#I am still going to do a few more over the week

[fantastic-nonsense]

@panacea420 : Porto Rico doesn't want statehood. Why. The people would lose their free money. Yes, they get money they won't vote for statehood . Second Trump trying to clean out Washington is a good thing. Think. A more efficient government. More money to keep in your pocket. Third my biggest hope will be flat rate taxes. Think. If we're supposed to be equal then we should pay a flat tax no deductions. Every person bissness. No give backs. Think. About it billionaires can't use tax breaks. If you make a buck pay a dime. No one gets a break. Were equal under the law. Plus a simple 5% national sales tax. Another way to make corporations pay their fair share. (After they try to say we didn't make a profit or pay their ceos too much. ) think about it?? Also stock options still you have to pay taxes on them as income. Then if the make money on them they pay again. Unlike the current policy. Of only when they cash out . Flat taxes are the only fair taxes I am a liberaltarian. Not a republican. And a registered independent. Why?? Think about this. If a political party thinks you'll vote for them no matter what. Then they will. Not care what you want??? Make each party work for your vote. Just think about that . Used to live in Indiana they didn't have a independent group why?? Again think about it. If both party's are in. Bed with each other?? Dick Chaney was the most hated person by the democrats now he was working with the democrats to keep Trump from winning???? Again think about this please

Sir this is a Wendy's and I have no idea why you put these replies on my post. Anyway, let's get a few things straight:

"Porto Rico doesn't want statehood. Why. The people would lose their free money" Puerto Rico has affirmatively voted for statehood four times over the past decade: in 2012, 2017, 2020, and a week ago, on November 5th, 2024. Yes, the exact significance of various individual referendum results is heavily debated due to a variety of local politics (including referendum boycotts, leadership infighting, and differing status choices), but the point stands: Puerto Rico has voted for statehood several times in the past decade, including a 52.52%–47.48% win in 2020, when Biden won. Hence, why I noted that the Democratic trifecta should have done the correct thing and admitted both PR and DC as states immediately upon taking their seats.

Second Trump trying to clean out Washington is a good thing. Think. A more efficient government. More money to keep in your pocket.

One, this is not what's going to happen. By any objective standards, Trump ran an insanely corrupt, incompetent, and inefficient government during his first term in office. He's a six-time failed businessman and convicted felon who cozied up to corrupt dictators around the world and attempted to run the government like he was Vito Corleone. He was literally impeached for corruption and attempted intimidation of another world leader. He's not interested in "cleaning out" anything, and you're frankly stupid for thinking he is. Why on earth do you trust a corrupt businessman who partied with Jeffery Epstein for years to "clean house"? He is part of the problem you're complaining about.

Two, it's hilarious you think anything Trump does will "put more money in your pocket." He has no interest in helping you. He does not care about you. He will not put money in your pocket. He will not lower your rent or put more groceries in your shopping cart. He's a conman who only cares about himself and enriching his own family and billionaire friends. Or did you forget about how US billionaires got over $1 trillion richer during the four years of Trump's presidency, or how Trump personally reported that his businesses made over $1.6 billion dollars in the same timeframe (largely due to the aforementioned corruption and attempts to curry favor)?

What happened to you in that same time period? Did your wages go up? Did your healthcare get better? Were you finally able to buy a house? No. Because Trump doesn't care about you and your "normal working class person" problems, and never has.

Third my biggest hope will be flat rate taxes. Think. If we're supposed to be equal then we should pay a flat tax no deductions. Every person bissness. No give backs. Think. About it billionaires can't use tax breaks. If you make a buck pay a dime. No one gets a break. Were equal under the law. Plus a simple 5% national sales tax. Another way to make corporations pay their fair share. (After they try to say we didn't make a profit or pay their ceos too much. ) think about it?? Also stock options still you have to pay taxes on them as income. Then if the make money on them they pay again. Unlike the current policy. Of only when they cash out . Flat taxes are the only fair taxes

Flat taxes are regressive. People whose incomes are lower end up paying a larger portion of their income than rich people under that model! They do not create "equality." If you're actually concerned about making sure rich people and corporations "pay their fair share," I am begging you to understand that flat taxes do not accomplish that goal. Rich people WANT you to advocate for flat taxes because it means they end up paying less money. Please go sit in on a Political Economy 101 class, I am begging.

But since I'm nice, I'll give you the short tl;dr on why flat taxes are bullshit and make rich people richer, straight from the IRS:

Take a look at Chart A and Chart C. Look at the actual amount of money that Family A is left with vs. Family C in those two scenarios after you take out taxes. Now compare those numbers to Chart B. You taken a good look at those numbers? Do you understand why flat taxes would be useless at "making billionaires pay their fair share" now, when Family C ends up with $98,000 in Chart A and $80,000 in Chart C vs. the $70,000 they end up with in Chart B (the correct way to tax rich people)?

Finally:

I am a liberaltarian. Not a republican. And a registered independent. Why?? Think about this. If a political party thinks you'll vote for them no matter what. Then they will. Not care what you want??? Make each party work for your vote. Just think about that . Used to live in Indiana they didn't have a independent group why?? Again think about it. If both party's are in. Bed with each other?? Dick Chaney was the most hated person by the democrats now he was working with the democrats to keep Trump from winning???? Again think about this please

I have no idea what you're trying to say here with your rambly little rant except "I hate the system as it stands." Which like. fine. Whatever. so do a lot of us. But this has absolutely nothing to do with anything I actually said and no, actually I don't have to "think about it." I would actually very much like you to shut up and stop rambling incoherently in my replies about something that is wholly irrelevant to the content of my post.

Anyway, this is all to day...sir, this is a Wendys and I am uninterested in you. Go back to high school civics class and come back only when you can actually explain to me, a political staffer, how any level of government (federal, state, or local) actually works on a basic, operational level.

Ok it's been 24 hours and my official post-mortem is literally just "Elizabeth Warren was right: Democrats should have appointed an Attorney General who was committed to prosecuting Trump and everyone who enabled him, cleaned house of Trump's appointees, nuked the filibuster to pass DC and Puerto Rico statehood, and prioritized dealing with corruption"

[pookietv]

encore! | arthur hill

literally got this ask like a couple hours but i had ideas for it so figured the dedication to the grind was worth it :)

been so long since i've written a smau, so i hope you enjoy! i may be slightly rusty

liked by yourinstagram, arthurtv and 7,389 others

arthurnfhill: the kill hill tour has started better than i could have ever asked for :)

georgeclarkeey: who is that sexy man on stage??

