then his eyes land on the amount of comments - a drastical increase since Ghost last showed him. This post is definitely the most successful one on the homepage - by far.

"I've got the feeling that this might have some relevant consequences for our business," Kyle whispers to you. On his own smartphone, he's just checked the stats regarding the bookings - only to find that their number has been going up proportionally to the comments and likes on Soap's yoga clip.

You're impressed with the chart he's showing you. "We should really celebrate this. What do you think? A nice, cosy private dinner party? All of you've been working so much. You could need that," you point out.

"Lovely idea. Definitely have to get some dishes that match the occasion." - "Yes, it needs to be typically Soap... Something classically Scottish." Both of you start thinking.

"Not to forget the frogs," Kyle states and a wide, satisfied grin appears on his face. "I remember your fantastic Cock-a-leekie soup. Now what about some Frog-a-creekie? Maybe based on some smoked fish and a pistou made of watercress? Added on top, this would remind of a green frog." You love his idea and don't have any doubt that he'll support you with figuring out how to best combine all possible ingredients. You flash him a bright smile. The two of you share the same enthusiasm when it comes to forming ideas and trying them out. He's a main reason why it's so easy for you to feel home here. You feel that you are cherished. He simply makes you feel part of the family. As if it was the easiest thing to do...

How come these folks always manage to move you so much? It is overwhelming and you're not sure you'll ever get used to this. You swallow.

"Sounds great," you tell him. "I'll prepare a list later."

The distraction is welcome: Now Simon's voice catches your interest so that your attention shifts to him.

"-comments are surprisingly explicit. I guess some of them will stay in my mind."

You feel the need to share your personal best of. "Yes, it’s hard to believe what messages people leave on the homepage of a holistic, traditional farm that's open for guests and families. Let me quote AnneWarburton: 'I must never be allowed to frolic around this guy near the creek. He'd make me make the water wetter!' I mean, is this her actual name?"

Because you feel comfortable with each other, all of you can have a relaxed laugh in the cosy atmosphere.

Ghost's video has created an interesting topic of conversation with the reactions of the commenters.

Despite the smug grins Soap can’t help on reading some of the more forward comments, there's one post that stands out. Though this one could probably be understood as corny by some people. However, it reaches deeper into his soul, because it touches a place there that extends far beyond the reference to sheer physical attraction.

Nicneven 🌐💧🌬: "This personification, this pure embodiment of all forces of nature… Such sensuality… The fresh breathing green, the golden light shattering into diamonds on his skin, the creek praising their bond in countless tears of joy… This unity of nature and man. This is life."

It fuels his energies. He's already read it thrice - but he won't tell the others. Will name a different post. Lets the others tell their choices first.

Gaz is next. "The 'Wilted Me' clearly left an impression. But all I really have to know is 'mmmmoist'."

Soap looks at Ghost expectantly. Of course he gets the hint. "S'ppose," Simon points at the specific post, "'the English riding coat' is my favourite so far. Reduced to essential, basic needs. With historical awareness to a significant degree of situational irony. Unambigously pointing out their clear preference. It's almost poetic in its own bluntness."

Impressive.

Now all eyes are on him for a moment. Silence.

Then Johnny pats Ghost's shoulder compassionately. "Ah kin cop it too."

"English, MacTavish."

"Sorry, sir. Let me remind you: We're in bonnie scotland noo."

"Much better here than I assumed, I have to admit," Simon's voice has got a soft undertone you wouldn't hear too often.

All of you are so much more comfortable than you ever expected to be, given all the circumstances. You take in the three men who share so much more memories than you'll ever know - but who are also willing to make new ones, together with you as well. This is a gift you traesure. So do they.

"Would also love to hear what the frogs got to say to our nature boy...", Kyle wonders.

"Ach, ah can tell. Loves me dearly, every single one. But 'course they wilnae leave any comments. We're neighbours - they'd be recognisable far tae easily!"

"So many fans, right?", you tease playfully.

"Aye! Just th' missus might be a bawherr pure upset, eh, Simon? Bet she's got bonny muckle work at hands noo cheers tae you."

Ghost purses his lips. "Think she's a real fan of yours too, Johnny. 's got a printed list of her favourite comments. Two pages so far."

"Sure. She adores me! Tough lassie. Will mak' ye pay", Soap points at the video, "for yer moment o' weakness, ah bet."

Moment of clarity...

Simon grimaces in mock distress.

"Totally obsessed with that yoga-idea, she is, and will have the lessons held - one way or the other."

The Scotsman eyes him with interest. "Maybe ye'r just th' richt man fer that. Could dae ye some guid tae get connected wi' th' scots land, emotionally 'n' physically. Sweet, rich grass is th' softest mat fer yer skin."

"You like lolling in the grass, Johnny? Then why not make a course out of it yourself?"

"That micht suit ye. Ye juist wantae pull yer ain heid oot o' th' noose. At least hae th' decency tae ask me properly."

Simon exhales deeply, grabs a cherry tomato and drops to his knee, offering the amazed Scotsman the small red fruit as if his life depended on it: "Johnny, will you do me the honour of hosting the 'Kilted Me"-yoga lessons?"

Must be the tomato that seals the deal. His friend accepts. "Aye, ah will. Juist a bawherr wiggle wi' mah bahookie? Ah can dae that."

