#Everyone is just carrying on their stories that should have ended a long time ago

[imminent-danger-came]

Can we take a moment to appreciate how many hats SWK manages to keep crammed on his head in lmk?

That man was doomed by the narrative, is mourned by the narrative, is and was haunted by the narrative AND is haunting the narrative, all at the same time! And lmk isn’t his story, and he doesn’t think of it as his story, and he doesn’t want it to be his story, but it’s also exactly his story, just a little to the left, and he is trying to remove himself from this new story, but also can't escape it because this isn't his story but also it is, and he's taking steps to ensure this don’t end up like his story, and is accidentally contributing to problems that are making it like his story all over again as a result. What a character!

To quote Anne Carson,

"To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing".

I think, strangely enough, most characters in Lego Monkie Kid are living past the end of their myth (jttw). You have Wukong who is the only original pilgrim still alive and around, you have Tang, Mei, Pigsy, and Sandy who are all reincarnations of the pilgrims (supposedly), and then you have all the antagonists who try and continue their stories in their own way. DBK was freed from under the mountain, almost killing his wife and son in his continued pursuit of world domination. LBD escaped her prison early, continuing her plan for a perfect world which ended in her defeat, her end. Spider Queen refused to accept the end of her empire, and ultimately was killed by LBD for it. Azure Lion had been sealed in the scroll, and after being released immediately tried to continue his rebellion, his hubris, martyrdom, and refusal to change becoming his downfall.

I think in Wukong's own way, he does something similar—falling into old habits and becoming his own undoing. His search for the samadhi fire was exactly what Macaque was upset about in the 4x11 argument:

"You're the one always running off! Searching for more power, or more sources of immortality: you're the one who wouldn't quit while we were ahead!"

MK earlier in the special makes the point "Why didn't he just stop, right here? He was already so much stronger than anyone ever needed to be." to which Macaque replies, "Wukong didn't think so, he always thought he had to be stronger—more immortal." And that's what he does in s2 isn't it? He still isn't strong enough. He can't defeat LBD, so he has to go find the power that will make him strong enough to do just that—and Wukong finds the samadhi fire. Which in turn leaves MK behind, and has him relive his life's story again.

Like, this dude is CRAZZZYYYY

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 8

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

⚠️Caution before reading⚠️

There's some deep conversations in this chapter so I advise to read with caution. A warning is there's heavy talk of Woojin, please remember the names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters are based after. The actions, views, personalities and characteristics of these characters do not in any way shape or form reflect their real selves. This story is all for fun so please keep it that way. No hate. It took me a good two days to write this chapter with many breaks in between. I wasn't sure how I should write Y/n's backstory and had decided on trying to make it more relatable. For anyone who's used to reading my stories either on here or other platforms know I write a lot of things based on my own personal experiences so I can write better endings especially with comfort characters. This series is no different. Please know that I did exaggerate parts of it and everything that happened was years ago and I have gotten away from it. Thank you now please enjoy.

Chapter 8

Y/n’s dry heat lasted four days. Four days of them all taking turns cuddling with her in the nest keeping her fed and hydrated. Every morning and night Minho would kick everyone out of the den and apply the creams to her now mostly healed wounds and make sure she takes her medicine before helping her change into new clothes having been sweating through the previous ones each time. 

The worst day had to have been the second when she became super emotionless and just seemed to be a shell of a person. Her scent even became almost nonexistent. But they stayed with her especially when it caused her to sub-drop that night and they barely got any sleep trying to make sure she didn’t drop too deeply. 

They all slept in the nest with her every night, well except for Hyunjin. He didn’t come home the first night and snuck in the second night when they were all dealing with Y/n’s sub-drop. It was the third morning when her scent went back to normal from it that his beta started telling him she’s his fated mate causing his stomach to drop and his heart to ache. 

He would go downstairs occasionally, pretending to grab a drink or food and would subtly check in on her. That night he silently cried himself to sleep on the couch wanting to be close to her but knew he had fucked up. The fourth night after he cried himself to sleep again Changbin grabbed him from the couch and carried him to join everyone else in the nest. 

Hyunjin woke up the fifth morning in the nest with Jeongin hovering over him curiously. “Hi Innie.” 

“You better apologize to her.” The alpha tries to act dominant but it doesn’t last long as he pounces on him. “I’ve missed you, I hate when you act like that.” 

“I’ll apologize, I promise.” Hyunjin pulls the pup closer to him, happy to be with his mates again. 

“Mins going to kick us out soon to do what he needs to.” Jeongin whispers nuzzling into the betas neck.

And the youngest was right, as soon after Minho kicked them all out and moved to the omega to wake her up. “Come on kitten.”

“Let me sleep, Min.” She rolls over.

“Look at me, omega.” He places a hand in her hair and rubs gently as she whines and looks up at him.

The alpha sighs in relief when he sees her eyes are no longer foggy as they have been.

“You okay baby?”

“My body aches a bit.” She yawns and stretches. “And I need a shower.”

He smiles down at her, happy the dry heat is over. “How about a bubble bath instead? I don’t think any of us are ready for you to be alone quite yet.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve established already that you need to take me on a date first before you can get my clothes off.” She smirks causing him to give an evil grin.

“Kitten, I’ve been taking your clothes off for the last four days.”

“Yah!” She blushes in embarrassment and quickly covers her face with one of the nearby blankets. “I’m sorry you guys had to do all of that.” She whimpers and Minho grabs the top of the blanket pulling it down to see her face.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, baby.” His hand finds its way back into her hair. “You never have to apologize for things like this. We’ll take care of you, always, no matter what. It’s what packs do, especially for their mates.”

“But I’m not even pack.” She frowns. “And I’m not mated to you guys.”

“You are pack, no one can say otherwise.” He smiles at her. “And we’ll get you mated to us soon enough.”

She blushes again and he can’t help but fawn over how cute she is as he moves his hands down to her sides and starts tickling her.

“No, Min, stop.” She laughs trying to wiggle away from him.

“Only if you promise to stop frowning so much.”

“Okay, okay, I give.” She giggles, he stops and smiles down at her.

“There’s that beautiful smile.” 

Chan pokes his head in the door. “I heard her laughing, I’m guessing it’s over?”

“Yeah.” Y/n sits up properly and the alpha sighs walking into the room moving to the nest. 

“You scared us a little, baby girl.” He pulls her to his chest. “But you’re good now and that’s what matters. How are you feeling?”

“A bit achy and in need of a shower.”

Chan frowns a little at this. “How about a bubble bath?”

“That’s what I told her too.” Minho smiles.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need all of you sitting in the bathroom while I take a bath. I think I’ll be okay alone.” 

“For our sanity, please just let one of us sit in there with you.” Chan tries to negotiate. 

“Fine.” The omega crosses her arms. “But it’s going to be Felix who does.”

“Deal.” Both alphas agree.

“I’ll go start it and let Lix know.” Minho stands up.

“Make sure to use Hyunjins expensive bath salts and bubbles.” Chan smirks. “He deserves it after how he was acting.”

Minho nods with a smirk and leaves the den and Chan turns back to the girl.

“My memories are a bit hazy from the last few days but I remember Seungmin helping me when it first started.” She whispers. “But I don’t remember Hyunjin ever being around. Is he still not happy?”

“Well I’ll tell you this.” The alpha coos at her. “Jinnie cried himself to sleep on the couch the last two nights and Bin had to bring him to the nest last night. He hasn’t said anything about you being her for the last two days and considering that and the fact that he was not so subtly trying to check on you, I think he’s realized how badly he fucked up. Just like Minnie did.” 

Y/n nods but also feels guilty for being the reason the oldest beta was crying himself to sleep.

“Sooo…” she rings her fingers together. “What’s going to happen now?” 

“You’re gonna get washed up and it’s the last day you need to take the antibiotics and do the creams.” He explained. “And then we’re gonna sit down as a pack and discuss everything.” 

She nods and starts to overthink about how the pack meeting will go but doesn’t get to worry for long as Felix rushes in tackling her into the nest.

“Hi sunshine.” He purrs. “I’m so glad to see you’re better now.” 

“Hi Lixie.” She nuzzles into him.

The older omega turns to Chan. “Can I take her now?” 

The alpha can’t help but smile at the two. “Yes baby, you can take her.” 

Felix grabs her hand, dragging her out of the nest and into the large bathroom on the first floor where Minho is just turning the taps off for the bath. The room smells of bath salts and the tub is full of bubbles. 

“I put your clothes on the counter.” Minho motions. “And I’ll be back afterwards to help you apply the creams. Lix keep an eye on her. Shout if you guys need anything.”

 Felix turns away as she strips and gets into the bath and once she tells him he’s good he sits against the wall next to the tub and talks with her as she soaks. He helps her wash her back then her hair and once she was ready to get out he left to get Minho again as she dried off and changed into shorts and a bra for the alpha to help her with the creams one last time and after getting her shirt on they head into the dining room.

“Y/n.” Seungmin comes over to her. “I’m really sorry…”

The omega hugs him tightly, surprising him. “It’s okay.” He relaxes and hugs her back. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course pup.” He buries his nose into her neck.

“I’m also really sorry for how I acted.” Hyunjin stands nearby. “I know it’s going to take some time with everything I said but I’ll work on it as I know now that you are our omega.”

Y/n smiles at him and nods as Seungmin lets her go and everyone moves to sit around the table to discuss everything. 

“So first things first Y/n.” Chan starts, sitting across from her. “You wanted to tell us about what happened before we found you. If you’re not ready yet that’s okay, just let us know when you are.”

“Hyunjin and Seungmin also wanted to explain themselves for how they acted.” Changbin explains, sitting between the two betas. “It will also help give you some understanding about the pack's history.”

Seungmin sighs, leaning back against the chair. “As you saw in the pictures in the tenth bedroom upstairs, we had another pack member, another alpha. That was his room.”

“His name was Woojin.” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “It was back before all of us officially became each other's mates but we had all been discussing it as we understood we were each other's fated mates. We had also all agreed we would be looking for you, our fated omega.”

“But Woojin had other ideas.” Felix growls which was the first time she’s ever heard something like that from him.

“Woojin didn’t see omegas the same way as we do.” Hyunjin watches the omega like beta. “He was very much not accepting of how Felix is when he finally had the confidence to explain his omega tendencies to us.”

Y/n grabs the other omega’s hand for both his and hers comfort. 

“We also saw it very quickly as he had started treating Lix poorly.” Jeongin grits his teeth. “Was treating him as though he wasn’t a person and we couldn’t accept that.”

“I understand that.” She whispers looking down at her and Felix’s intertwined hands. 

All of their hearts break hearing her words. 

“Innie was a late presenter and was a pretty fresh alpha at the time.” Minho pulls the youngest to him. “Because of it he was still learning but he knew to be protective of Lix as though he was his omega and it caused a nasty fight to break out.”

“We knew we couldn’t keep someone like him around.” Chan’s fist is clenched on the table. “We told him he had to leave which caused an even worse fight.”

“There was blood.” Jisung shudders. “And later we found out he had assaulted someone in town.”

“That’s why we keep his room off limits.” Seungmin motions upstairs. “Whatever he left and any photos with him in it the alphas packed up in boxes and left them in there.”

“After that we all agreed for our sake that eight is fate.” Hyunjin whispers. “Why Minnie and I weren’t happy about your presence here. We were afraid of something like that again. Getting attached just for you to do something to hurt us and leave.”

Y/n nods in understanding, unsure what to even say after hearing all of that as she’s still looking down at hers and Felix’s hands. She tried to speak a few times, opening her mouth only for nothing to be said.

Chan gets up and walks over to her chair pulling it out a bit so he can kneel in front of her. “What’s going on in that head of yours, baby girl?”

“A lot.” She mumbles looking at him. “Everything you guys had said as well as me trying to figure out how to tell you my situation.”

“You don’t have to tell us yet if you aren’t ready.” 

“No.” She shakes her head. “You guys need to know.”

“Are you sure?” Felix squeezes her hand. 

She nods and Jisung scoots over to the empty chair on his other side so Chan can take his seat to be next to the omega. 

“Like Innie, I presented late.” She sighs. “My family consists of mostly betas. The only alphas being my grandfather, uncle and youngest cousin. I’m the only omega in several generations in the whole pack. Both my parents, older brother and four younger siblings are all betas. As well as the rest of my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. Most other pack members are betas with the occasional alpha.We all originally thought I was one too until I was seventeen and had my first heat. Even before then though I was treated differently.”

“My grandfather is the pack alpha. I was the oldest girl so there were a lot of expectations put on me that I was never able to meet. From a young age, every family or pack event I was the one to do everything. Clean, help cook, set everything up while all the other kids got to play. They would tell me to do several things at the same time and if I didn’t get something done in the time they wanted because I was doing the other stuff first I was reprimanded and punished. If my older brother tried to help me I was reprimanded or punished for putting my load on him instead of just doing it myself.”

“What would they do?” Jisung asks, leaning his head on Chan's arm. 

“At first it was just more chores that would just get stupider, like dust underneath of the dining table or not let me play with the other kids at all or say I didn’t deserve presents on Christmas and my birthday.” She sighs. “As I got older it became I wasn’t allowed to eat or no one was to talk to me for the whole day. Then it was all of that and I was locked in the basement away from everyone for a few hours. Nothing to really physically harm me as my grandfather wanted to look good as the pack alpha.”

Chan looks down at her still slightly bruised wrist with a raised brow. “I’ll get to that.” She whispers. “Everyone in our pack lived in the neighborhood so we were to always put on an act that we were the perfect family.” Y/n couldn’t help but to chuckle as she shook her head. “But we were far from that. My older brother never wanted to come around so my family would use the excuse of how hardworking he is, being busy with school and work. My parents separated and my dad left the pack and mated with an alpha female ten years younger than him and had my four younger siblings. My mom was a verbally, emotionally and mentally abusive alcoholic and anytime she fucked up, pissing her parents off they took it out on me. Would ignore me for weeks or months until I apologized, for I never even knew what, just for it to happen again not long after. Would “forget” to pick me up from school, leaving me there after they’d get my cousins. Prioritized everything my cousins had over anything I had. The worst having been the first time she went to rehab when I was fourteen.”

The omega takes in a deep breath as Felix pulls her closer to him for comfort and Chan places a hand on her thigh. “When I presented my family’s first reaction was to find a doctor who would administer the suppressant injections. The pack didn’t know and they were gonna make sure it stayed that way so every month, on the first, I was taken to that doctor to get the injection done. Wasn’t pleasant, it was painful, felt like it was burning in my veins for the first twenty four hours. I still went to school and graduated high school, even took a year of college. My mom was the main one who kept my food intake restricted to protein shakes and salads. Said that if I ate anything other than that then I would start to become curvier like an omega and they couldn’t have that. She got worse and she went to rehab for the second time when I was nineteen. Then again when I was twenty, then twenty two.”

“And again last week.” The boys were all shocked by this as their eyes widened. “My grandparents said I should stay with them while she's there since my older brother is nowhere to be found. Well at least that’s what they think, he was fed up with them and our mom that he moved to the northern side of Seoul and cut contact with all of them, but I’m the only one who knows that as he’s only kept in contact with me for the last year. He had tried to stay around as long as he could for my sake but he just couldn’t. I don't blame him. I should have realized that staying with my grandparents was a bad idea… They treated me as their maid and slave. I was fed up after the first day and told them I was going back to my house, that I’d be fine by myself. My grandfather said I don’t get to talk to them like that and how I’m a spoiled little bitch that they’ve been going easy on. How they’ve been so nice to me to help keep the illusion that I’m a beta but what they were telling me to do was how an actual omega is to be treated and I should act like one. I yelled at them about how they hate me being an omega and won’t let me be my true self so why would they treat me as such now?”

“That really pissed my grandfather off since he grabbed my wrist as hard as he could, dragging me across the house before… throwing me down the basement stairs. He continued to yell at me as I had gotten up trying to run up the stairs and maybe get past him but he blocked my exit causing me to run into him. After I fell back onto the top step he kicked me in the ribs pushing me down the concrete stairs again, hitting every step on the way down to the bottom. He shut and locked the door and turned the power off down there.” Y/n could feel how angry they all are at this point, the alphas growling softly, the betas clenching their fists, jaws locked, and Felix is now holding her protectively. “Even though I couldn’t see I could feel the bruising and the gash on my arm bleeding. I was kept down there for three days in complete darkness, with nothing to eat or drink. The day you found me was my aunt's birthday so they were letting me out to set up and prepare for it. It was the only opportunity I had so as soon as I was let upstairs I ran for it out the door, only able to grab my car keys on my way out. They yelled at me that if I leave then to never come back, saying that the family and pack would be better off without me. I drove as far as I could with what gas I had left. I thought about going to my brothers but I knew I didn’t even have enough gas to make it to the city or any money to get more. So when my car dinged in need of gas I pulled over as the first public place I saw.”

“The park.” Jisung is in tears as he clings onto Chan and Y/n nodes as she can feel Felix shaking as he holds her, knowing he’s also crying as he buries his face in her neck.

“What would you have done if we hadn’t been there?” Chan grips her thigh. 

“I honestly don’t know.” She whispers and grabs his hand trying to hold back her own tears.

“What do you wanna do now?” Minho hugs Jisung from behind as he leans over to look at her. “If you wish, we can take you to your brother's place.”

“Minho?” Jeongin lowly growls. 

“No Innie, he’s right.” Changbin sighs. “We said it was up to you, pretty girl. If you want to stay you’re welcome to but we aren’t going to force you. So we can take you to your brother if that’s what you want.”

“But you have to promise to keep in touch with us if you do.” Hyunjin smiles at her.

“You guys truly want me to stay?” She looks at each of them in hope. “All of you?”

They all nod in agreement giving a course of ‘yes’s’.

“Then I’d like to please stay.” She whispers and they all sigh in relief. “Is there any chance I’d be able to call my brother though, so I can tell him what happened and that I’m alright?”

“Of course, baby girl.” Chan lifts her chin to look at him. “Just let one of us know when and you can use our phones to do so.”

“We need to take you to get clothes here soon, while we do that we can get you a new phone set up too.” Jeongin stands up and comes around to pull her from Felix to hug her. “That way you will be able to stay in contact with him. You’re safe now, we promise that you’ll never have to go back to your grandparents again. You’re a part of our pack now.”

“Thank you.” She tears up.

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl

@blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55

@hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound

@galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami

@notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 17)

Pairing: Endgame!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “Shhh…”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to deep depression; very slight mention of suicidal thoughts; mentions of an eating disorder (neglecting food due to mental health problems); sad!Reader; sad and desperate!Bucky

Author's note: I'm so late, so sorry!! Actually planned on ending this way more angsty but I just couldn’t. Hope you still like it!

Angstober Masterlist

Not that you’re counting, but it has been 14 nights now. Two weeks. Nearly 340 hours since Bucky returned. He came back, along with everyone else who had vanished for five long years. But nothing else seemed nearly as significant as the feeling of seeing him again - the man you loved before the blip, during the blip, and thereafter.

Obviously, this was supposed to be a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. And it was for a moment. But you never felt the weight fall off you, that great release where all your problems just go away and nothing is left but love, relief, lightness - the kind of peace you can finally sink into.

But peace is far from what you feel.

You carry something in your gut; a stone lodged deep, heavy, and smooth to the touch but sharp on impact, that pushes your insides down and twists the knots in your belly into nausea. It’s guilt. So thick and visceral, it hurts, your body trying to reject it, to shake it, but you can’t breathe it away.

Because it’s also the 14th night of you leaving the warm and cozy embrace of two arms - one flesh, one metal - and the feeling of a chest pressed against your body just to sit out on the balcony, the exact same you spent ceaseless and lonely nights on when the world had emptied itself of Bucky Barnes.

Back when this place was only yours for the better part of the blip. With an old armchair placed to overlook the stars and form changing moon blinking at you from the blackness overhead. As if each of those tiny bright dots stood for something specific.

Bucky is asleep inside the bedroom, you’re supposed to be in right now. Wrapped safely in his arms, surrounded by the comfort of having him back. But the truth is, this comfort you should feel suffocates you.

You’re frozen. Stuck between two worlds. The one where you lost him, where you had to endure five long years without him, and the one where he returned as though no time had passed at all.

Five years living without him just for him to return to earth within the blink of an eye as if it was nothing. As if the time spent alone wasn’t agony in the worst sense of the word. As if your suffering didn’t even happen and everything just went back to normal in seconds.

You don’t know how to react. You don’t know how to be normal again. How can you just slip back into a love that feels like it was frozen in time for him but battered and painful for you?

It hasn’t been easy for anyone, you’re aware of that. Disappearing or not. Suddenly re-entering a world that had moved on without you, a world you never knew you even left, is a scary thought. But, honestly, it’s so much worse for Bucky. Your stomach, again, churns in pain.

Bucky has already lost so much of his life, trapped in decades he was never meant to live, a ghost haunting the wrong era. The world keeps slipping through his fingers, time moving around him while he’s frozen in place. Literally even. And now there goes another five years.

But you just can’t turn your head off. And you hate yourself for it.

The truth is, you’re not the same person you were when you met Bucky, started dating him - the one he fell in love with. A bright spirit, an effervescent soul, full of light, energy, softness, with a laugh that was infectious. That version of you is gone, taken by the same breeze that took Bucky years ago. What’s left was a hollow shell, lost in the grief of your greatest love story.

Time wore you down, erode pieces of you that you didn’t even realize were fading away until there was hardly anything left. Just bare bones of who you once were - a thin foundation, fragile, with crumbs already falling to your darkest depths, ready to be swept away for good.

How can you possibly go back to the person Bucky expects you to be? How can you pretend to be the version of yourself he fell in love with when it doesn’t exist anymore? When what’s left of her is irredeemable, too far gone to be resurrected?

You’re certain you’ll only end up disappointing him. If you haven’t already.

Fourteen nights you’ve been out here, on this balcony, sitting in that chair, wrapped in the dark, keeping yourself apart from him when you know you should be beside him. When all you ever wanted was to be beside him again.

Thirteen of those nights, Bucky has noticed your absence. The first night he found you out here, sitting in silence, you nearly snapped at him, frustration and confusion at the way you feel bubbling up so fiercely, you didn’t know how to contain it.

