#I wish they logged on at the same time more frequently I WISH we got to see them interact more

[shikai-the-storyteller]

It's taking me ages to write this chapter because every time I look through old VODs / notes to check something, I come across moments like this that make me want to lie down face-first on the floor:

[Context: Pac commits to the idea of taking the Happy Pills so he can create a cure. He's about to write a note to Cellbit to explain his plan.]

Pac: If Cellbit puts himself in this position, it's worse for everyone, because Cellbit is smarter when it comes to coming up with strategic plans, so he is the thinking mind of the Favela Five group, so if he no longer has the mind, he’s not capable of solving this whole problem, you know? But if I put myself in this position to help Cellbit so he can get the cure... You understand? It's better if I'm the bait. Right? I can't- I can't carry things alone guys, I've already lost Mike [...] if I lose Cellbit and I alone had to carry things, I won't be able to. But I think Cellbit can manage better. He is more independent, and he has Roier. He has a husband. I'm trying to– to be lucid here, understand? That's all.

Date: September 11, 2023 || Timestamp: 03:10:10

[valeriele3]

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻-𝒜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓃𝓀𝒶𝒾 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓁

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

✎ Sorry for the somewhat rushed ending! ^^;

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

Messages.

Idle chats.

You were answering them like normal. Sometimes even giggling on the messages

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You log in, check your messages, answer them if there's one, do daily tasks, and maybe farm, then log out. That was your daily routine in HSR.

However, you begin to notice how much more frequent the chats are. After assigning an assignment, you get a new message. 'Oh well. Free jades," you thought.

Every time you beat an enemy, boss, or do anything in the game, you will notice a new message.

'Maybe it was an update? Or a bug?' You brushed it all off and thought nothing of it.

You would answer all of them wholeheartedly; after all, you also noticed that if the character liked what you said, you'd receive more Stellar Jades.

You'd talk about it with your friends, but they'd respond with "I wish", "Oh shut up~ Don't make me hope", and "Hm? Is your game bugged?? Or is mine bugged? I don't get any of those benefits..So unfair."

You try to check the dev logs to see if there was an update regarding the messaging feature, but whenever you try to look at them, your computer freezes.

'No matter, I can just check using my phone.' No luck; it also freezes.

'Maybe my tablet?' Still the same.

Frustrated, you ask one of your friends to look into it. "There's no update or any fixes on it, Y/N. Maybe you should report it; your game might really be bugged."

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

Deciding to report it, you open up Bug Report, but then your screen freezes again.

It then opens up the messages, and you read the following words:

| Hey

| Please don't do it.

| It took such a long time to break the code, you know.

| Hey

| Are you still there?

| Oh

| Right

The messaging bubble pops up.

| You can type now.

"W-What.." You stare at your screen dumbfounded.

Reaching out to your keyboard, hoping it won't work and choices will pop up, you press a random key, and it works

Startled, you immediately plugged out the cables on your computer, causing it to shut down.

You grab your phone and start messaging one of your friends. Before you could hit send, the screen blackened, and then in the next second, it lit up with a notification.

"Hey, we were in the middle of a conversation."

"Why did you suddenly leave?"

Your hand trembles. 'Shit, how..How did it get to my phone too..'

"I know I like reading self-aware au's but I didn't want it to actually be true!" You scream, throwing your phone across the room.

You can hear it dinging with new message after new message.

You decide to leave your room for a bit to calm down.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

"Ok..Be calm..I'm probably dreaming, right?"

"There's no way this kind of thing will actually happen in real life."

"I need to think about this rationally. I could try to get my phone and computer fixed..Maybe I accidentally got a bug."

"Oh, my tablet too..It probably has the same bug.."

"Then, uhm, should I tell them about this? No, maybe..Agh! This is so frustrating..!"

After going back and forth, you decided to sell your gadgets instead of trying to repair them. Buying new ones is much cheaper than trying to get them fixed.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

The first month was alright. You also stopped playing HSR just in case something of the sort would happen again.

However, everything changed when you awoke to your notifications going off like crazy.

【Luka】

| Hey! Y/N, wanna come watch my tournament this week?

【Qingque】

| Y/N

| This is urgent. Come to Exalting Sanctum

| Watch me go against this pro. I'm sure with your attendance I'll easily win.

【Robin】

| Y/N, would you like to come watch my concert?

| Don't worry! I made sure that you'd get the best seat.

【Sunday】

| Y/N. Do me a favor and attend Robin's concert, will you?

| If you don't..

| Well, it'll certainly make her sad. As for me, it's best you don't know.

【Arlan】

| Hello, Y/N

| Would you like to accompany me with walking Peppy?

【Blade】

| Come.

【Bailu】

| Y/N!

| I have made a huge discovery!

| Meet me at Aurum Alley!

【M̵̛̼̘̭͎͓̘̘̽̎̃̊̄͋̈́̑̇i̵̡̨̡͎̖̮͉̺̣͂ͅs̴͂̉́̅͒̆̚͠��̰̄́̄̋͜͝ͅȟ̵͉̹̖͍͎̱̭̳̰̘̀a̵̐̆̌̀͑̊̄̄͌͗͘̕��̧̨͔̣̘̮̻̌̚】

| C̷̛͇̬̥̼̲̙̠͓̭̺̱̻̟͖̜̾͑͋͊́̀̕͝ä̷̡̨̨̨̡̤̫͔̼̗̫̪̟̰́̏́̾̄͘͝ͅn̸̡̪̱̻̜̻̺͊̍͒̂͗̀̍͐̔͆̆̎̚̕̕ ̷̛̻̟̀̇͐͋̋̌̂͒́͑̏͝y̴̮͆͒̈͒͑͋͆̒̂̓̕͘̚͝͝o̸̩̫̰̤͌̈͝ͅu̷̻̗͉̥̺͕͉͔̠̯͇̭̖̐͜ ̵͖̲̼̥͑͝ḣ̵̟͓̆͌̄̑̂̈́̓̚͘̕͝͝e̷͖̥̜̅͛̂̒͒̕͜a̶̧̫̹͉͆͑̊͊̊̐̐̂̈̉̾͜͝r̶͎̫͛̑͊͌͐̎ ̴̢̢̛͓͉̮͇̞̬̪͔͓̦̾̓̈́̀͐̀̂̀͒͝ͅm̴̤̙͎̽͋̽̇͛́͑͌̃͑̊e̷̦͚̔́̔̀̒͊͂̔̕̚͝.̵͎͓̪̥͍̍̓͂̾̌̂̌̚̚ͅ.̵̨̟͉͕͈̜͎̻̗͓̯̜̜̩̓̈́̓͊̆̓̑͐̈̐̄̀̕?̵̙̠͚̆͊͊̇͌

【Aventurine】

| Why're you ignoring my calls and texts?

| Is the money not enough for you?

【Pela】

| The Tale of the Winterlands original artbook sold out in 1 second again

| But

| I was fast enough to get you a copy too

| Don't worry. I'm messaging the right person this time

【Natasha】

| Y/N, did your cold get better?

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You stare at your phone, frozen. Even as you were sitting there staring at it, the messages continued to flood nonstop.

It

Was

Nonstop

Even if it's on silent mode and DND, you can still hear it dinging.

At one point, the messages started appearing in all the social apps that you use.

Hell, it even started appearing in your smart fridge

You deleted and deactivated everything. Throwing away any and all sorts of electronics that could potentially be used for apps.

But you could still hear it.

Even the sound of the doorbell ringing, the kettle whistling, or your telephone ringing makes you panic. 'What if that's them?' You always think

Every creak, every shuffle, and every little sound makes you paranoid.

What if they cross over to Earth? What will you do? You can't run from them. Even if you do, they'll be able to find you easily.

[explosionshark]

the kennedy defender has logged on btw.

she's a GOOD character, okay? she's a little spoiled and sometimes doesn't read the room. kind of arrogant and maybe prone to a power trip here and there. so?

she's also STUPID brave, which i love. even as an unpowered potential she is willing (and 9 times out of 10 the absolute first) to throw herself headlong into danger at the first opportunity. even in episodes like showtime, when buffy is struggling in a fight, kennedy's first instinct is to leap in and help. she might be a little bossy with some of the other girls, but she DOES try to to protect them every single time there's a fight and they clearly like her - when kennedy is hurt or in danger, the other girls respond.

chloe's suicide is absolutely not kennedy's fault - if the show really wanted you to think that was the case, they would have made more of a point of it. even buffy, who is a pretty frequent target of kennedy's criticism, assures her that it wasn't her harsh words during training that lead to chloe's death - it was the fact that she was scared and vulnerable and the First (the thing that is really, really good at making people kill themselves) was whispering in her ear alll night about how cool it would be to die.

kennedy's a bit harsh with buffy but to be fair none of the potentials were really feeling great about buffy's leadership at the point in the season where we had the most conflict. and from there perspective, it's actually pretty sympathetic. they were scared to fight, didn't feel ready, buffy had been harsh with them to toughen them up and then a bunch of their friends were brutally slaughtered or maimed in front of them while buffy got her ass handed to her and they were all promised more of the same. a bit of discontent, a bit of panic, a bit of mutiny - not unexpected! (not looking to litigate though, it was dumb conflict tbf)

she was good to willow! a little forward, but she never pushed willow into anything she didn't want to do. even after willow turned into warren post-kiss, kennedy didn't freak out and abandon her. she stuck with her through a lot of freaky magic shit and emotionally volatility and looked down the barrel of a GUN for her - AS DOWN BAD AS IT'S HUMANLY POSSIBLE TO BE. even after getting a little freaked out with the magical draining that happened later, she got over it pretty quickly. she's patient and understanding when willow has reservations about sleeping together for the first time, gives the cute little kite string speech (if you can't learn to adopt willow's metaphors during conversation, you don't deserve her).

genuinely i think she's a good character. i wish there had been more room in the season to characterize her more gradually, but for the amount of hate i've seen her get over the years, i just don't think she's that bad.

also she has a tongue stud and who could hate that.

ALSO being a teenage mexican-american lesbian and seeing bisexual mexican-american actress iyari limon on screen licking alyson hannigan's neck with that very tongue stud TRULY unlocked things for me that nothing else could have. cannot stress that enough.

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Ginsei Souma Story

Well, this is the last of these stories that I can translate. The fanbook's got 5 other stories - four being associated with the seasons and one extra I don't know enough JP to understand what's it's about... and I'm too lazy to mtl the title (plus I don't remember which of those have/haven't been translated, and am also too lazy to check that right now since im driving myself crazy trying to download video stuff 😅).