You laugh in amusement. "You think that's all yoga is about? There's more to it than just wiggling your bum!"

"Thir's aye mair tae it whin ah wiggle wi' mah bahookie, bonnie!" The way he raises his eyebrows can only be described as lascivious. The way he chews his cherry tomato too...

You sigh exaggeratedly, faux-scolding: "That's exactly what I fear... Soon this farm will have a reputation for 'adult sports' only..."

He waves it off with a grin. "Dogs that bark dinnae bite. None o' they frivolous commenters will actually caw up 'ere. 'n' if thay dae, we'll be able tae deal wi' it.

Ah bet they'd be less clingy than my handful o' frogs. Speaking if frogs. We should call the course by its name. Tha would be 'Frog Gymnastics', more correctly." Soap winks at you, grabs a big slice of your pie and turns to go to take the phone call he mentioned during breakfast.

Kyle shouts after him, grinning: "You can’t guarantee the frogs! Additionally, 'Frog Gymnastics' would definitely sell worse than 'Rural Countryside Yoga Experience'!"

Sitting back on his chair, Ghost shrugs. "I guess, as long as our bonnie lad hosts the course together with his kilt, the deal could probably even be 'Welcome to the wetland! Meet the Leech'."

[antinousletmehit]

Antinous anon: Ask and you shall receive.

Please make a oneshot of Antinous and reader (and maybe platonic/familial!Telemachus), except reader is Telemachus' sister, princess of Ithaca and everything. And she keeps going to Telemachus about this guy she likes and describing the Worst Person Ever and she takes ages to reveal it's FUCKING ANTINOUS

(also I 100% headcanon Antinous to be like "you talk to that guy too much (starts an argument about it) (20 minutes later) bbg im sowwy 🥺 I know he's just your brother can we makeout and maybe I won't do it again (lying his ass off)")

Sorry my favorite genre is self aware people attracted to problems lmao

(also sorry about the wall of text you don't have to do this lol)

୨୧┇pairing: Antinous x reader

୨୧┇I agree 100% with ur hc, he’s just a man who wants to make out with his girl in peace

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The late afternoon sun poured into the palace, casting long golden streaks across the polished floors. Telemachus sat in the corner of the courtyard, lazily sharpening his sword. You, his older sister, paced back and forth, gesturing wildly as you spoke, your voice bubbling with excitement.

“And then he just…glared at him, Telemachus,” you said, clasping your hands together with a dreamy sigh. “It was the most intense thing I’ve ever seen. He didn’t even have to say anything! The other guy just shut up and left!” Telemachus glanced up from his work, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone skeptical. “So, this guy you’re obsessed with is…what? Intimidating people for fun?”

“No, no,” you said quickly, waving your hands. “It wasn’t for fun! He was just… defending my honor!” Telemachus paused, his sharpening stone hovering mid air. “Defending your honor?” he repeated slowly. “Exactly!” you said, a bright smile lighting up your face. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?”

Telemachus squinted at you, his expression somewhere between confusion and concern. “I don’t know if ‘romantic’ is the word I’d use,” he muttered. “What else has this guy done that you’re so impressed by?”

You plopped down beside him, your hands clasped in your lap as you tilted your head thoughtfully. “Well, there was the time he grabbed my wrist when I was talking to someone else. He looked so serious, Telemachus. Like, you’re mine and mine alone serious.”

Telemachus froze, his jaw tightening. “He grabbed your wrist?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! And his grip was firm, but not too tight, you know? Like he wanted me to know he cared, but not hurt me.” Telemachus stared at you, horrified. “That’s not caring, that’s controlling!” You waved him off. “Oh, you don’t understand. It’s not like that. He’s just… passionate.”

He set down his sword and stone, crossing his arms. “Okay, who is this guy? Because from where I’m sitting, he sounds like a walking jerk.” You hesitated, suddenly shy. “Well, I wasn’t going to tell you…but I suppose you’ll find out eventually.”

Telemachus leaned forward, his expression wary. “Who?”

You bit your lip, glancing away. “It’s… Antinous.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Telemachus blinked at you, his face completely blank. Then, slowly, his expression morphed into one of utter disbelief. “Antinous?” he repeated, his voice flat. You nodded, grinning. “I know, right? He’s so—”

“Antinous?” Telemachus interrupted, louder this time.

“Yes!” you said, exasperated. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He threw his hands up. “Because you just described everything about him that makes him insufferable, and you’re sitting here acting like he’s some kind of romantic hero!”

“He is!” you argued, crossing your arms. “You just don’t understand him like I do.” Telemachus buried his face in his hands, groaning. “Of all the people on this island, you had to pick him? The guy who drinks all our wine, insults everyone in sight, and probably hasn’t had an unselfish thought in his life?”

“He’s just misunderstood,” you said stubbornly.

Telemachus looked up, his face deadpan. “No, he’s perfectly understood. Everyone understands exactly what he is: a selfish, arrogant, red flag waving—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, narrowing your eyes.

“—asshole!” he finished, throwing his arms out dramatically.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Well, I think he’s charming.” Telemachus shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” you said, standing up and brushing off your dress. “At least he’s got a spine.”

Telemachus glared up at you. “Oh, he’s got a spine, all right. A spine full of audacity.” You rolled your eyes, turning on your heel. “You’ll see. He’s not as bad as you think.”