You told him to leave you alone. Insisted on it for so long until he finally, reluctantly relented, slowly retreating back inside with a tremble in his breath and clenched fingers. You knew he would respect your request. You also found out that he didn’t sleep a wink that night, since you didn’t come back to bed, wearing circles under his eyes that matched yours as he made you some breakfast in the morning you barely ended up stomaching.

Since then, you haven’t asked him to leave. Though you don’t really engage him in conversation either, only letting him linger. His presence is gentle, never pressing, always so patient, but it doesn’t make it easier. If only, it worsens the guilt, its fingers tightening around your chest, digging into your skin painfully. You don’t know how to let him back in, not when you’re still so tangled up in the person you’ve become - someone so worn-down, you don’t recognize yourself anymore, afraid to be confronted with the harrowing reality by looking in a mirror.

And every night, you wonder, silently asking the night sky, how much longer it’ll be before he realizes that the person he loves is someone he lost.

You’re waiting. Waiting for him to notice that this new version of you isn’t enough.

Every time, Bucky comes out to you, bringing you something - blankets, jackets, his hoodies, a cup of tea still steaming in his hands, or thick socks to warm your feet. He gets you all the things you never thought to grab in your rush to escape to the balcony, to get lost in the night air that bites into your skin but usually feels oddly comforting in its coldness. The chill always manages to give you a small sting of reality.

You never make the first move to wrap the blankets around yourself or pull any of the clothing items on, so Bucky usually does it for you. And he’s nothing but kind. Patient and soft in ways that almost hurt to witness. It’s in his eyes, in the way he watches you, never pushing too hard, never demanding more than you can give.

But his worry is etched into every corner of him like he is carrying it in his very bones. It’s heavy on his brows, weighing them down in a furrow that never seems to ease, lips pressed into a slight frown that tugs at the corners even when he tries to soothe it out.

It’s in the way his hands twitch, as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and pull you close, but stops himself because he’s unsure if you want him to. He’s constantly walking that fine line, balancing between the space you seem to want and the need to be there, to comfort you, troubled with his own helplessness.

It’s in every considerate gesture, every thoughtful thing he does to make sure you’re okay, or at least giving you a sense of solace.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to really talk to him. To explain what’s going on in your mind. To voice the fear that now lives there and which places it travels and where it settles down, lodging itself deep into your conscience, roots spreading and festering.

There’s no way to explain what drives you out here night after night, sitting in the darkness while your returned love waits for you inside.

It’s not that you don’t want to. God, you want to more than anything. But the words just won’t come, not making it past the lump in your throat. You’re trapped in a loop of thoughts; confusion, and guilt guiding them to twirl in your head like an indecipherable storm.

How do you even begin to explain that the person he’s so worried about isn’t really there anymore; that you’re afraid you’ve changed too much; that you’re not sure how to go back to the way things were, or if you even can? So while you remain silent, your mind races and your heart aches with the weight of everything you can’t say.

There are so many ghosts in his life and you don’t want to count yourself as another. But you don’t have it in you to do something about it.

As expected, the door to the balcony opens, quietly, slowly. It gets shorter, you notice. The time it takes him to realize you’re gone. As if he instinctively wakes up the second you leave his embrace. As if he barely has to stir to know you’re missing, to feel the cold, empty space where your warmth should be.

You wish he had given you just a little more time. Woke up just a little later. Nausea pools in your gut.

“Sweetheart.”

You pick up his whisper. You intended to ignore it, just as you had intended to ignore the quiet shuffle of his steps, the way he appeared in your peripherals like he always does. But the way his voice reflects so much of a fragility you can’t and don’t want to describe, your head lifts almost on autopilot, responding to him before your mind can even catch up.

He’s crouching down to your level in front of the chair you’re perched on, carefully lowering himself to your eye level. You hadn’t even acknowledged the bowl of pasta he brought until he set it down on the small table next to you, food you hadn’t even glanced at all day. As well as the blanket draped over his forearm he now deliberately wraps you up in. His hands linger on your arms longer than needed until he almost reluctantly pulls away.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not for a second. Gaze so intense and solid, it undoes you. They’re filled with everything you try to run from, everything you try to bury deep inside yourself, everything you try to hide from.

You avert your eyes at the new wave of pain that tears right through your chest, intended to knock you off that chair, perhaps even off that balcony. Your silence is wearing on him and you know. You know that his brows are creased in worry, that his hands are trembling as they grab onto his knees to prevent himself from reaching out to you because he thinks that’s not what you want. That his touch is unwanted. His lips are pressed together as if holding back the flood of words he’s too afraid to say out loud.

Still, you don’t open your mouth. You don’t move closer to him to feel some of his warmth. You don’t look at him. All you do is let him down, night after night, as he watches you drift further away.

From yourself.

From him.

“Please eat something, love.”

His pleading voice again reaches you with the force of a knife, thrown straight to your heart, tearing through the blanket, your thin clothes, your skin, to embed itself into the organ that once held something so precious. A love so fierce, not only for the man in front of you but for the woman he fell for. For the woman that’s now lost in a body filled with coldness.

“Not hungry.” The words fall flat from your lips, monotone, your voice as hollow as you feel inside. There’s no weight behind them, no energy. They’re the same words you’ve been giving him all day, all week - really, for two weeks straight.

Actually, you haven’t been hungry in what feels like forever. The idea of eating, of caring for your body, feels so distant, so unimportant, perhaps even ludicrous, that you’ve stopped thinking about it entirely. Your stomach knots itself in protest but the thought of offering sustenance to your weary body pales in significance amidst whatever storm is brewing inside your mind.

Bucky never relents. Never gives up. Never stops trying.

But it’s heavy on him.

The pained sigh that ripples through his body, drags his shoulders down, his entire frame. His desperation is so evident, it’s standing out like a light that wants the attention of the darkness around you. His pain almost echoes like a sound, ringing in your ears.

He bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

Another stab. Another twist of the knife, that never really leaves your body anymore. It’s always sharp. Always intense. Always piercing. Because it never ceases to hurt when Bucky is in pain.

And he’s in pain because of you.

It’s always because of you.

His despair now is an extension of the love that triumphed against odds, yet now feels so misplaced, so undeserving in the wreckage that was left behind.

Every line of his body screams misery and it’s so unlike Bucky to carry it so openly. He’s not able to stop his hands from shaking, even though he’s clenching them into fists that leave his skin white. He’s not able to ease the tension in his jaw, the way his breath catches as though he’s holding back more words, more pleas, more desperation.

You know it’s your fault. You know this is a love he still holds for a person that doesn’t deserve it anymore. He holds on so tight. So fierce. And that’s what hurts the most.

A new sensation wells up, one you had consciously buried for the past 14 nights. One you hadn’t let yourself feel every time you got lost out here. It grips your throat, wraps itself around it, and squeezes, cutting off the flow of air. It’s choking you, as if in triumph, confronting the tidal surges of emotion you’ve been holding back for so long. It stings behind your eyes, making them swell and burn as tears form faster than you can stop them.

The sob that forms in your belly takes shape in a revolting way and you can’t grasp it properly.

So, when it finally escapes, it’s heart-wrenching. The sound rips from your chest violently and guttural, tearing through your lips before you can do anything to keep it inside. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperate to stifle it, but it’s useless.

Bucky’s head snaps up with so much vigor, and he stumbles in his rush to reach you, arms shooting up, eyes wide with alarm. His hands move toward you without hesitation, disregarding the fragile boundaries you had set, the cautious distance he believed you’d wanted.

You’re shaking, shoulders trembling with the power of the cries that rack through your body and he pulls you against him.

He cradles your head against his chest, his other arm pulling you closer, closer, closer. His grip is so full of anguish, holding onto you like his very life depends on it, his warmth fighting against the chill that’s been living inside you for such a long time.

Your sobs come harder, sounds muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. Bucky tries to hold you tighter, letting you crumble against him.

Minutes stretch out and your cries don’t let up. Each breath you take is painful, rough, and with every shudder that convulses your body, Bucky grasps you firmer.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby, I got you.” His voice sounds so soft but frail, hoarse with the effort of keeping himself composed. He keeps whispering, though his words tremble on his lips as if he’s battling the same ache that’s threatening to break him apart all the same. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, trying so hard to be the anchor you need.

“Shhh…” he breathes again, but there are tears in his tone. He’s holding on so solidly, gripping you as if letting go would mean losing you entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, the words tumbling out over and over because it’s all your scrambled mind manages. It’s the only thing that feels true in the mess of your awareness. The silence, the distance, the weight you’ve placed on him, on his shoulders, which should be free from burden after the hell he’s been through. He’s only just come back from five years of being lost to the world, and now you’re drowning him in your own grief. And that makes your tears come without control, the guilt crushing.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob again, the only thing you can offer. An apology isn’t enough but it’s all you have. Because you don’t know if you’re supposed to hold onto the hope that maybe, one day, he’ll forgive you for being too much, for not being who he needs anymore.

Bucky shakes his head against yours, strong, fast; his breath broken. “No,” he breathes, rough and thick. “No, baby, don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to drown out his voice. He’s too nice. Too sweet. Too forgiving. Too patient. Too Bucky.

Shaking your head, you grip onto him. “You should leave me.” It’s louder than anything you’ve said the whole night. It’s more resolute. It sounds more like you, but it still doesn’t seem to come from you. Because never in seven years did you believe those words would ever make it past your lips. Would ever even be formed in your mind.

Bucky pulls back. Not harshly, but urgently, in a panic, determined. His hands cradle your face and he only moves his head away a little to get a better look at you. His eyes, wet and glassy, lock onto yours, filled with pain so stabbing it matches your own. But there is a resolution in his eyes, a firmness in the small glimmer of blue.

He shakes his head as if something is breaking in him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks that keep rolling down even as his own spill over. His touch is so gentle, so tender, so loving and you feel the guilt that settled deep inside you in a war with the longing you had felt for so long. The longing to feel his touch in a way that always knocked the breath straight out of your lungs. The longing to have his eyes sear right through you as if you’re the only thing in the world that holds worth.

“This isn’t your fault,” he continues. “None of this is your fault, Y/n! Alright? Nothing you could do would make me leave you. Hear me when I say this, my love. Hear me when I say that I'm here. And I'll stay.”

A sad, wobbly smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “There’s no getting rid of me, sweetheart. Nothing you could do would ever scare me away.”

Something cracks open inside you. His words, his touch, his gaze, everything is so full of love. And even if it’s just a little, the compressing weight of guilt loosens. It will take many more nights for it to completely leave you but Bucky will walk this road with you. You’re sure; because in his eyes, the way he holds you against him, you finally see that he’s not asking for the person you used to be. He’s asking for you, as you are, as you’ve become, broken pieces and all.

He’s still loving you with a depth your guilt could never reach.

[tenderleavesbob]

Mask picked up Link and started stroking his back. The large white cat arched into his hands with a purr. “I wonder if you’re the first hero with four legs,” Mask mused, carrying Link around the tent. Tune sat on his bed and watched the pair, trying not to grin too widely. The large white cat was almost as big as Mask and they all knew it, even as Mask pretended otherwise. “It’s crazy to think that it isn’t just me.”

“The stories claim that there were multiple heroes!” Tune chirped. “They just say heroes, and some of the pictures are weird. They don’t say that they were Hylian or anything. I bet there were some Zora heroes!”

“Gorons,” Mask agreed, hitting the far side of the tent. He turned and resumed walking. LInk purred in his arms, his tail swishing lazily. 

“Rito.”

“...what’s a Rito?”

“They don’t have Rito in your era?”

Link yawned and licked his chops. It had been a long day trying to keep the boys out of trouble. It was easier fighting the war. He had to nip their ankles and claw their boots earlier to get them into the tent. Alas, it was already too late for several hapless soldiers. They should have known better than to tease Mask, he supposed.

“I don’t think so. What’s a Rito?”

“A descendant of the Zora. They have wings and can fly!”

“...bullshit.”

Link rested his head on Mask’s shoulder and watched the boys through one cracked eye. Tune’s grin was gone, replaced by a pout. Well, that didn’t take any time at all.

“It’s true! They used to be Zora, but now they have wings and call themselves the Rito. There was this sage --”

“I thought you said your era was all water. Sounds like a Zora’s paradise!”

“Yeah, but our water sucks. If we can’t swim in it, I bet it would be worse for the Zora!”

Mask shifted like he wanted to cross his arms, only to remember that he was still carrying Link. He carefully put LInk on his own bed and tidied Link’s scarf. During the day, Link normally wore armor, too, but Tune had taken it off him for the night. Everyone learned a while ago to leave Link’s scarf alone.

“They’re Zora. How can water suck for a Zora?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like there’s any Zora I can ask in my time!”

“What, because they all became birds?”

“That’s not what I said!”

Link sighed and started grooming his tail. Somehow, whenever Mask carried him, he ended up with dirt in his fur. If he was going to scold his kittens, he wanted to look respectable during it.

“You said they have wings and flew! What else has wings and can fly?”

“I mean, they’re kinda birdish. They have beaks…”

“So they’re birds.”

“They’re Rito!”

They were both on their feet now, glaring at each other. At least they didn’t grab weapons this time. Nothing ended well when they were both armed. Link yawned again and stretched. Such loud kittens he had.

“What does that even mean?”

“What do you think it means! They’re people!”

“They’re birds.”

“Stop calling them that!”

And his kittens were two seconds away from getting physical. LInk sighed inwardly and shook his head. Kittens these days.

“You --”

Link took a deep breath and screeched.

Both boys immediately shut up. It had been a long time since he was a Hylian and LInk had no idea if he would ever be a Hylian again. He didn’t know if such a method would be as effective without the type of angry yowl only a large cat could manage. He did know that regular shouting meant nothing to these boys, and they were often quick to shout back. A good screech, though? Always shut his kittens up.

Satisfied by their sudden silence, Link sat down and primly wrapped his tail around his legs. He stared pointedly at both boys until their shoulders slumped and their ears went flat. Content, he meowed at them and jumped down. He walked in a circle around them, rubbing their legs and purring. He was large enough and his tail was long enough that he could almost completely encircle their legs.

“Yeah, yeah, Cap,” Mask grumbled. “We get it. We’re playing nice.”

Not good enough. He mrrp’d deliberately, swatting Tune’s leg. The boy jumped.

“We’re playing nice,” Tune agreed quickly.

Now a swat to Mask’s leg. Mask growled. Impertinent kitten. Another swat, this time with a touch of claws to Mask’s bare leg. The boy yelped. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Link paused and stood with a single paw on Tune’s leg. Tune huffed. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have started shouting.”

Pleased, Link backed away and walked back to his desk. His water dish awaited him. 

As did another dish, that one empty. He tapped it and looked at his kittens. In unison, they rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah. We haven’t forgotten your cream.”

Good kittens. Link began to purr and stretched out on his desk. Having four paws instead of two legs was a little frustrating some days, but he thought his kittens balanced out the situation quite nicely. Especially since they, of all people, understood the importance of quality cream with dinner.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 19/?

Can I offer everyone some distraction and escape tonight? If you have sent a prompt to my inbox, I will get on those tonight and tomorrow. Just wanted to get a longer offering up as well. It's going to get worse before it ever gets better. Do what you have to do to stay safe, and try to do good where you can. I pray for better days ahead.

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

From the moment Tommy’s coven master stepped into the house, Evan could tell he was powerful.

Not as powerful as Tommy. Not as old as Tommy, either…but definitely not a new vampire. Something about the way he carried himself gave Evan the impression that he was used to being listened to. Obeyed. His dark eyes zeroed in on Evan as he made his way to Tommy’s living room, and even with no fangs visible, Evan absolutely received the message that this man would neither hesitate to kill him, nor feel an ounce of guilt over it. It should have been terrifying. And make no mistake, Evan was wary.

But he wasn’t afraid.

His magic hummed in the back of his mind, strong and ready to use to defend himself. Even if he had not recovered from the effects of using the teleport spell, though…Tommy wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

The knowledge settled in his mind, startling in its surety. Its absoluteness. Tommy wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Evan knew that.

He did not know how he knew that, or why it felt like such an immutable, inarguable fact. It was an insane thought to have. Sure, Tommy had put himself between Evan and danger several times already, but what possible reason could Evan have for thinking that he’d continue to do so? Against his own coven master, no less? He didn’t have one…and yet he was so completely confident in the belief that he met the vampire’s eyes squarely, his magic swirling contentedly through his body.

He listened as Tommy argued back and forth with his coven master, tensing as Alonzo revealed that the vampires were already spreading rumors about what had happened in Greenway’s office. He’d known in the back of his mind that the men who’d attacked them weren’t likely to just ride off into the sunset, never to be heard from again…but the high coven had seemed the larger threat.

He couldn’t even really blame this Alonzo person for asking Tommy to get rid of him, to turn him over to the high coven and just cut his losses. Hadn’t Evan been begging Tommy to do just that before Alonzo appeared? It was the smart play—the only play that could possibly keep Tommy and his coven out of this.

God, he wanted to give Tommy a way out of this.

“I’ve been on my own before. I can manage. Just do what I said before…let me leave and have your coven master lodge a complaint with the high coven. Tell them I spelled you. I don’t—I don’t know what to do about the vampires, but at least that’ll get my people off of your coven.”

“Well. I wasn’t expecting you to be the voice of reason. Listen to him, Thomas. We don’t have a lot of time to go with that story—not even a powerful witch could control you for very long.”

Evan ignored Alonzo, staring at Tommy as he seemed to consider their words. He wasn’t sure how this whole mess was going to end. He hoped Grant and her coven could find what they needed to in time to avoid a coven war…but Evan knew better than most the kinds of things that powerful covens could get away with when they wanted to. He wasn’t terribly confident. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t do everything in his power to give them the chance.

He thought Tommy felt the same way. Like everything else about the vampire, it seemed a ridiculous thought to have. Three days ago, would have laughed out loud at the idea that a vampire could care about innocent people dying in a coven war. But he’d seen firsthand how much Tommy cared about his coven. Despite the horrible way they’d come into each other’s lives, Tommy had been nothing but honest with him. Honorable. Kind.

Protective.

He wasn’t an idiot. And he wasn’t naïve. Tommy had killed people. More people than Evan could probably conceive of, given how old he was. But Evan didn’t think the vampire was faking the disgust he seemed to feel for the wanton violence and cruelty of the party he’d rescued Evan from. He didn’t think Tommy was faking his desire to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in the city. Something inside Evan told him that Tommy wanted to stop what was coming just as much as Evan did.

The difference was, if Evan died in this storm they’d somehow entered into, the collateral damage would be minimal.

Sally had cut ties with him.

His parents had never cared for him to begin with.

Maddie probably thought he was already dead…or had abandoned her.

There was no one left to care if he died, but Tommy had a whole coven who would mourn him. Hell, Evan had interacted with them for less than two hours, but he could tell how close Tommy was with the two vampires who had come to the loft. There was no reason for Tommy to go down this road with him when there were so many people who would be hurt if Tommy got himself killed. He knew Tommy wouldn’t stand for just turning Evan over to the high coven, but letting him go and then taking a story about Evan casting a compulsion over Tommy to them was the absolute best move that Tommy could make. For his coven. For himself.

“I can’t do that.” The vampire’s voice was clear. Steady. Not a hint of doubt or hesitation in the words. Tommy’s eyes bored relentlessly into his, his back ramrod straight as he refused, refused the out Evan was offering him. “Evan, whoever is orchestrating all this, I’m not leaving you to face them down by yourself.”

And…what? Evan startled, barely managing to keep his mouth from falling open in shock. Wait—wait, no, he couldn’t have heard that correctly. That made no sense. That was—

“Thomas, are you insane? You can’t be serious!” Tommy’s coven master sounded as shocked as Evan felt, the cool, calm demeanor he’d been affecting since he entered the bungalow cracking.

He started to pace back and forth, his movements quick and agitated, and Evan tucked one hand behind his back, clenching his fist and focusing on his magic the way Sally had taught him, drawing it tightly inwards, ready to spring forth at his command. No witch was powerful enough to cast without the structure of a spell…but thanks to Sally’s lessons, Evan could cast faster than most.

Tommy stepped deliberately between them, facing his coven master, and Evan felt a flush of warmth he couldn’t even try to deny. Alonzo’s next words, though, were like a bucket of ice water being poured straight down Evan’s spine.

“If you do this, then I’ll have no choice but to disavow you. Sever our alliance.”

He gasped. He knew he gasped, the soft, breathy sound of it punching out of him entirely without his permission. No. No, Alonzo couldn’t be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. And even if he was, there was no way that Tommy would—

“Exactly,” Tommy said. His voice was still so steady, so sure. As though he was talking about something as minor as changing the paint color in his living room or what he might make for dinner and not…not…

Tommy and his coven master continued speaking, but Evan couldn’t make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. He felt frozen, stopped, his mind swarming with memories and feelings that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to examine in years. The blood pounded in his head, his focus on his magic splintering. No. No, Tommy couldn’t—he wouldn’t…

“Thomas. You’ll be convenless.”

“I’ve been covenless before.”

Covenless. There were a thousand other meanings for that word, and Evan had lived every one for the last five years.

To be covenless was to be nothing. Less than nothing. When Evan had been banished from his coven, he’d lost everything. His home, his family, his familiar. His future. His identity. Everything that made him who he was had been stripped from him, and he’d been left to rebuild himself from fucking scratch…only he’d never be able to. Not really.

To be covenless was to be alone. Completely alone. Unwelcome in every corner of the world you’d thought would be yours forever, unwanted and uncared for. Evan had lost his coven bonds and he’d become a ghost. He’d lost everything when he lost his coven. How could Tommy just give it up?

Why…why would he do something like that for him?

Evan watched in frozen, horrified silence as Tommy did it. Severed himself from his coven. Turned his back on his home, his family, the people he cared for…for Evan. He listened to the oddly formal words—completely devoid of the power that he’d felt when the Pennsylvania high coven handed down his sentence, and yet somehow just as heavy. Just as important. Some part of him tried to remind himself that Tommy had said vampire covens didn’t function the way witch covens did. Vampire covens were alliances, not bonds that were formed in blood and magic…but it didn’t matter. Tommy was giving up his coven. For him.