Anyway, I don't know what I'm going to translate next month, but I should have more free time then so I'll hopefully get back to creating a backlog of translations... though if I don't, I guess I'll do things week by week, or whatever my schedule allows (sorry but r/l priorities>tl unfortunately hahaha).

anyway, this story was originally published in B’s Log 2020年9月.

enjoy!

Hakuoki Ginsei B’s Log 2020年9月 Souma Short Story “Fumidzuki (文月)” [meaning the 7th month]

Translation by KumoriYami

During the start of summer, at the beginning of July

The days completely felt like summer, but the evenings/nights were still a bit cooler.

"...Ah, speaking of which, today is Tanabata [Star Festival]."

I was patrolling headquarters, and stopped in front of the bamboo branches decorating the inside of headquarters.

The bamboo of the Tanabata were decorated with paper strips and streamers, which were made by Toudou-san and Harada-san to properly celebrate/enjoy Tanabata.

…While I stood there, lost in thought, as I stared at the bamboo, a voice came from behind.

"Souma-kun? Good work on your patrol/Patrol must be exhausting."

"Ah... Yukimura-senpai. It's quite late, so why haven't you gone to sleep?"

"It's been getting very warm at night and I couldn't sleep. so I'm cooling off while reading these tanzaku [the pieces of paper that wishes get written on during Tanabata]."

Yukimura-senpai stood beside me, and looked up towards the bamboo/looked up hopefully at the bamboo [*same note as the eighth next line].

"This tanzaku, is it Nagakura-san's? It says "I want my swordsmanship to reach the pinnacle.""

"Ah, next to Nagakura-san's is Nomura's. Although he doesn't he say that he wants to win against the executives, he still wants to beat me."

As I watched this scenery swaying in the wind, I abruptly asked with interest.

"Senpai, what do you wish for?

"Huh?"

"As expected, you still want to find your father as soon as possible and return to Edo with Kodo-san…."

"Of course I wish for that…[though] I asked for something else on my tanzaku. I wished that everyone would be healthy."

Senpai had a slightly forced smile as she looked up at the sky [ the word for 'looked up' here can be interpreted so that this says "looked up at the sky hopefully"].

If you looked up, you could see that the night sky had spread like after the tide receded, and how silver skies flickered as they formed the Milky Way [or something. confusing structure].

"There were many people injured during the patrols, and apart from that, with the sudden heat after Tanabata, the number of people getting sick has also increased. We should look for countermeasures."

"...Senpai really is like a doctor."

"My level of knowledge is only to the extent of what I've heard about."

Senpai was very humble, but I didn't think like that.

I had seen Senpai learn how to tie bandages, studying medicine and do other things when she's not doing chores...

I also know that when Matsumoto-sensei visits, he teachs her together with Yamazaki-san.

And most importantly, she acts with kindness, which is essential for a doctor.

"Water needs to be drank frequently, and the time and place of practice/training needs to be changed. Although various types of assistance can be obtained…"

I open my mouth to ask Senpai who was reflecting on the problem.

"For cooling off in the summer, what about this? It's something the Chief specially prepared for Tanabata."

"This is...?"

What I brought out was a very small wind chime.

The sound that reverberated in the night wind was very crisp.

"It might just be a matter of mood, but it becomess cooler when you hear that sound."

"Nn... I think it's great. It's incredible how just one sound can make such a big difference."

It's wonderful.

---end---

[ubeerosophy]

So Many Roads

At the height of COVID, I drove a gentleman from a nearby university to the Indianapolis airport. Many of my most interesting rides have happened this way. The trip takes roughly an hour, so when they are willing to talk, I get to hear from some of the most fascinating people I’ve ever knowingly crossed paths with. It’s like a free course or a private lecture given by the brightest minds on a myriad of topics.

This particular man had been visiting a relative, and was on his way back home, which happen to be on the East Coast. As we began conversing, it came out that he had recently returned from or was about to leave for an overseas speaking engagement. Intrigued, I began asking questions regarding the kind of work he did. The man explained to me that he was an economist, as well as an author. At some point he had relayed to me the title of his most recent book, so when he got out of my car, I was able to google him thoroughly. His resume was far more impressive than he let on. Not only had he penned many books, but he was also a world-leading expert in his field, frequently traveling the globe to give lectures. He had served as a speechwriter to multiple US presidents and was affiliated as a fellow with an Ivy League school. His accomplishments and activities went on and on, but I considered those the highlights. Except for one other…

Not long after he got in my car, the man asked about good places to go for a run in the area. As we discussed my preferred locations, and running as an activity in general, he threw out what I considered to be an impressive amount of mileage that he regularly logged. That might not sound like anything out of the ordinary or some major accomplishment, but did I mention he was in his 80’s?

As I spend a ton of time in my car each day, one of the most common things I see is people running, jogging or walking. They are my heroes. Few other things make me smile like that does, especially when I’m fighting what feels like the worst of humanity on the road. We all know how hard it is to run. It sucks. In the end it may benefit us mentally and physically, but in the meantime it hurts. It’s also time-consuming. Especially if you travel to different locations because you don’t want to stare at the same scenery every time. Psychologically that matters. Just to set aside the time, get yourself prepared and then take that first step towards hundreds more is a major accomplishment. It really is. I’m proud of every one of those people I see doing it every day, and I wish I could tell each of them. I do in my head as I drive by.

I try to run every other day, but just like everyone else, it’s a struggle. When I do, I refuse to listen to music or podcasts because I consider that time alone with myself imperative. There are always going to be distractions and noise, so why not take the time to acknowledge your thoughts when you have an opportunity to do so? Often, for me, those thoughts revolve around how much running hurts. Whether it’s the limitations my aging body is imposing on me or the elements I’m fighting at that moment, it’s hard not to dwell on them when they are staring you in the face. Generally, however, those thoughts prove to be beneficial.

Aside from time, one of my greatest adversaries when I run is the wind. This happens about a quarter of the time, and inevitably will play out the same. About a mile into my run, once the initial adrenaline has worn off, I’ll realize how much harder I’m working when I go in a certain direction. I’ll acknowledge that it’s the wind and then fight myself on seeking a route that spares me the struggle. After convincing myself that the extra difficulty will benefit me in the long run, I embrace it and hunker down. Then, either because I have too much time to think or because I’m looking for something to distract me from the wind’s brutal attack, I find myself revisiting the situation as a metaphor. I say revisiting because it’s the same thought every time.

Running itself is perhaps the most apt metaphor I’ve found for life in general. It sounds cliché, I know, but it’s true. As you take your first steps, you start off slow until you can build speed and momentum. Once you’ve found a comfortable pace, you settle in and maintain it with a specific goal or goals in mind. You’re going to face challenges along the way. Plenty of times I’ve finished what were supposed to be otherwise uneventful and routine runs bloody, bruised, overheated, frozen or before my intended destination. I never foresaw or expected any of those outcomes. As you get near the end of the run, you are infinitely more tired than you were when you started. You then finish either by attaining your objective, or by being forced out prematurely. Pretty emblematic of life if you ask me.

I get almost angry at first when I realize I’m running into the wind. It feels like I’m wasting energy and that my progress is stalling, but when I allow myself to stop and think about it, I become almost grateful. I will come out of it stronger. I’m still getting my mileage in, but my muscles are being given an extra challenge that will result in greater strength going forward. My mind is also being trained. Trained to face adversity with the knowledge that it’s ultimately beneficial and that I can accomplish more than I intend or hope by braving the storm. The same can be said for running uphill or in the rain. Some of the best races of my youth came in such conditions. Were it not for the wind, rain or elevation and the prior experience I had with them, I would not have performed as well as I did, advancing to the next course in the process. And the next course is important to me. The next course is where we get new scenery. The next course is where we learn new things about ourselves and our abilities.

So if you run. Or jog. Or walk. I’m proud of you. I know it isn’t easy. But it’s more than just whatever your initial goal was, and I hope that not only do you achieve that goal, but that you make it to the next course as well.

The UBeerOsopher

And now…a haiku:

All of your steps count

and if you listen to them

their math is profound

“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.” ~ Alber Camus

[skiyoosmi]

to the stars above | z.

featuring. zhongli (genshin impact)

genre. fluff, angst, smut, ancient-liyue!au

word count. 5.4k

marga's notes. aAAAa look look, it's my first commission!! school has kept me really occupied for like the past month but after pulling a few all-nighters, i've finally finished my responsibilities along with this little baby! once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to my bubs @ramannnn for trusting me with this one <33

Nobody knows when the world began, how it came to be and why it continues to be. Even I, whose mind is filled with nothing but wonder for it, have no idea. One thing I am quite sure of... is how mine did.

It all started with him— a man of many titles, different identities yet at the end of the day, all these monikers are the same; it's all him. He adored Liyue more than anything else, knew it like the back of his hand. He went where the winds lead him, stayed where the moon shines upon him, stood where the golden sun kissed his skin. He found serenity in the walks he travels as he goes about his day, the sceneries his eyes take in and the calm sounds the nature resonates for him. And as if it was fate decided upon by the Celestia, it led him to me. Suddenly, my little world that used to be nothing became everything... quickly and all at once.

An exasperated sigh escapes from my lips, frustration and disappointment filling my whole being as I stare at the blank parchment paper I held in my hands. Another day was again wasted with no progress, I thought, mentally beating myself up for not being productive enough. Before I could further drown myself into such pessimistic ideas, I snap out of it and let my eyes cherish the view that lies ahead of me. Though I feel a little guilty for taking Vermeer's place, I can only whisper an apology with little to no sincerity. Because truly, nothing can beat the picturesque landscape of Luhua Pool— the crystal clear waters that would most probably reflect my face like a mirror if I were to ever look at it, the ruins that ignited the spark of curiosity within me, wondering about the pasts it holds and the stillness and feeling of peace it gives me as I sit in this cliff. Feeling somewhat a bit better, I place my things on top of the old bag I bring no matter where I go. There's always a better day for writing, I tell myself as a form of consolation, bringing my slim arms up to begin stretching. I've been sitting on this log for quite a long time now, after all.

"It seems like you are in a bit of a dilemma," a deep voice comments from behind me. Out of surprise, I lightly jump and turn my head towards the stranger. Right at that moment, it felt as if all the air circulating inside my body had been depleted. Captivating was an understatement as to how he appeared before me. With the sunlight striking his face and accenting his unique features further, he stood with his hands behind him, head tilted as he looked at me with interest, all while keeping his dignified posture.