Telemachus stared after you, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. Finally, he shook his head, muttering to himself. “This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.”

From somewhere in the palace, the unmistakable sound of Antinous laughing echoed through the halls, and Telemachus groaned. “Definitely a nightmare.”

[coraniaid]

I really like After Life (and, specifically, that scene of Buffy admitting to Spike she wasn't trapped in a hell dimension that I just reblogged). I think I would probably put it somewhere in my top five episodes of Season 6 (along with Dead Things, Bargaining and [somewhat lower down the list] Tabula Rasa and Doublemeat Palace).

And yet, as I've said before, I really don't like the way that some fans take it as canon that Buffy literally was in heaven (and that, in particular, something like the popular Christian notion of heaven exists in the Buffyverse despite everything else the show has ever said or will say about it; or that Buffy would go there by virtue of being a virtuous person despite her very explicitly not being at all religious ["note to self: religion, freaky" in Season 2, or telling Holden Webster in Season 7 that there was "nothing solid" to suggest God exists].

I really like the metaphorical reading of this part of Season 6, in which The Gift ended with Buffy making an (ultimately unsuccessful) suicide attempt, and in which she resents her friends for not letting her die, and in which she considers her life in Sunnydale to be a (metaphorical) hell which she compares unfavourably to some nebulous feeling of being 'complete' and 'finished' which she experienced after The Gift. But I just don't think the show is better if you start adding things like a literal heaven to the world's lore. something that nobody had ever even suggested as existing before this season. (I kind of loathe the whole concept of The Powers That Be on Angel for much the same reason; it just doesn't feel like it belongs in the setting the show had previously established).

The thing is, I think Buffy's speech in After Life works just as well -- arguably, even better -- if you don't assume she's right about actually being in heaven. I mean, we know she's wrong to have thought that "everyone [she] cared about was all right". We've just watched Bargaining, after all. Not only is everyone in Sunnydale in very real physical danger without a Slayer to protect them, all of Buffy's surviving friends and her kid sister and her Watcher are all manifestly miserable without her. Plus they'd still have had to deal with the Trio and (almost certainly) Willow's growing reliance on magic [even without the big resurrection spell, are you seriously suggesting Willow wouldn't keep using magic more and more if she lived on a Hellmouth with no Slayer?]. And all the money problems Buffy will find out about later would still have been an issue without her coming back to life! Were they going to send the Buffybot to work a second job to pay the bills? Were they going to send Dawn? And that's not even mentioning Angel, or asking about the people Buffy loved who have already died [are they in heaven too?]. I actually think it's more accurate to say that nobody Buffy cares about was all right while she was gone.

But After Life works because, to Buffy, none of that is relevant in the moment. She convinced herself that the people she loved would be better off without her when she jumped in The Gift, and now -- freshly emerged from her own grave, having been cheated by her best friends of her one chance to quit being The Slayer, told that she can't just pass on the impossibly hard task of living in the world to her sister -- of course she's going to keep believing it. Of course she's going to try to believe it for as long as she can. Because the alternative is admitting that she herself is still needed, and that she can't give up on the world just yet. And she really, really doesn't want to have to do that. Arguably she won't do it until Grave at the end of the season.

The important part of After Life isn't that Buffy thinks she was in heaven; it's that she's convinced the world around her is hell.

[starsofjewels]

no wait because I loved the autistic headcanons you did for tywin and tyrion!! of you could, can you do one for jaime as well? it was just chef kiss, I need so much more of it!

When Gold Met Silver

Jaime Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

CONTENT: Vague mentions of Joanna's death, Tywin being an incredible(!) father, subtle neurodivergency, Lannisters are their own warning

For any confusion, please read the other 2 parts of the series (link pending)

No joke I had 4 requests all asking for Jaime and the sister, so apparently it gets traction now (?) teehee...

Thank you everyone who submitted the exact same request, this was just the first one on the pile. Now I wait for Cersei requests....

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Welcome to the first post of 2025, and what a way to bring it in. I'm starting to think the autistic Lannister reader might just become a series at this point, but I'm not going to complain.

Happy New Year, hopefully it'll be better than the last one. I don't know what to expect from this year yet, but I have a whole pile of unfinished drafts to either finish or delete, so we'll see what gets pulled out...

Love you all lots xx

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

When you are born, Jaime is twelve years old- Nearly thirteen, as he is terribly fond of reminding those around him. He is a knight-to-be, and one day he will be a lord in his own right, and he shall have Casterly Rock as his herald. Jaime does not care about the squalling, pink lumps his mother produces for him any more than he does the young ladies of court, who bat their eyes and fawn, like little rabbits caught out in the open season.

But you are something different. And it is your fault that his mother is gone from this world, to whatever lies beyond. He will have no more nights under the stars, recounting each one to her delight, nor stories of his grandfather’s mishaps. He will never feel her embrace, or her love, again. Jaime Lannister is twelve years old, and he is no different from any other boy. He loves swords, and he loves sneaking glances at pretty ladies as they walk past him, and he loved his mother.

Tywin instructs him, very firmly, that he is not to speak such horrid things about his baby sister, nor is he to even think about them. You are beautiful, Tywin says, and perfect in every sense of the word. His gaze falls to young Tyrion, in the corner, with his nursemaidens, and his eyes crinkle with something like disapproval.