To protect him. He’d said it. He’d said he wasn’t going to leave Evan to face this storm alone.

It was impossible. It was irrational. It made absolutely no sense. He was watching it with his own eyes, and he didn’t understand. He’d given himself up for Maddie. He’d sacrificed everything he ever was or ever would be to keep her safe, to make sure that she didn’t suffer for what she had to do to set herself free from Doug. He hadn’t set out to lose his coven because of it, he’d just known it was a likely outcome. Had Tommy known he was going to do this when his coven master walked through the door? Had he looked at the situation the way Evan had all those years ago, his sister’s heartwrenching sobs ringing in his ears as they stood over Doug’s still body, and made the same choice Evan had in that moment? How? How?

It had been an easy sacrifice for him to make for Maddie. Losing his coven had been the hardest thing he’d ever experienced or ever would experience, but it had been worth it to save his sister. Keep her safe. Protect her.

But…but he loved Maddie. Loved her more than anything else in the world, loved her more than he loved himself.

What motivation did Tommy have to give up his coven for Evan?

Tommy was still for a long moment after his coven master–fuck, his ex coven master, what had he done?—left the bungalow. Evan listened to the sound of the vampire's car start up, still feeling like he'd been encased in a block of ice. Tommy's shoulders slumped slightly as the sound of the car faded down the driveway, growing more and more distant, and he cracked his neck a couple times before turning to look at Evan.

Evan didn't know what his face looked like, but Tommy's immediately softened. It was almost unbearable to watch…Tommy had just made himself covenless, how could he have room to feel sympathy for Evan?

“Evan, remember. Coven bonds aren’t like what you’re used to for us. This isn’t…it doesn’t hurt me,” he said, and his voice was so, so gentle.

As if Evan was the one who needed to be handled carefully, as though Evan was the one hurting. Because he was hurting. Evan knew that without a doubt, knew it the same way he’d known that Tommy wouldn’t let his coven master hurt him—it was a quiet certainty, a solid as stone beneath his feet. He felt suddenly sick, too hot and too cold at the same time. His heart pounded in his chest, his magic thrumming through him insistently, and he shook his head.

“Why…” He broke off, suddenly unable to meet Tommy’s eyes, and swallowed hard. “Why did you do that?” he managed to choke out, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.

Tommy tilted his head slightly, a stepped toward him, closing the distance between them until he was right in front of him. “I’m not letting you do this alone,” he said, as though that were an actual reason to leave his coven, to voluntarily give it up.

Evan shook his head again, his head still spinning. “That doesn’t make sense!” he burst out. “Tommy, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Infuriatingly, Tommy’s lips twitched into a smile, and he reached up to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder. There was no heat from the touch, of course, and yet Evan swore he could feel the shape of Tommy’s hand on him like a brand. His magic sparked through him, swirling in his chest like champagne bubbles. “I’ve heard that before, Evan. Hasn’t happened, yet,” he said.

“It’s not worth it,” Evan said.

Losing your coven isn’t worth it, Evan meant.

I’m not worth it, Evan meant.

Tommy’s hand loosened briefly, his fingers twitching like he wanted to move them. For a few heartbeats, Evan had the bizarre sense that Tommy was restraining himself from reaching up, brushing the skin of Evan’s throat, skating his fingers higher and higher to touch Evan’s face. Even more bizarre was the pulse of disappointment when Tommy merely patted his shoulder and stepped back, a strange expression twisting his features.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the vampire said. “Now…are you ready to start this snipe hunt?”

*

“How worried do we have to be about one of those locator spells?” Tommy asked as he guided the SUV onto the highway, heading for the address that his friend Chimney had provided.

Evan blinked, startled out of thoughts that would not stop racing in circles no matter how hard he tried. He was glad for the new topic to focus on, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window. “Depends. If your, uh, if Alonzo lets the high coven have some of your stuff when he talks to them, it could be a problem. If it’s something you’re really attached to.” He opened his eyes and shot Tommy a sidelong glance. “Do you have a lot of things at your coven house?” he asked quietly.

Tommy chuckled, not taking his eyes off the road. It was hard to get a read on his expression, but he didn’t seem especially upset. “Some. Not as much as you might think someone could collect over eight hundred years. I’ve never really cared about things. Most of what I really give a shit about, I keep at the bungalow. But I can text Sal and Lucy and tell them to hide a few other things at the coven house.”

Evan nodded to himself. “We should have a day or two before it even becomes an issue—and they might not think it’s worth it. It’d be hard to hold a locator spell on a vampire. Most of our really complicated magic doesn’t work so great on you.”

Tommy made a curious hum. “Why’s that?”

Evan shrugged. “No one really knows. Probably for the same reason that you can’t turn witches.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I can cast a charm that’ll let me know if someone’s trying to spell you,” he offered after a moment. “And disrupt it.”

“Will it be a drain on you? I’d rather you save your strength for when we run into trouble.”

“A disruption? Yeah, that’d be hard for me to keep up for very long…but the alert charm is simple. Sa—someone taught it to me when I was a kid, to help me channel my intentions in a spell. Those kinds of things, losing my coven bond doesn’t really, uh, doesn’t really affect me that much,” he finished quietly. “But it’s still a spell. I, I, I get it if you don’t want me casting anything on you.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment, before he said quietly, “I trust you, Evan. Do I need to pull over?”

“Wait, not? You want me to cast it now?” Evan blinked, the calm certainty in Tommy’s voice when he said he trusted him catching him off-guard. Tommy shrugged one shoulder.

“Might as well. I don’t want to risk getting distracted later—and any advantage we can get is worth taking.”

“Um, okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Uh, no, it—you won’t feel anything. Maybe like, a tingle? But it won’t hurt or anything. I can do it while you’re driving.” He pressed his lips together, considering. “Can I have your hand?”

Tommy startled a little at that, shooting him a quick, bemused look. “Sure?” he said, stretching one hand out toward Evan.

Evan took it, cradling it in his palms and resting two fingers on where Tommy’s pulsepoint should be in his wrist. It was odd not to feel the beat of life underneath his fingers, to trace skin that was oddly cool, blue veins standing out more starkly than he was used to. He leaned over Tommy’s hand and started chanting, his magic all but leaping to his fingertips as he murmured the familiar spell. Tommy kept his eyes on the road, but Evan could sense him shooting quick little looks his way, even as he held his hand trustingly still.

It was strangely intimate. The thought skipped through Evan’s head and was gone as he felt the spell building, his hands beginning to glow with the white light of a witch’s power. He breathed out the last words of the spell and pressed the magic gently into the skin of Tommy’s wrist, a sigil glowing briefly before fading to near invisibility. Tommy shivered as the sigil sunk in, his fingers flexing, but he held still until the light of Evan’s magic faded. Moving slowly—almost reluctantly?—he slipped his hand from Evan’s grasp and looked at the inside of his wrist, his eyebrow twitching upwards minutely.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” Evan confirmed, settling back in his seat and going back to staring out the window. “If anyone tries to cast on you, I’ll know.”

“Thank you, Evan,” Tommy said.

Evan nodded silently, watching the LA scenery fly past the window as Tommy sped towards Greenway’s house. He felt like his brain was spinning as fast as the tires, too much happening for him to really get a grasp on it. He needed to. He couldn’t afford to be spiraling with them potentially heading into a hostile situation. Everything—his confusion and disbelief and, yes, all right, his guilt over Tommy giving up his coven, his worry about what they were walking into, his fear for what could happen in this city if they failed, he had to let it all go. He could almost hear Sally’s voice in his head, chidingly reminding him that he needed to stay focused.

Find an anchor, little love. A single thing to concentrate on and hold onto that, no matter what.

Good advice…but advice he’d struggled to take all his life. He looked over at Tommy again, taking in his profile as he tried to read his stoic expression, tried to figure out what might be running through the vampire’s head. Tommy said he trusted him. After knowing him only a couple of days, Tommy was willing to take risks for him that he wouldn’t have asked of anyone in his coven except maybe Maddie. Had made sacrifices for him that Evan knew down to the marrow of his bones his own parents would never have made. Tommy said he trusted him.

Evan breathed out slowly, his magic ebbing through him in time to his heartbeat. In the face of everything, he let the simple truth that had been trying to form in his mind since Tommy had given up his place in his coven to protect Evan wash over him. He trusted Tommy, too. And that was what he was going to hold onto, no matter what.

*

Jonah Greenway had lived on a surprisingly quiet street in a small, nondescript house that was neither especially nice nor especially run-down. Tommy took a couple of laps around the block in the SUV, trying to scout if there was anybody already there. Evan had been slightly worried that the place would already have been under a police investigation, but credit where credit was due—the SoCal high coven was very good at keeping their world secret.

“Looks clear,” Tommy muttered after the third lap around the block. They’d stopped a few intersections and pulled into and reversed out of a couple of driveways to hopefully make it look as though they were just lost to any nosy neighbors who might notice a large SUV with heavily tinted windows. He pulled to a stop about a block down the street from Greenway’s house.

“Wait—how are we getting you in there?” Evan asked, tipping his head towards the window…and the sun-drenched street outside it. It would have been easier to wait ‘til at least dusk to leave the bungalow, but the need to give Grant and her coven enough time to do their own investigations created a sense of urgency that would not be ignored.

“I can take sunlight for a few minutes,” Tommy said, frowning distastefully and twisting in his seat to dis around in the floor behind him. He sat up a moment later with a large black hoodie and pulled a pair of gloves out of one of the pockets. “Although no offense, I’m gonna walk a hell of a lot faster than you.”

“Dressed like the villain in an after-school special?” Evan asked dubiously, his eyebrow climbing when Tommy pulled his sun visor down and grabbed a large pair of sunglasses clipped to the edge. “Really?”

“If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to avoid the third-degree sunburn I’m about to get.”

Evan debated a moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh and poking at the edges of his magic, feeling out the strength. Then he turned in his own seat, staring hard out the back windshield at the corner of Greenway’s house that was visible. There was a decently-sized porch with a roof, and Evan knew any witch worth his salt would have had look-away charms on his house, though they might have lost power when Greenway died. Still, if that was the case, then any hexes or traps he’d laid on the property would also be defunct, and Tommy would be able to break into the place quickly. Evan felt confident he could handle any hexes that were still active, and short out an alarm system fast enough that it would register as a glitch.

“Try not to move, okay?” he said, reaching over to grab Tommy’s wrist as he focused on the corner of the porch he could see, and chanted the spell.

His ears popped, the whole world going quiet and shadowy, sound muffling almost to the point that he was enveloped in silence. The air around him turned absolutely freezing, colder than any Pennsylvania winter, and as the spell ended he couldn’t help coughing. Beside him, he heard Tommy gasp something in a language he didn’t recognize—though by the tone, he could tell it wasn’t polite—and the vampire scrambled to his feet, his wrist twisting under Evan’s to grab at his hand and yank him to his feet as well.

They were standing on Greenway’s porch, well-shaded from the afternoon sunlight.

“What the hell?! What did you do?” Tommy demanded, looking around him in shock. “That wasn’t the same thing you did at the office!”

Evan laughed shortly, pulling away so he could examine the door in front of them. The fact that no defense spells had triggered when they appeared on the porch was encouraging, but he wasn’t going to just take it on faith that Greenway didn’t have something more powerful than simple charms and hexes waiting. “No—a teleport is major magic even when you have a coven bond. I’m not risking that unless there’s no other choice. I took us through the between.” He reached out and let his hand hover over the doorknob, unable to feel the telltale tingle of magic against his skin.

“The…wasn’t that where Greenway hid the flash drive?”

“Yup.”

“And you can…go…there?” Tommy continued slowly.

“If you know how. Most of us just use it like Greenway did. Like a hiding place. Kind of a magical safe-deposit box? But the between is as big or small as you know it is, and it exists wherever you know it will. So, if you know it’s big enough to fit you, and you know it exists where you want to be, you can get to it.”

“That—okay, that actually makes a weird sort of sense and explains a couple of encounters I’ve had over the years. I haven’t met any witch who could do something like that in a century or two, though.”

Evan shrugged, still examining the door. “Not a lot of us can, anymore. It’s old magic. Like, old-fashioned magic, not, uh, not old as in ancient. It’s easy to get lost in, so it’s not like it’s in the normal, everyday lessons. Sally only taught me because—” He broke off, his brain catching up with the amount of private information his mouth was just casually giving away.

Tommy was silent for a moment. “Sally was your familiar?” he asked gently.

Evan clenched his jaw, before nodding quickly. “I don’t think there’s any kind of spell on the door,” he said. Thankfully, Tommy accepted the abrupt subject change, stepping around Evan to grip the doorknob and give the door a fast, almost casual shove with his shoulder. The deadbolt snapped in an instant, and Tommy stepped back to interpose himself between Evan and anything that might be waiting for them inside.

Only silence greeted them, however.

Tommy cocked his head, listening intently, before his shoulders relaxed. “It’s empty,” he said. “But stay close.” He stepped inside the darkened interior of Greenway’s house. Evan took a deep breath and followed, his eyes roving over his surroundings curiously.

The house was surprisingly…sterile. It had all the trappings of a home—comfortable furniture, plush carpets on the floors, bookshelves full of books and mementos, art hanging on the walls. Yet, the place felt cold to Evan. There was none of the warmth and character of Tommy’s bungalow. The place felt like a showroom or a magazine cover. Everything perfectly chosen and placed to present a picture that it just…wasn’t.

It felt, he reflected wryly, like the house he had grown up in.

“Howie and Grant already searched the place for anything useful, but the high coven hasn’t gotten here yet. We need them to think we’re looking for something, get them to waste resources trying to find it first. Toss the place?” Tommy asked, glancing back at Evan with a questioning look. Evan shrugged, turning a slow circle in the large, open-plan living space that took up most of the first floor. Something felt…off.

“They really didn’t find anything?” he asked, his eyes darting around the room.

“Nada,” Tommy confirmed, watching as Evan looked all around him. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, I just…there’s something…” he trailed off, the frustratingly feeling of something just out of his reach dancing at the edge of his senses. His eyes fell on a mirror propped up in the corner of a set of recessed bookshelves that had been built into the walls on either side of a large picture window in what Greenway had set up as his living room. Directly in front of the window was a large, ornate wooden writing desk. Evan tilted his head and followed the line of where the mirror was facing…to another mirror mounted on the wall by the stairs to the second story. The mirror was positioned oddly, slightly off-center of where Evan would expect it to be, just enough to look a little wonky. In fact, if he stood in front of that mirror and followed the line of where it was facing, he would find…

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Evan muttered.

“What?” Tommy demanded immediately.

In answer, Evan spun another slow circle in the center of the room, tracing the sightlines of multiple mirrors positioned all around the room. That was what he was feeling. He hadn’t quite shaken the chill of the between from his senses, after all…and there was quite a lot of the between in this room.

“He hid something else here,” Evan said, finding the mirror that was positioned in the northernmost part of the room and pacing away from it until he was as close to the center of where the sight lines of all five of the mirrors around the living space met as he could get. “Fucking smart bastard, I’ll give him that.”

“Evan, what are you talking about? I’m pretty sure Howie and Grant would have known to look in this between place.”

“Yeah, but they might not have realized how big the between is here,” Evan countered. “Like I said…it’s not something a lot of witches learn anymore.”

Tommy tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked curious, though, not dismissive. “You keep talking like the size of it can change. Isn’t space…you know, space? Like there have to be boundaries.”

“Ever been in one of those house of mirrors they do at fairs and theme parks?” Evan asked, centering himself and focusing hard. He murmured the appropriate spell and reached toward the desk, the way he had in the office building to find the flash drive. The way he’d—sort of, it was a little more complicated than he’d explained to Tommy—done to get them from the car to the porch to avoid the sunlight. Only this time, he reached further into the between. Through all the layers of it that Greenway had folded it upon itself, over and over, until only a witch or familiar who regularly used it to shift themselves through space and not just store and hide things in would have even realized there was that much of it to explore in this house.

Evan did not travel through the between regularly. It was not something that witches did anymore, the dangers of getting lost too great. But he had been very carefully trained by someone who had learned the art in times when it had been a valuable tool for survival.

His hand closed on something in the between, and he curled his fingers around it and yanked. There was a soft pop in the air, and when he looked at the empty desk again, there was a small, leatherbound ledger sitting innocuously in the center of it. “Gotcha,” he hissed. He hurried forward and scooped the ledger off the desk, pulling at the bands of elastic that bound it at each corner.

“Great work Ev—GET DOWN!” Tommy’s voice changed in a flash, rising to a bellow as he lunged at Evan. Between one breath and the next, Tommy had made it across the room and wrapped himself around Evan, pulling Evan tight against his chest and spinning them around so that Tommy’s back was to the window.

There was a loud sound of shattering glass.

The clatter of something hitting the desk.

And then the whole world around Evan exploded into a mass of light. And sound. And force.

Evan felt himself lifted off his feet, flung across the room. Tommy’s body was wrapped tight around him, the vampire’s arms shielding him protectively, his face pressed hard against Tommy’s throat. They hit the floor hard enough that the breath was knocked from Evan’s lungs, but he was still dimly aware of Tommy taking the brunt of the landing, rolling them with the momentum, one hand cradling the back of Evan’s head and keeping it from cracking on the hardwood floors as they came to a rolling halt.

Evan coughed, everything spinning around him in dizzying circles, his ears ringing so loudly he could barely hear anything over it. His whole body hurt, and when he pulled his head back from Tommy’s neck, the room was suddenly hazy with smoke. What…what had—

“Tommy?” he gasped, when the vampire made no move to let go, to get up. “Tommy, what—”

He could hardly hear his own voice, though he knew he was shouting. He gripped Tommy’s shoulder, more relief than he was willing to examine at the moment sweeping through him when he felt the vampire’s muscles bunch under his touch, felt Tommy shudder and start to struggle to get up. Something was wrong, though.

His vampire was moving too slowly, too sluggishly. When Evan blinked some of the hazy smoke out of his eyes, Tommy’s face—mere inches from his own—was twisted in a grimace of pain. Something hard pressed into the top of Evan’s abdomen, right under his breastbone, and he slowly became aware of a hot wetness seeping into his borrowed shirt. Gasping, he wrenched himself backwards enough so he could look down, a buzzing that had nothing to do with his ringing ears filling his head when his eyes focused on the massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that was poking into his chest.

The massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that had impaled Tommy through the back, gone clear through his body.

“Tommy! Tommy, what—”

“Evan…run,” his vampire managed to grit out, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Aw come on Kinard. Let the witch stay.”

Evan’s heart sank, his eyes flying to the gaping hole where Greenway’s front window had been only seconds before. The blond vampire from the office building was clambering through the jagged opening, flanked by two other vampires that Evan hadn’t seen before. They were covered head to toe in the same getup that Tommy had been going to try to use to get across the sunny street—hoodies, gloves, long pants—but every inch of exposed skin was blistered and peeling, obviously burned by even what short exposure they’d had to the sun.

Blondie pulled his hood back, glaring at Evan and Tommy, a nasty smirk firmly in place on his face. Evan’s eyes flicked between the three of them as Tommy tried to push at his shoulder, still struggling to get his feet under him, even as more blood spurted out from around the piece of fucking shrapnel sprouting out of his chest.

Tommy was hurt. Badly.

The vampire who had protected him over and over, even when it made no logical sense for him to do so. The vampire who had been kinder and gentler to him over the past two days than any one of his own kind had been over the past five years. His vampire, who had refused to let Evan walk into danger alone.

His vampire, who had given up his own coven to stay by Evan’s side, against odds that would have sent any sane person running for the hills. His vampire.

Evan curled his arm protectively over Tommy’s back and reached for every drop of magic in his body, the most dangerous spell Sally had ever taught him fairly exploding out of him in a rush of power.

[vanessalocke]

Why is official APH France an underrated character?

Today, I would like to repost a post about France that I wrote a long time ago. Please note that this post does not reflect my current views. Next, this is considered my personal blog, so if you disagree, please click back. And this post will only talk about what I (used to) felt about France in the official version, not exactly the France in my current headcanon and fanfic (even though that is the foundation for today).

.

[This post is controversial and has a personal opinion. If you disagree, just skip over it. But also because this post is mainly to express my secret thoughts that I don't dare tell anyone, so it's completely hypothetical]

Okay, this is a post about why I like APH France, and why I don't see him the way most people see him.

In short, because his aura looks very bright and when he smiles he is very cute (like the photo below).

I wonder when I fell in love with him, because it's been so many years, I can't remember. I will never be able to remember exactly how I fell.

Yeah pretty sure when people first watch Hetalia everyone thinks he's the typical sweet badboy, some people even say he's ex f^ck boiz and I'm no exception. But... damn, the more I follow this guy, the more I see his stereotype being wrong.

At this point it should be noted that when I talk about APH France, I am talking about France from 2011 onwards. It must be clarified that in the early days of APH, Hima's expression was quite dark. Maybe at that time Hima drew APH to be satirical or something, so not only was the plot quite ironic at times (and a lot of times he was sarcastic wrongly) but also the characters he built were very... But c'mon, MORE THAN 10 years have passed, just 1 year is enough to change people's way of thinking, let alone 10 years. Not to mention, APH does not have a specific plot or spirit to be consistent from beginning to end, so the later APH compared to the first APH has a completely different atmosphere and attitude, otherwise I want to say that APH has almost transformed into a new shape and only takes the first period as the root to develop. APH later became much gentler, lovely and brighter.

(When I wrote these lines, I still liked APH so I still defended it. Oh, what beautiful old days)

And I'll say it straight out that I didn't like the early APH. I also didn't like the way Hima built his characters in the early stages.

Okay, back to the main point. France is a very special character in APH. Why do I say France, not Italy - the central character, Germany - the king carrying the team, or Japan - the artist’s mother country? That's because when I read the early APH comics, I had a pretty clear feeling that the artist didn't like France.