↳ arthurnfhill: can't wait for you to be my sexy groupie at the london show

username3: KILL HILL IS GONNA BE SO GOOD!!!!

username4: can't wait for manchester omg

liked by shannonlangdon, arthurnfhill and 6,093 more

yourusername: soooo what if i said i was impulsively dropping a song tomorrow night because i need to get the song off my chest and i can't wait until the supposed release date of next month ...?

it's called francis forever, and it's brought me a lot of peace to throw myself into completely making this song over the past few weeks

ANYWAYS here's a presave link if you care about that sort of thing,

hope you enjoy!

love, y/n.

jamesmarriott: we're getting SPOILED with another y/n banger

↳ yourusername: how do you know banger you haven't even heard yet ??? hmmm???

↳ jamesmarriott: you only drop bangers and thats FACTUAL

taliamar: UGH you are my icon

↳ yourusername: thats funny cause you're mine ???

username5: my heart is BREAKING at the caption

username6: omg if this is a breakup song i will do something violent.

liked by chrismd, georgeclarkeey and 7383 others

arthurnfhill: i can't believe there is only four more shows of the kill hill tour - feels like i was waiting forever for the tour to come around and now its almost done just like that!

chrismd: london show night one and two rolling around real quick

↳ arthurnfhill: missed me in the flat?

↳ chrismd: all you did before you left was mope around so not much change

arthurtv: my goat

↳ arthurnfhill: can't wait to see the number one most popular arthur on famous birthdays in person again

username7: CAN'T WAIT FOR LONDON SHOWS

username8: manchester was AMAZING omg

liked by arthurnfhill, georgeclarkeey and 5739 others

yourusername: as requested - my one night only london show! it was amazing to see so many of you guys there, makes this whole music thing so much more surreal :,)

username9: girl are you just gonna ignore the fact that ARTHUR AND GEORGE WERE THERE ???

↳ username10: for REAL my delusional y/nthur ass is going into OVERDRIVE

arthurnfhill: was a great night, glad i got to catch the show :)

↳ username11: oh you guys are TWISTED dropping comments like this

↳ username12: literally still in love i am not hearing any different.

bambinobecky: can i be ur biggest fan?

↳ yourusername: anyday sexy ;)

username13: the fact she scheduled it just a couple days before his london dates so arthur could make it ..... coincidence ???

liked by arthurtv, yourusername and 6290 others

mummysboypod: Mum, did you miss me on tour?

The NEW episode of Mummy's Boy is now live - with Arthur and Lisa discussing Arthur's life on tour, from crazed fans to drunken nights!

Link in bio!

liked by yourusername, arthurtv and 6380 others

arthurnfhill: i still cannot believe kill hill is over!! i will miss seeing all of you lovely people and playing you my silly songs

arthurtv: what does slay mean and why do women keep shouting it at you?

↳ arthurnfhill: because i ATE arthur

↳ arthurtv: you ate me?

username14: TOUR WAS SO INCREDIBLE!!!

username15: y/n being in the crowd was NOT. a coincidence

username16: is y/nthur back????

username17: you seemed SO much happier towards end of tour

username18: DUBLIN MISSES YOU ALREADY !!!

liked by georgeclarkeey, arthurnfhill and 9374 others

yourusername: in musical terms... you could call this an encore?

username19: IMAGINE REANNOUNCING Y/NTHUR IN THE MOST ICONIC WAY POSSIBLE.

georgeclarkeey: i think everyone clocked when you were love heart eyeing him the whole concert

↳ yourusername: well you also did that and no one has realised yet?

↳ georgeclarkeey: it's MY bed he comes back to sweetie

lisahull_hill: you both have the sweetest smiles

↳ yourusername: LISA I MISSED YOU SO MUCH

↳ arthurnfhill: yourusername i believe you said 'more than i missed you by a long shot' ??

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen. 

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.” 

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?” 

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says  ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary. 

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways. 

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.” 

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam. 

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did.  Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away. 

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap. 

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home. 

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce. 

“If what’s too much?” 

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love. 

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead. 

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time. 

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths. 

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.”  You were dying under  the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay. 

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose. 

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.  

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder. 

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy. 

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool. 

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day. 

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend. 

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have. 

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy. 

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate. 

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch. 

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.” 

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames. 

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton” 

At Tony’s voice, you press closer. 

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.” 

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.” 

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower. 

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished. 

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake,  knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time. 

“Please don’t tempt me.” 

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you). 

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?” 

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes. 

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.” 

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point. 

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.” 

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver. 

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck. 

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh.  They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs. 

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more. 

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit. 

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves. 

“Did you have fun sneaking around?” 

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over. 

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff. 

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.”  Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?” 

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?” 

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.” 

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back. 

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart. 

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear. 

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.” 

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table. 

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea. 

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?” 

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders. 

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues. 

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him. 

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.” 

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.” 

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin. 

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?” 

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence. 

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought. 

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’. 

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.  

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’. 

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day). 

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers. 

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin. 

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!” 

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly. 

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.” 

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod. 

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.” 

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you.  Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass. 

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.  

This wasn't about  holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug. 

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside. 

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date. 

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer. 

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you. 

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor. 

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out. 

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears. 

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight. 

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way. 

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you. 

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.” 

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising. 

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.” 

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don’t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water. 

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.” 

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.” 

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon. 

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.” 

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her). 

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.” 

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie. 

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus. 

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her. 

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd. 

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage. 

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway. 

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie. 

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours. 

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches. 

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.” 

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this. 

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal. 

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen. 

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for. 

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet. 

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.” 

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?” 

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.” 

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you. 

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd. 

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–” 

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.   

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut. 

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise). 

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions. 

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical. 

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink. 

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have. 

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done. 

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.” 

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique. 

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low. 

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to. 

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror. 

 “It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now. 

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most. 

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now. 

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can’t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either. 

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more. 

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel. 

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream. 

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on. 

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger. 

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity. 

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over. 

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him. 

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly). 

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.” 

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table. 

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”  

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face. 

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped. 

“Right, and if I don’t?” 

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that. 

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.” 

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it. 

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin. 