"Oh, hello. I am afraid so, yes," I respond, or rather, mutter under my breath since I was not really used to having sudden encounters with other people, nor am I fond of it. I tend to keep to myself, finding it much more peaceful than having to tend to others' overbearing expectations and demands which is partly the reason why I chose to live in the outskirts, far from the center of Liyue that contrasts my comfortable abode, "I apologize. I failed to realize that somebody other than Vermeer liked to stay here," I told him, arching my eyebrows a little when he let out a breathy chuckle.

"Oh, you have no need for such formal apologies. I do not always go here, at least probably not as often as the man you call Vermeer. I was simply taking a walk and I think I got carried away by Liyue's view and eventually, my feet led me here," he explains, a hint of sheepishness present in his tone, "and I guess I'll have to thank my feet for that."

Because it led me to you, interesting one. For many years, it will remain unspoken, kept by the strange man to himself and unveiled once his heart gives up from the resistance he upholds.

For the following hours of lounging around Luhua Pool, I learned a lot about the stranger— he calls himself "Morax," and like the god of Liyue, he enjoyed history and is extremely knowledgeable about it, aspiring to know and understand everything of the world, he often brews tea, even going as far as inviting me once I am free from any form of work. Just as he shared facts about himself, I did too.

"So, Cheng, you said you have a bit of a dilemma?" he inquires, slightly angling his head towards the direction of the side I'm sitting on. I nod my head up and down, mouth forming into a small pout of disappointment as I remember that today has not been that progressive.

"Yes. I am trying to write a novel, you see. Something that will leave an impact on this world so that even if I may pass, I will still live on the memories of people," I tell him, an ambitious expression present on my face. He hums, eyes going over the terraces that make up the current view we have and the two huge statues standing by the ruins, "Why so?"

I pause for a moment to think of a reply, "I guess I just do not want to let someone alone in this cold world. Wouldn't that be too cruel and sad, to just leave them with nothing?"

If I'm able to write words that will provide comfort to my readers, then maybe... just maybe the world will be less lonely... even for just a little bit. At least, that's what I thought as silence consumed us, the sun setting as if to remind us that finally, another day is nearing its end. Now, what will tomorrow bring?

"Well then, I do hope I will be able to read at least some of your works at least once," he speaks as he stands up, lightly dusting away his clothes, "It certainly has been a pleasure to be your company, Cheng."

As he walks down the slope of the hill, his somewhat broad back facing me, I call out, "Will you be back?"

He stops and turns, a soft smile is plastered on his face as he responds, "Only time will tell."

But time was no friend of mine. At least that's what I have come to realize as many days passed without him returning to this place. Though maybe it's only because it almost felt as if time slowed down and I was only eager to see him again, something I have scolded myself to— what a fragile heart do I have to already seek a stranger's presence? That is what others call love at first sight, a devilish portion of my mind whispered cheekily within me and I gasped in disbelief, "Absolutely not," I lightly slap both of my cheeks, "I'm just too coped up in my own world. I probably need to go see more people."

That thought remains a simple yearning though because once again, I find myself lounging around the same spot in Luhua, a quiet hope ignited within me, fulfilled when I hear the familiar voice he adorns as he speaks, "You're here."

I release a sound that is between a giggle and a breathy chuckle, "And I see your feet had led you here once more?"

"They were curious, or should I say... I was," he explains as he takes a seat beside me, his posture remaining solid despite the uncomfortable position.

"Of what?" I ask.

"Of you," he simply replies, unaware of the sudden yet unsurprising effect it had on my heart that was already beating rapidly with just his mere presence. I try not to be so showy of it though, too embarrassed to even think of how fast I became fond of him.

But it was no wonder. After all, he himself was an interesting one; from the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, and the way he's just him... all and every action hold so much dignity that it just leaves me almost breathless and in awe every single time my eyes finds their way to his figure— and to think that this was just our second meeting? My mother would most probably let out the most shameless giggle as I tell her these thoughts, pushing me and teasing me like a normal person in their teens would. I shake my head to get out of these thoughts, listening to Morax as he tells another wonderful tale, almost making me think that he lived it himself with how he knew it, going over even with the smallest details.

"You know, Morax, you have such a good memory to remember all of those things despite simply hearing about it," I suddenly speak up in the midst of the silence that engulfed us while he tries to think of the next story to tell, "I hope I can stay in them too... in your memories, I mean. I know I am far from being the most interesting person but for some reason, I wish for that."

He pauses, eyes trailing slowly towards me, beyond my knowledge, before he lets out a somber smile. You already are, is another one of him that becomes an afterthought.

I heaved out a sigh before shaking my head again, "Ah! Why do I keep having such lonely thoughts? Forget about that. Please do not mind me, alright? I think I really need to stop being stuck in the mountains."

I pick up my small bag and shuffle inside it, letting out a quiet sound of 'aha!' as a sort of celebration when I successfully got a small book out, "Here."

He blinked his eyes in confusion, wondering what it was I handed to him so I spoke in delight, "You told me you wanted to read at least one of my works so, here. I am warning you though, it is not like the ones that sell best in the bookstores. It might bore you, or weird you out like what others say."

"What others say?"

"They say it's too unrealistic, too impossible... but I believe otherwise. We live in a world where gods and adepti watch over us. What makes my story impossible then?" I ponder, him still being confused.

"What is it about anyway?" He asks, having no idea of what the context my book had.

"It's about an archon who began living as a simple man in Liyue."

Our meetings became more frequent after that and eventually, we got comfortable with even just the presence of each other, having no need for long talks and such, but just peace. Today, like any other day, Morax was just reading the book I gave him, while I was thinking of what my next story would be about. Occasionally, he looks at me with an odd expression that is almost equivalent to astonishment, as if I have done something so great that it made him look at me that way.

"What made you think of this plot?" he asks all of a sudden, not forgetting to put a piece of paper that served as a bookmark on the page where he stopped just in case he accidentally closed it.

I hum, thinking about my answer to his question, "Hmm. Truth to be told, it was just a mere wonder for me. Archons and the adepti, although not entirely immortal, live so much longer than an average human does, watching over us as we go about our daily lives, waiting for sudden wars to break out and then fight the enemies that attack us. Growing up, those were the things that all the people around me told me. So I began to wonder, do they ever get tired? Is it not too taxing to keep on doing that? What if... they just lived with us, among the crowds? Because I think it is too lonely wherever they are. Would it not be better if they were with us, rather than above us, so they could at least have memories to live by?"

Morax does not give a response, or rather, he finds it difficult to find one. Still, it does not stop the affection that spreads within him. He does not say it out loud, but for someone who prefers to be alone, Cheng was full of empathy. And somehow, that did wonders to Morax's heart.

"Now that I think about it, I kind of actually want to address my books to them now," I hum once more, "It would be like a message for them: Do not be too lonely even if we pass. Because of your help, through these stories, we can show you that we lived a good life."

I huff as soon as I finish my sentence, "Although one of those who read it said that was impossible, because according to them, why would archons give up their power to live a life where there is only simplicity?"

Morax let out a sound that made it look as if he got offended himself, "Archons can do that, can they not?"

"I know! That was what I was saying to them. Anyway, I am not forcing them to like what I wrote. It's just a story, after all. It can do no harm," I shrug, beginning to fix my belongings as the sun began to set, "I should go now, Morax. It is still quite a long walk to my home."

"I want to live a good life too," he suddenly tells me, making me halt and turn to him in confusion, "With you. The good life and memories you shall tell in your stories, can I be part of them too?"

The universe does not stop for anyone, nor does time— science will consistently proclaim this fact matter what timeline we shall live in. No matter how much someone begs to the Celestia to grant their wish of controlling, or stopping time, no one will be able to do such things. But somehow, it seems like when it comes to him, everything is possible as I feel my world stop at his words, just like the way it also began when I met him. And as if planets were colliding with each other, I suddenly felt my heart crash upon him and as if out of instinct, I let go of the truth.

"Of course. It would be the greatest thing to have you."

Life was strange in its own way. That is what I have come to realize in this simple life of mine.

Despite the fact that the "me" of the previous year has never even thought about putting my whole being on my sleeve, it is pleasingly odd how right now, I find myself in this kind of situation with the man who swept me right under my feet and claimed my heart as his.

“You're cold," I whisper amidst the silence of the night in my abode, my index tracing the ears of the man who had me sitting right on his lap, the shorter strands of his silky hair tucked behind them. So, so alluring.

He takes hold of my wrist, planting a soft kiss on its side, all while maintaining eye contact as he quietly drawls, "Then I suppose you can keep me warm tonight. Will you?"

As if in a trance, I nod my head, letting him take the lead as he laid me down, back against the soft mattress, him following on top with his arms supporting his build. With arising confidence, I circle my arms around him and pull him down, bringing our lips together, a sigh of relief escaping both of our mouths as if to say, "Finally."

I wonder if he thinks the same way as I do— that this was Celestia in its own way. I felt like I could do anything as long as it was with him. The kiss felt like the power we once suppressed from each other became a supernova that changed our world's course all of a sudden. But despite the tension and heat we both emitted at the moment, there is a warmth that engulfs me the same time he fully wraps his arms around me.

I am here. I will always be here.

No noise disturbs the peace we have created, only the quiet sound of crickets reach our ears but even that fails to distract him from what he's doing. He gently tugs on the sash that keeps my coat tied. Nimble fingers explore the remains of my clothing, loosening all until I am set free from them.

His eyes raked over my body, an expression of awe plastered on his face for so long that it made me somewhat conscious. Because as he unravels his to me, I am enlightened by the fact that my figure is nothing worth comparing to his — not even close. A hint of sweat glints from his skin due to the moonlight, making him look even more ethereal. But who was I to complain?

So instead, I look down, fiddling a little with my fingers as I feel my cheeks heat up. How is it that I only realize now what kind of situation we are currently in? Before I further drown in such shameless thoughts, he lifts my head up by the chin, an amused look on his usually-gentle face, "Are you feeling shy, beloved?"

I meekly nodded, to which he lets out a soft laugh and whispers, "Don't be. You are the epitome of beauty itself. If you don't believe me, allow me to show you nothing but truth tonight, I swear under the moon and all these stars."

He dips down and captures my lips in a kiss once again with more passion, if it was still even possible.