It's not that he hated him, but he didn't like him and looked down on France a bit. Not to mention that Hetalia is strongly influenced by America's point of view and men often dislike France, think that French people are sissy. Basically, back then the way this artist looked at France was no different from the way everyone make memes "the white flag is the flag of France", "France is useless", etc. It was like everyone feels that this guy is very perverted, very annoying, very colorful, like a vase and can't do anything else. But like I said above, more than 10 years is a long process. Although the entire APH series does not have a consistent plot, Himaruya had a "development" in the way he views the main character he created. Partly because this is a series that takes references from real life and is not completely fiction, it is completely understandable for Hima to change the way he builds or even the perspective of his own character.

That's why later on France had a few solo episodes, all the deep emotions were attributed to France - something that is very contradictory to the "dark humor" stories he drew about France in the beginning. I don't know if it was to "compensate" for Himaruya pushing France down too much before.

Anyway, that's about the background. Below I will list the reasons I like this character:

- As for the character's personality, as I said, France has a very bright aura. I'm not talking about literary history or French reforms in real life, but just in the main story alone, I can see that there's something very... intelligent about him. Not trivially clever, but intelligence like, knowing a lot and understanding deeply. The fact that he is sharp and intelligent is also confirmed by the strip where he holds a knife to Prussia's neck and laughs.

- Then there's the emotional aspect. From Jeanne d'Arc to Napoleon, it is completely obvious that France is a very emotional person, a bit childishly attached to those he loves. Yes, that's right, he always says "I'm the big brother of Europe" but when he's with people he loves, he's EXTREMELY childish, likes to act spoiled, likes to attract attention (For example, he was cheerfully excited when he was with Lisa or was chased by Napoleon).

- France's way of expressing emotions is very vivid. When he is angry, he will say that he is angry; When he feels sorry for himself, he bites the towel; If he likes attention, he acts like a clown;... but never once has he lost his temper to attack others just because he was hurt. I mean, from all the symptoms I've seen in France so far, I can determine that France can be arrogant, picky, and difficult to please, but I've never once felt like he lost control of himself.

- Yeah sure, when he broke into England's house, was talkative, wore a pink dress and had eyelashes, you can see that he no longer has any shame, but I like people like this. Funny, optimistic and extremely confident.

- He really likes to care and take care of others. This is based on:

1. He is very attached to his previous bosses (as mentioned above),

2, He cooks very well, people who like to cook and cook well are people who like to take care of and see joy from others,

3. On America's independence day, he not only patted America's head but also gave him the Statue of Liberty,

4, Italy often confides in France. France also works as a newscaster giving love advice to others, and he is one of the few people who not only is not afraid of Russia but even comes up to ask about the other person's health,

5. Do you remember the Christmas episode where England called and scolded France? That evening France was alone and looked down at Paris. In the episode about a soldier meeting France and wondering about the life and death of the nation, the ending is also a scene of France sitting and watching the flow of people passing by. France is not only proud of himself, he also loves being close to people and

6, I didn't include this but if you want to take an example from APH in the first few years, there is this scene: when England was so sick, France was really panicked and worried. Even without bringing a romantic perspective here, for me it is a genuine concern between human.

- He is mean, meticulous, and profiteering. Damn him. I don't understand how he can play with Spain. One person remembers that people owe him every penny, one person "Huh? Do I have debt? When did I owe it??"

- Actually... sometimes this guy's EQ is unexpectedly low, especially with things related to England. I don't know how, every time England shows a little interest in him, he always "?:D huh? What's going on? You're planning something with me, right? Let's get to the main point, why are you rambling on?". I don't know how many times Mr. Kirkland has sighed at this guy.

- He is only mean to other countries, but to ordinary people he is very gentle and loving. With women, he has distance but is not impolite.

- It looks radical but is actually extremely conservative. In fact, no matter how much his country reforms and changes, he always seems to be somewhat attached to the monarchy, always recalling his past. Not to mention that he is one of the oldest men in Europe, and he is always nostalgic for previous bosses. As an old man and a secret royalist, it can be expected that France is quite a conservative person.

- That's why the aristocratic blood is deeply ingrained in the personality. Except when he is in a joking mood, every scene of Hima drawing France always has something quite aristocratic. Not the type of strict and meticulous aristocrat like Austria, but the type of guy who wakes up and carries his messy hair out into the street but still looks beautiful.

- France has "an iron fist covered in velvet". He seems very easy-going and pleasant. There are many cases where others just need to beg him a little and he will give in. But in the cases where he said no, it meant no. When he is serious, he is very decisive and does not compromise. One time America broke down and asked for a drink, but he firmly refused (Yes, the fact that America doesn't know how to drink alcohol has been confirmed in official). When he met his idol's reincarnation, he disappeared completely after talking, leaving his idol to live her own life. When he collects debt from others, he is also very decisive LOL.

- He is very beautiful in a feminine way. Beautiful in a feminine way to the point of having to grow a beard and body hair to make people feel masculine. I bet he has endured sexual solicitation from old men.

- He has a lot of part-time jobs, from waiter to announcer to stylist. Was hired by England to be a chef at his place for a while => didn't go to work because of lack of money, but because he was multi-talented => liked to go on strike probably because he was "tired of being too good", because he is afraid that the world is not chaotic enough, because he is bored. He's not lazy, because if he was lazy he wouldn't go to work so much, and with his great body, I think he works out quite hard at the gym.

- Sometimes he's quite silly and weird. America just has a childish personality, but this guy is sometimes inexplicably euphoric. He cares too much about auxiliary things like clothes and hair accessories, but forgets about the main things. He argues with people about silly things. When he fights with people, he asks where the fabric comes from to make such beautiful clothes instead of focusing on fighting. When people asked his opinion, he always talked off topic. When people criticize him, he looks away, covers his ears, and whistles, "The weather is so beautiful today." He also raises dozens of silly birds.

In general, this man is not what he appears to be. He looks like a typical Don Juan but in reality he's mostly just an embellishment, seems mature but actually has a very childish temperament, seems to be sociable but is the type of person who can restore his own energy and doesn't need too much human attention. He doesn't seem to care about his appearance but is actually very proud. He seems heartless and shallow but is actually a thoughtful person. He likes to talk off topic, collect debts, drama queen- no, drama king. Extremely crazy and silly.

This guy's mind is so contradictory and complicated that the more I dig, the more interesting things I find.

And that's why Francis Bonnefoy is loved.

Ps: let me tell you a little about the Zodiac: Francis is a typical Pisces.

[ivyblossom]

That thing where I feel like I'm going to have to write fanfiction again

This is a weird one. I just want to say it somewhere, so that I've said it somewhere, but I realize there's there's one person who actually cares about this and she already knows, so. This is just for me, I guess.

Fifteen years ago, I wrote most of a Narnia fic. It pairs of Edmund Pevensie and Bacchus, aka Dionysus, the ancient Greek god of grapes, wine and uninhibited ecstasy. Also theatre. I know, that's a bit weird. Is Bacchus even in the Narnia stories? (Yes, he is. He even has lines!) Why on earth am I pairing him up with Edmund, who is 10 when we first meet him?

It's all the weird memory tricks, I'm a sucker for those. The Pevensies forget about England because they stay so long in Narnia and stop thinking about England, and they can (and do) forget about Narnia if they stay in England too long and don't think about Narnia enough (poor Susan), and I find that really interesting. It offers up so many nooks and crannies to stick story in. They grow up and become adults in Narnia, but are required to forget most of it in order to return to build children in England.

And come on: is Bacchus not also very obviously the god of Narnian orgies? I mean, yes. Clearly. He's also Aslan's default caterer and water-into-wine head tech. If you need buildings destroyed and bullies turned into trees and/or pigs, Bacchus is your guy. He's not big on wearing clothes, and according to Edmund, he's incredibly beautiful and extremely dangerous. Edmund is only 10 when we first meet him, sure, but he grows up, reverse ages, and then starts to grow up again. Bacchus throws them a G-rated orgy in Prince Caspian. There's love there.

Hasn't Edmund suffered enough? Yes, he got addicted to the Turkish Delight that time, but he'd been struggling and was being bullied, he was carrying a lot of self-hatred and shame, give a kid a break. He did get himself heroically killed putting it right, only to be healed physically and psychologically by Santa Claus's magic healing cordial, as one does. Doesn't Edmund deserve a cute immortal boyfriend with quirky friends and a serious green thumb who grows his own grapes, makes his own wine, can manipulate and control the desires of everyone around him like conducting an orchestra, and who will love him until the end of time? There aren't many humans in Narnia, why not hook up with the god of uninhibited ecstasy? I mean, he's right there.

Anyway. It was fifteen years ago.

I wrote 3/4ths of it, I had one part left to go to finish it, I had an idea about what how it would end, but for some reason I never wrote the ending. I don't remember why. So it's been sitting there unfinished since 2009.

And in the last few weeks I started thinking about it again. I had an idea about that ending. I couldn't remember if this idea I was toying with was my original concluding idea or not, it's been that long, but I liked the idea, and I thought, you know, I should write that idea in as the last part and finally finish that thing.

And then I read what I'd written. And a) 15 years is a long time and I have so many criticisms, I was clearly in love with the sound of my own voice (uh...nothing's changed there I guess?), b) I wrote the thing in such a way to exclude my new idea, so apparently that wasn't my original plan, but c) yeah, I should have written this thing properly the first time around. And now I have 104 more ideas and I love them all, so.

I think I have to rewrite it. Or, I suppose, just write another one and replace it? I dunno. Just playing it out now.

I think I'm going to write it. Is this an active fandom? I don't think so. I don't care. This love story needs to be told. Edmund deserves this.

[david-talks-sw]

What "The Hidden Fortress" (1958) tells us about the Jedi's status in the Prequels.

In 1999, George Lucas had this to say on BBC Omnibus: A Long Time Ago: The Story of "Star Wars" and then The Phantom Menace's director's commentary.

“I greatly admired Kurosawa, especially the film Hidden Fortress, which told a story from the point of view of two serfs, two slaves...

... peasants who tag along with this famous general and a princess-- y'know, royalty. And the whole story is told from their point of view. And I like that idea. I like the idea of telling a story from the lowest person's point of view, uh, in the food chain, and that's how the story got to be told by Artoo and Threepio.”

“[The Phantom Menace] is told primarily from the Jedi's point of view, but the story that's being told is essentially the story of Queen Amidala and her plight of having her planet blockaded. As in, say, Episode IV, where the story is told through the eyes of the droids, in this one, it's told through the eyes of the Jedi.”

“But [from the moment we get to Coruscant, Anakin and Jar Jar] are standing on the sidelines. It's a little bit a riff on the very first film where the story is told through the point of view of the droids, who were sort of the lowliest characters.”

“And in [Phantom Menace], I'm doing it through - primarily - the two Jedi, but then the secondary characters are also carrying a lot of the weight when the Jedi aren't around.”

George Lucas draws a comparison between lowly characters like Hidden Fortress' peasants Matashichi and Tahei, the droids in A New Hope, as well as the Jedi in The Phantom Menace.

What do they all have in common? They are all the lowest-ranking characters in their respective films. Repeat: the movie frames the Jedi as almost at the bottom of the food chain.

Because of course they are. Functionally, they're just diplomats. They hold no political power whatsoever and barely have any authority .

What little authority the Jedi do have in TPM comes from the Queen's young age, which allows them to ease into a more advisory position, and Qui-Gon's rebellious streak. And even he's explicit about the fact that his mandate has limitations.

The only characters "below" them in status are Jar Jar, an exiled Gungan, and Anakin, who just yesterday was still a slave kid, Artoo the literal object and that's it!

Also the other Prequel films are consistent with this portrayal. Who do we see lower in status than the Jedi? Dexxter Jettster and the clones. Everyone else is pretty much above them.

Yes, the Jedi are part of the system, but they're not as high-ranking as you'd think. Yes, they have Force Powers, but that means squat when put against political power. So, like, to expect the Jedi to...

influence the decisions of the Senate,

wage a war against the Outer Rim to end slavery,

or blatantly refuse an order to join the war effort,

... is incredibly unreasonable.

They're not meant to be seen as "the elite, peering down upon the people from their ivory tower".

They're the servants! Servants of the Republic.

And they're seeing their higher-ups destroy what they should all stand for, but are unable to stop them.

Later on, with The Clone Wars, we are introduced to civilian characters and from their point of view, the Jedi are ultra powerful and are highly placed and "should do more but don't".

It makes sense that these characters would see the Jedi as 'the elite'. But they don't have the full picture.

We, as the audience, do.

So we know that the reality is more along the lines of the Jedi "should do more but can't".

After all, we are made privy many instances of the Jedi speaking up and trying to change politicians' minds, only to be dismissed and overruled at every turn.

↑ these aren't even all the times we see it happen, btw, there's more examples...

So at some point, if you - as an audience member - see all this and are still saying "the Jedi should've done more!" I really need to know... what more could they have done?

Take control of the Senate?

That'll result in a dictatorship, there's a reason they waited as much as they did before trying to take down Palpatine.

Power corrupts and they're wise enough to know it.

Don't join the Republic in the first place?

George Lucas never frames the Jedi's involvement with the Republic as a bad thing. In the foreword to Shatterpoint (2004), he says their being part of the Republic led to 1,000 years of prosperity.

Where's the issue, then? Well, it's a two-man job and the Jedi's bosses, the Senate, grew corrupt and stopped doing their part. They stopped carrying their end of the couch.

But “no Jedi in the Republic from the get-go” means the Sith will rise to power even faster. Fun!

Stay neutral in the war?

The Separatists were killing civilians and testing weapons on neutral systems, or enslaving them.

The choice put before the Jedi was "do what we tell you and fight, or let people die".

But also, out-of-universe... do you really think Palpatine, genius politician, master of spin, can't re-frame the Jedi staying neutral in a negative light?

When they joined the war, he unleashed propaganda that either directly (on the Separatist side) or indirectly (on the Republic side) framed them as "warmongers who corrupted their values". If they don't join, they're "apathetic cowards who care more about their own values than the lives of the people they're supposed to protect".

So either way, Order 66 comes around, wipes them out and the Republic goes "good riddance".

So what else could they do?

The answer is "not much".

Because the whole point of the narrative is that Palpatine checkmated them by taking the fight to a field the Jedi had no experience in or right to meddle with: politics.

So if you look at these characters who are nowhere near the top of the food chain, and say "well, why didn't they fix things?" I'm sorry to say you're missing the point of the narrative.

Or maybe you do get the point of the narrative and just aren't trying to be fair...

... in which case, at least be consistent and also argue:

"Why didn't Threepio & Artoo do more to save the Rebel crew of the Tantive IV from the stormtrooopers?!"

"Why didn't Matashichi & Tahei do more to save the Akizuki clan?!"

[impala-dreamer]

Slipping Away

A Short Story

~ In his heart he’s lived a hundred lives, been through hell and back, loved a million souls. The heart is strong but the mind is weak, and in the end, only memory remains as his lives begin to fade.~

Jensen Ackles

954 Words

Bittersweet Angst

Thank you to everyone who read/shared/commented on my stories for @jacklesversebingo and specifically to @deanwinchesterswitch who organized such a fun, inspiring event. This is my final piece for the bingo, using the prompt "All But One Dies”. I hope you enjoy this swan song...

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

There’s an old man sitting at the end of the bar. His hair has long ago gone gray but a strand of dark walnut still peaks through now and then. The memory of reddish-brown plays over his jaw, but it’s all gone white. His skin has grown pale over the years, his tan freckles fading with it. He used to be covered in speckles like stars across the universe, but now, only a few remain. His tall frame is bent with a slight forward hunch- the consequence of years of stunts that should have been left for younger, more qualified men. His shoulders are still broad, but now bony, and his arms are weaker yet just as warm. 

His eyes are still the color of the forest, but behind them, not much else remains. 

Long, thin fingers trace the rim of a whiskey glass before gripping it tight and lifting the last sip to his lips. Once so plump and rosy pink, they’re impossibly cracked and pale. 

The whiskey soothes the ache in his bones and he sighs. 

Time has been cruel, but the life he can remember was good. 

Once upon a time, he’d traveled the world, meeting a million smiling faces and dodging hands all reaching out for him. He’d captivated every stage he’d set foot on, microphones twirling in his hand and carrying his laugh through countless auditoriums. He told hundreds of stories, some more than once, some exaggerated, all met with applause. 

How many times had he smiled for the camera or accepted hugs from strangers? How many pen strokes were wasted on his name? It was impossible to tell. He was barely able to remember those events now, let alone count the numbers. He knew he’d made them smile, he knew he’d left some impression. 

Memories were fleeting and sometimes painful. It was getting harder to sort through the flashes of history and make sense of anything. Some days it felt like he’d lived a dozen lifetimes. 

He remembered running through dark, damp tunnels with no more than a headlamp to light his way. He could smell the coal; feel the heft of the pickax in his hands. His breath was thick and heavy as he stalked his way down into the depths of Hell. 

He remembered pining for the girl- a beauty with long dark hair and bright eyes. He could almost smell her sweet perfume and hear her sassy remarks as he tried his best to woo her affection. He tasted oil and vinegar on his fingertips; felt the bacon grease pop from the griddle and sting his arms. 

There were times when he recalled the feeling of wind on his face as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop beneath a full moon. Clad in heavy kevlar, he moved through the shadows of the city, listening for screams or cackles of evil. 

Sometimes, memory inferred that he was the evil one. Striding with purpose through a warzone or locking his long fingers around some delicate throat. Power surged through his veins surely as the drugs he took, and it felt as if he were immune to the rules of life and the laws of man. He could do anything he wanted, be anything, kill anything. He was the epitome of strength, the emblem of America, the most powerful man alive. 

Those lives were disappearing faster these days. When he struggled to remember, he drank. When he cried for lives he’d taken or loves he’d lost, he slept. 

The football fields and shell necklaces, the cowls and capes, the flashes and stages- they were all lost in the fog of his mind. A myriad of lives lived and stolen by age until only one remained. 

He smiles when the bartender works her way back to him. 

Kate is short and curvy, with dyed pink hair that matches her neon tank top. There are silver studs in her ears and a hoop in her nose, and her shoulder is inked with scrollwork wrapped around an image he could never decipher. 

“Can I getcha another drink?” she asks, thickly painted lashes fluttering kindly at him. 

Jensen nods and pushes his glass forward. His voice is shaky as he speaks, but he soon finds a familiar rhythm.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I ganked an entire vamp nest by myself? Took out a dozen blood-suckers before Sammy even knew I was gone.” He laughs and reaches for the refreshed drink. “It was something. I was somethin’. Best hunter there ever was. Well, Sam had his moments, but I was good. Real good…”

The bartender smiles. She’s heard the stories before but doesn’t mind repeats. The old actor is sweet and tips her well, so she never minds watching out for him until his daughter comes to collect him. 

“If you play your cards right, Sweetheart, I may take you for a spin in my car.” He winks over the tumbler at her, green eyes slick with a flirtatious gaze. “Sexiest damn car you’ll ever see. My Baby. One of a kind. You know, I rebuilt her a whole bunch of times…” His voice trails off as he tries desperately to count the occasions, but time is twisted and pale. His brow creases with worry as another memory slips away. There is only one life left and it’s vanishing more every day. Tears well in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Anyway… I uh…” 

Kate gently takes his hand and leans close, catching his gaze. “Hey. It’s OK, Mr. Ackles. You’re OK.” 

The old man sighs and worry leaves him. He smiles and squeezes her hand. 

“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I killed Hitler?” 

[ominous-feychild]

✦ Writer Questionnaire 2 ✦

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet! (And @the-letterbox-archives tagging me when I was almost done here, haha)

Heads-up! Long post!

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

Two months ago to the date actually??? Or, at least, that's when I first uploaded a story here. My first actual Writeblr post was me hopping in on an open tag on the 6th of June, haha. I thought it was just a month, but looks like the summer's gone by in a flash! 😭

What led you to create it?

So, I'm a writer on Tapas! I'd been attempting to social network on other social medias (twitter and bluesky) but wasn't getting anywhere, didn't like the general formats, and uh... I'm sure I don't have to explain why I don't want to touch Twitter with a 10-foot-pole anymore. Let's just say, if you haven't seen, it's just as bad as (if not worse than) everyone says. Anyhow, I'd seen lots of Tumblr short stories on other platforms and started investigating what it's like here. Didn't know what "Writeblr" was or that it even existed, but eventually stumbled into the field after posting my short story. Thanks, @darkandstormydolls! ❤️

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

How supportive everyone is??? Like omg you guys are so sweet, idk how to take it. Also I love seeing how much passion everyone else has for their writing, haha.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Uhhhh, I think I'm pretty open about the things I'd like people to know about me, haha. I never mean to offend, so if I accidentally say something wrong, please tell me! I'm autistic and very dumb.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

I'm ngl I keep meaning to build out my followed tags for my fandoms, haha. The only fandoms I really see things for are TMAGP (10/10, TMA is my obsession. I am obsessed. It is one of my Special Interests and I love it with all my heart) and House of the Dragon??? Except I'm not even a fan of HotD??? So that's kinda annoying, haha. (Aka, my fandom stuff, but that's on me.)

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Rising From the Ashes, tragically. (Because it's one of the LAST things I should be working on right now, haha.) Otherwise, I'm of course always obsessed with the Arcane Rifts. Then I force myself to be obsessed with Sun and Shadow, though it's slowly growing on me, haha.

How long have you been working on them?

Haha, so I've historically jumped around a lot in working on different things, so these are approximate guesstimations!

Rising From the Ashes has likely had 3 or 4 years put into it/the characters. If you include the Calamity Crew (which overlaps with it in the timeline and originally ended up merging with the cast of RFtA), I'd say definitely 4 years!

The Arcane Rifts has had 5 years put into it.

Sun and Shadow is very new; I'd say it probably only has about 4 months of work in it? It's part of why I'm less interested in it, haha. Less I've put into it and less I'm attached to.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Oh... oh dear. How could you ask me this??? ����😭😭

Rising From the Ashes has existed since, I think, 2016. It started (tragically) as an RP starter on Google+. I wish I was kidding.