“Not if you don’t force my hand.” 

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition. 

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all. 

[ everything okay?  ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.  

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option. 

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around. 

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage  he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either. 

He said fuck it, and did it anyway. 

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title). 

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more. 

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him. 

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners. 

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog. 

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor. 

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice. 

PART SIX SOON

[regency-monster-love]

Male werewolf x female human | Regency era | SFW but suggestive, biting (vague) | ballroom flirting

Part 3 of Colin and Susannah | Next chapter

For the first half-minute or so of the dance, Colin was too caught up in the pleasure of being so close to his soon-to-be mate—moving his body in harmony with hers, smelling her sweet scent so intensely, even touching her through their gloved hands—that he did not speak at all.

Miss Oakden did not speak either, but that was not unusual; she was often quiet, not in a way that suggested she was shy or proud, but simply of a calm disposition that did not always need to fill up the space with talking. It was one of her many fine qualities that he loved. Being the alpha of a werewolf pack and running an estate were stressful endeavors, but her tranquil company was a welcome respite. With her, everything was always peaceful. 

Well, as peaceful as it could be when he was frequently excited by her scent and yearning to claim her as his mate.

His thoughts were straying into dangerous territory again. He needed to speak about something innocent to keep himself composed. 

“You still have not shown me any of your paintings,” he finally remarked.

She gave him an arch smile as they joined hands and circled one another. “You never asked to see them.”

“Did I not? I meant to. I will do so now—consider this my formal application to be permitted to view the full body of your work.”

She blushed slightly, but remained smiling. “Please do not treat it as if you’re to see an exhibition by a master, or you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Nothing that you have done could disappoint me.”

Her beautiful eyes glowed with pleasure at the compliment, and for a few steps of the dance they were both too caught up in smiling at each other to speak. 

Colin was the first to break the silence, again. “So what is your answer?”

She blinked. “To what?”

“To my formal application.”

She chuckled. “Ah, right. My answer is yes, you may see my paintings, the next time you call at the house.”

He bowed his head to her as the dance brought him forward into her space. “Thank you, madam. I look forward to the pleasure,” he murmured.

Susannah found that she was looking forward to the pleasure as well—the pleasure of having him come to call. He had done so often in the past weeks, and she always enjoyed their conversations. Mr. Barrington was intelligent and thoughtful, with easy, pleasing manners. She must admit that he was quite pleasing to look at as well.

“It may be some days before I can manage the time to call, however,” he warned her as they raised their linked hands over their heads to slowly spin together. “There are some…squabbles happening within my pack that I need to attend to.”

As always, Susannah was intrigued by any mention of how his being a werewolf affected his life. A sudden wish to see him doing whatever it was he did as a wolf struck her. She had seen other werewolves in town in their wolf forms occasionally, so it must not be improper.

“Do you ever go out in your wolf form?” she asked.

Mr. Barrington looked surprised by her question. “When I am taking care of matters with the pack, I do, but not often when I go into society.”

“Would you come to call on me in that form?”

His look of surprise increased in intensity. “You wish to see me as the wolf?”

“Yes, but only if it is agreeable to you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she hurried to say.

A pleased smile brightened his handsome face and sent his unusual golden eyes gleaming. “I could not be more comfortable doing so. Yes, I will come that way, next I call.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, her blood warming with anticipation and making pink bloom on her cheeks and seep down onto her chest. Something told her that he would be just as handsome, if not more so, in his wolf form as in this one.

Colin’s sharp eyes did not miss the blush on Miss Oakden’s skin, his pupils dilating as he stared at her flushed neck. He could hear her blood rushing faster there, and he longed to stretch his jaws around the spot where her neck met her shoulder and sink his teeth into her soft skin to mark her as his. He felt himself stir in his breeches as he imagined the iron-sweet taste of her on his tongue.

God, having her so close was driving him mad! He had to control himself. He exhaled heavily, as if he could expel her scent from his nose, though that was not at all how his werewolf senses worked, and forced a casual smile onto his face. “I think perhaps you can transform as well,” he told her.

She gave him a curious look. “Into what?”

“A butterfly. Your skin is becoming more brightly hued, and you’re garbed in more color and finery than I’ve ever seen you before.”

Her blush deepened, but she let out a laugh, the sound as bright and light as butterfly wings, confirming his fanciful idea. Yes, she was his beautiful, delicate butterfly. His, all his. Soon.

~ 🐺🎩 ~

End of part 3 of Colin and Susannah | Read next chapter

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing.

[aria-ashryver]

I have some... less than groovy news, unfortunately 🌻

Tw: cancer

So, the MRI showed a significant spread of cancer in my brain. Not only are there a number of visible tumors, but the entire lining of my brain is riddled with disease.

I have started radiation treatment already, but for me, unfortunately, it won't be curative. There is just too much cancer.

The radiation I have been getting over the last few days is in the hopes of "slowing the progression" of the disease and "buying me some time". I don't know WHAT kind of time frame I am looking at, because I haven't had further scans to see how well the radiation has worked on me, but one of the doctors did say that "perhaps it's time to start having the tough conversations with your family".

Another doctor said "all we can do now is hope that Dr Okonji (my original oncologist) can come up with another course of treatment".

All this to say: I don't know what the future holds for me. I have to wait 2 weeks to speak to my oncologist, because I have to have a recovery period post-radiation.

Hopefully I'll know more soon, and I'll have better news to share! I am hopeful that Dr Okonji will step up to bat for me again (he's always been absolutely BRILLIANT and resourceful), but honestly, I don't know the science here. I don't know what options there are to treat cancer once it has infected the lining of the brain. Maybe he'll drum up a miracle, or maybe there is nothing to be done. But I'm still fighting this thing as best I can.

Whatever happens, it's all going to be okay 💛💛💛🌻🌻🌻 sorry for the heavy news, my loves

[wannabanauthor]

Since I’ve had more time to process the breakup and have read fellow shippers’ thoughts, I can see why Tommy decided to end the relationship.

Although I have no faith in the writers or Tim anymore, they can turn this around if they choose to.

And here’s how:

So the breakup scene makes sense through a PTSD lens. And I’m talking just about PTSD in general, not army related.

When you’re dealing with a PTSD episode, until it’s over, there is very little anyone can say or do to get you out of it. Your brain will not listen because it’s stuck in a loop and you can’t get out until it lets you.