"You are made for me, as I'm made for you," he proclaims as he thrusts inside me after minutes of preparation, soft pants and groans following his statements. I can only whimper in response, pain evident in my tone at first with my hands lightly clawing at his back. I pray to the heavens above that they don't leave awful marks after this.

He halts and utters an apology, thumb caressing the bone of my cheeks while he waits for me to adjust. He scans my face after a few seconds, relief flashing in his eyes when I nod for him to continue.

"I... b..." I try to speak out but the pleasure overwrites any sensical thought that goes through my mind. He slows down a little, looking over my face and smiles, urging me to talk.

"Stay with me, beloved. We still have all night," he tells me, encouraging me to voice what has been on my mind.

"I... I belong to you, always have and always will..." I manage to croak out, voice quite hoarse due to the sounds that I let out previously. Perhaps pleased with what I have proclaimed, he begins going even deeper and at the same moment, I begin falling deeper.

"Yes, yes, you do," he repeats like a mantra, his voice sounding more and more desperate to reach his high. I cry out with him, creating a harmony that even the best bards shall be ashamed.

It was a long night— the longest yet most beautiful night I have ever had in this simple life of mine. And in that moment, as we reach the stars together, I knew right there and then that this man is someone who will be etched in my heart for as long as I live, deep into its roots— for him, it shall beat and it shall love.

You, who are reading this, most probably have had enough of these teeth-rotting praises I kept on writing. But what can I do except to apologize? These words are the only ones that can flow out of my mind and mouth to show how magnificent it was to be loved by him.

Well, nothing significant really changed. He was still the same gentleman I met, if anything, more gentle. Just like in the beginning, he made my heart flutter every chance he gets, no matter how many years have already passed.

We built a dynasty together.

But maybe I should have known that ours were also bound to crumble like the ones that have long existed even way before us.

Days, months and years went on, I realized that he was actually the opposite of me— unlike me who was clearly not parallel with time, he held it right on the palms of his hand. I was not blind, nor was I a fool, I can clearly see how he looks like he has not aged a day, all while I was here, maturing more and more each second that passed by, the amount of signs of me aging increasing significantly.

Morax. Knowledgeable of history as if he lived it himself. Time. All these thoughts eventually congest my mind as realization dawns upon me. He was not merely a man named after the god himself— Morax was him, he was Morax.

"How appalling," I mutter with a hint of sadness and dismay in my tone. I stood in front of the mirror, fingers hovering over my face, wrinkles appearing as I scrunch it. A pair of firm arms snake its way around my lean waist, chin resting on one of my shoulders as he hums his words, "What has got your beautiful mind occupied, my beloved?"

Taking hold of his arms, I turn my body around to face him, a somewhat melancholic smile etched on my face as I look up at his much taller frame, "You are a sight to behold, even to this day." He arches one eyebrow out of amusement and curiosity, wondering why I suddenly started pouring him compliments. After all, my shyness prevents me from consistently doing so. Nonetheless, I continue speaking, "I wish... I could be with you even when everything changes into a whole new world."

I lifted a hand up to cup his cheeks and began rubbing it lovingly, a lone tear finally dropping from my eye as soon as I closed it, "but I cannot, I do not have the ability to do so... I am but a mere mortal, after all."

His eyes widen as he finally discerns my actions and concerns, immediately opening his mouth in hopes of consoling me but I beat him into speaking, "It's alright, Morax. I have been putting the pieces together for a while now. I am in no way angry. I just..." I pause, gulping hard before my lips start to quiver, "... I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been. And now... I think about it and I... I do not want to leave you alone again."

My cries eventually start becoming louder, something that is very new to the both of us, seeing as I have always been composed. Love can change a person into a whole new being. I remember a book I have read once and at the moment, I can only agree. Maybe it was the way my heart clenches at the mere thought of him walking alone, or the way I can imagine us taking our last breaths together yet I know that will never happen— but either way, it was painful.

He whispers sweet nothings to my ears, placing light kisses on my temple as he leads us to the bedroom to rest once my tears have finally ceased and I have calmed down. His hold on me gets tighter every time I let out a small hiccup due to crying, almost as if he was telling me that he was feeling the same pain as I was.

Hours pass by as we lay in silence. My tears have long dried up but we remain coped up in each other's arms.

"Would it not be interesting if you bear the name Zhongli?" I ask him in a somewhat croaky voice.

He peers down and tilts his head, "Now where did that thought come from?"

I shrug, or at least try to, and look up at the ceiling as we shift our positions to lay on our back, hands finding one another and intertwining, "Hmm... nowhere. Just a name I wanted to give you in case that you are needing a new one."

"Oh? How come it would be interesting then?"

I look at him with a comforting yet sad smile.

"Because it means it's time to leave, to go somewhere far away... and unfortunately, I will have to leave soon."

He furrowed his eyebrows together, "Do not say that. Who knows? Maybe you will be able to live a hundred years by my side. Besides, I think it sounds lonely. I do not think I would want to get reminded of the fact that you are not here with me."

I hum, "But if you bear the name I gave you, wouldn't it feel like I never went away? That no matter where your feet take you, no matter how far you go, I am and will always be with you, just as I have vowed."

The wooden door leading to my writing room slowly slides open and Morax's head peers in, an adorable smile plastered on his face, "You have been quite busy these days, beloved. I do not wish to disturb you but I am starting to long for your presence."

I let out a shameless giggle, "Alright, alright. Just let me write down a few more words while I still have ideas to input."

He peeks on the parchment paper out of curiosity, taken aback when he finds his name on it, "You are writing about us?"

I nod proudly, "My last piece."

"... But why?"

I smile and approach him, taking his hand and placing my forehead against his after he lowers his head down to my level, "I told you, did I not? I do not wish to leave the person I love with nothing. So that you will not be lonely, my words will be with you. I will be with you, always..."

"... and to tell the gods... to tell you, that I loved every second of my life with you— that it was, indeed, a good life."

"Who are you, young man? Are you my son?" I speak with a very hoarse voice, squinting my eyes at the figure in front of me, as if my poor vision will allow me to do that.

I hear a melancholic yet gentle sigh come from him before he takes my rough hands and looks afar, "Don't mind me. I'm just someone who vowed to be with you for as long as time lets us."

"Oh.... really? That’s quite endearing," I hum, "Well, may I know your name?"

"This… I think I may just have an idea to whom this book is for," Paimon trails off, looking over at the traveler who was in the same trance as her, "Paimon thinks we should let the strange person we saw a while ago give this directly to Zhongli!"

Lumine nods, turning around and starting to run towards the direction they were at previously, recalling the person named Cheng who gave them the novel they just finished reading. They were unique, dressed in layers of robes and it was almost as if they lived in the old times of Liyue. Even the way they talked and moved screamed ancient.

Just as they turned the corner, a woman near the Liuli Pavilion called them over, "Traveler! Here!" As they approach, Lumine cranes her neck to look around the area but to no avail, the strange person was long gone.

"Are you two alright?" the woman asks, much to their confusion, "I saw you talking to literal air awhile ago and I was worried you have eaten something strange."

The pair looks at each other in surprise before Paimon replies, "You didn't see anyone? Like a person dressed in the strangest attire? They dressed really anciently!"

The door of the Liuli Pavilion opens and there goes Zhongli, a calm expression morphing to an awkward one when he realizes he barged into an ongoing conversation. He apologizes for the disturbance and despite the curiosity he had upon overhearing bits of Paimon's statements, he starts his walk back to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. At least not until he hears Paimon call his name, "Zhongli! Wait! A person named Cheng. Do you know them?"

He abruptly stops and turns to the two, eyes wide for a second before it returns to his usual demeanor, "How... how do you know of them?"

"We met them," Paimon says, as if it was the simplest thing to do, "Well, honestly, we don't know because we were apparently speaking to nothing but air! It's so odd!"

He stays still, honestly having no idea of what response he should give them because he himself found it hard to believe.

"Well anyway, they asked us to give you this nov— wait, where is it? It was just in your hands a while ago, Traveler!"

In the midst of the loud chaos made by the two in the middle of Liyue, he thinks he knows what to do and where to go now.

It was the day of the Rite of Parting, an event where he's supposed to be taking part of, even just a part of the audience. But he finds himself hanging around the Wanwen Bookhouse, eyes scanning the shelves until it stops at a familiar name engraved on the cover of a book.

"Oh! Greetings, Mr. Zhongli! I see you took a liking to a very great and romantic novel," Jifang comments as she sees the book in his hands.

He looks at her, "Is it really great?"

She gasps in delight, "Yes, indeed! Almost all of the Liyue folks have enjoyed this story! You can say it is a classic, especially for readers! Cheng definitely outdid themselves with this one! Such a mysterious person yet equally amazing. Imagine? Being able to make such a beautiful love story with Morax? They don’t mention the present name they gave Morax though, such a shame. Maybe it was due to old age, they wrote it until the last moments of their life after all. Anyway, I have to get back to work but enjoy reading that masterpiece!"

He feels his heart swell in pride upon knowing his lover had his wish come true. His nimble fingers carefully open the pages of the book and hours later, as he sat inside the Funeral Parlor after taking the novel home, he finds himself absorbing each and every word Cheng have written, the loneliness sitting idly inside him subsiding little by little.

I found solace in the countless cups of tea you brew whenever I encounter distress with my works, the endless stories you tell with a smile so beautiful that not even the most heavenly scenery can vanquish, but most of them all, the feeling of your hand intertwining with mine, providing me with serenity no one else has ever done before. Under the moonlit night of Liyue, I remember your wistful amber eyes, staring deep into my soul as you proclaim your love and desire for me. How foolish was it of me to think that I could live this life without even experiencing such warmth and intimacy?

It is a banality, really — how I wish to become a well-known writer with unique tales and yet the story I am telling is something so common to folks that they have most probably heard similar ones before. But I guess this is what it means to love and to be loved. Everything is like a cycle that just keeps on being repeated, yet we never get tired of it, of the feelings it brings. So, thank you, Morax. Words will never be sufficient to show how grateful I am to you for showing me a whole new world but I suppose this is still a way for me to give back to you.

With this little book of mine, I hope my heart reaches yours regardless of how many eras may have passed before and after us. So, my beloved, do not be too lonely without me. Even if you find yourself longing for my presence, just open this and my heart shall be with you.

This belongs to you, it always will.

And I do, as well.

[ms-demeanor]

Some meandering thoughts about jokes about rape and cultural changes in the last decade and a half

Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad we’re in a place now where we DO question rape jokes and it would be much harder to get away with “raping Jonah Hill is incredibly amusing” as the center of a scene the way that you could in 2007-2013 but I do kind of feel like we don’t talk about how sudden that change was enough.