To those unaware of how it worked in that space (and likely similar ones to this day), you'd post a starter and people would join in with their own characters. 99% of the time, they'd drop out before long. However, I'd work out details of the characters in the process and carry that info over into the worldbuilding. I eventually stopped RPing with the masses and settled down with a single "partner" who I'll call Kris.

She's the one who stole my docs.

The Arcane Rifts technically originated as another RP starter? It never got attention, though, and instead my ideas for it simply carried over into the worldbuilding in general.

One of the characters of the original starter was important in the worldbuilding. It was not a character you see in the early books of tAR, though, so don't bother trying to figure it out. But, since he was so important, his origins were also important.

The Arcane Rifts started in 2019, as I wanted to make a story building out said character's origins. It was originally going to be a duology, the first book being Gene's backstory and the second being how Gene and The Other Guy's lives intertwined. (No, they were not gay for each other! 😂) It's since changed a lot, and focuses basically exclusively on Gene, haha. The last book in the series will probably be focused on the other character, though!

Sun and Shadow started for a romance novel competition on Tapas which has since ended. I didn't get to finish it in time for a lot of reasons, but I primarily cite stress and exhaustion from working full time at a physically-intensive job. It grew shockingly quickly and I had some fans donate to me related to it, so I'm kinda forced to work on it, haha. Dw--I like it! It's just harder to work on for a number of reasons, haha.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

Tragic, the questions you're asking me--

It depends, haha. I'm autistic and hyperfixate a lot. Also, for one, that's a suuuuuper vague question??? Like what do you mean "how much time"--how much time within the day? How often in general? Idk, man, haha.

I think about the Arcane Rifts a LOT!

I've put an incredible amount of time and effort into it, and I'm in love with 90% of the characters there. Even the background characters have had a lot of work put into them, getting relatively fleshed-out backstories to make their motives understandable (even if not agreeable!), and I love them all so much, haha.

Except Katerina. She's a bitch.

I also think about Rising From the Ashes a good amount, and it's invaded my brain again lately, haha.

I took a step away from RFtA and basically all of my other stories late 2021 when Kris (my ex-writing partner) and I had a falling out. It was incredibly difficult for me emotionally to look at anything I worked with her on, and obviously RFtA was a huge one (actually, tAR was the only thing of my early works she had nothing to do with). Since early this year, I've finally been able to work on it again and it's been incredibly fun removing her stuff, actually!

I think all that is a good part of why I keep randomly getting obsessed with it again, haha. It's like looking at old friends (the characters, not Kris) and being all "omg??? I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER??? PLEASE TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU'VE BEEN UP TO!!!" except it's removing Kris's stuff, haha.

I think about Sun and Shadow a lot more than you might expect with how much I talk about not preferring it, haha. I love the characters! Crow and, actually, Valyarus especially. They're both super interesting characters, and I'll randomly find my brain working out scenes between characters interacting with them.

(The problem with SaS is that, as a book, it's incredibly different from my usual works. It's a small cast of Frey/Crow and technically Daleira, while most of my stories focus on larger casts. It makes for a VERY different experience, and so it's a lot harder to work on)

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

Actually, I've got a ready answer for this one! Until SaS, I was dedicating my time to the Arcane Rifts and had prepared the answer:

Percy Jackson meets Lord of the Rings in a steampunk fantasy world full of ✨mysteries waiting to be uncovered✨

(I'd say the "mysteries waiting to be uncovered" part ironically/accidentally mockingly most of the time, whoops, haha. I always feel awkward advertising my works.)

It was awkward when people would get actually interested in it from there and ask more questions, haha.

To clarify: that's my tagline for the Arcane Rifts! The story has gods and demigods messing with mortals, using them as their playthings and being REALLY immature babies because they don't really face consequences for their actions like PJ. Then, it's a lot more "grounded yet fantastical" like LotR, where magic is kinda infused with reality and yet you still have issues like starving to death and whatnot.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

UHHHH THERE'S A LOT TO LIST???

Try this for a taste! These are just the guys I've gotten colors for!

Freya, Crow, Daleira, Valyarus, Grimnir, Soren, Gene, Tazin, Mislav, Adilzhan, Ludmila, Rada, Caspar, Nikolai, Gennadi, Oska, Rieka, Liesel, Carmin, Nora, Sammy, Kieva, Caron, Varik, Elazi, Riaan, Roman, and Tiberius! (Though Tib is getting a name change sooner or later)

Who’s the most unhinged?

Unhinged in which way? There's a lot of options there, haha.

I'm going to give honorary mentions to Valyarus, Gene in the later books, Tazin, Rieka, Gennadi, and Tiberius ! (Why does it not surprise me that most unhinged characters are from tAR? 🤣 Also I swear it's a coincidence most of the unhinged characters are red.)

(... Probably.)

In general, I'd say that, incredibly ironically, the Existence of Order is the most unhinged of all my characters. She's just incredible at hiding it.

(Tbf half of the Existentials probably belong on the "unhinged" list anyway but eh. They still don't compare to Order!)

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

I'm going to give this as a tie between Gene and Sammy!

Gene has my 'tisms and just about all of my trauma, so we have a lot in common, whoops, haha. Also there's a... very specific detail about his character that makes him easier to write in general. It's just a major spoiler. 👀

Similarly and actually identically to Gene in some ways, while Sammy has a lot in common with me, he's also incredibly perceptive! (Although we don't share that fact.)

Due to the way I write, their analytical natures allow for them to spit straight facts about the worldbuilding and the people around them rather than beating around the bush, haha. Both are highly investigative, try to learn and understand everything around them, and notice small details other characters wouldn't! It makes it much easier for me to write, because uh... well here's an example of what my outlines look like.

Long story short: I include a lot of detail which I then transfer into the POV's character narration, cutting out details which they wouldn't notice or think about, haha. In Sammy's case (which that scene has Sammy as the narrator/POV character), very little information gets cut out because he's so perceptive!

(Here, as a treat--have another example!)

(In this scene, Nikolai is the narrator. Even the outline gets "filtered" to mirror the characters' way of thinking--like it's Nikolai himself seeing Caspar as "doll-like". The crossed-out stuff is details I most likely won't mention, but noted for myself, haha. I do the same thing if/when including details about the motives and thoughts of non-narrator characters.)

Do you ever cringe at them?

Gene and Sammy?

A B S O L U T E L Y .

Gene is a wreck in basically every way and desperately needs help (that he won't get until he meets Dimitry). As much as I love him, there's a lot of moments where you just can't help but wince and be all "shit, did you REALLY have to do/say that?"

Sammy on the other hand? He's a terrified, control freak manipulator who panics the moment he feels like he's losing control of a situation. It can be painful to watch, even if simultaneously fascinating.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

I explicitly go out of my way to add backstory to and develop each and every one of my characters until they "write themselves", haha.

I want my characters to feel like real people, so I do my absolute best to make them as real as possible. (That's part of why tAR is so massive...)

Special shoutout to Dimitry here, btw. Dude COMPLETELY screwed over the planned and intended from the earliest days path of the Arcane Rifts. I've mentioned before that Gene is villain-coded, yeah? Want to know why?

Because he was MEANT to be one! Then Dimitry had to come along, be the sweetest, nicest fucking person around to Gene while he was going through the worst part of his life, and keep Gene from slipping off the deep end!

MITRY, YOU PIECE OF--

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

I absolutely love, love, love!!! people asking questions about my characters!!! 🥰

I would absolutely prefer them as Asks sent to me, and especially would prefer if separate subjects/questions were sent in separate Asks! Like, say you were going to ask me about Gene and Dimitry. I'd rather two separate Asks, one asking for whatever you wanted to know about Gene and another for whatever you wanted to know about Dimitry, haha. However, if you wanted to ask a single question about both, that obviously is fine as a single Ask!

On writeblr engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I definitely scope out before I follow, yes.

I choose based primarily on the personality of the person behind the blog, but the WIPs/vibes can also have an influence on my decision, haha. I'd rather follow people with kind/supportive personalities, and I'll eventually start liking their stories even if they're not initially my thing!

What makes you decide against following?

Bigotry. Moment I see it, I'm on the lookout for even the slightest hint of more and, if I see it, I'm OUT!

(That includes things like: homophobia, transphobia, TERFs, ableism, racism, xenophobia, etc.)

Also, while I include angst in my stories, the people who are big on "I have nothing but bad stuff in my writing and I'm proud" are, uh... not on my "follow" list. While they can write what they want and enjoy it, grimdark is not my thing. Angst is best in moderation and I very purposely control the amount of it in my life.

(Also Kris's--my ex writing partner's--obsession with "grimdark-ness" is a good part of why I'm so ecstatic to remove her stuff from my writing. Yes, I've tried it. For years. I hated it. Please and thank you. Also note that I proudly call myself an evil writer, so it's not like I don't love angst, it's just--moderation. Seriously.)

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Yes! I think a good 50-30% of my interactions are with non-moots, haha. I go out of my way to try to support my moots, but I'll definitely share support with anything that catches my attention, no matter who it's from!

To be fair, though, I think a majority of non-moots I interact with are on my mental "probably going to follow soon" list. I can be slow to make decisions, haha. It doesn't help that I try being active with my moots, so I'm trying to avoid growing that list too quickly!

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Haha, depends what you mean by that? My brain is definitely too full of my own characters to have any space for anyone else's, but I definitely do think of others' characters at times! There's plenty of y'alls characters I really like, haha.

Just... omg, my hyperfixated AuDHD brain refuses to focus on anything except for the Hyperfixation of the Moment™.

This was a huge one! Hopefully I'm not screaming into the void with this one, or you guys enjoy finding out more about me and my WIPs.

If you're curious about the reason this is labeled Writer Questionnaire 2... well guess what!

Tagging (gently! This is a lot, haha): @honeybewrites @yourpenpaldee @paeliae-occasionally @mysticstarlightduck @illarian-rambling @.darkandstormydolls (tagged you earlier in the post haha) + open tags!

Divider from @cafekitsune!

[marvelseries19]

WELCOME HOME

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Years ago an accident changed your life completely, whether that is a good thing or not is yet to be determined. Now an offer might give you the chance to find out.

A/N: Hello everyone. It's been a long time, but here is the first chapter. I've read and rewritten this many times, just trying to find the best way to write it and I think it's pretty close. This will be subjected to further editing to sharpen the last details nothing major. I think. I don't know when I will update the rest of the chapters as they have yet to be written but, I hope I can manage my time well enough not to make you wait half a year for it. Remember that the first tag is the official one, every chapter, update, idea, etc. Will be under it. I hope you enjoy and feel free to give me feedback, ideas, or questions.

Warnings: +18. Murder, canon violence, and violence in general. Depictions of injuries. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1.4k+

Masterlist

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours]

TWO YEARS AGO

The desolate island you are stranded on stands as a stark testament to isolation and danger. The air is thick with humidity, carrying the earthy scents of moss and damp earth. Your face and body bears the traces of all the pain and hardships you’ve endured these past five years but the small shelter near the edge of the sand is a testament to your willingness to survive.

You can hear the shuffling of the leaves on top o the trees and the chorus of the birds in the distance at your disturbance of their resting places on the tree branches while you’re running hoping you can get to the shore in time to be seen by the fisherman you managed to devise in the distance. 

Relieve washes over you when you noticed that your endurance had paid off. Finally, after five years of pain and loss, you were getting out of this island that had brought nothing but pain and trauma. 

The man on board gave you a blanket and something to warm you up along with a phone. Despite their inability to understand your language, they could still tell how much pain you were in and what might have happened to you on the island and could only imagine the things you had to go through. 

Once you were secure inside the boat they handed you a phone. The first thought that crossed your mind was calling your mom. Despite the difference you had back in the day, she was still one of the most important people in your life and you could only imagine how she suffered after you and your father went missing. You only hoped she hadn’t decided to change her number.

“Hello” Hearing your mom’s voice instantly brought tears to your eyes, you hadn’t heard her voice in so long and you were so overwhelmed by everything that it was hard to keep your tears at bay and to actually answer her. “Hello? Who is this?” She asks after your silence.

“Mom it’s… it’s Y/N” Your mother's heart sunk in her chest, she was just coming to terms with you and your dad being declared dead and the thought of this being a possibility was surreal.

“My daughter has been dead for five years” After the announcement that you were gone, all hope was lost in your mom's heart. It was a pain that no parent should have to go through so, this had to be some sort of sick joke. “Please don’t call here again” 

Moira was about to end the call when your desperate pleas reached her ears, “Mom, Mom, please just listen to my voice.” You were just begging her to believe you. “It’s Y/N… I didn’t die on the Gambit, I’m alive… I’m okay.”

“Y/N…” She whispered. “Y/N is that you?”

“Yeah Mom, it’s me!” Relief washed over your body once again. “Just please don’t hang up, okay?” 

Your mother's tears fell freely down her face. She has to sit down, her legs failing her at the news. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I won’t” She promised. “Oh, my beautiful girl, it- is your father alive?” 

It was your turn to feel your heart sink, the memory of burying your dad on the island coming to the front of your mind again. “No… No. He- he and um… He and Sara didn’t make it” You wished you could be there with her, in her arms just like when you were a kid. You were tired, cold, and hurt and after so much time on your own, you just needed your mom. 

She stayed on the phone for as long as she could and then when you finally came back to the city, she raced to meet you at the hospital. 

---

The news of your rescue was on every tv by now, including the ones inside the hospital.

“LOST BILLIONAIRE FOUND,”  In big white letters. The statement was displayed on the banner of the news channel. 

“Y/N Queen is alive. The New York City resident was found by fishermen in the North China Sea five days ago. Five years after she was missing and presumed dead following the accident at sea which claimed “THE QUEEN’S GAMBIT”. Images of the day before you went on the trip were being shown along with previous pictures that were taken a while back when you were just another rich girl making very drunken and public mistakes. A time that even you couldn’t recognize anymore. A few other photos of the boat were in the background as the man continued talking. “Queen is the daughter of New York billionaire Robert Queen, who was also on board but now officially confirmed as deceased.” 

---

Standing in front of the window, you look outside at what once was your home you try to process the last few hours. Physical discomfort gnaws at you as you grapple with the unfamiliar sensations of clean clothes against your skin and the dull ache of healing wounds. The contrast between the harshness of the island and the comfort of modern medical care is jarring, leaving you feeling disoriented and almost out of place.

As you stare at the still-busy streets below, your mind races with a barrage of conflicting thoughts. You are grateful for the medical attention that saved your life, yet you carry the weight of survivor's guilt. The memories of the friends you left behind on the island and the choices you made to ensure your own survival haunt your thoughts. You feel a profound sense of responsibility for the lives lost, a burden that refuses to be cast aside.

Outside your room stood a very concerned doctor along with your mom was discussing your medical condition.

“12 percent of her body is covered in scar tissue, second-degree burns on her back and arms. Her x-rays show at least 12 fractures that never properly healed.” The doctor couldn’t believe how much you had gone through, at least not by just looking at you. You seemed hunted yes but, you also looked well put together, you had developed muscle mass you had never been able to achieve before, and you were well nourished with all things considered of course. “Moira… I’d like you to prepare yourself. The Y/N you lost might not be the one they found” You could hear them from inside the room and you could only agree with the doctor's word. The things you had done, the things you went through, and the person you had to become to survive changed you completely, and coming back, seeing your family, your friends, and the people you had failed was all a reminder of that. 

But you had a mission and you would continue to do whatever it took to fulfill your promise to your father.

Save this city.

---

PRESENT

Perched atop a towering skyscraper, you survey the sprawling cityscape below under the soft luminescence of the moon. The air is crisp, carrying with it the faintest hint of city life—sirens, distant chatter, and the distant rhythm of traffic.

Your silhouette is a sentinel against the night sky, your figure outlined by the glow of the city below. Your attire blends seamlessly with the shadows.

As you gaze down, your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts—an intricate dance of reflection and purpose. You think of the things you’ve done, the alter ego you had created but the purpose of said alter was in doubt. It was meant to be to fulfill your father’s wishes but, there was something inside you that you couldn't explain nor control and it scared you. You wondered whether the green arrow was just an excuse to let the monster inside come out or if it was in fact what you intended at first.

The wind brushes against your face, ruffling your hair and carrying with it the distant scent of rain. You close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to be immersed in the sensory symphony of the city—the distant laughter, the melodic strains of music, and the underlying current of urgency that underscores every corner of this urban landscape.

Your reflecting time seems to come to an end when you feel someone's presence behind you. With ease and efficiency, you point your bow and arrow toward the threat.

“I could never sneak up on you…” You lowered your bow at the realization of who was in front of you. “Hello, Natasha…”

Taglist: @liliesandrosies @s1ut4nat @justyourwritter69

[aardelea]

The moment it clicks

Hi everyone!

There are already so many amazing fanfics out there featuring Haru, but I decided to challenge myself and write confession scenes for all the ghouls in short stories. So here’s my version of Haru’s story, where our MC, named Hana in this piece, finally gets a chance to spend some quality time together after weeks of interruptions.

After a series of unexpected interruptions, they finally get a moment to connect and share something meaningful.

And now, here's the fluffy stuff. Enjoy!

This time, everything had to go right. For two weeks, poor Haru had been trying to find a quiet moment to talk to you, but circumstances kept forcing either him or you to interrupt the conversation.

Two days ago, when he thought nothing could go wrong, and just as he reached for your hand to give weight to his words, Peekaboo, who had been snuggled comfortably in Haru’s baby carrier, threw up everything in his tiny stomach, evenly distributing it over both of you. What should have been the moment for him to finally pour his heart out ended in a comedic situation, full of laughter and disgust. Instead, he had to send you home and return to his dorm to clean up both Peekaboo and himself. He adored the little guy, but honestly, there couldn't have been a worse time for stomach trouble.

As Haru walked back across campus towards Jabberwock, he saw you in the distance, standing at Sho’s food truck, chatting with Sho and Subaru. He paused for a moment, watching the scene. You were beaming as you accepted the food from Sho, and Haru couldn’t help but wish that he were the reason behind that radiant smile on your face.

He had admired you ever since you first came to help at Jabberwock. Your determination and work ethic proved that he had found a truly invaluable assistant. But there was something more. Your unfathomable kindness towards both humans and anomalies stirred feelings in him that he thought were long forgotten. How could someone going through such a difficult situation as you still carry so much patience and love inside them?

When Haru finally realized the depth of his feelings for you, he was unsure what to do with himself for a long time. You spent a lot of time at Jabberwock, even helping out in your free time when assigned to other houses, but did he even dare to hope that your frequent visits had anything to do with him?

Despite his easygoing nature, Haru was far too humble to think that you might see him any differently than everyone else. Besides, he couldn’t help but notice that several of the other ghouls were starting to look at you in a way that suggested they, too, had begun to harbor feelings. Sooner or later, they would surely make their move. After all, who would miss the chance to hold onto someone as special as you?

This longing was so palpable that Haru decided to give in to it. If he were to lose you to someone else, he at least wanted to make sure you knew how much you and your time together meant to him. There wouldn’t be another opportunity for this confession if your heart had already been claimed by someone else. Whatever your answer might be, he’d accept it.

As he stood there, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck, he suddenly felt two large hands on his shoulders, startling him so much that he nearly jumped.

“Aaaah, Towa! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He turned around and looked up at Towa, who was happily humming to himself. Haru’s reaction seemed to amuse him. “I’ve told you before, this sneaking up on people thing could really end badly one day. What are you even doing here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be watching over the herd in the field?”

Towa chuckled softly and shook his head, then pointed toward where Haru had been staring dreamily just moments ago. You were now standing at a high table with Subaru and Haku, who had joined you while Haru was distracted.

“Hm? Were you looking for Hana?” Haru asked, confused. Towa scrunched up his face and shook his head again. Still humming, he gently placed his hands on Haru’s shoulders and began to push him in your direction.

“Hey hey hey, Towa! What are you doing?! I don’t have time for this, and I wasn’t even planning on going over there!” But Haru’s words were in vain. Towa continued to steer him toward your table, and Haru knew that resisting was pointless. Towa was far too strong to break free from his grip.

“Oh, Haru, Towa! It’s so nice to see you!” When the two Jabberwock ghouls came into your view, you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. “I was planning to come by and see you guys after I finished eating. Do you want something? The food here is amazing!”

Towa, with an eerily quick and skillful move, took Haru’s baby carrier—with Peekaboo still inside—strapped it onto himself, and waved goodbye to you all as he headed back toward Jabberwock.

Haru stared after Towa, completely baffled, before turning back to you and the group with a sheepish grin. “Hahaha... I honestly have no idea what got into Towa, but it seems he really wanted to see you, Hana. Hello, Haku and Subaru. Sorry about this, I didn’t mean to crash your little get-together.”

Haku gave a knowing smile and shook his head. “No worries. I wasn’t planning to stay long anyway. Subaru, are you coming back to the dorm after this? There are some documents I’d like to go over with you.”

Subaru blinked, looking between Haku, Haru, and then you, as if something suddenly clicked. “Ah, yes, of course. Thanks for reminding me.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Excuse me, this is a little embarrassing, but I completely forgot about that. Let’s go now, Haku. I can finish eating back at the dorm. See you later, Hana!”

Both you and Haru watched the two leave, equally confused. Haru turned to you apologetically. “I can’t shake the feeling that this is somehow my fault. Sorry, that wasn’t my intention.”

You shook your head with a reassuring smile. “Oh, it’s fine. Subaru and Haku are really busy. It’s not uncommon for him to rush off for Hotarubi’s duties. You know how that is as a captain better than anyone.”

Haru chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck again. “Yeah, you’re right about that. Well, now that your company’s gone, I suppose I owe it to you to stick around, huh?”

“You sure do. Grab something to eat! We haven’t eaten together in ages!” With your cute expression, Haru couldn’t resist, so he gave in and headed over to the food truck to get himself something as well. With a steaming bowl of food in hand, he returned to join you.

As you ate, you talked about the tasks you still had to complete for the day and laughed a lot while speculating what Jabberwock might look like if Ren or Towa had all the resources they needed to run things. When you were both done, you disposed of your trash and started walking toward the safari park together.

“You’ve been wanting to talk to me about something for a while now. What’s it about?” You looked up at Haru, curiosity in your eyes. That knot of anxiety tightened in your chest as you saw him avert his gaze, laughing nervously.