Breathing techniques work, but the amount of emotions and nonsense you say will not let up until it runs its course. I’m speaking from experience, but I can’t say much about it because lawyers, etc.

Once it’s over, the amount of guilt you have for all the horrible things you said or did will hit you hard.

So for Tommy, he was fine until Buck asked him to move in with him. Tommy’s smile dropped instantly and he went into panic mode. It escalated when Buck mentioned engagement and marriage.

I think it’s possible a mixture of guilt over Abby and past experiences with other queer newbies, that set him off into a PTSD spiral.

Buck unknowingly hit a trigger(s), and Tommy instantly shut down.

That conversation went from Abby to moving in, and it was completely out of left field. There was no real buildup to it from Buck. He just asked Tommy and made this sort of people-pleasing speech. Instead of tackling the actual problem, Buck just went straight for progressing their relationship to another level.

Tommy’s guilt and past heartbreak flared up, and he probably thought he was back in that mental space after he broke up with Abby and dated someone and thought they would be forever, but it didn’t work out.

So he starts saying things like he can’t move in because Buck’s still new to his sexuality. He’s picking up the signs that he’s seen in previous relationships that obviously didn’t work out, and he got scared and panicked.

He really liked Buck and didn’t want them to go the same route as his past relationships where he either was the newbie or dated a newbie and thought it would be forever.

He’s stuck in the spiral and can’t see a way out because he’s terrified of getting his heartbroken if things don’t work out. So he ends the relationship and leaves. It doesn’t make sense to the audience or anyone else, but if you look at it from the PTSD perspective, it does make sense. Again speaking from personal experience.

Now am I saying this was intentional from the writers and Tim? No, not at all. They’re not smart enough for that. At least I don’t think they are. Only future episodes will confirm or deny this.

Now how to fix it:

Tommy has an emergency appointment with his therapist. He’s going to need it before and after the PTSD episode is over. The guilt and heartbreak from ending things with Buck is going to hurt him a lot. Especially since he called Evan “Buck” right after breaking up with him. He didn’t even realize that he ended things until Buck asked.

Once the episode is over, he’s going to need to process the whole relationship all over with the therapist and figure out where to go from there.

It’ll take him a few weeks maybe less/more before he reaches out to Buck to talk. It’ll be a reverse image of their coffee date, with him making the first step to mend things.

I think they could get back together and work it out, but they’d need to take a few steps back and probably go into couples counseling. Buck would also need his own therapist because he still needs to process being bisexual and actually using the word.

If they get back together, I can see them starting from the beginning again and progressing extremely slowly. Buck needs to learn not to rush into things. Even though he likes Tommy so much, he definitely was not thinking clearly when he asked Tommy to move in. There wasn’t even a natural transition in the conversation. It’s like Buck was having the conversation in his head and spoke out loud, which is a common adhd trait.

Tim Minear and the writers could get a few seasons content out of BuckTommy if they wanted even with how things ended in 8x06.

Now do I think this was the intention? Nope. The breakup seemed rushed and abrupt, and for all we know Tommy is gone forever. We can’t trust any interviews from anyone, so I have very little hope that Buck and Tommy can come back from this. I don’t trust the writers or Tim.

So there, I managed to cobble together some explanation for the breakup.

[jadehaven]

ELRONDRIEL WEEK DAY FIVE | Post S2

Not sure if tumblr is the place to post fics but I don’t have an AO3 account yet and I’m too inpatient to wait for my invite lol. Once I’m set up on there I’ll do a repost, but for now, enjoy a little 3k fluffy one shot! And go easy on me, I never, ever write fantasy 🙃

Breathe Me In

By Jade Haven

———————————

Cold.

Where am I?

Ice pricked at her skin, dry as bone and sharp as sword as it chiselled her body. Every vigorous wrestle was deemed useless as a foreign numbness crippled her flesh. The weight of her body was being dragged down; her shoulders shivering as her head fell below the murky surface.

I can’t, I can’t—.

Her cries were absent in her throat. A sound only she herself could hear, drumming in her ears as loud as the rapid pulse of her heart. But as she reached for the last light above, her chest was seized and her breath escaped her.

“Touch the darkness,”

She squeezed her eyes shut in defiance— No.

Heat pooled below the surface of her skin. It grew hotter and hotter as it’s flames clenched her very soul. She shuddered once more, hands coming up to grasp herself, skin burning and freezing with every sharp exhale.

“I only wish to heal you.”

No, She persisted.

“Touch the darkness.”

With every turn of her body, it became all the more clear that her efforts to resist were in vain. She was sinking, rapidly.

“Galadriel,”

She choked and gasped, desperate to fill her lungs with light— a light she could no longer distinguish at so great a depth, despite the scalding sensation above her heart.

“Gala—“

“No—!”

When Galadriel opened her eyes, she was sitting upright. Relief washed over her in giant waves. She was breathing. Shaken with turmoil, her hand rose to touch the warm spot below her collarbone. Her fingers traced over the rigid outline of the scar that lay below her linen nightgown, and her shoulders relaxed finally. The wound had sealed up weeks ago, but every night she woke from restless slumber as if it had been ripped open over and over again. Several times she swore she’d felt the dampness of blood soaking through her blouse— but every sunrise revealed her pure white garments had remained untouched by the remnants of her past.

Once she had steadied her breath to a slow rhythm, she turned to draw in the sight of her surroundings. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, pitch dark if not for the freckles of moonlight that scattered over her sleeping quarters. A weight lifted as she let a sigh roll off her tongue.

The same handwoven roof lay atop her tent, held by twigs and branches that had been provided by the war sanctuary itself. A clay carafe rested beside her cot, with fresh spring water that lay still in the vessel. It was a ponderous miracle, how the sanctuary had managed to give the fugitive elves everything they needed— everything except true rest, for a haunted immortal soldier.

Galadriel tilted her head down to where she spun Nenya around her index finger. She had always known the rings would only be able to protect so much of her eternal being. Each night terror had been a ferocious reminder that even with their power, she was vulnerable. Sensing the panic rising in her chest, she decided a moment away from her resting place might be something of reassurance for her.