People talk about how you should have always known that awful things are awful but if you’re surrounded by rape jokes and pedophilia jokes all the time and that’s what’s funny to the other kids around you and the adults in your lives and what makes up the jokes in the movies you watch then it’s hard to act like you always knew it was wrong.

Dead baby jokes were a HUGE thing when I was a teen and in my early twenties and sitting around swapping dead baby jokes was just a thing we did, and tossed in among them were things like:

A joke about incest with the punchline “Get off me pa, you’re crushing my smokes.”

This joke about a pedophile murdering a child.

Let’s not turn this rape into a murder.

And hell, look at the activity graph for “soap on a rope” on urban dictionary:

2014 starts a significant taper.

Letterboxd has their “sexual assault against men played for comedy page” and if you sort by release date there’s a downward trend with 2014 as a really stand-out year for rape jokes about men in popular movies:

2010 - 10

2011 - 12

2012 - 14

2013 - 12

2014 - 18 (jesus, which includes a prison rape joke in “Paddington”)

2015 - 9

2016 - 9

2017 - 11

2018 - 15

2019 - 4

2020 - 1

(this is of course with the caveat that this is only what has been documented so far)

Shock porn sites used to be a thing and they used to be a COMMON thing. A thing that would get remixed and have late night hosts make jokes about them and that got parody music videos.

So on the one hand I was really glad that in 2010 the hacker conference WASN’T asking me to make a rape joke on their tee shirt, but since Pool 2 Girl came up at every single “this is what defcon is about” discussion and some of the guys from the con had printed up “lemonparty.org” stickers to slap up around town it wouldn’t have been *surprising* if they’d been asking for that.

If you were a teenager in 2005 would you have known how much of a dick move goatse-ing people was? We didn’t have the same culture of trigger warnings (not that I disapprove of trigger warnings, they are good and I like them) and there was very much an attitude online at the time of “if you can’t handle it log off.”

I think the fappening was the turning point for a lot of this stuff - I think that was a big cultural moment that changed a lot of people’s attitudes really quickly and I’m seeing echos of that with what Chris Evans is dealing with right now: people are a lot faster to say “oh, that sucks, don’t be an asshole, report people for posting the pics” while I remember sitting and arguing in an imgur thread because there were a bunch of people saying “if you don’t like it don’t take nudes” about the celebrities who got caught in the icloud leak.

People look at Shane Dawson’s (admittedly gross and incredibly inappropriate) behavior with a poster of Willow Smith and act like it’s unprecedented***** but as someone who remembers not only Olsen Eighteenth Birthday countdowns but ALSO the jokes about fucking the Olsen twins that came BEFORE they were legal that’s just bizarre. Seeing people my age and older react to James Gunn’s pedophilic twitter jokes like they’re worse than Jay Leno’s jokes about Michael Jackson (which were made on TV! Across America! On a major network!) is just. It’s bizarre.

I’m glad we are where we are now, I’m glad that making rape jokes in public or jokes about incest or pedophilia (or murder or abortion) is less common and less okay (especially in children’s media, jesus fuck) and more likely to get criticized.

But I’m also pretty sure I’m going to get called a rape apologist by *someone* for saying “2010 was a different time, rape jokes were more common and we didn’t realize how shitty it was” when it really was a different time and rape jokes were more common and most people didn’t realize how shitty it was. I sure didn’t. I do now, and I’m glad I do now. But pretending that we should have ALWAYS known this, pretending that this was NEVER acceptable, pretending that it WASN’T a different time is ignoring the fact that for over a decade there was an entire genre of pedophilic rape jokes (that were frequently also racist) centered around one celebrity and that people told these jokes in public and in pop culture *all the time.*

Does that make it right? Fuck, I don’t know, shit is relative. It was still largely acceptable to electrocute gay kids and people tossed around the word “faggot” pretty freely. Mean Girls is full of jokes about how awful it is for people to think you’re a lesbian and Superbad is full of jokes about getting people shitfaced so they’ll sleep with you (so date rape) and there’s an entire “cute comedy” from the 80s starring Kurt Russel and Goldie Hawn that’s an extended rape-by-fraud joke. I think that as a whole we’re better now as people than we were in 2010 and the 90s and the 80s and the 50s and I don’t think that someone who made a sexist joke in the 80s is irredeemably evil and I don’t think people making rape jokes in the 2010s are rape apologists in 2020 and I wish there was a lot more understanding of both history and nuance in these conversations.

*****to be very, very clear Shane Dawson has been filmed kissing underage fans on the mouth and having explicit sexual conversations with his very young cousin - Dawson has done things that go beyond “inappropriate” and fall clearly into “wrong” “bad” “dangerous” “illegal” etc, which is all the more reason that it’s so strange to see people focusing on him fake masturbating on a poster of Willow Smith. YES doing that was gross but why is it even being compared to the way he’s been filmed interacting with fans? The lack of nuance, making “fake masturbating at a poster” and “creating a sexually abused puppet character” the same as “inappropriately touched and kissed minor fans and engaged a young child in explicit sexual conversations” is NOT GOOD. That is a bad thing. Two of those things are tasteless and two of those things are actively harmful and it’s the actively harmful stuff that we should be focusing on and part of why it’s really weird to see shit like “pizzagate conspiracist accuses James Gunn of making inappropriate jokes” like yes Gunn please don’t but can we maybe refocus and talk about the dude who can be pretty significantly assigned blame for a fucking shooting? https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/01/james-gunn-alt-right-marvel-film-director-tweets

Actually, you know what, I thought I was done ranting, I’m not.

It’s purity culture.

YES you should attempt to do less harm with your language, YES you should attempt to not use slurs, YES you should try to avoid making rape jokes. But there’s an entire huge group of people who are willing to drag up rape jokes from a decade when rape jokes were REALLY REALLY common in order to say that nothing you say or do today matters.

And that same group is ALSO really interested in expanding the concept of what pedophilia is to include age differences in adults or liking the wrong style of drawing and it’s a purity culture silencing tactic and can we PLEASE stop pretending that gross, tasteless jokes are the same thing as actually sexually abusing people? Can we stop pretending that pointing out “rape jokes were more common fifteen years ago and I feel bad about it but that’s just the way it was and I don’t make jokes like that anymore” is the same as saying “rape isn’t bad and you shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

It’s always good to try to be a less shitty human but if you’re only allowed to grow and improve and be less shitty if you never fucked up in the first place then it’s all just calvinist bullshit and none of us could ever really be saved in the first place.

I dunno, dudes. We got so careful about disapproving of the wrong kind of language that we let a white supremacist concern troll Disney into firing a director who caught the attention of the alt right by shit-talking the president.

I think perhaps we need to reexamine some strategy here.

[parkers-gal]

you dont have to write this if youre not comfortable doing it, but could you do something where the reader is toms girlfriend and is diagonsed with a brain tumor and starts forgetting things, like she suddenly cant remember his family anymore or that toms spider-man?

wc: 1.4k words - please READ WITH CAUTION. it's heavy tw // brain tumors, diseases, MRI's, crying, angst

requests are open

—

“And I’m telling you there’s something obviously wrong with her.” Tom was just on the edge of yelling at the doctor. You were sitting on the medical bed in the lonesome room.

One month of Tom being home was enough time for him to realize you were not the same person you were when he left for filming. You were quiet, more conserved, and a bit more curious than you normally were. But not in the sense that you were inquisitive about new things. No, you were forgetting what you already knew to be true.

“Sir, we just asked her a series of questions and she’s showing no signs of change.”

“Then that’s not enough, goddammit!” His fist slams down on the counter, startling everyone in the room.

“Please refrain from raising your voice, sir.”

“I won’t refrain from doing anything until you keep running more tests. Try- try something different if you’re not getting anywhere with these ones!”

The man, his tag reading Dr. Goldstein, offered a tense smile. He whispered something to Tom, something out of your earshot, and he nodded.

“I’ll be right back, okay baby?” He leaned close to your ear, leaving a gentle kiss under the lobe while you nodded. His fingers slipped from yours and suddenly you were alone in the room.

Goldstein brought Tom into a separate medical room, and Tom sat in one of the chairs provided while the doctor logged himself into the company database.

“Can you explain what you’ve been noticing? Your reason for being here?”

“She’s having a lot of headaches.” The doctor hummed, a sign for Tom to elaborate. He did. “She- she told me to bring home extra medicine but the headaches got so bad she had to call in sick for work. About three days later she was throwing up frequently. We took her to the local doctor but they said it was a stomach bug and it would go away.”

“And it didn’t?” Tom shook his head. “Is that all? Has she had any seizures?”

“No.”

“Does anyone in her family have a history of having seizures?”

“Not that I know of.” Goldstein looked at Tom through the tops of his glasses, eyebrows raised as he wrote all the information down.

“Has she had any memory loss, fatigue or sleeping problems?”

“Yeah, sleeping problems were big with the headaches. She- uh… she’s been forgetting things a lot easier now, too.”

“Do you know any of the things she’s forgotten? Anything major, that is.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck in thought. “I mean… she forgot her phone password once. A few hair appointments maybe, or a dinner reservation. I think the big one was when she forgot how to drive.”

“She forgot how to drive?”

“Not entirely, just a couple steps.”

The doctor clicked his tongue. It wasn’t calming Tom’s nerves. You, however, were swinging your legs back and forth as you waited patiently for someone to return. A nurse had come in to give you some water, which you gratefully accepted. You weren’t sure what was taking so long for Tom to get back; you were the one sick, afterall.

“We’ll have to run a few tests just to confirm anything, first. Can you make an appointment with the front desk?”

Tom nods, standing as the man leads him out of this room and into the one with you.

“Hey,” He breathes out. “You okay?” You nod, he hums with a small smile.

“Everything okay?” He nods.

“We’ll have to come back, though.” You frown but nod nonetheless.

**

Medical dresses reminded you of movies that would leave you crying for a happier ending. You felt like you were the movie, a camera in your face while family members cried because of the news.

You had just gotten an MRI-scan. Magnetic resonance imaging, as the doctor had put it. They explained everything to you in such detail that the information had flown right over your head. You drowned everything out, the only thing keeping you grounded being Tom and his voice.

You were still wearing the dress as the doctor came back in forty minutes later with his head hung low and your verdict on the slip of paper.