You are dressed, bizarrely, in silver and the kind of sweet, dusky orange one might associate with Dorne, and certainly not a pale Westerlands girl. Not scarlet, and definitely not gold. As it transpires, Tywin has had Tyrion’s swaddling clothes burned, or locked away somewhere, and he cannot bear to be reminded of a time Joanna, lively and beautiful, cradled any child in Lannister colours, so your blankets are fresh, and new. 

Newness seems to be a recurring theme in your life, as observed by a young, growing Jaime Lannister. He is far too busy training to particularly care, not as much as Cersei does, at least, but even a deafened, dumb beggar out on the streets could notice the blatant favouritism you receive. Jaime is not bothered by this, but he listens to his sister’s constant fixation with your father’s love to a numbing extent. 

“And she sleeps in his chambers-” Your move from the nursery to the Hand’s chambers has become something of an overused point. “She’ll be in his bed next!”

Jaime crosses his arms, unamused. He knows Cersei crosses the line frequently, and this, apparently, is one of those times. You are a little child, even he can see that, you have no control over your own life. 

“What, are you defending her honour?” 

He sits opposite his sister, and says quietly,

“She’s an infant, what does she need honour for?” 

It is the one time in his life Jaime can remember actually defending someone against Cersei’s jibes. Usually, he lets them slide through, with a vaguely interested hum. But you are a baby, and, despite how much he yearns to blame you for his mother’s death, it really is not your fault. The Gods could have sent Joanna any child, and any child would have done the same. 

And so, Jaime begins to see you how your father does. Where Tywin sees you as his angel of earth, his purpose, Jaime takes a much more mellowed approach. He takes you out riding on your pony, regardless of Tywin’s instructions, and, when you ask, he gets you a practice sword and your own helmet. With enough begging, he gets one of Cersei’s friends to cover the bruising with her powders. Your sister will still not look at you.

Cersei is almost jealous. That is, until a tiny, chubby toddler bounds into her lap and insists that she is a princess. Princess Cersei seems to have a certain fondness for her little lion-cub of a sister, and when Jaime finds her tying ribbons into your hair, he seems relieved, more than anything. After that, she dresses you up in her old clothes, and parades you about, practically on her hip, and pony rides are supervised; no more powders.

But, war is war, and war changes people. 

Jaime becomes a Kingslayer, and Princess Cersei becomes a queen. They are corrupted by court, corrupted by Tywin, and most everything falls into disarray. This is what happens when the mighty dragon falls to the lowly deer, apparently. 

You are seven years old the first time you come back to the Red Keep, with your anxious father, and a whole new king upon the throne. He dresses you in red and silver- A rather odd choice but, supposedly, you refuse gold with a burning passion. He has never heard of a Lannister refusing to wear gold. Even your bracelets are of silver- Silver and rubies. A nice combination, of course, but not a Lannister one.

Tyrion follows along behind, but he does not care about that. Tyrion is a young man, he has changed very little, it is you who is different- Grown by at least three, if not four, inches, your sweet blonde hair darkened down, and a still face. He can’t forget those big eyes, frozen in fear. You do not recognise him. 

Tywin keeps your arm, he moves Jaime away from you. Something is terribly wrong, apparently, and he cannot figure out what. Cersei seems to know, his father and brother know as well. And there is a jealousy which builds, to not be aware of this ailment. He thinks you are dying. You are not, of course.

“What is wrong with her?” Tywin looks up briefly from his studies. You are in your chambers, tucked up in blankets which, almost a decade ago, he can remember himself visiting and watching his mother hold you up. “She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t look at me- Is it serious?”

And his father sighs, in a way only he can,

“She is intelligent, nothing more than that. She likes her things in a particular order, and she doesn’t trust those she does not know.”

“I’m her brother.”

“And she has only had memories for the past eight moons.” Tywin stands, setting his book down upon his chair, “She will warm up, always does. Take her to the stables, she still likes ponies. But not the horses.”

Jaime wants to say more- What is so wrong with horses?- But he gets the sense that there is no more room for argument.

The next morning, whilst Tywin goes to inspect Jon Arryn’s timetabling capabilities, you are brought down with him to see the ponies, who are neatly sectioned in their own place. They bite the horses, apparently, the stablemasters are still trying to heal Robert’s stallion. You trudge past the larger mares nervously, and you jump when they make a noise, or move any more than a hair flick. Jaime has never known any girl to be afraid of horses, especially not noble girls; he has vague memories of a young Cersei escaping their mother’s clutches and parading herself around on a grey mare until Tywin could catch her. But by now, he has figured out that you are by no means a normal girl. There is something underneath the surface that no-one is willing to address, and he dares not bring it up further.

He sends you letters, however brief, and little gifts, and you begin to reply back to him, for it is only polite for a lady to thank her benefactors. Until, eventually, you begin sending him real substance: things you draw, the latest gossip and, his personal favourite, recounting the tall tales you overhear from Tyrion, and asking which words are the ‘bad ones’. He sometimes forgets you are so naive, though he hates to say it. When you write to him, you sound so normal, like any other little lady, perhaps even better. He can feel your emotions flow through your writing in a way no other lady ever could. Jaime keeps every single one of your letters hidden away from Cersei, but there is no real reason to. By this point, Cersei is a mother, and a fed up queen, she has no care for her shy, smaller sister away in Casterly Rock. 