As she stepped out of the tent, her lungs drank in the freshness of the night. Imladris was never too warm nor too cold. It was heaven in this way, a little glimpse of Valinor on earth. Despite the war with Sauron, it held in itself an ever-growing hope. A pleasant newness, and anticipation of victory. She wouldn’t go far, only a few hundred steps, down to the river bank to splash some water on her flushed face. The moss had grown into a perfect cushiony path for her to follow, soft as silk and sand. With the rings guarding the forest haven, there was peace and assurance among the people. But the High King had ordered elven soldiers to be posted around the camp regardless. In the silence of the night, it was clear she was the only elf awake among them.

The gleam of starlight had cast a glow so bright over the waters that it looked almost as if the river was lit from within. It sang out its own tranquil melody, echoing the harmonious words of travellers past. Even Galadriel’s reflection showed her skin brighter than ever, her hair a radiant glow against the contrasting shadows of the deep wood. It was all it took for her to remember who she was— a friend of the light.

She could feel herself growing closer to it, her soul on the brink of serendipitous peace, when the stillness of solitude broke. A snap of a branch behind her sent adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. She reached for her pocket blade and—

“Galadriel?”

There he stood— flowing brown locks and armour that sculpted his figure to perfection— several feet away from her along the riverbank. His piercing grey eyes found hers, and the storm that had stirred up in her chest immediately stilled.

“Elrond,” She breathed out.

Their words retreated into the night; the forest’s life source quietly humming around them. If it weren’t for the river’s lullaby, the silence between them would have been deafening.

She’d wondered when this moment would come. With the burden of several elf families uprooted from their homes, Elrond had made it a matter of his own to renew their sense of stability. Between foraging for supplies, strategizing with Gil Galad, and tending to the villager’s wounds, they hadn’t had a sliver of a moment to themselves. They hadn’t had a moment this private since the ruse.

An age had gone by when Elrond spoke at last. “Is everything alright?”

Galadriel studied the angles of his face where the moonlight danced over him. Everywhere but his eyes, she looked.

“Is there reason for it not to be?” She played.

“I saw you come from your quarters. I suspect the healer elves have advised that you rest…”

Of course. She needn’t pretend that he couldn’t see through her— they were equally aware of his ability to do so. But it didn’t stop her from evading the truth.

“How can I rest? Knowing as much as I do of the evil that persists, despite the comfort of night?” She reasoned to him.

Elrond stepped closer, mirroring her stance beside the water. Their reflection together drew a regal image, sparkling as sun and moon combined.

He turned to face her. “I’m not sure there is any one elf that has spent as much time convincing me of the ring’s greatness as you have.” With his head he gestured slowly to the sanctuary surrounding them. “You are safe here.” His tender smile for her was the very depiction of grace. It was enough to open the door every time.

She kept her focus on the water, but her body faced his, only inches apart now. A sigh escaped his lips, and he brought his fingers to her face to turn it toward him.

Forced to meet his gaze now in the star’s spotlight, the elf commander lowered her defences. A single tear slid down her cheek, still warm from the previous rush of panic, as she melted into his touch.

“Elrond.” She paused to swallow the crackle in her speech. Desperate to keep her composure, her words came out in a whisper, “You have not seen what I have seen.”

He cupped her shoulders with both his hands as he studied her eyes. She shuddered when he brought his palm to her chest, allowing his thumb to trace where the fabric hid the near-fatal crown wound. When he met her eyes again, fear stared back at him. It was as if her very soul was pleading with him, begging him to do something— more than he knew he could.

“You do not fight this alone, Galadriel. I see your pain as if it my own. I promise theres not a moment of my waking where I do not wish to trade places with you— if the rings could grant me the chance to go back, you know I—“

“Elrond.” Galadriel broke his spiral. “These rings cannot prevent the damage from being done… only heal that which has been destroyed. You have fought battles harder than I ever will.”

He held her stare; the longest they’d locked eyes since he’d closed the final gap that had ever stood between them. Space felt objective when she was in his presence, like close was never close enough— but there had always been that small, unexplored chasm. He knew it all too well, now. Perhaps there needn’t be unexplored space anymore; still, he’d never dare to cross that sacred border again.

The air around them felt warm. Each note the river sang out wrapped them in a bittersweet sonnet, whispering words that had been written on their hearts but never uttered aloud. Galadriel recognized the urge she so often carried to come closer to him, rest her forehead against his. Only now, her foresight was muddled, and not even Nenya could warn her of what she might do if she were to share a breath with him now.

Still, the breeze laced around their stagnant bodies, weaving itself tighter and tighter. She had barely noticed that his hand had entwined itself into hers alongside them. For Elrond, it was an instinct he’d discovered a long time ago. In all but one moment, the river slowed to a still. Perhaps Galadriel was only imagining it, but the sudden quiet of the night and the way the starlight gently caressed her face thawed something in her. Something that had been frozen for thousands of years.

“Galadriel,” He began to say, but when he caught the moon’s reflection in her eyes, words escaped him. There was too much to say. Thank you— he wanted desperately to thank her— for forgiving him, and for trusting him. He wanted to encourage her, to loosen every worry that gripped her heart. And most of all, he wanted to tell her how radiant she looked, how captivating her light truly was.

She opened her mouth to speak over him, but someone else’s voice sounded out. A soft whistle rang in their ears, drawing their attention to the northwest hill.

Arondir, the Silven Elf, stood with a full quiver on his back, as he always did.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” The wind carried his words down the path, and he nodded toward the she-elf. “Commander Elrond is to know that I am taking his place at the east post. He’ll rest til the morning, when the High King will request his presence.”

Elrond looked to Galadriel before confirming the message with Arondir. “Very well,” he called back. “Thank you, my friend.” Arondir exchanged one gentle smile between the two of them before hiking off into the night. As quick and quiet as he had arrived, he left.

Elrond let out a breath that Galadriel swore she heard relief in. “I suppose my patrol for the night is over.”

Galadriel kept her face downward. The nightlife noise had returned, drowning out any persistent thoughts of intimacy that might’ve been just moments before. Elrond curved his neck upward to take in the view of the star speckled sky. “The sun will be up soon. I think it’s time you take your healer’s word to heart, no?” There was a velvety chuckle in his words. It prided him to know what was best for her. She’d never known kindness in this way, and even in her stubbornness, she welcomed it.

“Evil does not sleep, Elrond.” She teases with a playful glint in her eye.

His brow raised as that smooth grin slid onto his face. “Ah yes,” He taunted lightly, “And what does that say about you?”