“Well?” Tom’s voice was eager, and not in a positive way. His hand was holding yours tightly as his nerves rose to an all time high.

Dr. Goldstein sighed as he sat in his rolling chair. “It’s called neurofibromatosis. It’s a tumor located in the prefrontal lobe. It’s a hereditary disease that can last a lifetime.” Tom physically deflates at the news. A tear slips from your eyes, but the doctor keeps going. “Though we just performed the biopsy, we can already tell it’s spread to the temporal lobe. We can predict it’s probably going to affect your spinal cord and your central nervous system.”

“Can… can it be cured?” Tom was so hesitant, so afraid he’d lose the one stable thing in his life. He was afraid of losing you, watching you slip through his fingers while he tried to hold on, grasp as much of you as he could. What he didn’t want to admit, though, was that you were already slipping, and his hands were already losing grip.

“No. But treatment can help prevent the spread.”

“Am I going to die?” Your shrill, quiet voice cuts the tension, asking the question everybody was afraid to know the answer to.

“The average life expectancy of a patient with your tumor is eight years.” He clicks his tongue and Tom scoffs.

“Eight years? Of what, chemo?”

“Sir, there’s no way to tell if it’s permanent or not. If the treatment goes well, it could die out without killing her. You’re lucky you’re still in the early stages.”

The drive home was quiet. You weren’t reacting the way Tom wanted you to. You were acting normal, and it killed him inside that you weren’t batting an eye or pointing out the elephant in the room.

“Can we go bowling tomorrow?”

“I have work tomorrow.” Tom sighs as he grips the steering wheel harder.

“Work…?” You look at him expectantly. He blinks

“We’re filming Spider-man 3 for the next five months.” He tells you almost irritatingly, as if he expects you to know his schedule better than himself. And you do. But not anymore.

“You’re an actor?”

When he pulls up to the driveway, he parks the car and looks at you strangely, as if a piece of his soul just washed away, lost to never be found again. He looks as if he’s about to cry.

“Sorry if you don’t like talking about work,” You say it defensively. “I just didn’t know you were an actor.”

“Love….” He sits back defeatedly, shoulders sagging. “Maybe Harry can take you bowling tomorrow instead. I need to talk to Jon about something.”

“Harry…?” You trail off as if he’ll fill in the blank to who this person is. Before he opens the car door, he stops to look at you again.

“My brother?” He’s soft as he tries to see if you’ll remember him. You don’t. “You don’t remember my brothers?”

“You have multiple?” The two of you step out of the car as you head inside.

“I have three.”

“I wish I knew them all.” Tom chokes on air.

“Y/N, you do know them.”

You watch as Tom’s figure nearly deflates again, and you pout. “I’m sorry.” He turns around hastily.

“For what?”

“I just… it feels like I’m not trying hard enough.”

“Baby… ” He pulls you into his chest as you gasp out a cry, sucking in a breath as new tears fall. Tom cries too, gripping you tightly as the salty waters flow out of the rivers, breaking the dams and flooding all around it.

“I’m so-” You whisper out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” He’s trying not to cry too loudly, too harshly. “‘S Not your fault.”

He feels you nod against him, and for the first time in weeks, he feels as if he finally has a grip on you again, as if he can pull you out of the drowning waters, let you come up for air before another wave crashes over your helpless body. For the first time in weeks, he feels like you might actually be his Y/N again. But you’re not, because as soon as you’re in his grip, he loses you again.

He just doesn’t want to see what happens when he loses his grip for good.

hello here’s part two <3

[mmvalentine]

**Requests quietly into the mic**

Feysand as werewolves💀

Hahaha anon I love it okay, I'm gonna do like maybe a 3-parter angst fest (werewolves necessitates angst, right?) but I am doing a sort of shapeshifting power type rather than a loses all control at the full moon type, I hope that's okay. Here we go!

Afraid of the Dark pt 1

Feyre didn't know why, but of the many things Tamlin had taken away from her, this bar was the one she'd fought for.

At his behest, she had stopped seeing her sisters, lost contact with a number of friends, and quit volunteering at the art school. It had happened gradually- the things that Tamlin had liked about her at first, suddenly felt threatening to him and over time, she left them all. It was just that he was so insecure. He had had a terrible childhood, didn't know how to relate to other people sometimes and he loved her so much that it hurt him to see other people hang off her. Other men hang off her. He was just so protective.

Or at least that's what Tamlin said.

But Verlaris bar was Feyre's favourite place. She did not make it there often, but she was there today, and walking through the door felt like coming home.

"Feyre!" a familiar voice greeted her. She looked up at found Rhys, with the same broad grin that he always had when he saw her.

Rhys, who wore black leather jackets and onyx rings. Rhys, who had been a regular at this bar longer than Feyre had. Rhys, who seemed to frequently have blood on his knuckles and a dimple in his cheek. She probably should have been scared of him, but he had always made her feel so welcome.

"Hello you," she said with a soft smile.

"Hello prick," Tamlin said, walking up behind her.

Of course Tamlin hated Rhys. But to be fair, Rhys was as provocative to Tamlin as he was sweet to Feyre. He met Tamlin's gaze now, and grinned wider, which she knew would infuriate Tamlin more than his frown.

"Oh hello to you too, sunshine," he said, and waggled his fingers. Tamlin just growled, and stalked to the bar. Feyre sighed, and followed him.

"I don't know why you always want to come here," Tamlin said.

"This is the bar we had our first date," Feyre reminded him. "I've always liked it here." She ordered a drink, and then was surprised when Tamlin pulled her into his arms.

Less surprised, when Rhys walked up and leaned his forearms on the bar next to them. A show of possession, then.

"What are you drinking, Feyre darling?" he asked her. "The usual?"

"She's not your darling," Tamlin snarled. Rhys just looked at him with mock sincerity.

"Don't be jealous, Tamlin dear," he said. "You can be my darling, too."

"And you can fuck right off," Tamlin snapped. "Or I'll come over there and make you." Rhys just rolled his eyes.

"Tip number one," he said. "The new scotch they've brought in is delicious." He winked at Feyre, motioning for the bar tender to pour her one. "Tip number two." He leaned toward Tamlin, and suddenly his voice was low and velvet. He looked right into his eyes as he spoke. "Don't threaten a man in his own bar."

Then he pushed off the counter, and returned to the pool table where his friends sat.

"Feyre," Tamlin said tightly. "Why does that dickhead always talk to you like that?"

"Like what?" Feyre asked, warily.

"Feyre darling," Tamlin mimicked. "The usual?"

Feyre shrugged. "He's known me for as long as you have, I guess."

"I don't like it."

Tamlin said nothing else for the next hour. Just sat and drank, and drank some more while Rhys's friends tried to talk to Feyre. The more they talked, the more hunched over Tamlin got, until Feyre started to worry and sent them away.

"Let's go," he growled, and pulled Feyre out the door.

When they got home, Feyre sat down on the bed to take her shoes off, and Tamlin sat heavily next to her and put his head in his hands.

"Do you hate me?" Tamlin asked her roughly.

"What?" Feyre said. "No, of course I don't hate you."

"Then why do you always need all these other people?" he asked. "Why am I not enough for you?" Feyre sighed. They had had this conversation so many times.

"Of course you're enough," she said. "I just like to have different people in my life."

"I don't," Tamlin said. "I don't need anyone but you. And I wish you loved me as much as I love you. Maybe you just never will."

"No, that's not it, Tamlin of course I love you."

He looked at her, with searing eyes. "Show me," he said.

So Feyre got up, and sat back down in Tamlin's lap. Straddled him on the bed and put her mouth on his. Kissed him until his arms were wrapping around her waist and her fingers were in his hair and he was pulling off her shirt.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Don't go back to the bar," Tamlin pleaded. He smelled like beer. "Promise me. Promise me you won't go back to the bar."

"Tamlin."

"Promise me. We don't need anyone but each other. Otherwise I swear, I could just burn it to the ground." Tamlin's hands tightened as he said it, squeezing her sides too tightly. He shook her once, and her teeth clicked together. "Promise," and this time, there was an edge to his voice that had never led anywhere good in the past.

And so Feyre closed her eyes, said "I promise," and let Tamlin pull her backward onto the bed.

Later that night, after Tamlin had fallen asleep, Feyre crept out of bed and out the back door. She pulled on a coat and shoes, and walked all the way to the edge of the forest near their house, before she sat down on a fallen tree, put her hands over her face, and cried.

This was not the first time Feyre had been out here. Tamlin didn't like it when she cried, so she had gotten good at bottling up the need and only letting it go when he was not around. Passed out drunk and sated in bed was a fairly safe bet.

So here she was, in the forest at midnight, with no one to witness her tears but the moon. It was strange, Feyre had been so afraid of the dark as a child. And now, the empty night was her only comfort.

After a few minutes, Feyre had cried enough to feel calmer. Exhausted, in fact. She stayed though, seated on the log and staring at nothing, not ready to go home yet.

It was in this empty, numb space that she saw it.

Thought it was nothing at first, fireflies maybe. But no, when she peered closer, two violet eyes peered out of the darkness. She gazed at them for a moment, and as if realising it had been seen and not bothering to hide anymore, out of the shadows stepped an enormous, black wolf.

"Hello," Feyre said softly. She wondered vaguely if she should be afraid. But she was so tired, and so emotionally drained that she couldn't quite muster up enough feeling to care if it did eat her right then and there.

The wolf took a few steps forward, and then, wondrously, sat down opposite her. Lay on the ground, and rested it's muzzle on the toe of her sneaker. Feyre sniffed.

"Oh, not hungry then," she said. "And here I thought I was alone." She stared down at it, and wondered why it was interested in her.

"I've made a dumb promise," she told it. "I promised Tamlin I'd leave Velaris for good." The wolf just watched her with its strange, purple eyes.

"I feel so sad, and alone, and I don't even have anyone left to talk to about it and now I'm here talking to a wolf." She laughed bitterly to herself. "Well, I suppose you're here. And you haven't eaten me yet, so I may as well tell you."

Feyre looked out into the forest.

"Velaris was the last place I felt like I had friends." She looked back at the animal. "Would you like to be my friend, Mr Wolf?" The wolf gazed back at her, and of course said nothing.

After a while, Feyre got up, dusted herself off, and walked home. The wolf didn't move, just watched her go and she waved at it as she went.

/

After she had disappeared, and her scent faded, the wolf got up. Shifted back into its human form, and took Feyre's place on the log.

Rhys put his chin on his folded hands, and frowned.