“Aaaah, you know... I’m not sure if this is the right time. We could always find another moment to—”

“Nope.” You came to an abrupt stop, gently grabbing his arm. You were now standing just outside the entrance to the safari park. “We’ve been trying to do this for so long, and something always gets in the way. Who knows what might happen in Jabberwock next? Come on. Talk to me.”

You tried your best not to sound pleading, but Haru surely noticed the slight tremor in your voice. He looked down at the ground, seeming a little sad, but then glanced back up at you.

“I’d hoped I’d look a bit more presentable when I finally talked to you about this, but... well, there’s no point putting it off...”

“I like you, Hana.”

Your heart began to race as warmth spread through you, filling you with joy. “I like you too, Haru!”

“Hahaha, that’s sweet, but you don’t understand. I really like you. Your kindness, your compassion... even the anomalies in the park adore you, especially Peekaboo. And me... well, I like everything about you. So much that it’s hard to think of anything else. I just wanted to tell you that before...”

You stepped closer, looking into his still-troubled face. “And how is that any different from the way I like you?”

“Well, I thought I came across to you more like a... Wait.” Haru froze as the realization hit him, and excitement flickered across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Jokester. Of course I’m serious. That’s something I’d never joke about.” Although his question confused you a little, the happiness in you far outweighed it. “I’ve been hoping you’d see me the same way I see you.”

“But why didn’t you ever say anything? I had no ide—” Before he could finish, you wrapped your arms gently around his neck, pulling him closer. With a warm gaze and a soft smile, you tried to ease away the doubts that seemed to be haunting him. The initial shock of your sudden touch faded, and Haru finally relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist. A relieved smile slowly spread across his face.

He leaned down and tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips tenderly to yours. It was perhaps the most wonderful feeling you had ever experienced, and you eagerly returned his kiss. As your lips parted, he gently trailed kisses from the corner of your mouth, along your cheek, to your ear.

You stayed in each other’s arms for a little while longer until your vibrating phones pulled you back to reality. A bit reluctantly, you both pulled away and silenced your alarms. “Time to go milk the cows...” Haru muttered, sounding disappointed.

“While I go feed the new arrival in the enclosure.”

Haru put his phone away, reached up, and gently held the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

You stroked his cheek, then turned toward the park entrance. “You’ve got your own charms, you know?” You grinned at him and offered him your hand. “Shall we?”

[saltsicklover]

Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part Four (The final part!)

This is the final part of this little story! Thank you all so much for reading, and thank you for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one! Cheers to finally meeting Bob!

Read Part One and Two and Three

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader SOULMATE AU

Word Count: 9700+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Crying, Gentle Jake, Mention of throwing up, mention of a rank kink, lots of apologies, Bob kinda ruining things at first but things get better I promise!!

---

I want to rip my arm away from Jake's gentle grasp. I hate how he still holds me so kindly after how I treated him. After I ran. Tolerant fingertips against stilted skin. The area feels exposed. I feel exposed, too. Jake's hand is still on my elbow, warmth trickling into streams of amenity. There is no nettle of anxiety and that fact makes me want to cry. Fuck. I don't really want to cry, not again. But the gentleness of this almost perfect stranger tempts the fate of my tear ducts. 

The breeze sends an achily dry feeling over my tear chapped skin. I grimace lightly at the feeling.  It's nothing but mere distraction. It's nature's own fingertips grazing against my skin.

"You ran," Jake starts, his eyes darting over my face but never settling exactly on my eyes. His tone holds no accusation, thought it should be dripping in it. Instead, Jake remains soft spoken. He drops his hold on my elbow. I miss it as soon as it's gone, worried that now, I may float into space with nothing to tether me down. Nothing to tether me to this: here and now. 

"I did," It's a confirmation that pains me as it leaves my lips. 

"I'm sorry I scared you," The apology catches me off guard. So does the way Jake looks broken up about it. God, that makes me feel worse. And then I'm surging forward to wrap my arms around him. For a moment, it's just like it was in the airport, awkward and clunky. Then he relaxes a bit, wrapping his arms loosely around my shoulders. 

Maybe this is what our relationship is bound to be, not written by the universe, but instead untangling from the bonds that came before. Maybe that's what friendship is. The unabated way we fold each other into embraces. My aplomb tendencies when it comes to the truth and the way it meets Jake's largess fits together like patchwork. Stitches made of brazen conversation hold us together, felicific. 

"It wasn't you that scared me, it was the fucking words!" I explain, though it comes out all mumbled, though urgent, into the fabric of his flight suit. I turn my head, pressing my ear into his chest.

His heart beats in my ears, off rhythm with my own. Thump, thump, thuthumpump, thumpthump. Thump thumpthump, thump, thump. 

"I have carried these words around for so long, and I've always hated what I thought they meant. I always understood it as a negative, and I never understood that it could be so gentle. And I know that you didn't pick them out to mean more than just simply what they do. But, Oh, it's just Bob, seriously?" I'm somewhere between laughing and crying by the end. Jake rubs a hand up and down the length of my back, right over my spine. It's warm and comforting. 

"Still, I'm sorry," Jake mumble, his chin resting atop my head. 

"Well, even though you don't need to apologize, apology accepted," I squeeze him around the middle, punctuating my words. Thump thumpthump thump.

"Thanks, Birdie," Jake hums, his hand never stilling. We stand like that for a few moments, the wind blowing past us. It's barely lukewarm and cooling under the slow dying sun. Jake's hands are torrid in their place around my body, an even heat exchange. 

"I wanted to punch you," I admit, not even feigning sympathy. "Not today- but, a long time ago... Somewhere around fourteen I got fed up with the way people reacted to the "just " in my sentence. Everyone always saw it in a bad light, and it made me want to punch whoever said it, or would say it."

"Do you still want to punch me?" Jake's laugher rumbles over the beat of his heart. 

My laugh rumbles over mine too. "No. I just... I decided that Bob is my everything so long ago, and so at the time it felt right to throw hands over him."

Jake's laughter doesn't stop, instead the rumbling in my ear gets louder and louder. He mumbles something about how Bob would turn bright red if he'd heard that but I think it was meant more for himself than for me. Silence overtakes us, save for the usual bustle of the airfield and the ever present sound of our heartbeats. Thump, thump, thump. Still, Jake keeps up his ministrations against my spine. 

"What's he like?" The question breaks the silence. A jet takes off somewhere in the distance, neither of us comment on it. 

"Bob?" Jake inquires, his hand stilling. 

"No, Jay Leno," I gaze up at him with one of those seriously looks on my face, the best one I can muster, "Yes, Bob," 

"Well..." Jake takes a deep breath in, swishing his words around in his mouth like a sip of expensive wine, "You've got a good one, Birdie, truly. He's one of the best men I know. Smart as a whip, quiet, observant to the point where never misses a damn thing, it drives us all nuts," 

Jake's laughter thunders. 

My heart stutters, still I'm quick to quip back a response. 

"Everyone or just you?" 

"Oh, shut it," The words are all playful. 

"He looks just like Rhett," I mumble. I take my bottom lip between my teeth, rolling over the fullness of it. Jake erupts in heavier laugher. 

"Yeah, twins usually do," 

"Shut up," I retaliate quickly, releasing my lip to make sure he hears me. "How is Rhett? I feel so bad for running. Fuck, I haven't even apologized to you. I am sorry, Jake, I really am," 

"You don't have to apologize. I was there, remember? I know how it went down. I probably would've run too," Jake admits, resuming his motions up and down my spine. 

"I don't think that makes me feel any better," I hide my laugher in his chest, my barely wet skin almost squeaking against the material of his flight suit. "But thanks anyway," 

"You bet," Jake hums, "Rhett is alright, worried. We... We didn't really get a chance to talk about the airport thing because Bob picked us up. I think Rhett was avoiding saying anything so he didn't say the wrong thing," 

"I don't think you can say the wrong thing," I pull away from the warmth of his embrace to look up at him, "It's all predestined, you know. And if they are close, wouldn't Rhett know what Bob's sentence is anyway?" 

"You would think," Jake chuckles. 

"Do you know what his says?" My voice wavers at the question. I probably shouldn't have asked. Fuck my curiosity for getting the better of me. Another jet takes off, loud and unbothered by our conversation. 

"I do," 

"And?" 

"I'm not going to say as it's not mine to share... But..." A few beats pass between us, a jet soaring overhead. It buys Jake nothing more than a few seconds.  "I think I'm the one who's supposed to say it," There's only a sliver of apprehension in his tone. 

"How do you figure?" 

"Because I know the words, and I know that we are standing here right now having this conversation and by now I'm sure everyone else is in that hanger waiting on me to show up to start the hop," Jake brings his hands up to my shoulders, pushing me back far enough to look at me without having to crane his neck. "And I know that we could wrap this up right now and walk back to the hanger and I could say those words and everything would go from there, just as it should."

"Right now?" 

"Right now," I can barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I swear, if it wasn't for his hands on my shoulders, I would be vibrating away from how hard my heart is hitting my ribcage. 

"It's not too fast?" I ask, finally deciding on some sort of sentence that doesn't really capture what I'm trying to say. 

"Bridie, people wait their whole lives for this. They fight wars and move across the world for this. They take the same bus to work everyday. They run for political offices. They develop apps and services for this sort of thing and right now, Bob is sitting in that hanger right there," Jake thrusts a pointed finger towards the hanger, his tone getting a bit louder with each sentence, "And you are standing here asking me if it's too soon?" 

"I guess I just-"

"Bob already talks about you," Jake interjects, not caring for my excuses. 

"He doesn't even know me," I retort, once again defensive. There is a part of me that wishes I'd stayed hidden away in my father's office, staring out his too big windows and allowing myself to bargain over the importance of this situation. Instead, Jake is like a reflector for excuses and bullshit, cutting through all of the excess and highlighting the point with less than eloquence.  My heart still pounds, I can feel it in my fingertips as they graze over my thighs. I try and push the incessant thumping sound out of my ears in a better attempt to hear what Jake is saying. 

"It doesn't matter. Bob's a quiet guy, but when he is talking, it's often about his soulmate. He wonders, usually out loud, about what you will be like. He worries too, about if you'll care he's in the Navy, or that he's a Wizzo. He worries that you'll hate moving all the time, or won't want to be with him because there's the risk of deployments and all the other bullshit we go through. At the bar, he wonders about what your signature drink is, and if you like to play pool or if you prefer darts, or dancing. He hopes that you'll be beautiful, but not in the face or body, but in the soul. I'm telling you Birdie, he wants to know everything, and he's not very good at waiting for it," 

I can only stand there, still as stone with Jake's hands cupped over the caps of my shoulders. I can't even flounder over words. There are none stuck in my throat, in fact, for the first time in a long time I am speechless. 

So Jake continues, "Birdie, Robert Floyd is head over heels for you already. My Mama always used to say that there is no difference between a wise man and a fool when it comes to love, and looking at Baby on Board I can say that, and I mean this as kindly as I can, there is no telling if he's wise," There is a chuckle stirring somewhere deep in his chest at the notion. 

"That's a lot to live up to," I mumble, hoping Jake misses the words over the jets racing over us. He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. 

"You're not living up to anything, Birdie, that's the thing. Bob hasn't even met you yet and you're everything. I already know it," Jake's admission is brazenly honest in a way that has me teetering over the precipice of my own self conscious mind. "And think about it this way, with as much time as he spends talking about ya, think about how much time he spends thinking aboutcha,"

Jake has a point, as hard as it is to admit. 

"Can I be honest about something?" Jake's shoes are the most interesting thing in the world, with the way my eyes are locked onto the dark leather. I trace the eyelets with my eyes, up the wrapping of the laces to where the legs of his flight suit are bloused into his boots. 

Jake's hands slide from my shoulders, hitting his thighs with a low smack. "Have we not been?" 

Glancing up, I take in the sight of Jake's crimped expression, how his eyes glint in the lowness of the sun. His shoulders dip. A deep sigh escapes from the prison of his chest, edged with more concern than hostility. It's met with my own, the lukewarm air swirling in my lungs only to mingle with the wind again, now a few degrees hotter. Everything feels hotter now. 

"Brutally," The word is overwhelmingly correct, cutting the tip of my tongue as it passes. "But I think I have more to say before I reach a consensus or a breakdown."

 I chuckle out a dry laugh. Jake nods, squaring his shoulders just a little bit. It's an urge to continue, not that I needed one at this point. 

"Up until this point, I don't think I ever thought past wanting Bob. I decided that Bob was it for me so long ago that I never found a need to think past it," I shove my hands as deep into my pockets as they will go to keep myself from picking at my nails. 

"I've never been focused on finding him. Never focused on if he would like me, or if I would like him because I knew that it was in the hands of the universe, you know? And maybe if I believed in a God or something it would be in their handsand then I really wouldn't have to think about it. I mean, the universe picked me for Bob and him for me, so why would there be anything to worry about? But..."

My gaze finds itself just over Jake's shoulder, fixated on the hanger. The hanger that Bob is probably standing in waiting for the hop to start. Maybe he's cursing out Jake for being late. Or sitting next to that beautiful brunette laughing like there isn't a care in the world. Perhaps he's worried about being late, the hop in the forefront of his mind. It could be what he's going home to after work. Maybe he has a cat, an entire collection of Lego flowers, or an alcoholic roommate. 

Standing here for just a few moments longer keeps that information at bay, along with all the questions I'm too afraid to ask myself. 

And even though Jake swears six ways to Sunday that Bob wants me, maybe it's just because he thinks he has to. What if Bob only likes me because the universe told him to? Or what if he doesn't like me at all- the whole thing just an overexaggerated front to keep those he's closest to from asking questions. 

There are so many questions. 

Jake sways into the forefront of my now glassy vision, his face just a little out of focus. His brows are furrowed, tightening as I blink a few times to refocus everything. 

"But what? What is it?" Concern. There is so much concern in the gravel of his voice. 

"I... I think..." Another deep, slow breathe of air that smells thick of jet fuel. It burns my lungs as it passes, more now than it has before. Everything burns more now. I can feel my skin glazing at the heat, like I'm more glass than paint. More sugar than starch. More myself than destiny. 

"No, I know," I meet Jake's eyes, ignoring how they burn too, "I don't want Bob to like me out of obligation. I don't want a relationship born out of a feeling of moral imperative, or because he's being backed into it. I don't want him to fall in love with me, I-"

Jake looks addled, and maybe...  marred? There is something unreadable in his expression, his eyes ever fixated. I only stutter for a second, over my words, over that look, over the glazing of my own flesh. 

"I want Bob to walk into love with me," There's a scuff of realization the moment the words are said, something akin to a record scratch. I am more than a predestined prediction, a proportional kind of perfect. "I can't have the same retronym love story of duty with no real choice. Soulmates or not, Bob needs to choose me or I'm not the one for him."

The conclusion is finite and final. That's all it needs to be.

Jake is all slack jaw and flashbulb eyes.  His hand make's it's way slowly through the air until it's stoking back his hair. He follows around the top of his head until he's at the nape. Scratching at the back of his neck, Jake still looks my way. I can't see anything in his face other than astonishment bordering on incredulous. A small part of myself, a part that I didn't know existed past the pedant preteen years that bled into formalist youth, begs for a sort of validation. But I stay quiet. I don't need Jake to dignify this. Not when I know in my bones that it's true. 

We stand just like this for a few minutes. I count the number of deep, slow breaths he takes. Three thousand three hundred sixty miles the Earth has rotated in the time it took Jake to take just under forty five deep breathes. 

My heart beats hard against my ribs, and for the first time today I spend a moment calculating my heart beat. It's more than thumps thrown against the backside of my ribs. In times like this I break the world down into numbers, into something tangible and bite sized- easily digested. Somewhere around beat eighty five a jet pulls my attention away. 

Jake's eyes are locked on the ground in front of his toes. I can just barely see the way his eyes trace the hairline fractures of the concrete. They mirror the fractures of this conversation, though words go unsaid the concrete beneath out feet seems more like ice. We are drifting. 

"You've made me reevaluate this entire thing," The words are a mess of mumbled whispers feathering off his tongue. Then he laughs, one of those thick honeyed laughs that rattles your entire being. I didn't bring this point up to have Jake question his entire reality and from the sound of his laugh all slick and marred he may be doing just that. 

"Let me ask you something," My words are somewhere between a peace offering and a threat of war. An olive branch paired with cocklebur and thistle; a fucked up bouquet. "Do you love Bradley?"

"Of course I do," There is no hesitation, just conviction, "He's my everything," 

"Are you in love with him?" The words are like chem trails hanging visible between us. Jake's tongue laves over the corner of his mouth for a second. Our eyes meet and he cocks a small smile. 

"Honestly, he's the only person I've ever been in love with. I think I was in love with him before we even got together. Somewhere between butting heads over work shit to the time we hauled each other into that filthy bathroom stall while on shore leave, I fell for him. We uhh..." There's another moment of hesitation, heavier than the one before, "Rooster wasn't looking for his soulmate. Too much tragedy and loss when he was growin' up. He didn't want to lose anyone else. I on the other hand have one of those sentences,"  

Jake fumbles with the zipper on his flight suit, his fingers shaking just a tad. The zipper pulls with a metallic buzz all the way down to his waist, far enough for Jake to pull his left arm free of the fabric. With a twist of his arm, I can read the fragile script inked into the soft underside of his bicep, I just hope he's okay.

Two beats and a breath. 

"Is he?"

"Not all the time, but, things with Mav are getting better everyday. He still struggles but that's life," It's all warmly honest and sweet coming off of Jake's tongue. I share a smile with him. Jake traces over the words with his thumb, pulling gently at the skin. The air between us is lighter now. I am no longer counting heart beats. Instead, I let them pass through my chest without a second thought. The seconds pass, the Earth rotates and I breathe without fraction.

"But enough about us," Jake waves his hand in dismissal, "Are you ready?" He pulls his flight suit back over his shoulder, threading his arm though. The zipper hums that metallic zip again as I chew on the inside of my cheek. Am I ready? I don't know, but standing here under the slow setting sun makes me feel like I could be.

"How long does the beginning last?" I meet his eyes with question. His jaw ticks but the corner of his smile ticks up too. There is so much knowing in that look. 

I've always been more at home in endings. With autumn, dying flowers in vases, and sunsets. Last words, whispered goodbyes, and the feeling of fingertips grazing palms after handshakes; those make sense to me. 

Beginnings and I are strangers sharing fleeting glances. We are curtesy smiles across crowded rooms when our eyes meet on accident. Business cards and for sale posters pinned to public bulletin boards and the passing of cigarettes at concerts. Beginnings haze past me and if I don't move, don't breathe, don't blink, I can coast into the now, the middle of moments, what's left between the beginning and the end.   

"Only a second," 

Jake takes my hand in his own. He rubs his thumb reassuringly over the joint of my thumb, our palms pressed together. Gently, he's guiding me back to the hanger. The whole ordeal is regulated by his kind touches. My skin burns under his hands, but it's not that romantic kind of burning. Instead, Jake's fingertips pressing into my skin are a smoke signal; I follow it diligently. 

The walk to the hanger is quiet. No words spoken between us. The only sounds come from the base itself and the way our shoes hit the pavement. I wish there was a sort of de rigueur for situations like this. A handbook outlining exactly what you're supposed to say in the limbo moment between past and future. It's that moment where the word present doesn't quite fit. It's too liminal, a sort of aberration. Jake's soothing touch is pithy in the same way it is integral. 

The sound of our shoes against the pavement changes as we pass through the threshold. It's far less crunch and a bit more scuff, now. Jake's boots are louder than the soft rubber of my sneakers. They give me a little bit more height, in turn I feel harder to miss. As if the only civilian in a hanger full of flight suit clad aviators would be difficult to miss in the first place.

We only make it about half way into the hanger, just about the point where the chilled breeze warms over when Jake stops me. I go to take another step but his hand tightening around my own. It's a quiet plea to stay put. There's more to unfold, and for a moment I wonder if the beginning has past yet or if I'm on the cusp of it. Jake separates his hand from mine, the warmth of his palm sticking for a few fleeting seconds. 

Maybe that's how much time the universe spent connecting souls together in friendship. The few fleeting moments in the flick of a pen, ink still drying on the parchment of the universe. 

The aviators all sit facing the board at the front, a couple to a table. There's only six aviators sitting, but that accounts for the main team, save for Hangman walking up the aisle. My father, Tom and Pete are at the front of the room, similar to the way I left them. Now, though, Pete is leaning against the table with his husband rather than taking up residence on the floor. My father is still sat in a chair at the front, but he's now facing the group of young aviators. His eyes catch mine from across the room, a small reassuring grin taking it's place on his lips. It keeps me from wavering, then it disappears as fast as it came. 

I catch Tom's eyes next. From this far away, the usual stark blue of his eyes are less icy. Now, they're more soft, welcoming like a clear sky. He places a hand on Pete's knee, the younger man agog with excitement to the point where he's almost buzzing. He must've spotted Jake and I when we walked in, but the famous Maverick is good at keeping people's attention where he wants it. Everyone's eyes are still focused forward on him as he natters on.  I will my ears to hear over the newfound sound of blood thrashing through my ears. 

But it's not Pete's voice I catch, instead it belongs to a woman.

"Why are you two sharing this story now? I know that Payback and Coyote have been asking about this for months and you're finally talking? Something doesn't add up, if you ask me," 

Pete goes to open his mouth again, but Tom squeezes his knee again. His grip looks a little too hard. Mav doesn't seem to acknowledge the uniform wrinkling grip his husband has on his knee, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

"I was thinking the same thing," Bradley pipes up, his chin resting against his closed fist, elbow propped up on the table in front of him. "Even though I've heard this story about a thousand times, I know Jake wanted to hear it-" 

"Where is Bagman? I thought he came in with you, Bradshaw," The woman counters back. 

"I'm right here, Phoenix," Jake pipes up, his tone more smug than I've ever heard it, as he's walking right past the empty seats to stand next to my father. "I was working on something for the Air Boss, is that alright with you lot?" 