Her mouth gaped open at him to say something, but his victory was clear. She squinted her eyes and scrunched her nose at his charmingly smug face. “Alright.” She walked ahead of him to start the trek back up the hill, “To prove my virtue, I am willing to let you take me home. I do not promise to let you watch me sleep, though.”

He caught up quickly and matched her walking speed. “A fair proposition. Though you fail to remember that we are both,” He leaned into her ear as their shoulders brushed, “Terrible promise keepers.” If it weren’t for the density of the forest, she was sure their giggling would wake the other members of the camp. They dropped their voices to a mumble as they made their way through the village of refuge.

Galadriel’s sleeping arrangement was high above the other forest dwellers, tucked into the cliffs and sheltered by a canopy of moss-glazed tree roots. Elrond had sought to it that she receive royal treatment from the few elven healers and maidens among them. He’d emphasized the importance of giving her a serene space to regain her strength, and the attendants had prepared it well. When he opened the curtain of the tent, his eyes examined the room. The water pitcher he’d had fetched for her remained perched aside her cot, and fresh clothes for her to wear had been folded at the foot of it. But the sheets were rumpled and twisted. Had he not come across his dear friend wandering a river bank in the dead of night, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Instead, his brow furrowed, and he cast an knowing glance to her.

Guilt fell over Galadriel’s face. In the time they’d been occupied with their own restorative efforts, she hadn’t had the chance to confess to Elrond. She knew how much care and attention he’d put into her treatment— the last thing he needed was another unknown on his shoulders. Despite the healing efforts of the elves, the use of the rings, and holistic elvish medicine, the nightmares had increased in frequency. It was only a matter of time before he, and perhaps everyone in the camp discovered the depravity of her situation.

She joined him beside the bed. His eyes found her face, but allowed her the grace to keep hers away. They stood for a long minute as his mind pieced it together.

“Evil does not sleep…” He muttered, turning to face his body to her. “What evil has been harrowing you?” His hand reached for her chin, gently turning her to him, eyes darting in between hers. In this moment, he needn’t beg. His tender gaze was all she needed for him to undo her.

Silent, hot tears were suddenly streaming down her face. Her breath staggered and her chest heaved as she tried to control herself. Elrond caught her immediately in his arms, leading her gently to the cot. They sat on the edge, and she expressed every last detail of the terrorizing nights she’d had. By the end of it, her best friend had swiped his own face several times. There was no pain in this world like the pain of knowing hers. His blood raged through his veins, and yet, somehow stilled to a stop upon hearing her anguish. He willed to do anything he could to make it right.

“I just feel so… alone, Elrond.” She managed through a few sharp breaths. “This darkness, it’s as if it only knows me, only seeks me, and comes for me when I’m at my weakest, alone at the mercy of the night…”

He didn’t care for personal space anymore. Her body fell perfectly into his when he pulled her in, and after several moments had gone by, their breaths synced into a slow cadence. When he was sure she had released all the remnants of her affliction, Elrond pulled away and took her hands in his. “Cin are ú- eriol, Galadriel.”

She raised her head to him, letting her eyes run all over his face. Only now had it became unbearably obvious how much she’d missed him. This is how it was supposed to be between them, no matter how much they sought to reason with it— they were two pieces of one prize. Constantly in each other’s orbit, regardless of distance or time. It didn’t matter what rift might come between them— being with him felt right.

For a fleeting moment, her body left the room and travelled in time to the day she thought she might never be with him again— Adar’s camp.

His eyes were soft on her the way they’d been on that day. She could feel it flooding her memory all over again, and in attempt to wrestle the thoughts back down, she pried her eyes away from him.

Elrond blinked himself out of the haze she’d brought him into. He wished not to steal sleep away from her, though he could sit and bask in her light for hours— whisper all his wonderings until time itself was of question. He stood up from the cot and grabbed the jar of water, a scrap of silk cloth, and passed them for her to dab her puffy eyelids. She was already retreating from the place of vulnerability she’d reached with him.

“You needn’t worry, Elrond. This battle will be won in the end. Even the internal ones will soon be of distant memory.”

“Not without rest, they won’t.”

He paused, familiarizing himself with the shaking unease that stirred in him before he was about to do something that he could never come back from. Something that any elf would surely question, and any human would doubtfully admire. He knew she was waiting for him to draw the curtain and leave her to her humble abode. Instead, he took off his cloak.

Galadriel blinked at him but remained seated. He watched her uncanny expression as he laid it at her bedside. Next he removed his armour and padding, along with his sword, resting it against the wall of the tent. She followed him with inquisitive eyes, but didn’t question him aloud until he gathered the remaining blankets and lay them adjacent to hers. Finally he took the pitcher from her hands and set it aside.

“Elrond,” She protested. “You cannot sleep here.” But her words sounded more of a query than a command.

He looked right through her, locking eyes with the part that was begging him to stay. In no life could he abandon it.

“And you cannot sleep alone.” He smiled, taking his place beside her on the makeshift mattress. He gave her no other chance to object.

“There will be no more question of it. If only I am to know of your agony, then it is I who shall seek to ease it.”

Galadriel’s face warmed and a subtle smile spread across her cheeks. Kindness, she thought. There is no kindness like his.

She carefully brought her body to lay beside him. Never had she pondered before how much space was acceptable between them, but now the suspicion hung in the air above their heads. Was it all that unusual to desire closeness? To want to wrap her legs around his, move his hand to the pocket of her waist, and breathe him in? She felt his eyes on her, and swiftly shut her own. Night was drawing her into a dream, she thought. It was only Elrond.

For Elrond, whatever consequence would come of his decision— either of head or heart— he wagered it a matter of tomorrow. He rested his gaze upon her face until he could keep his eyes open no more. With the soft sound of her sighing into slumber, he too, drifted from consciousness. The sun would rise and the new day would bring countless obstacles for him and the elves of lmladris to resolve— but in this moment, a space was carved out in their mortal realm. A space for only them, to heal, to rest— to be with each other. He wanted to stay in it forever, share this air with her forever.

A breath of heaven; a glimpse of Valinor on earth.

————————

Thanks for reading !!

Couple notes: Elrond says to Galadriel in Sindarin, “You are not alone” in case you can’t read elvish lol. I def cannot, so.

Did my best to proofread but it’s probably not perfect. I crunched to get this in last minute for elrondriel week!

Lastly, please don’t repost without giving credit <3 thanks so much!

xo, Jade

[marmotsomsierost]

Replies are turned off, but -

A miscarriage IS a spontaneous abortion.