****

Another concept I would never have thought of on my own, thanks nonnie! Part 2 now up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[oh2e]

I have decided to describe the saga that is Ho-Tan’s fandom wiki page (with images!) It will be a long post so I have added a read more.

The basic gist is that the fandom wiki uses he/him and people kept changing the pronouns to she/her which escalated. 

So first of all a bit of background for those unsure.

Ho-Tan is played by a male actor and never referred to individually by name or pronouns - except once in the Christmas special where they are called Ho-Tan (though they may also be referred to as Alfie in episode 5 of season 2 by Flowers). In one episode when given the option to make a wish they wish for longer eyelashes then immediately follow it up with “oh and I want to be a woman”. Ho-Tan is then played by a female actress. At the end of the scene the wishes all get undone and Ho-Tan is once again played by the same actor as always. That scene though has caused most people to believe Ho-Tan is a trans woman and so I will use she/her for Ho-Tan from now on.

On the fandom wiki Ho-Tan is referred to as he/him though there is a note that she appears to suffer from gender dysphoria and that she makes the wish to be a woman. I know that at least one person in the past had changed the pronouns to she/her but they were reverted. Here is her page as of February 5th 2021:

On a whim I made an account and changed her pronouns, curious to see how long they would stay. The answer was one minute before the administrator for the Yonderland wiki changed them back. The only comment on the page was someone asking for the pronouns to be she/her but the administrator Tommi86 had replied that since Ho-Tan only appeared as female briefly the use of he was correct on the wiki. Here is the comment and reply:

I then tinkered around and added some more general information because it turns out I am actually interested in this kind of thing. I went to change the pronouns one more time to see what would happen and found a message left saying that anyone who changed the pronouns would be banned. Not wanting to be banned I left it. Here is the message:

Then three days later two people changed the pronouns and Tommi86 changed them back. There were also a handful of comments left saying that Ho-Tan was a woman to which Tommi86 removed the option of commenting on the entire Yonderland wiki. Here are the comments that were left:

Shortly after this Tommi86 locked editing of her page to only administration:

Undeterred people left comments on Tommi86′s message wall

A friend tweeted at Them There asking for clarification but so far has no response.

On the 22nd two people left suggestions on Tommi86′s message wall as how to reconcile this issue. So far he has not responded.

I have watched, read and listened to every interview I could and not found a single instance when Ho-Tan is referred to at all. In the series two commentary Ho-Tan’s hair was briefly discussed but everything said was about Larry and him playing her, nothing to do with Ho-Tan herself. In series 3 episode 2 after the Elders come through the portal to Debbie’s kitchen doing the victory dance Vex says "wait boys where are we going to live?" and in episode 4 about 40 seconds in Flowers appears nude and says "chill out brothers we've all got one". The only other gendered word to refer to the Elders is in the Christmas special when Johnny Cash calls them all ladies. 

Just for clarity here are the edit logs for Ho-Tan’s page. There are a few general edits adding information, including the following but most are just editing the pronouns.

(Those highlighted red are edits to do with saying Ho-Tan is a man while those highlighted yellow are edits to do with Ho-Tan not being a man.)

I am aware that at least one fan is making frequent edits to the Yonderland fandom wiki in order to become an administrator and override Tommi86. I will add any further information as I find it. 

[dameronology]

somewhere only we know {obi-wan x reader}

summary: after a rough patch in your relationship, obi-wan takes you back to the place where it all began (based on somewhere only we know by keane) 

warnings: swearing, angst 

it’s 6.30am and i’m writing this so pls don’t expect the proof reading to be that good lmao i’m so sorry but i hope you enjoy❤️

- jazz

Things weren’t the same as they used to be. 

Relationships changed. Times changed. People changed. You knew that. It felt a little stupid to let yourself think that your relationship with Obi-Wan Kenobi was always going to be a constant. Even when he had promised himself to you and sworn that he’d never leave your side, you’d had your doubts. But, despite those qualms, he was your escape during hard times. You hadn’t truly known love until you’d known Obi-Wan. He never failed to make you feel safe and he could always bring a smile to your face. The solace you sought in each other had bonded you for life. The Council would have had a field day if they’d found out but it never mattered - not in the moment, at least. 

Things got harder. Your jobs were hard enough before the Clone Wars, let alone during. You were both all over the place - Corellia; Tatooine; Bespin; literally anywhere that Obi-Wan wasn’t, it seemed. Your long weekends together turned into stolen kisses behind pillars and rushed moments in dark corners. Catching a break was wishful thinking but catching one together was laughable. What had once been your forever felt like it was running on borrowed time. 

You reached your breaking point on a cold Thursday afternoon. There was a grey cloud hanging over Coruscant; the air was filled with a mix of fog and petrichor, marking the end of summer and the beginning of another long autumn. That meant colder, darker nights fighting Separatists and muddier, messier battles. You used to enjoy fall time as a kid. What a sad fucking thought. 

You hadn’t expected to see Obi-Wan. He was supposed to be on a distant planet, investigating a threat to the Republic. That’s why you almost uppercut his left jaw when you felt someone grab you. The feeling of his hands on your waist should have been familiar but who you were kidding? It had been ages. You’d forgotten what he felt like. He was practically a stranger. Maybe that’s why your first instinct was to cry. The man you loved had become a foreigner to you and seeing him would force you to admit that. 

'It’s me!’ Obi-Wan grabbed your hand when it was mere millimetres from his face, holding you by both the wrists. ‘Calm down!’

‘Fucking hell - you scared me.’ You fell back against the wall, taking a deep breath. 

‘It’s lovely to see you too, darling.’ His tone was teasing, but you could see the tiredness in his eyes. ‘Come here.’

In one swift motion, you fly-tipped any worries you and fell forward, allowing yourself to fall into his chest with a hearty thud. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms tightly around you, pinning you to his body as he rested his head on top of yours. It took all the self-control you had not to burst into tears there and then. The sudden warmth and familiarity was something you hadn’t realised you’d been craving. It was like coming home after months away. 

‘I thought you were on Dantooine.’ You glanced up at him, arms still firmly on his waist. 

‘The mission ended early.’ He replied. ‘Alternatively, I ended it early because I heard you had the weekend off and I haven’t seen you in weeks.’

You both tried to communicate where you could - but, with the presence of the Council and the stress of your jobs, it could become hard. The fact you spoke to the man you loved as often as you spoke to your distant colleagues was fucking heartbreaking but it was also a fact of life. It was one you’d been accepting for a long time. When long become too long, you didn’t know. You might have reached your threshold already and simply lacked the ability to admit. 

‘That’s so sweet of you.’ You forced a smile, softly brushing your lips against his.

‘What is it?’ Obi-Wan frowned.

‘What?’

‘Something’s off.’

Fucking Force connection. Not only was he closely connected to you, but Obi-Wan was one of the best Jedi out there. If you were feeling something, chances are that he knew about it. Stubbed your toe? He felt it. Tripped over nothing again? He felt that too. Crying over how cute a little droid was? Ditto. You couldn’t hide anything from him. It really took the element of surprise out of your relationship.

‘I’m fine.’ You insisted. ‘Better now that you’re here-’

‘- please don’t lie to me.’ Obi-Wan’s grip on your waist tightened. ‘Something’s bothering you.’

‘I...’ you trailed off, eyes falling to the floor. ‘Can we talk somewhere private? I feel a little exposed behind this pillar.’

‘Of course.’ He faltered slightly - why did you want to talk in private? Surely, that wasn’t a good sign.

You both waited a moment before breaking off and heading to your quarters. As to avoid suspicion, Obi-Wan took a different route to you. It was something you did out of habit, really. After years of sneaking around, you’d both learnt to start taking precautions. Once you were both there, you unlocked the door and headed inside.

‘Is it bad?’ Obi-Wan asked. ‘Has something happened? I know I’ve been away for a while but I try to keep up with-’

‘- nothing’s happened.’ You turned away from the door as you shut it behind you, coming to face him. ‘Not physically, anyway.’

‘Talk to me.’ He put his hands on your shoulders, gently trailing them down your arms and to your hands. 

‘Things have been hard, lately.’ You admitted. ‘I...I keep thinking about how things used to be - like when we could wake up next to each other and spend actual days together. Now, it’s like you’re here and I’m there and we’re never in the same place anymore.’

Obi-Wan pondered for a moment. ‘We’re in the same place now.’

‘Look at the bigger picture, Obi.’ You murmured. ‘I haven’t seen you for weeks. I know our relationship has never been conventional but we’re really taking the piss here.’ 

‘What are you saying?’ He didn’t even try to hide the worry in his voice. Cloaking his emotions was never something he’d had to do with you - not then and especially not now. ‘Do you want to break up?’

‘No!’ You quickly replied. ‘I just...I miss you. I miss you so fucking much and I don’t know what to do about it.’

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, pondering to himself. He missed you more than anything; every time he got to saw you, he took a moment to look at you. He let himself stare, to ensure that your smile was engrained in his head and that your laugh was fresh in his mind. Those memories of you were what kept him going when things got rough. The idea of you was what brought him back to you. 

It was your earlier memories that he held closest to your heart. Before the war - before shit had been thrown into the intergalactic ceiling fan - you’d often explore different planets together. On your weekends off, you’d choose whatever place in the Outer Rim that your heart desired and you’d just go. You could escape the watchful eyes of everyone at the Temple and just be together. If it hadn’t been for those days, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far now. 

‘I miss you too.’ Obi-Wan finally broke the silence between you. ‘What if we went somewhere tonight?’

‘Like...for dinner?’

‘No.’ He shook his head, pondering for a minute. ‘Somewhere off of Coruscant - not too far, but far away enough to get out of our heads for a little while.’

‘I would love to.’ You smiled. ‘I’m not sure I know anywhere though - at least not somewhere that isn’t plagued by the war.’

Obi-Wan returned your smile. ‘I know a place.’

--

Yavin.

You could have recognised the place anywhere, even if you hadn’t been there in years. The little village that you used to frequent was almost identical to how you’d left it almost seven years ago - a little more gentrified, perhaps, but the fact it was even still standing was amazing. It was an acclimation of white huts and mud trails, winding in and out of different streets. The sky was tinged pink with the impending evening, blending in beautifully with the remaining blue of the day. The air was clear and crisp, a refreshing change from the stuffy air of the capital city.

‘It hasn’t changed at all.’ You murmured to yourself, glancing up at the sky as you stepped off the jet. 