And then, Robert dies. The whores, and the boars, get to him, but at least he dies happy, that is more than could be said for most men. Joffrey is a tyrant in the making, Ned Stark is executed publicly, and Tywin is named, for the second time, as Hand of the King. 

You are ill the days after your arrival into King’s Landing. A change in the air, Tywin says, not that Jaime is inclined to believe him. He knows you are sensitive, and assumes that, once you settle in a little, you’ll go back to the little girl he knows in his letters. 

What he forgets, of course, is that little girls grow up into little women. When he properly sees you, for the first time in what must be a decade, you are about as un-Lannister as he can imagine. Still in silver, sitting by the fountain, quietly brushing your dog’s fur. Your Septa takes her leave when she sees him coming,

“You’ve grown up.” 

“Did you expect me not to?”

Not the response he was expecting, but more Lannister than your appearance. All lions are sarcastic, literal. At least some part of you is tied to that. He isn’t quite sure what he wants- Perhaps you run to him like Cersei would, to jump into his arms and kiss him fondly and sweetly, as he’s seen you do to Tywin. Perhaps he is jealous of how your father treats you, or, more likely, he is upset that you love Tywin more than you do him. Jaime tries, he tries very hard, and it is you who limits him. He lets you be after some short questioning, called up to Cersei.

As your weeks begin to shift to months, he sees you more and more, from his position at Joffrey’s side. Cersei grows cautious and closed, as the rumours of the boy’s true parentage seep in, as though she expects him to do something about it. You are happy, though, he is sure of it. Tywin buys you new outfits, or you sew them, he isn’t quite sure, and you have that stupid, old dog which he is certain has stayed that age for decades. 

Of course, nothing can be peaceful for long. He goes to the North, to the Riverlands, or wherever his captors take him. He loses a hand, his long hair, and most of his dignity. Cersei falls out with him, Tywin views him as a pity-case, and he isn’t particularly sure where Tyrion has gotten to. 

Jaime’s duties are vague and little, supposedly to aid his recovery following the amputation. He spends much of his time standing there and, as tactfully put by Tyrion, ‘looking pretty’. He doesn’t feel particularly pretty, dressed up in gilded armour. And for once, he understands why you might hate gold.

It is one of these ceremonial days that you bound up to him, bangles up your arm and a new ring on each finger, stroking your way through a bouquet of wildflowers. He has never seen you so confident, or so happy. You plop down beside him, and he looks over, with careful vigilance.

“Where did those come from?”

You look up at him, you smile, and he finds himself growing increasingly confused,

“From Father,” You say it so obviously, as though there is no other possible answer. Jaime cannot imagine the great Tywin Lannister gifting anyone but you a bouquet of flowers, aside from the vague memory of Joanna putting daffodils in his sister’s rooms when they bloomed.

You offer him a single flower, purple; lavender, he thinks. Not uncommon by any means, but not a noble flower. He imagines you would like that sort of thing, simple, and defined. It sways from side to side in the soft breeze, not quite enough to rustle the petals, but enough to make its point known. The two of you sit in contended silence, watching as the occasional servant, or lower lord, rushes past to gain someone’s attention. The two of you are almost invisible to the greater population, he as a living statue, and you as an outsider.

“I’m coming to the Reach with you and Cersei,” You say eventually, glancing up at him from your seat on the steps, “If that’s alright.”

Jaime cannot remember why Cersei wants to visit the Reach, something about a flower festival- Or a wine festival, more likely. He cannot seem to imagine you, his delicate, little, sister enjoying such a thing. 

“Without Father?”

You shrug slightly, lifting yourself up from your step to stand in front of him. Of course, being smaller than him, you have to look up. You are no different to him than a little child in this state, though, most people are.

“If I’m going to be a lady, I have to learn to do things without Father, that’s what Cersei said. I can do things on my own, you know, I’m not a baby.”

He’s never heard you speak so well, so clearly. Perhaps he’s been mistaken in what he’s heard. This is not the shy, small girl he watched grow up. But he has no room to voice it, you continue,

“But Father says I can only come if there’s someone watching me, so I told Ser Meryn he has to stay behind me, and he’s not allowed to do anything for me- Unless I’m too short to reach something, I suppose and-”

Jaime takes you by your shoulders, and you stop. He is amazed, and you, for whatever reason, are exceptionally excited about the Reach. No one is ever excited about the Reach.

“Of course you can come.” He says, almost too quietly, “you can do anything you’d like.”

You emerge from the Reach a month later, rosy-cheeked, whether by wine or the air, covered in flowers, and babbling about something or the other, Tywin calls for him. Jaime sits on the other side of his father’s office, that fat, old dog spread out beside him. 

“She’s never been so happy,” The Old Lion rearranges red and yellow flowers in a pot as his desk. They’re new, he notices, probably a gift from you. “It was good for her.”

And that is all that needs to be said. 