There are murmurs, nothing intelligible. The usual glower on my father's features when he's in front of his subordinates is no where to be seen. Instead, his features are schooled into neutral disinterest. Jake leans towards him to whisper into his ear- my father's expression remains still. Then Jake is moving towards Pete. He leans in between Mav and his husband, letting them both listen to what he has to say. With a clap of his hands, Pete is interrupting whatever Jake is telling him. I am a bit taken aback by Pete's sudden command but it seems no one else is surprised. Tom shakes his head a bit but does nothing to hold back his husband. 

"Alright team, change of plans!" The words are met with a groan. "Our lovely COMPACFLT is going to take you guys for a little trip across the air field, I'll be there to join you shortly. Lt. Floyd, could you hang back for a moment, Admiral Simpson and I would like to have a word with you. Same goes for you as well, Lt. Seresin," 

"That's a lot of formality there, old man," Jake jests over the sound of scooching chairs and boots against the cement. I watch as the small group files out of a door at the back of the hanger, diligently following after Tom. 

It's only then that it really hits me. 

The only people left standing in this hanger with me are my father, Pete, Jake and Robert Floyd. My Robert Floyd, the man I have spent so long imagining. When I was a child, I used to talk to the moon about him. The habit started after my teacher told us the story about the man in the moon. He served as my confidant, my secret keeper, and my light for the future. It wasn't uncommon to commune with the milky light of the moon as it shown through the sheer curtains of my childhood bedroom.  

I suppose it's fitting that my soulmate, too, has a love for the sky. I wonder if he's friends with the moon in that same way. Childlike innocence held over with white knuckles while tucked under blankets, anything to fend off the monsters turned Sunday scaries. 

I let my eyes trail over his frame, though I can't make out much. Only the back of his head, with his clean, Navy regulation hair cut. He is that dishwater blond that Rhett is, hair shining with a slick coat of gel to keep his bangs out of his eyes. Bob wears his flight suit, which gives me absolutely no clue into his world of personal style. But, I like the way it stretches over the expanse of his shoulders and down the broadness of his back. The slick-ish green material pulling taught over the the caps of his shoulders as he slumps forward a bit. 

Sitting alone like he is almost makes him look like a little kid who got into trouble at recess. He keeps his hands tucked in front of him, the picture of polite as he waits for his next instruction. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's Navy issued, either way he's all patience and clean corners tucked into a military grade flight suit. 

The sight of my father leaning down in front of Bob pulls me back to reality. He wears a kind smile, that same one he used to wear at father-daughter dances and parent-teacher conferences. That smile belongs wholly to my father- Cyclone: the Admiral is no where to be seen. It's strange, for a moment he almost looks out of place in his uniform, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact. 

Pete is pulling Jake towards me, a hand on his collar. 

"I'm telling you right now, Jake," Maverick punctuates his seriousness with the use of Jake's first name, "You are going to go easy on Bob, alright?" 

"I think he's a lot stronger than you give him credit for," Jake shoots back, nudging Pete in the ribs with his elbow. "I know we all joke around and treat Bob like he's the kid of the group, but he's worked just as hard as the rest of the team to be here. He deserves it. There's no doubt in my mind that he won't take this in stride," 

"This isn't like you, Hangman," Pete chuckles, punching him playfully in the chest, "If I didn't know any better I'd think there's a heart in there somewhere," 

"You're forgetting I'm practically engaged to your son, you know," Jake is all jest and shinning eyes as he looks down at the shorter man. 

"The word practically gives me pause," 

The moment between the men is as sweet as it is endearing, but my heartbeat threatens to take over my senses again. Anxiety swirls like thick smoke, overtaking my lungs and burning my eyes. I can feel myself tearing up. 

"I can appreciate the father-in-law son-in-law bonding that's happening right now, but in case you two have forgotten I am this fucking close to losing it," I hold my fingers up for emphasis, my pointer dangerously close to my thumb, "Watching y'all, I feel like the lunatics are running the asylum," 

"Dangerously accurate," Pete laughs, earning a scowl from me. I turn to Jake for some sort of help. Standing here, the seconds ticking down, I feel myself wavering. 

"So, this is it?" 

"This is it," Pete echoes, unhelpfully, "You've got this, Little Bird," 

Pete uses that as his exit, patting Jake on the arm as he leaves. I don't turn to watch him walk away. My eyes are somewhere on the center of Jake's chest, but the images are all muddled and glassy. He takes my hand in his own, thumbing over the ridges of my fingers. 

"Walking into love, eyes wide open, I promise," Jake's susurrus voice barely audible over the blood rushing through my ears. Gently, he guides me down the aisle between the tables. It seems a million miles from here to there, a sentiment I've only ever heard brides use. Then, he's stopping me a row back from where Bob is seated, still talking to my father. Jake himself does not stop, instead going to stand next to my father. 

"You got it from here, Lieutenant?" My father asks, turning his quirked eyebrow Jake's direction. 

"I do," Jake confirms confidently, his hands coming down to rest palm down on the tabletop in front of Bob. 

"Alright then," My father straightens up, "I'll see you in a few minutes, Lt. Seresin. Have a good night, Lt. Floyd," 

From my new vantage point, I can see a sliver of Bob's side profile. A clean shaven jaw gives way to a long, pale neck. He wears glasses, that little fact feels more concrete than anything else up unto this moment. Robert Floyd wears glasses- those Navy issued, Birth Control Goggles that I've always had an affinity for.  

Once when I was a kid, I had asked my father why the Navy glasses were hated. I liked them, truly. They reminded me of the vintage models in my mother's old magazines- and that look was the height of fashion circa 1976. My mother had a love for all things vintage fashion, and I developed a love for a well dressed man whilst looking over her shoulder. My father's response to the question was nothing that made sense until I understood exactly how cruel people could be. 

"What's going on, Hangman?" There's a round quality to Bob's accent, though it is decidedly more formal than Rhett's. 

"I'm getting to that, Baby on Board," Jake chuckles, leaning closer to Bob effectively keeping the other man's eyes on him, "Close your eyes," 

"Close my eyes? Yeah, right," Bob scoffs, "I think I learned better when it comes to you, all the way back when we were kids. Nice try. Now, tell me, what's goin' on?" 

I watch Jake's smile bloom larger on his face, but he doesn't spare a glance my direction. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, nervous energy threatening to boil over. Even though energy buzzes under my skin, I want nothing more than to hear Bob speak again. 

"Seriously Robby," The nickname makes me almost laugh. It's said with just a dash of sweetness, something closer to fond. Bob lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. "Close'em up,"

"I swear to god, Seresin, if this is some sort of overdue hazing or some other bullshit I am going to kick your ass," Bob grumbles, but must closes his eyes by the pleased look reflecting on Jake's features. 

"It's not, honest," Jake swears, a hand placed over his heart. I watch the pair as I rock back and fourth. It's a gentle movement, anything to keep myself from crawling out of my skin. "And you and I both know that you couldn't kick my ass if you tried," Bob looks like he's going to retort, but instead he sinks down a little further in his seat with a roll of his eyes. 

"Well, get on with it," Bob mumbles, his shoulders dipping a bit. 

"Will you take this seriously, please, Robby," There's that nickname again. Jake's words are met with a low grumble about how he really is taking something absolutely ridiculous as seriously as he can. "Let me ask you somethin'"

"Alright," Bob shrugs his shoulders, his uniform wrinkling under his movement. Bob is so apprehensive, rightfully so. Jake is still looking down at him, hands pressed to the table. The look Jake has painted across his face is nothing short of mischievous, a look that I would not want to be on the receiving end of, for fear of trouble. 

"Now, no matter what I ask, you've gotta keep your eyes closed, alright?" 

"Okay, alright, Jake. I get it, eyes are to remain closed," 

Then Jake is waving me over with a flick of his wrist. There is still a wide smile across his cheeks which makes it a fraction harder to say no. Still, I shake my head, eyes wide, trying to deny his request. He huffs out a sigh when I manage to scoot myself less than two steps closer. A second later he is crossing over to me, taking my hand in his again. He guides me back to where he was standing before, in front of Bob. 

I can see his whole face now.

From the tender slope of his nose to his dusty brown lashes, the first thing that strikes me is just how kind he looks. I take in the gentle wave of his hair and the way it's pushed back from his eyes. I wonder what is would look like without all the product. Would it slope down onto his forehead, the obvious wave more prominent? From here, though his features are so similar to Rhett's, he looks so incredibly different. There is a softness to Bob that I wouldn't have expected. The points where Rhett is hard lines and calloused skin, Bob is undisturbed water, crystal clear and inviting. 

Robert Floyd looks nothing like the idea of men I have come to picture in my head: the ideal man outlined for me since childhood. Those men were all beefy hands and square jaws, sharp lines that lead to a commanding presence. Instead, Bob is lean muscle and something so unbelievably oneiric. He is soft in the way the best things are, seafoam and clouds, the feeling of coming home. It's strange, really, the settled feeling that makes a home near my diaphragm. It's all delicate revelation.

The anxiety still lingers in my extremities, dancing through my thighs and down to my toes just to accompany the pulsing feeling in my fingertips. 

And suddenly, I want to know everything. The dam breaks, cracks running through the concrete that held back my terse reaction and adjunct feeling of crumbling resolve.  

The tears come fast and unexpected, the only thing keeping in a surprised gasp is my hands cupped over my mouth. Get it together, get it together, get it together! Those are the only words going through my head, accompanied by the sound of blood rushing though my ears.  Jake grazes his knuckles over the exposed skin of my arm, his expression still as kind as ever. He doesn't take his eyes off me when he addresses Bob again. 

"I had a point brought up to me today, about the whole soulmate thing," It's a start. Jake looks like he's hunting for the words, "And I'm embarrassed about it. I mean, it makes so much sense and I can't have you looking at me when I admit this," 

Jake is really hamming it up, leaning into this whole bit. I'm not sure if it's to ease my anxiety or if it's to mess with Bob, but either way I don't care. I am stuck standing here, in front of my person and will listen to every word that leaves Jake's lips if it means I get to look at Bob unbothered for a few more moments. 

God, he's pretty. His lips look soft, even though they are lightly sun kissed. Or maybe that's just their natural color. His cheeks match, though. A stained sort of blush that looks like crushed berries. I want to trace the ridge of his cupids bow with the tip of my nose, a precursor to a kiss that is a long time coming. I want to wear that raspberry stain on my skin, too. 

"Okay..." Bob's tone is nothing short of patient. "My eyes are still closed, I promise. Go on when you're ready," 

"The thought is this: people begin a life with their soulmate with their eyes closed, blinders on. They jump into something purely because something in the universe deemed it that way. I wonder what would happen if we walked into the whole thing with our eyes open instead of falling blindly, or out of obligation," Jake is summing up the sentiment well. He hits each detail in a way that threatens to make my head spin to hear them out in the open like that. It's one thing to admit those things out loud, but hearing them fall from someone else's lips is dizzying. 

"That's the thing, Jake, I don't think it's all out of obligation," I suck in a deep breath at those words, holding it hard within my lungs. Jake looks at me with a knowing sort of look that doesn't make holding in this breath any less of a necessity. It's a few more seconds before I finally let go, the breath escaping my lungs slowly. 

"What do you mean?" Jake probes further, doing his best to hide the joy in his tone. If Bob notices, he doesn't say anything. 

"Just because we've got these words doesn't mean it dictates our future. Anyone who tells you different is drinking the Kool-Aid. I mean, I hope more than anything that my person wants me just as much as I want them, but the words don't make it so. It also doesn't mean shit the other way. Things can work out even if your words don't match up, because that's not what love is, Jake," Bob's tone has turned soft now, a care laced into his words. He takes his glasses from his face, setting them down onto the tabletop so he can rub at his still closed eyes. His expression is still soft, though he moves to rub his temples. 

"Love is a choice. Plain and simple. I mean, look at my parents. You know they don't have each other's words, but they are the most in-love people I've ever seen. The universe didn't do that, they did. It was a choice they made every single day, to wake up and love each other and build that life together. And so, if you're worried about everything with Rooster, you don't have to be. Not as long as you wake up every day, love each other and build a life together, whatever that looks like for you," 

"So," Jake's words are interrupted by the smile growing on his face. His cheeks are red from the force it takes to smile so big, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Great love is walking in to it with eyes wide open?" 

"That's exactly what it means," Bob confirms, bringing his hands back to his lap. At his confirmation, the world seems to slow. Each second lasts longer than the previous, the beating of my heart the only thing out of sync now. Tick, tick, ti-thump thump tick. Jake squeezes my shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly on me once again. 

"There's something else I have to tell you, Robby," The joy in Jake's voice is palpable, warm like sunshine on skin. The ever-present burning feeling mellows to this. That static burn of the sun shinning from high in the sky, enough to turn skin hot with blush. "Birdie's here," 

The room goes almost silent, save for the sounds of Bob's deep, uncertain breathes. A moment passes. Then another. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. For the first moment I consider my attire, a white t-shirt and jeans. Could've been worse. At least it's something else to think about other than counting moments, minutes, heartbeats or breathes. 

"Excuse me?" The words are taught, leaving an equally tight throat. Bob sounds almost pained, somewhere in the rigidness of his tone. Bob cracks his eyes open, reaching for his glasses. He slots them back into place on his nose, adjusting them with his long fingers. 

That's something else concrete; the cleanliness of Bob's nails. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the thought, after all, I'm taking comfort in something so silly. Anything to distract from the pulsing of anxiety. 

Bob looks up, his pupils dilating as he refocuses to the light of the hanger. His eyes focus on Jake first, his expression something I can't quite read. Then his eyes flick to me. The best thing I can offer him is a sheepish smile but it makes Bob cock is head to the side like a confused animal. Like things will make more sense at forty-five degrees. 

"Robert Floyd, Birdie Simpson," Jake introduces us as easy as if he were introducing two friends. "Birdie, this is Just Bob," That part is accompanied by wink and a hint of a chuckle. 

"I shoulda hit you," I grumble, dashing a glace over to Jake. His laughter fills the room, bastard. Bob doesn't move, his head still cocked to the side as if he's trying to make sense of it all, dot the I's, cross the T's, but his mental pen's out of ink. I watch his gaze bounce between Jake and I a couple times as he flounders. His eyes are a notch wider than what I would consider normal, the delicate blue of them shining like ocean baubles under the florescence of the hanger. 

"Well, say somethin' to 'er Robby!" Jake's drawl sneaks out with his desperation. He holds his hands out, almost like he's trying to display me to Bob, the only thing that's missing is the jazz hands. I am clutching the material of my jeans in tight, sweaty fists. This whole thing is going somehow worse than I had anticipated, even through Jake's good natured exchange and I can't help feeling exposed. 

Jake mumbles out a "See, no tellin' if he's wise," just barely loud enough for me to hear. It's supposed to be a comfort, I suppose, but the limbo look I find myself locked in keeps my nerves from settling. 

A sound akin to scrambled vowels escapes Bob's lips. His eyes widen impossibly further, his cheeks going crimson . That same color accompanies the skin around his collar. It would be an endearing sight if he didn't look so totally mortified. His expression isn't at all comfortable, mirroring the exact feeling zinging underneath my skin. This wasn't how this was supposed to go... God, this is so much worse. 

The universe could have delt us better cards. All happy smiles and those movie reel, airport hugs that knock the wind out of you. Those Hollywood kisses with hands cupping faces accompanied by breathless words. I've been waiting for you. You look beautiful. I can't believe you're finally here in my arms. But that's not this. After all, the only hand the universe has wields a pen. The moment the words are wrote, we are on our own, ink stained and pleading. 

"I don't think you were ready for this- either of us," I correct myself, "So, I uh... I think I'm just going to go," I start backing up slowly, heading for the back door of the hanger. I can't place the look Bob gives me, but it makes my stomach twist. "I'm sorry, again. To all three of you," 

"Birdie, please don't-" The door slams behind me, cutting Jake's words off. The chill of the outside air rapidly cools my heated skin. It's still California, but with the sun barely visible over the horizon, the air is cool. 

Tears are rapidly forming in my eyes, though I don't exactly feel like crying. Instead, its the feeling of insurmountable stress weighing on my nervous system. Out of everything I am feeling, I can only name the things I don't want to experience because of the emotions wrecking through my body. 

Though I don't want to cry, my body doesn't seem to be getting the message as fat tears dribble onto my cheeks. I don't feel like running, which in itself makes me chuckle. Usually, when things get hard I want to disappear, take time to figure out exactly what's going on. It's why I've been away from my father for so long to begin with, and why I ran from Rhett and Jake at the airport. What has always taken me distance to see is coming through remarkable clear this close up. 

Maybe I should be broken hearted, or maybe I already am and whatever this fucking feeling buzzing in my chest is only serves as temporary cover. I can't hold back the laughter that vibrates through me. After all of the stock I put into meeting my soulmate, my person, and it having gone down just like a sinking ship only serves to make one thing so perfectly crystal clear. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. It has me turning on my heel and headed right back through that door. 

Jake and Rhett haven't moved too far in the minute or so I've been gone. Jake is still standing in front of the table, looking down at Bob who now has his head buried in his hands. His glasses are pushed up his face, balancing oddly over his forehead. 

"Birdie?" Jake questions, voice louder than necessary. Bob lifts his face from his hands, his glasses falling back crookedly over his nose. I ignore Jake's question along with his gaze, my sights firmly squared on Bob.

"Could that have gone worse?" 

Bob still wears that deer in the headlights look, eyes like flashbulbs, but he finds his voice. "Statistically? Yes," 

Jake mumbles an oh, for Christ's sake to himself but doesn't say anything forthcoming. My hands cup my own face, palms cool against my still hot skin as I cross the concrete to stand in front of the table. Bob watches my each and every move until he is looking up at me from his seat wearing a mimic furrowed brow. My hands make homes of my jean pockets once more. 

"For us I mean," I offer more criteria, "I mean, we really didn't say much to each other, so it's not like we could have said something to offend one another. There hasn't been time to make an impression besides the minute or so of blatant staring. No body threw up, or fainted, or cried. I didn't dump a cup of hot coffee on your lap or anything. Hell, I even had a friend meet her soulmate after they got into a car accident. So really, Bobby, could this have gone worse? 

There's a sort of dry chuckle to my words, a humor that's been left out in the wind too long. We've officially made it past the beginning now, that much I know to be true, and there is already so much comfort in that fact.  

Bob looks to be pondering over my words for a moment before a small, cheeky smirk makes a home on his lips. I can't help but mirror that smile. 

"Well, when you put it that way," Bob places his hands on the tabletop, pushing himself to his feet, "I think that was probably the worst we could have managed. Considering the circumstances, what do you think?" 

"I think we faired alright," I offer, "Could have been better, but life's good at hitting you right in the kneecaps," 

Bob smiles widely at me, and this time it's me who's looking up. Bob is tall, just like Rhett, but looking up at the man in front of me is so much sweeter. He thrusts his hand out, offering it to me, "Robert Floyd," 

I wrap my hand around his, squeezing, "Birdie Simpson," 

"You two do know that I did this already, right?" Jake interjects. Neither Bob nor I turn to look at the blond, his presence all but forgotten. 

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Birdie," Bob's voice is smooth, anxiety hidden in the upturn of his smile. God, he's got a nice smile. 

"Likewise, Lieutenant," I stick my tongue out at him playfully, nose scrunched. 

"No, absolutely not," Bob still holds my hand in his, "If this is going to be anything other than friendly acquaintances, you don't get to call me that here," 

"Here?"  The question belongs solely to Jake. 

"Then what can I call you?" It's all mischief. 

"Let's start with Bobby, I quite liked that," He admits, his cheeks flushing again, this time it's gentle. The blush that overtakes his skin isn't out of embarrassment, instead it's out of a new found fondness. I can feel it creeping up on my own skin. 

"Alright, Bobby," 

"It's Robby..." Jake interjects once more, this time earning a glance from Bob.

"Maybe to you and the family, but to Birdie here, it's Bobby," Bob explains, as if he hasn't just decided that fact for himself. "Don't you have to go meet up with the squad and Admiral Kazansky?" 

Its more of a get out of here than it is an actual question. Jake seems to miss the scram message hidden in the kindness of Bob's tone. 

"Uh... Not technically. Everyone is actually going to the Hard Deck. Pops called off the hop. Figured you wouldn't want to be flyin' after this and we couldn't let Phoenix without her back seater," 

At the explanation, I finally pull my eyes from Bob to look at Jake with an unimpressed expression. "What I think Bob's trying to say is get lost," 

"Well, yes. But nicer than that," Bob tries to offer at Jake's open mouthed surprise. 

"I know he talked me down today," I gesture to Jake, "But, I don't think he deserves nice. Have you ever sat next to that man on a plane? God, he bounced his leg the whole time! I thought he was going to buzz right out of his skin," 

"You should hear him over coms while he's actually the only piloting," Bob laughs under his breath, "He's sort of insufferable,"

 "That's not a surprise, but at least Rhett's not up there with you. I was stuck in between the of of 'em the whole damn trip," 

"Oh god, both of them?" Bob asks, his thumb stroking over my own. He still holds my hand, slightly awkwardly over the table but I don't care. In fact, he is so warm and I want him to hold me closer. 

"Both of them," I confirm with a wry smile. 

"In that case, scram Bagman," Bob laughs, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. 

He holds his hands up in defense, "You don't have to tell me twice. I know when I'm not wanted," We watch Jake walk away for a moment before turning back to look at each other once again. 

"I can't believe you grew up with him," I laugh. Bob laughs too, almost like he's in agreement. After the laughter dies down, we stand there in silence for a few moments. In times like this I would usually be counting down the tick of the clock but for once I am totally wrapped up in the present. That's when Bob clears his throat. 

"I owe you an apology," Bob leaves no room for me to brush off his words, "I'm sorry I handled that as poorly as I did. I was caught off guard and then made a fool of myself. I'm not trying to make excuses, I really am sorry, Birdie," At the end of his apology, Bob's eyes slip from my face, a blush taking over his own. 

"Oh Bobby," I squeeze his hand, pulling his gaze back to my own. "You don't need to apologize. That's not how I was expecting things to happen. Jake make the choice and I just let it happen. I think I should be apologizing to you. So, I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted," Bob smiles.