Wellbutrin, prozac, and trazodone can all flag as false positives as amphetamines on a drug screen. Zoloft can show as a benzo.

Generally speaking the risks of stopping an antidepressant abruptly during pregnancy and the risks of untreated depression on pregnancy are higher than the risk of staying on that medication. This is also true to a certain extent for adhd stimulant medications, one of which is straight-up FDA approved methamphetamine. (To be fair, it is likely that your OB would recommend trying a different medication while trying to get pregnant to see if something less risky would be tolerated).

If i lived in a different state and they tested my blood when i was in the ER during my miscarriage - spontaneous abortion, remember, is a medical term for that - and i happened to pop positive for amphetamines, i could be in jail right now. I could absolutely be dead! i bled uncontrollably for eleven hours in the emergency department before they brought me up for a D&C, which is the exact same procedure as it is for a planned abortion.

So there i am, dead or in jail, because i lost a planned for, desired pregnancy that was NEVER viable.

I was twelve weeks pregnant when i had a spontaneous abortion of the pregnancy which never developed past 5 to 5.5 weeks. On two separate visits ten days and four days before i miscarried my ER doc and my OB both said it would probably be wise to schedule a D&C or to take the mifepristone/misoprostol at home to induce a miscarriage - an abortion! - to reduce the risk to my health and future fertility. My friend recommended the D&C because when she lost her planned, desired pregnancy and used the abortion pill thinking being at home would be more comforting, she instead found it very traumatic. I could not decide. I was overwhelmed and mourning and still trying to pretend i had a miracle sliver of hope, so my OB very gently said it would be ok to do a set of repeat blood tests over the next few days and very clearly gave me a set of symptoms to go immediately to an ER if i experienced them. I started bleeding a day after that.

I don't think i could have made a different decision. I was well aware that i had already lost my pregnancy but i needed to have absolute certainty - which you can't really have. I would make a different decision now, because i nearly did have permanent effects to my health from this. I was so anemic i lost part of the vision in my left eye, which thankfully returned after about a month. And because i would make that different decision going forward, i have some reservations with trying again - and i'm in fucking california. I cannot imagine how i would feel about trying again if i lived elsewhere, and i know there are thousands of people in the same situation.

There is no way of creating absolutes, legislative or otherwise, that prevents voluntary abortions that doesn't affect nonviable pregnancies or fetal demise or any other instances of someone who wanted to be pregnant and now knows they can't have the baby at the end of it. It is disingenuous and cruel to pretend otherwise.

Pro-choice believers, tell me why you believe what you do.

[troutfur]

A kit for Sandclan! Cobrakit, a short-furred ginger tabby tom

(Forgive that I'm not giving Featherstorm's reaction for this one. It's not personal, I simply have run out of fun things to write for that section.)

A TOM!!!!! YES, THANK YOU! We are severely lacking those, our gender ratio is sooooo skewed.

But anyway! Chart!

[Image ID: Under the header “What will Cobrakit’s life be like? (02/12/2023)” 16 rows of tally marks crossed out two by two until there is only 1 or 2 left uncrossed. To the left, a shield chart at the top with the following geomantic figures: Via as the first mother, Populus as the second mother, Puer as the third mother, Carcer as the fourth mother, Puella as the first daughter, Amissio as the second daughter, Laetitia as the third daughter, Puella as the fourth daughter, Via as the first niece, Rubeus as the second niece, Tristitia as the third niece, Fortuna Maior as the fourth niece, Puella as the right witness, Albus as the left witness, Carcer as the judge, and Coniunctio as the sentence. Below the shield chart, an astrological house chart with the first twelve geomantic figures above mentioned assigned to houses 1 to 12 in the order mentioned above. /end ID]

This chart's a little more evocative. Immediately I notice Carcer as the judge and Coniunctio as the sentence so some kind of restriction or bondage, whether physical or immaterial, is the overall theme of Cobrakit's life but in the end it will bring connection and community. I'm lowkey hoping this chart will look overall favorable for a leader. Cobrastar sounds so cool. Anyway, our witnesses are Puella to the right and Albus to the left. Puella and Albus are weird in opposition, the former representing emotions and putting the needs of others before one's own and the other wisdom that comes with age. Is the chart trying to tell us Cobrakit will defy the status quo? Will they stand up to the establishment in service of others? Still hoping for a leader-like character here...

Via in the first house is always a welcome sight. The symbolism of motion and change always lends itself to eventful character biographies.

Populus in the second house is also welcome because I honestly just appreciate not having to think too hard about what the association of the second house with material posessions even could mean in this setting. This is seriously the biggest weakness in the method I believe. If anyone has any suggestion for how I could work the second house more cohesively into the system, I'm all ears.

On the third house we have Puer. I know I said that interpreting Puer and Puella simply by their meanings as signifiers of the gender polarity was boring and all but. I've wanted to give more of these siblings and we are in need of more toms so... an all male litter? I'm thinking three or so.

Carcer in the fourth house is something we have seen before! Strict parenting and/or mentorship. I'm leaning towards mentorship more. I do still want to see if I can finnagle this into Cobrastar.

Puella in the fifth house which I'm choosing to interpret as Cobra will grow up to be a nurturing parent. We love to see our den dads around these parts and I'm taking any excuse I can.

Amissio in the sixth house... You know what we are missing? A character with a cool scar or something. I am picturing the loss predicted here to be perhaps... losing an eye? Once again, would make a lot of sense if we're trying to slot this chart into a potential leader.

Laetitia in the seventh house! Good family life with his partner. I like that. I like that.

Puella in the eight house. Overlaps a little with Hickorydawn's whole thing but I think if I'm already dead set on leader for this one being able to be a comfortable presence for his clan in their time of need would be good. Honestly, between Puella here and Puella in the fifth house, I'm just thinking this dude would grow up to be just a super charismatic and comforting presence in the Clan.

Via in the ninth house. We already saw it in the first house and here it reinforces the idea he had a transformation of some kind. The rest of the chart is not implying it yet, but I think I have an inkling of what I can weave with the last three houses...

Rubeus in the tenth house is where I think I can get my angle in. While the chart has been portraying him as a pretty uncomplicated and chill dude thus far, the notion that anger and positions of power are related for him is certainly interesting. I could perhaps say, could he initially ascend to deputy on the basis of being a more aggressive type than he ended up being? Was the journey in question about mellowing out? Perhaps this is how he lost that eye I decided way back in the sixth house.