[freakinator]

ros says that she believes that ppl can get respect through both fearful (by having everyone fear her) and loving (by embodying their own hope) means but she feels as though shes been forced into going down the fearful path cause of how everyone treats her

pili then says that this is why he doesnt think he and ros can ever get along cause they have such fundamentally different mentalities cause he thinks fear is the only way to get ppl to respect others and that you cant fix the unfixable

ros tthen reasons that you dont need to fix someone to be friends with them and that nobody has the right to fix others just that if they were nice then they could get along and points out how pangi and pili get aling (also someone else but i didnt hear)

pili then says that pangi respects him cause he knows that he cant beat him and they get along well cause of that, ros then points out how clown is nice and how pili is comfortable with him and pili says he just has a weird obsession with him

pili then says that being nice means that you get stepped on and ros points out that pili saying that implies that he thinks ros is weak which she doesnt think is fair and asked who shes let step on her and pili says he doesnt know

ros then points out the kingdom and how theyre so locked in cause of her kindness, pili then says that hes more of a loner and ros asks wouldnt he wabt to be part of something

pili then says that ros hasnt been gone through what hes been through and that hes cursed with misfortune, ros then says that hes sorry to pili but points out how shes surrounded by death as well but in a different way, pili then says that its different cause ros is still here but all it takes is a creeper

ros then says that pili should start thinking of the present and that pili should start valuing his comrades instead of thinking things like "if flame dies tomorrow im cursed" as an example, pili then reasons that thats the exact reason that he distanced himself from pangi cause he doesnt want him to die

ros then says that if pili needs to kill then the whole realm can help him but pili reasons that the keepers of the realm wouldnt allow it, that foolish was the first and last given death he can have

ros theb says that if pili just opened up to the others on the realm then they could help him, pili then says that he doesnt look for payment wheb hes being helpful, ros then told pili about how happy flame was when pili helped him and pili says he just did that cause he wanted to hang out with flame

ros then tries to relate to pili by saying how she feels useless and pili then says that everyone has their own strengths and intelligences and gives him helping sausage as an example, that his building is equivalent to pilis killing and that building is what makes ros ros and that hes not calling ros weak its just that her strength lies somewhere else

ros then says that even after this conversation whatever hapoens will happen and pili agrees and that hes so excited for clown to kill him and ros asks him why hes so excited and pili excitedly says why wouldnt he, clown is the best fighter and hes gonna get beat and hes gonna get humbled and experience ego death

pili then says that its not cause hes a clown fan, its cause he just loves getting humbled and will always fight the strongest player on any server hes in and ros asks hypothetically what would happen if she was the best pvper on the server and pili replied that he would have to go after her

ros then asks pili why hes been targetting her and pili replies that its cause he was just looking for a way to provoke clown, ros then asks if thats really it that he was just targetting her cause of clown and pili replies theres actually more than that and ros asks for a percentage which is

50% cause of the day 1 bullying

20% cause he was bored

20% cause of clown

10% cause she was just there

ros said okay after each percentage and pili noted that ros sounded offended when he said that he killed her cause of boredom and pili says that he just has a different definition of fun from her and that he knows its messed up and pili says yes

ros theb asked if hes been through therapy and that theres a thing in therapy where the patient reasons out why he wants to kill ppl and asks what he would do if someone killed pangi and he said he would get revenge, ros then asks about bad doing it and pili thinks that thats exactly what bad wants cause of bads actions and that all he wants is his little telenovelas and tells her about bad insinuating that he has a crush on someone cause he made the mistake of saying hes interested in someone and ros asks if thats why bad said that ros should take pili out on a date and pili said yes and expanded on what happened

ros then says that pili desires closeness with someone and that he feels strong emotions amd that he also inspires strong emotions in her (mainly anger and the like) but that while he wants to inspire fear and destruction she wants to inspire hope and protection and that she dislikes pili insinuating shes weak and thats why she keeps retaliating against pili and pili says he didnt even notice that and ros said thats exactly what she meant and pili apologizes then says that he can be too honest or too much of a liar, pili then says to not try to understand him cause of that but ros says that she does understand him

ros tthen says that if theyre gonna continue their rivalry to wait for a week while she continues building the castle which pili was upset about cause he cant wait to get killed and ros says he should make the most of the week and that he should fix things

pili then says that whatever happens in the week is exactly what he wanted and to not worry about him, ros then says that theyll make it a fun thung but also maybe that he shouldnt be killed cause hes on his last life and pili tells her not to worry about it and that they can just kill him if they wanted

ros then kills some mobs and says that death is everywhere and pili says that death doesnt matter until its someone close to you and ros says that pili has done a good job in that respect cause none of the ppl close to him have died yet and pili agrees saying that pangi hasnt died yet then told to ros to be careful about pangi cause hes gone unstable cause of something pili caused

they tthen say their goodbyes and pili says that he cant wait to hate on ros tomorrow and ros remarks on that and pili says that its a good thing cause their rivalry pushes them to their best like batman and joker from the lego series and ros agrees and that shes gonna watch it

they then say their goodbyes fr

[actualalligator]

Buddie!

63. "You can't even say it with a straight face."

Anon, it's been 8 million years, and I apologize for that, but we got here in the end.

Buck frowned, watching Eddie. "You don't want to tell them," he said after a second.

"What? No! I said we could!" Eddie replied, pulling back.

Buck leaned back against the jeep. "You can't even say it with a straight face. Boyfriend. Buck is my boyfriend."

Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. "You are! I just don't see why everybody needs to know. It's our business, Buck."

Buck looked toward the firehouse, then back at Eddie before pushing away from the jeep. He hiked the strap up his bag higher up on his shoulder. "It's the 118, not a bunch of strangers. But if you don't want people to know you're dating me..." He shrugged. "I can't force you, Eddie."