"Apology accepted," I return. In that moment we settle into the quiet again, but it doesn't last very long. 

"So," Bob starts again, a bit unsure of his words. 

"So?" 

"Do you think we've got a chance at this? The crash and burn beginning behind us?" Bob looks so damn hopeful. I can't help but swoon the second that look it turned down to meet my eyes.

"Let's look at the facts. You're a WSO, so you're already trusting, brilliant, a hard worker. I grew up a Navy brat, so I know what this life looks like. I'm not a stranger to the deployments or the work that has to happen for something like this to work out. I've got no where I have to be, nothing committed to. Hell, I was coming home, technically, the home being where your family is or whatever. And you already know my father, so there's no awkward introduction there. I already know Rhett, and Jake, not to mention I'm just a few members short of having met your whole team. I live out of a fucking duffle bag of fucks sake," The words spill from my mouth with no abandon. Bob just listens, a dopey smile drawn over his lips. "All things considered, I think we've got a good chance. I hear it's all about making the choice to make it all work,"

Its not totally clear if Bob picks up the little joke because the smile on his face hasn't faltered. Neither has his hand, still holding my own, even through my little speech. Carefully, Bob uses his free hand to adjust his frames over his nose so they sit a little bit straighter. 

"What do you say we get out of here? Dinner maybe?" He offers, eyebrows raised. He looks a little nervous. I offer him my nicest smile. "And then we can talk more about all this," 

"That depends, Lieutenant, are you going to wear the flight suit?" I flirt shamelessly. It's met with that confused look that I've already come to recognize, though his head only tilts about fifteen degrees this time. 

"Uh, no? I was going to change before we left," Oh sweet, sweet Bobby. 

"I know," I giggle, "I was flirting with you,"

"Oh," The blush crawls across his skin again. I want to kiss every bit it colors. 

"I can't believe you outed the fact that you have a rank kink in front of your friend and wingman, but you can't pick up when I'm flirting with you," I pull my hand from his, only to hit him playfully in the chest. 

Bob's eyes go wide again, "Oh my god, did I?" 

"You did," I confirm through laughter, watching Bob go from pink to red. "Now go get changed, I've gotta hear more about that," 

"Okay, okay," Bob holds his hands up in defense, walking himself out into the aisle between the tables. "One thing, first," 

"What's that?" Bob just holds his hand out to me, beckoning me into the aisle with him. I take it, rounding around the table to stand in front of him. He is taller now, this close. He looks down at me over the bottom wire of his glasses, a cheeky smile on his features. 

"I'd like to kiss you first, if that's alright," He leans closer and closer with each whispered word. The last thing I see before my eyes slip closed is the still pink tint to Bob's cheeks, the same tint that matches the gentle blush of his sun kissed lips. 

"You better," I mumble, our lips meeting a moment after. Bob's hands snake around my body, fingers threading through the beltloops at the the back of my hips. I wrap my fingers around his collar, clutching onto the fabric, holding him close. The kiss is all gentle, though there is so much warmth taking over my skin from his touch. It burns like new flame, the kind that gives light to the future. To our future, together, tangled in each other's embrace. 

That first kiss is a brand new beginning taking flight. The first beginning I don't want to end. 

TAGLIST

@kmc1989 @inky-sun @harperdoodle @possiblyexisting @eloquentdreamer @ravenwtfbro @jessicab1991 @muddwheelz123

[dr5amatic]

MONSTER YOU CREATED ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from arcane season 1. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to violence. change verbiage as needed.

we're not gonna get caught. we'll be in and out before anyone notices.

thought last time was the last time we were gonna do this.

you could fill a damn library with all the things you didn't do.

a bit of advice. don't threaten the guy who pours the drinks.

when people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish.

you're gonna have to lay low for a bit, understand?

those who did this will be dealt with.

i ruined everything. i always do.

you have to believe me. i didn't do this.

i do love a good conundrum.

no great science should ever put lives in danger.

i believe i've discovered something truly incredible.

we look out for each other. it's the way it's always been.

all i see is a child meddling with things they don't understand.

i was trying to create magic.

arcane talents are something you're born with. they can't be fabricated.

you don't understand what's at stake, but how can you? that's a burden that only i carry.

if dangerous ideas didn't excite the imagination, we would never wander astray.

there's a monster inside all of us.

you're just a small man in a little hole the world forgot to bury.

i know you wanna hurt the topsiders for what they've done to us, but who are you willing to lose?

i saw it with my own eyes what magic can do, the lives it could save. you've no idea how beautiful it is.

when you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission.

what makes you different makes you strong.

you'll oblige a doomed man one last smoke, won't you?

you never did know when to walk away.

what have you done? this wasn't the deal!

you'll get people killed. for what? pride?

oh, i hated you for what you'd done, but as time passed, so did my hate. and i was left with an understanding.

the only way to defeat a superior enemy is to stop at nothing to become what they fear.

you'll die for the cause, but you won't fight for one?

willing to risk exile for your endeavor. that's quite the conviction.

wait a minute, this isn't my bedroom.

another late night. the work just doesn't end.

you were supposed to guard the cargo.

it was your job to make sure things went smoothly. you failed. don't disappoint me again.

do you have any idea what you've done?

how do you intend to prove any of this?

did my parents pay you to let me win?

i don't need favors. i need you to do your job.

you've just made yourself everyone's common enemy.

that place looks like it has bodies buried in the basement.

you're a symbol of the future now, whether you like it or not.

how can i say no to such an auspicious offer.

if you really want people to talk to you, you have to let them think you have what they want.

what is truth, but a survivor's story?

if i'm discovered, we're both finished.

are you headed home soon? i thought we could walk together.

betrayal, that pain that feels like it'll eat you from the inside out, can either break you or forge you into something greater.

loneliness is often the byproduct of a gifted mind.

do you contemplate death?

it's a sad truth that those who shine brightest often burn fastest.

i hate feeling so useless.

i know you have your reservations about me, but this only works if we can trust each other.

i just... want to feel what it was like... to be somebody. to make other people afraid.

how many problems can one girl cause?

you can fire that thing if you want, but i'm not going anywhere.

i'm not going to abandon you again.

i knew it was a mistake trusting you.

you look good for a dead girl.

that was a long time ago. people change.

nature has made us intolerant to change, but fortunately, we have the capacity to change our nature.

i know the look of a doomed man.

love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress.

i should have been there. for you. for everyone.

we came from a world where there was never enough to go around. that's why we fight. do you remember?

who found you? who cared for you? gave you a home?

i am your family. everyone else betrays us.

i'm only asking you to prepare to defend your people.

i'm worried i have to do something i never thought i would.

if you want to last in this world, you must learn to be both the fox and the wolf.

you'd give me a throne?

i'll give you the world if you prove you can take it.

sometimes, death is a mercy.

every time i think you can't get dumber, you dig a new low.

ego is one thing, brain is another.

weapons can't be unmade and they are always used.

that looks like more than a sprain. you need medical attention.

you have the passion of youth.

oil and water. wasn't meant to be.

we got a deal, pretty boy?

you've always been a part of this. you just never had to look it in the eye.

you really are fond of him.

i wanted to protect the city from people like you.

i can't believe you'd start a war just to cover your ass.

i would set the world ablaze to protect our family.

we lost ourselves. lost our dream. in the pursuit of great, we failed to do good. we have to make it right.

i'm trying to save you from annihilation.

i can't make a deal with a snake and cut off its head. we both have our shitty parts to play.

you'd be surprised what you can pull off when your life depends on it.

it's not enough to give people what they need to survive. you have to give them what they need to live.

is there anything so undoing as a daughter?

nothing ever stays dead.

the only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to you.

you're my daughter. i'll never forsake you.

remember who you are! i know you remember!

don't cry. you're perfect.

i thought maybe you could love me like you used to. even though i'm... different. but you changed too.

[victoria-rue]

victoria-rue's Recommendation Masterlist part 4

I can't believe I've done this four times. I should probably link the other four lists, I just now thought of that. In every list there are at most 50 people tagged, just because I once read that was the limit. I have now learned otherwise; I won't be changing that up now, it feels like tradition. Also, every single story linked in all of my masterlists has at least 2 chapters. But now, the important part, the Authors. These authors deserve to have their stories spread, the same stories that linger long after the last page. Their creativity ignites imaginations and sparks conversations that bring us closer together. So even if barely anyone will see this, I hope the people who do enjoy their stories as much as I did ♥︎

Recommendation Masterlist part 1, part 2, part 3, & part 4

Marvel

Peter/Pietro Maximoff

Bitchin' by @taintandviolent

You always wear your silver rollerskates. But, when Peter Maximoff decides to check out the roller rink's arcade, and spots you... It's fate. At least, Peter thinks so.

Matthew Murdock

and then I met you by @souliebird

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

Bucky Barnes

Honey Girl By @violentdelightsandviolentends

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Mermaid eyes by @lady-laree-world

Peter Parker

Basic Training by @cherienymphe

A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

Starcrossed lovers by @frost-queen

Miguel O'hara

You & Peter were in love till he lost you. Pulled through a portal he did not expected to meet you again on a different earth. When the battle against Green Goblin in upon them has Peter a chance to forgive himself but at what cost?

Caught in the Cat’s Web by @jedijesi

Felicia Hardy, Black Cat, endures a nasty breakup with Peter Parker, and now with her new Spider-Powers, she must navigate the Spider society and her hot yet unbearable leader, Miguel O'Hara

(You're my) Antidote by @allysunny

Carrying Miguel's child was the best thing that happened to you. It meant he loved you and you two were on your way to start a family. But what you don't see, are the brightly coloured screens in his office that tell him you are slowly dying.

Puzzle Pieces by @exhaslo

A Second Chance by @naturesqueen23

After the loss of his daughter Miguel wants nothing to do with kids that is until he impulsively offers his pregnant neighbor a job at the Spider-Society.

EVERY YOU EVERY ME by @astroboots

You are falling from the 44th floor of the Chrysler building when you're saved by the unfriendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley

To Have & To Hold by @ofstarsandvibranium

To ensure you're always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don't necessarily hate Marc, but you don't get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

How To Train Your Dragon

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III

A Gift from the Gods by @pastel0rchid

Centuries ago, the gods granted your family a gift. But everyone else saw it as a curse. You are the last of your clan because others find your family’s gift as anything but. Your life has been filled with hiding in the woods, away from the Vikings who threaten your existence. The forest quickly became your safe space. Everything in your quiet life suddenly changes when you are spotted by a Viking and his Night Fury, who quickly notice something strange about you. You had wings… dragon wings.

Ultraman Rising

Kenji Sato

mommy’s here by @kiwiikato

Grocery girl by @harveyb-wabbit92

You were a delivery girl who was a frequently dispatched to famous baseball player's Ken Sato residence, you were a nobody that anyone hardly paid attention to, until you found the legendary baseball passed out on his front steps looking like hell, being a bit of worry wart you help him inside and that things took a HUGE turn when you find yourself playing mommy for a giant baby dragon....

Harry Potter

Remus Lupin

Secret Smokes by @writing-in-the-impala

When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting, and a rollercoaster of emotions.

James Potter

Enchanted by @pretty-little-mind33

Three weeks after his devastating break up with Lily, James wanted Remus and Sirius to bring him to a muggle bar in central London.

Harry Potter

The Malfoy sister by @mastermindmiko

Harry Potter hated only one person more than Draco Malfoy, and that person was y/n malfoy, her and that perfect smile. 

Neville Longbottom

your girl by @hogwartseighthyear

neville’s roommates find you in his bed after your first time together.

George Weasley

The Daring, Forbidden and Evil by @futurewriter2000

Being the daughter of the famous Death Eaters really hasn't been one of your proudest features but you haven't let that stop you from being exactly who you are. Since your grandmother died, you had to move in with your mother's side of the family, moving to the Malfoy Manor and transferring to another school. It was all horrible all up until you met a certain somebody that made the expereince a bit more interesting. 

Weasley twins

Vulnera Sanentur by @emeritusemeritus

The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Wanna Bewitch you in the moonlight by @emeritusemeritus

Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not. 

Descendents

Harry Hook

girl almighty by @httpwarmth

Cant stop this feeling by @descendantofthesparrow

it was just a normal night, a few days into the senior trip for the Auradon prep seniors, all the vks and aks were together on the royal cruise ship. but it suddenly takes a turn when Harry fucking Hook comes to your door late at night with a hard-on, and he can't get himself off without help, it hurts to even try; and for some odd reason, he couldn't help but be attracted to your room.... it's a damn good thing you ended up not having a roommate for this trip.

Avatar

Miles Quaritch

The enemy’s mate by @lovebeinaprincessworld

Your fathers enemy being your vitra muntxa seemed like Eywa was punishing you. But maybe it wasn’t that bad after all. 

Infatuation by @nervousd

Recom! Miles Quaritch is tasked with a mission to reunite you with his predecessor in his grave

Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyo'itan

Unrequited by @randxmthxughts

y/n had been in love with tsu'tey since they were kids, watching him get his heart broken over and over, until he became hardened. on one particular night, she offers him intimacy with no expectations in return, which sparks up a complex relationship between them. y/n and tsu'tey struggle with guilt, unrequited love, and newfound intimacy, as they navigate the depths of their feelings for each other. can tsu'tey ever find it in his heart to love somebody else?

Ronal & Tonowari

tsamsiyu ta'em by @torukmaktoskxawng

Corporal Makayla Sully believed she was the last of her family. Her parents were long gone, her brother Tom was killed for his wallet, and his twin Jake abandoned her in exchange for the sunny paradise Pandora. Kayla is informed of Jake's passing and so she decides to take a job opportunity with General Frances Ardmore. She hitches a ride to Pandora with the intent of recovering her brother's remains, twenty years since the last time she's seen him. Instead of a box of bones or ash, however, she's given something she thought she lost a long time ago.

Similar by @ofaatuu

you meet the Tsahik and Olo'ekytan of the metkayina clan and have similar features. They found you interesting and watch you from afar.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan

Secret Cove by @pandorafairy

Safe Haven by @thewalkingwillowtree

Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love. 

Sully Family

Stxeli by @onskepa

Where Mo'at found the reader when she was a baby

neglected sully by @marymary-diva17

There was a family motto that Jake had taught all his children that sully stick together and that their family is a fortress. Well, that was not only true for the one sully child neglected all her life. She didn’t get the same love her siblings had and had always been seen as less than by her parents and clan, soon banished and disowned by her own family for an event that was out of her hands. The daughter will quickly start a new life, being seen and loved by others, but soon, the people from her past will return.

tame impala by @lvrcpid

you’re the oldest sully child. only born a year before neteyam. everything was sweet until your siblings came along. your parents slowly forgot you, soon your siblings did too. you were the forgotten sully. but what happens when you’re given another chance at life after your death.

Narcos

Javier Peña

Bones Full of Words by @wardenparker

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy. He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Hubby and Wife by @notjustjavierpena

A slice-of-life series of former DEA agent Javier F. Peña turned husband of his wife. This series serves the purpose of letting you into the intimate bits of how he falls for you to you giving him a beautiful family. Life with Javi is a fun, lighthearted, supportive, and sexy adventure ❤️

Javi & Steve

The Raid by @toxicanonymity

Two DEA agents find you on a drug raid and make some changes in your life, starting with getting you off drugs. They share you and have sexual tension with each other.  Steve is not married. Reader is not physically described, but has some general background as a drug user who had a boyfriend.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

Enoch O’Connor

A Little Green by @pythonees

Idyllic by @intoanothermind

Is it possible to fall in love through stories? Well, it happened to me. I fell in love with the stories that my grandmother told me.

Hazbin Hotel

Lucifer

He Chose You by @trashogram

Hazbin Hotel AU where Lilith never existed, Lucifer has been lonely for over a millennia and Charlie will be born one way or another.

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐄 by @yuitoru

you knew that you would always be second to her. no matter how hard you tried or whatever you did, he would continue loving her over everything else. the ring on his finger proved it. even after seven years of heartbreak and betrayal, he still wears the ring, the shiny metal practically taunting at you every single day. it served as a reminder to you about how irrelevant you really were in comparison to his first love - how he would choose her over you without even having to think about it. you were just there, a temporary distraction to his years of grief.

LUCIFER MAGNE by @champagnefountains

Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN by @lxkeee

Alastor

Deer dolly by @ohproserpine

"So what?" Angel Dust hummed, drumming his nails on the counter. "You and Alastor are like... friends?" "Oh, well, that ain't the word I would’ve used, but it's something like that!" Mimzy chirped, reaching for her drink and downing it in one go. "He used to frequent the club I had! In fact, that’s where he met his wife—" “Wife?!” Angel Dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “Freaky face is married?” “Oh yeah,” Mimzy hummed, waving her hand around. “Under all that murder and cannibalism, he’s a total sap! Can't blame him, I mean—his wife is a doll! Me an' her used to perform together!”

Alastor's Birdy by @rory-cakes

Royally Pissed by @selineram3421

Alastor with a y/n who's Charlie's sibling/Lucifer's child.

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and adult content. Dear readers, I'm here to let you know that if you enjoy this fic, please engage with it. Comments and likes are welcome. I appreciate everyone who follows this fanfic, but I must admit that it might be coming to an end. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

chapter five chapter seven

CHAPTER SIX

The first few days avoiding Dean seemed the most complicated. Whether you like it or not, being next-door neighbors and getting used to doing certain things at the same time to meet in secret from Sam made everything more complicated. But by the second week of avoiding the Winchesters, you were already an expert at not running into either of them. That doesn't mean it was easy, though. Today, you finally sent the first draft of your new book to the publisher. So you decided to go out and do some grocery shopping. The store isn't crowded; it's a quiet time to get lost between the dairy and frozen food sections. You don't want to admit it, but even grocery shopping now reminds you of Dean. And you can't stand that.

"Are you sure your brother asked for this type of shampoo? He doesn't seem like the guy who needs to control oily hair." You hear a woman saying this, and it reminds you that you're running low on shampoo too. You head towards the hair care products, and your eyes meet the person you most want to avoid.

"You'd be surprised how much maintenance his hair needs. I need to grab something over there." Dean says loudly enough for you to hear. You try to avoid him by heading into the baby aisle. Now you're surrounded by powders, diaper packs, wet wipes, and formula.

"Can you stop running away from me?" Dean says in an exaggerated manner, definitely grabbing your attention—and the attention of almost everyone in the store.

" I wouldn't have to run if you'd stop coming after me, Winchester." You reply, turning to face him. Now it's just you and him, face to face, with only a shopping cart separating you.

"I doubt you have any idea how much I've wanted to find you these past few weeks. Even though I have no clue what I'd do if I did. It feels strange to say this while you're my neighbor and not long ago we were…" Dean begins to speak, and you look at him as if you don't know what to do. In reality, you have no idea what to do. Fight with him? Reconnect with him? But what exactly would you be reconnecting?"

"We were nothing. Now, can you do us both a favor and move on with your life?" You say, trying to avoid Winchester's gaze.

"For you, does moving forward mean pretending that the other person doesn't exist? Because if so, I don't intend to forget you. Or move on." Dean looks serious about what he's talking about. And you wish you could trust that he's serious about not forgetting you.

"Why would you say that, if you know that we shouldn't mean anything to each other? If you know that you're not over Castiel? If you're here with someone else, you shouldn't be talking to me like that." Your words carry a sentimentality inappropriate for the nature of your relationship with Dean. You both clearly should never have gotten close, since neither of you knows how to be casual about your feelings.

"I talked to him. After what you said. I realized I was being a fool for undervaluing someone who meant so much to me. And I'm here with a friend, not a substitute for you," Dean says, taking another step towards you, keeping his eyes fixed on you.

"And what do you want now? Why do you want to be near me? To apologize for being a jerk? Or to regret ever stepping into my life?" you say, leaving your cart still between you and Dean but moving toward him. Part of you wants to confront him without anything between you, and the other part just wants to forget this argument and jump into his bed.

"I would never regret you. Actually, I regret not being worthy of your attention. But the truth is, I don't know how to function without you anymore. Without waiting for my idiot brother to fall asleep so I can sneak into your place, going to the store to buy anything just to spend time with you, cooking for you after sex because we both get ravenous." Everything he is saying lowers your guard, everything so personal. The truth is, you miss the comfort of having him around. Not thinking about labels or anything else, just being together. Realizing that you are more than his writer neighbor and he is more than your womanizing neighbor.

"What does all this mean, Winchester? You declaring yourself like a lovestruck boy, what exactly does it mean?" Your question seems to surprise him. The truth is it feels like you've been going in circles when it comes to this relationship, if you can even call it a relationship, what you had or have.

"If you want me, it can mean an official relationship with all the trimmings—expectations, sentimentality, companionship, silly romantic dates, and awkward family moments. The full package. In good times and bad, in sickness and in health; until my brother and your sister kill me for breaking the rule of not getting too close to you." Dean says, smiling slightly. You move a bit closer to him, looking him seriously in the eyes. Until you open your arms and move toward him. Missing him outweighs your anger. Dean holds you firmly in his arms, and when you lift your head to look at him, he kisses you gently. A very soft kiss.

"You know you basically just proposed to me, right?" you say as your lips part from Dean's, who laughs.

"Sorry, babygirl, but I think you're the one who wants to marry me. But first, we need to take it slow. I still need to win your sister's approval, and one of us has to tell Sam what's going on," Dean says, and you chuckle at the thought of it. Just then, you hear someone clear their throat behind you. It's Dean's friend, standing there with a basket full of groceries.

"Not that either of you cares, but you can see all this sappy crap from a mile away. I'm Charlie, by the way, and I should let you know that Sam already knows. He actually made me bring Dean to the market to see if he could get over the weird breakup between you two." Charlie extends her hand towards you, and you shake it, feeling a bit awkward about how this is your first meeting.

"I think it's best if we all head home. It's a pleasure to meet you, Charlie. I'll finish my shopping and meet you at the exit." You say, separating from Dean and grabbing your cart again. Before heading back to your shopping, you and Dean share a quick kiss, and as you walk to another section of the market, you can hear Charlie cursing Dean for abandoning her with the groceries.