Tristitia in the eleventh house we can build this up further. Tristitia, sorrow, in the house of allies and supporters perhaps refers to how his supporters will react to his mellowing out. Perhaps as he turns to a new cat he can and becomes an emotional support for his clan his old supporters will lament a lot about who he used to be.

And finally Fortuna Maior in the twelfth house. He'll have to work hard to overcome adversities (perhaps those who liked him better how he was before?) but in the end he will thrive by his own efforts.

Putting it all together:

Cobrakit was born alongside two brothers. He was apprenticed to a warrior that was very strict with him and encouraged in him an aggression that would earn him a reputation as a ferocious fighter. He even lost an eye to show for it and everything. This put him in the radar of the leader as a favorite deputyship candidate of a certain vocal faction of aggressive cats within SandClan. He of course gladly accepted but the position of responsibility began to make him rethink his approach. Particularly as the Clan came to rely on him more and he took on more of an interest in being an emotional support through the tragedies of combat and death, he began to mellow out. The faction that had initially favored him for deputy felt extremely betrayed at this but Cobra now stood up for himself on his own authority and his likability as a deputy. Along the way he found a partner, raised children on his own, and has grown quite well into his duties as deputy and, eventually, leader.

So, give it up for the leader of SandClan Cobra(strike)star!

[genericpuff]

vent post

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

For your consideration.

(Reminder to vote in the poll)

[acoustic-tenor-ball]

"I grew up- I've always been- Fuck."

Sol huffs and starts over. "Life has always been strange for me. Not just because of my," she gestures vaguely at her ears," condition, but in general." He takes a breath. "Socializing is hard. I don't get people. Growing up I spent a lot of time in nature. Classrooms were a little too loud and way too fucking bright. The kids couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and I didn't care to be polite about it. Who cares if I hurt their feelings, you know? Whenever lunch or recess would roll around, I'd wander off. Find myself ways away from campus, far from flickering lights and prying hands. Was like that 'til...middle school-ish?" She scrunches her nose, staring up at the ceiling, but continues. "The teachers put a stop to it, obviously. I don't blame them. They said I needed to 'connect with my peers'. I'd been doing alright academically, so I guess that's the only real issue they had with me. Luckily for them, I had the perfect plan. I thought-!" He inhales deeply, no use in getting worked up so early. "I thought, 'What better way to make friends than to show off this cool power?' The hearing wasn't so bad then. I could hear maybe...400 feet in each direction? Just a bit longer than a football field."

[Not that I knew that at the time.]

"It's practically nothing, compared to now. Still, more than enough to impress a couple people. Y funcionó. Casi demasiado bien." "There was this girl," [Jayla? Jaelin? Jaslyn?] "She was pretty, popular, outgoing, and a perfect target for my little 'social experiment'. Paired up with her for a project and told her I could hear anything she said from across the room, even if she whispered." Sol waves a hand around lazily. "She didn't believe me, of course. Not until we tested it. Then. Then it became public knowledge. Suddenly, everyone at school wanted to talk to the girl with 'super hearing'. It was tame, at first. People would whisper things from down the hall for me to hear. They'd go further and further, testing the limits of what I could do. We tried spying on the teachers a couple of times. We even got one fired! It was fun." He shrugs. "Of course, a few kids tried to mess with me. They intentionally made loud noises; I think they liked to see me jump. They learned their lesson pretty quick, though. Violence never scared me, and I defended myself just fine. That didn't bother me," she scowls, "No. The problems came once people realized they could use me for gossip." [In hindsight, it's obvious. They're middle schoolers. I don't know what I was expecting. Kindness? Ha.] "I didn't mind it at first. It felt great to be a part of something, and I can't say knowing everything wasn't exhilarating. My friends would ask me to eavesdrop on conversations and tell them what I heard. A lot of it was petty drama, failing 2-week relationships, and the like. It didn't matter to me, I'd successfully socialized like they'd asked me to, and that's all I needed. One day I listened in on the wrong conversation and told the wrong people. And, well. I went from the 'kid with the cool powers' to 'invasive' and a 'freak'." Sol laughs something bitter. "I still had 'friends', technically. They just...needed to use my powers- curse- whatever- whenever they wanted. It's the only way they'd keep me around. I was a tool first, and a friend second. Who cares if I'm sad or tired, or if every noise was too much and I couldn't breathe? Every little way I was different would be scrutinized if I didn't comply. I would be alone again. I'd disappoint them. I hated it. I hated it so much, Morgan. It wasn't even that bad but I-" Her voice started to rise ages ago. She doesn't care. "I just- I hate being treated like an object. I have feelings, opinions, and needs. I am a person. I may not be the smartest, or the nicest, or the prettiest, or the most functional. I may not even be a good one, Dios sabe que nunca lo seré, but- I am a fucking person just like everyone else. Hell! I don't even like people! But you can't just take that away from me. You can't."

The following silence is almost a relief.

Sol knocks harshly on the door.

"Morgan? Morgan, open up!"

He takes a deep breath. A futile attempt to calm her already fraying nerves.

" I can hear you. I know you're in there."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming, jeez."

Morgan grabs their shirt off the back of their chair and shoves it on. They stumble a little as they make it to the door.

They unlock the door, swinging it open. They raise a brow as they take in Sol's disheveled appearance.

His clothes are wrinkled, and the bottom of her jeans damp from coming through the grass. He's breathing heavily, as if he'd been walking for a while.

"The hell happened to you?"

Xe usher her in.

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

It is i! The one who collects the random facts!

(And forgets if my questions have been answered or not!)

Can Pep do the whole "Take off my head and throw it at Peppino" thing? Like he did in Pizza tower? Since in this Au he's more... melty.

(I have offhandedly mentioned it a few times, but yes, Pep can remove his head like in game (anything that happens in game, assume he can do). The fact that he is 'melty' does not affect his ability to do so - unless he is upset and unable to hold his form, making parts of his body fuse into each other

In fact, all clones (Fake Peppinos and Peppiclones alike), can remove their heads, and it's kind of a bonding experience to swap heads for a while hehe

Anyway, Pep brain jumpscare raugh!!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Devastating news: my brother is a normal person. It doesn't run in the family, I'm just a weird freak for no reason