"Buck, hey, that's not--" Eddie started to reach out right as Chimney pulled into the lot, window down. He drew back but caught the hurt on Buck's face before he managed to shove it down.

"I'll see you inside," Buck said.

He thought this was different. This thing with Eddie felt different. Sure, it hadn't started as a shining moment, both a little too tipsy, Buck heart broken over Tommy and Eddie in whatever had been happening with the shirt, briefs, and tube socks. They'd woken up and promised it was just one night, but it wasn't. Because it kept happening. They kept falling into bed over and over.

And Buck realized somewhere along the way that whatever they were doing felt right. It kinda felt like forever. He'd tried to keep that to himself, to stay casual, but then he lost someone on a call, and Eddie was there to keep him together when he started to fall apart.

"I think I love you, Buck," Eddie had said two days later. "But I'm scared. All of this is still new. I need time before I'm ready to let the world in."

But six months had gone by, and Buck was sure Eddie was the love of his life. He couldn't tell anyone, and in that, he felt lonely and isolated. He didn't have anybody to talk to, and he'd finally said something, made it clear that he couldn't just be Eddie's dirty little secret forever.

He wouldn't force Eddie to out himself, wouldn't dream of it. He'd end it. Smash his own heart in the process. What other choice did he have?

He changed quickly, sat down with the others for breakfast, made enough small talk to seem normal. He didn't look up when Eddie joined them, just picked the crumbled sausage from the breakfast casserole.

"Oh, Eddie!" Chimney said as he sat down. "Maddie wanted me to ask if you would be interested in coming with us to pickleball on Saturday. She wants to introduce you to Penny from the call center, and we got a great deal on a doubles package."

"Like a date?" Buck asked before he could help himself.

"Apparently, you putting your foot down on all future setups has not slowed your sister down one bit, Buckaroo," Chim laughed. "She just switched targets. What do you say, Eddie?"

Buck watched as Eddie sat down with a plate. He watched as Eddie smiled at Chim and, with an easy shrug of his shoulders, replied, "Why not?"

Buck felt as though someone had his lungs caught between their hands, giving a big squeeze.

He stood, the chair scraping loudly enough that everyone looked at him.

"You okay, Buck? You've hardly touched your casserole. I used half spicy sausage just how you like," Bobby asked.

Buck offered him a tight smile. "Yeah, just not hungry. I'm going to go make sure everything is stocked after last shift." He carried his plate to the counter and scraped it before rinsing it off and tucking it into the dishwasher.

"Buck, wait," Eddie said. His chair scraped against the floor. "I can't meet Penny, Chim. I'm... uh..."

Buck had stopped at the top of the stairs, but he wanted to disappear as he watched Eddie fumble.

"You'll have fun," he said. "Maddie's got a mean competitive streak."

Eddie stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head. "But I already have a doubles partner, and if I've got any chance of beating Maddie, I'd better be playing with her equally competitive brother."

"Guys, it's just pickleball. It's not that serious," Chimney said after a short pause, then yelped when Hen smacked him in the arm.

"They're not talking about pickleball," she hissed.

"Eddie," Buck said quietly. He shook his head.

Eddie practically tripped over his chair on his way towards Buck. "It's never been about not wanting them to see you. Everyone should know how lucky I am to be loved by you. I've been afraid of people seeing me. I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He held out his hand.

Buck could feel his pulse racing, could hear little else than it pounding in his ears. But he took Eddie's hand and immediately tugged him close. "I love you."

Eddie wrapped his arms around Buck. "I love you too."

Thank you for the prompt!

[disaster-husbun]

you know what, I'm jumping on this. Because I agree.

I work in venues, those that do the shout advertisements and PF ads. Many of those places closed down, some still exist. Right now, I'm working at 3 different places.

And on that note. I enjoy mods. I'm all for customizing your character to look how they make you happier. Maybe what is it doesn't work for me but power to you.

Mods have ruined the venue experience for me. Or at least what became the community's attitude for it. Many, many times I thought of quitting working at venues entirely, but honestly? I make damn good gil out of it. I don't visit anywhere anymore. Which is a shame because I dipped my toes in XIV RP through a venue to start of.

I walk into places, and get hit by a wall of tells, including "here's our wi-fi teehee" "this is our magic codes hehe". And when I'm at work, the most frequent question I get is "do you have a shell".

The last time I got a booking in a venue, I spent over 30 minutes sitting there, waiting for the other person to go "Wait. Hang on. I got an animation for this. I know I do just let me find it, it's in my penumbra somewhere".

Friends will have heard this rant before. But on one of the anniversary of my Eternal Bonding with my girlfriend, we did a party with everyone afterwards. We had givaways. We had a DJ. Whole thing. And we had a photographer. I was sending people pictures of them as I got them sent to me. When a (former) friend got hers, she got mad at me and said "I didn't know you had a photographer, I didn't give them my code" then left.

Another former friend said if a place has no public synchshells, she leaves.

When I'm working, I have to join the venue's shell of my work. No owner/manager demands it. It's the guests who get mad that I can't see them, it's not even that those type of people want to see me. They want to make sure I can see they are the tallest person in the room. Plenty have gotten mad at me for leaving a shell through the night because the crowd is lagging me. More than a few have sent me a tell or found me through the venue's discord to send me their personal codes.

My console friend has been turned down by a guest for not having mods.

Even the boss in a venue I work at. A genuinely nice, sweet guy, who is very understanding and considerate of everyone. On the day of his eternal bonding, my console friend pointed out he was shirtless wearing swimming shorts. Because he forgot to change his vanilla appearance to match.

I enjoy mods. Some of my characters are more heavily modded than others (Looking at you, Cain. Ironically made like that to fit in), my girlfriend has some heavily modded characters I love. But people's attitude and entitlement to mods has absolutely ruined the XIV RP community at large for me.

Playerscope, modding and the hunt for aesthetic: why you should be more upset about mods and community expectations than you already are.

I love that this sounds like an academic paper but HONESTLYYYY. I need to put my thoughts to paper in regards to my burnout with xiv, otherwise I think I'll go insane. This is a controversial yet brave post. I am well aware that I partake in some of the things I'm going to be critiquing; aka, "thank you, dinklebottom, we live in a society." I'm also not critiquing mods from a space of offering more accessibility to people and/or facilitating representation not currently offered within the context of the game. There is nuance to every discussion and I'm coming at this from an overarching view around mods and community expectations/standards rather than player joy. I hope this makes sense. I'm also predominately writing from a roleplay perspective, though I'm sure a lot of what I end up saying can reflect in the art party/social space. Just know if I haven't mentioned the latter it's because that's not my scene and I don't pretend to know otherwise.

Anyway. For those who don't know, there's a new mod that's causing some strife in the xiv community called Playerscope. Here is the reddit thread about it. I'm not going to be talking too much about the mod in general because that's not the point of this post, but seeing discussion around it today just made me feel more exhausted than I already am when it comes to modding and the xiv community around it. It made me realise... I'm actually really sick to death of mods. I'm sick to death of what they're doing to the community when it comes to gatekeeping, policing and in general the interactions we have with each other in the community.

Let me explain: I wrote a post about the roleplay mod on bsky that kind of articulates at a surface level what I mean.

I think what makes me sad, which I'm sure is echoed by a lot of people, is that mods feel like the standard now rather than an option and that there's a certain expectation for people to have them if they want to engage with facets of the community—whether intentional or not.

Unlike XIV, WoW has a supported mod scene (within reason) and TRP 2 and the like have been accepted for years now. In a space where people can't slap on an RP tag, having that tool readily identifies you as a writer/roleplayer and you can include as much or as little of your character as you like. The general idea is if you have one of these tools enabled, you're a roleplayer to some capacity. You can dress up the profile to a certain degree, you can add links and supported pictures, but you're mostly reliant on what you put to paper in regards to your character. Even then, I find filling out what my character is doing currently and marking the rest as a WIP doesn't necessarily exclude me from roleplay if I want to find it. A lot of people will do that and a super simple description to incite interest around their oc.

These days in XIV... I don't know. I do think communities have gotten more insular—it's why I'm so pedantic about trying to find them for the Compendium—but I also think mods and, to a certain extent, the 'nightclub' scene have gotten in the way of it as well. My argument is such.

I want to go to an event (for example sake, I'll call it Seascape). In order to fully participate, I may need:

Their discord.

A roleplay addon.

A carrd/google site/etc.

Their synchshell (including mods, mare and everything else)

Potentially a mod of some description so people know I can see theirs (and vice versa).

Also that your mod isn't made by a shitty person.

Appropriate understanding of the scene/social space.

Some luck and a prayer that it's an inclusive space and not a closed rp group advertising as being open and/or a mod showcase advertising itself as something different.

Like??? Holy shit you guys. If you are someone who doesn't want to mod because you're worried about repercussions it really just feels like a big 'fuck you, good luck'.

And let me be clear, not every community is like this. I'm incredibly lucky to have found fantastic roleplay within my own rp event/community, I have great friends who run awesome, inclusive events for people of any skill (writing or otherwise) and I do fully believe you can just enable the rp tag and find fun, fulfilling roleplay. But I've also found the above a lot of times, too. I've had people point-blank get mad at my partner because he won't install mods and try to exclude and/or circumvent him in spaces. It's weird. I've been to events where the only time I felt like I got proper interaction(s) was when I joined the aforementioned, even if I have my character's profile linked in my about. It's weird.

Honestly, no wonder new roleplayers feel overwhelmed. Not only do they have to learn roleplay etiquette, they have to be a mod expert overnight? It feels less about what someone can bring to the table as far as a story but what mods they can install to either look cool or pass an unspoken social barrier. As much as I'm down bad for aesthetic and looking the part, I hate it being at the cost of accessibility and fun for someone else.

Arguably it's the same for gposing and the like as well, which contributes to my exhaustion alongside all the graphical changes and I just. I'm gnawing at the bars of my cage.

I don't think it's going to change and arguably it's more of a Twitter/X issue than a Tumblr, one but Tumblr lets me write mini essays and Twitter will tell me to kms.

Ergo, I'll go with the essay-writing platform.

Anyway, I guess this is just a reminder that you don't need 4596419651 mods to be in the community and that people should be more vigilant on including people who don't have them for whatever reason, provided they operate in good-faith and want to contribute. I think we're careening to a slippery slope of expectation for something unsupported and I don't like it.