You turned around to face Obi-Wan, letting him wrap an around your waist and pull him into your side as you walked. Not much had been said on the jet: things were a little tense, but that was to be expected when the words break and up had been thrown into the conversation just an hour earlier. Perhaps the idea of coming to such a special place had come from a moment of panic, but Obi-Wan realised now it was the right choice. You were no longer tense, no longer acting like you were walking on eggshells and he wanted nothing more than for you to be able to relax with him. That was his main concern. 

‘Do you remember what happened last time we were here?’ Obi-Wan asked.

He intertwined your fingers with his and lead you away from the small village, towards a dirt path. It veered up a hill, twisting and turning around tangles of trees and a few seating areas. Your body automatically moved, as if it knew exactly where it was going. 

‘Hmmm.’ You thought for a moment. ‘I’m pretty sure this place is logged under the relationship milestones sector in my brain but my filing system is a little fried.’

‘This, my dear,’ he continued, dragging you to a grassy verge at the top of the hill, ‘is where I told you I loved you for the first time.’ 

Of course. It was not long after you’d passed the knight trials. You’d had a stressful first few weeks on the job and Obi-Wan had packed you onto a jet and insisted that he knew a place. After a short ride and a little walk, he’d taken you here. You couldn’t remember the exact speech he’d given you - something about your eyes, the stars and leaving the Order - and then he’d dropped the L-bomb. Come to think of it, that might have been the last time you truly felt at peace. 

‘I remember.’ You smiled, dropping down onto the grass next to him. ‘I’m surprised you remember the exact place.’

‘And I’m insulted that you don’t.’ Obi-Wan flung an arm over your shoulders, allowing you to rest against his side. You dropped your head onto his shoulder, savouring in his touch for the moment. ‘It’s a flashpoint moment in my mind.’

‘Mine too.’ You quietly murmured, observing the tangle of trees and greenery around you. 

‘I thought I’d been in love before, you know.’ He continued. ‘Then I met you and I realised that I didn’t have a clue. I still don’t, really.’

You laughed slightly. ‘Me neither. I wish there was a manual on this thing because I don’t know what to do sometimes.’

Obi-Wan briefly released his grip on you, shuffling around to face you. He guided you with him so that you sat opposite one another in the grass, his hands clasping yours. For once, his expression was unreadable. He looked...worried, maybe? A little concerned, at the very least. 

‘Neither do I.’ He said. ‘I promised that night that I would always love you and that I’d never let you go. I still mean that, now more than ever. I know things are tough at the moment, probably tougher than they’ve ever been, but I am holding onto you. Onto this.’

That’s when the tears finally sprang. You knew that Obi-Wan couldn’t read minds - but if anyone could, it would be him - but he’d managed to say exactly what you needed to hear. He always said things as they were, never sugarcoating anything or taking shortcuts to soften the blow. If he said that you could pull through, he meant it. And you believed him. 

‘Everything in the universe is so complicated.’ Obi continued. ‘But I never feel that when I’m with you. It’s you and it’s me and nothing else matters.’

‘I love you.’ You tearfully smiled. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too.’ He pulled you towards him. 

The kiss was passionate; deep and fiery. A testament to everything he’d just told you. Obi-Wan had always had a way with words but he’d never laid himself that bare before. It was terrifying for both of you because it meant committing to your love - seeing it through to whatever grisly end this war had. It also meant relying on strength that you weren’t sure either of you had.

It was worth the gamble though. That had always been the case with Obi - your love for him was never in doubt. Whether it was breaking the Jedi code or promising to commit to each other no matter what, you never questioned if he was worth it. You just knew - and that was enough. 

taglist (the link to join is in my bio!): @snips-n-skyguy0501 @obeewankenobi @princessxkenobi @catsnkooks @puntasticpaige @ohhellokenobi @weirdfangirl2416 @umpoedameron @karasong @saintlaurentkenobi @rentskenobi @naivara-duneimith @blue-space-porgs @bb8sworld @cherieboba @corellians-only​ @kaminobiwan​ @hounding-around​

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Normal Love and Superheroes: Two - my city

Summary: Leena gets a meeting with the Bruce Wayne himself and a call from John Blake. 

Pairing: John Blake x OFC (Leena Duckett) 

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none I think...characters discuss Sexy Times and getting drunk but like that’s it I suppose

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

“Why the heck would he want a private tour with me? He asked for me specifically?”

“Look that’s what he said over the phone, Leena.”

“But did he say why?”

“I’m so terribly sorry I didn’t take the time to ask Bruce frickin’ Wayne, one of the biggest patrons of the gallery, why he asked for a tour from you specifically.”

Leena blushed. “Sorry, Adeline. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.” The blonde sitting behind the welcome desk smiled with a closed mouth. “I’d react the same way if I were in your shoes. A whole hour or more with Bruce Wayne….”

Another tour guide jogged up to the front desk from the bowels of the gallery. Leena turned and watched her approach. Phoebe had a look of conspiracy and impression on her long face. She came to a halt beside Leena and elbowed her in the side.

“So are you gonna take Mr. Wayne into one of the more….Private rooms of the gallery?” Phoebe asked with a wicked smile.

Leena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hot feeling that was spreading from her neck into her face. It was no secret about Gotham that Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, was extremely attractive and constantly single. She saw the tabloid covers as she stood in line at the grocery store. She even ran into him outside of a restaurant one time. But his sexual promiscuity was not what bothered her about giving him a private tour. It was more the fact that he was Bruce Wayne, billionaire enigma businessman that seemed to have intimidation come out of his very pores. Who was she to be giving him a tour of the galleries that he often bought from? A no-name artist who worked two jobs, one of which she hated, to make ends meet? That didn’t sound like the kind of girl that should be giving a Wayne tours of anything.

“No I will not, Phoebe, Jesus!” Leena laughed.

“Oh, come on, have you seen him? Plus, you know he’d be open to it. He’s slept with every hot girl in Gotham and beyond.”

“Just cause he’s slept around doesn’t mean he’d be open to swapping spit in a broom closet with a random gallery tour guide.” Leena rolled her eyes. “Maybe he wants just a normal day out. Like anyone else.”

“God, you’re no fun,” Phoebe groaned.

“I think we know from after hours drinks just how fun Leena can be,” Adeline, the front desk girl, pitched in.

Leena rolled her eyes again and smirked. She always told herself, after those nights out, that she would never fall into the temptation of going again. She always got way too drunk, being a lightweight that fell very easily under peer pressure. And because she always got way too drunk, she always ended up doing something she regretted. Like dancing on top of a table, kissing some random person in the dark corner of the bar they frequented, or possibly recreating dance scenes from Chicago with very little success.

“Please stop,” Leena begged with a red face.

“Excuse me ladies.” An older gentleman with an English accent approached the front desk. He looked very nice in a dark suit with white thinning hair. “I’m here for my tour of the gallery.”

“Of course, what’s the name attached to the tour?” Adeline asked.

Phoebe squeezed Leena’s arm and wiggled her eyebrows before she trotted off, back into the gallery. And Leena was about to do the same, but —

“Bruce Wayne. I run his house and am looking for some new work to be put up. I believe I set aside a tour guide already?” the old man said.

“Oh, yes, you did.” Adeline typed on the computer for a moment, giving Leena a bit of side-eye as she did so. “You’ll be touring with Ms. Duckett.”

Leena let out a breath. A sudden wash of relief and disappointment running through her. She knew that the gallery was the place for many of Gotham’s most elite families to buy art for their various homes throughout the world. Rich folk wanting to support local artists. But she had never given a tour to any actual members of those families. It was always the butlers, the house runners, the managers, the publicists even. But they always state that it is the butler or the house runner coming to assess new pieces that have been put up. So when Bruce Wayne’s actual name was logged into the system, Leena really thought it was going to be him walking through the halls of their gallery. Really laying his eyes on the art and choosing it for himself rather than someone else choosing it for him and barely even noticing that it was hung in his manor. The disappointment didn’t last long, however.

Leena stepped towards the old man with a smile. “And I am Ms. Duckett. A pleasure to meet you…”

“Alfred, miss.” He held out his hand and she shook it.

“Well, right this way, Alfred.” She gestured for them to enter the gallery and she began to lead. “We’ll start with our glassworks suite — “

They entered the first room of the gallery. The Shefield Gallery was extensive, housing several different mediums of art from a variety of artists. Pure white walls to off balance the bright pops of color that the artwork created, heightening the customer intrigue. In this first room there were at least fourteen pedestals strewn about the room, each one holding a different piece of glass artwork. Leena liked to look at glasswork, but would probably never attempt creating any herself. Molten glass just seemed a little too dangerous for her taste.

“Actually, sorry to be a bother, but I was hoping to look at something specific on this trip.” Alfred pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Leena. “A piece specifically requested by Master Wayne.”

Leena stopped them and took the piece of paper with raised brows. It was a print out from the gallery’s website. Her eyes widened.

That was her painting. Put up in the employee suite of the gallery after much begging and finally the curator taking pity on her for being a slightly hungry artist.

She looked back up at Alfred to see him smiling at her. She quickly regained herself and asked, “Um — are you sure it’s this one that Mr. Wayne wants?”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

With a resigned nod and a thick swallow, Leena led Alfred to the employee suite. She could feel her fingers going numb. Bruce Wayne wanted her painting? Really? He asked for it specifically? She was sure that the old man had to be lying to her for her benefit. Playing some sort of weird joke that ended with her humiliated and a playboy billionaire laughing at the footage of her misfortune. Or maybe there was no farce and the man really did like her painting so much he wanted to buy it and hang it in his home. Leena rubbed at her neck. He would be the first person to ever like her work enough to do so.

They came to the employee suite and Leena stopped them in front of the painting in question. She put her head down as Alfred looked at it. His thin lips were quirked up in a small smile but she couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

“Pick your head up, miss,” he said, “I know you painted this.”

“Is that why you asked for me for your tour?” Leena asked.

“It is indeed.” His smile widened. “Master Wayne wanted me to see what kind of person could paint something like that.”

He pointed to the canvas and Leena furrowed her brows. She turned to the painting herself. Was there some vulgar message she, the artist, had missed? No. She couldn’t see it. All she saw was a portrait of Gotham at night. Done in oil paints on a medium sized canvas, Leena had always been told she leaned too far into her impressionist influences. But she couldn’t help it. Ordinary subject matter with a heightened sense of romanticism and color was something that Leena was just drawn too. The painting was Gotham at night, looking out over the skyline with the lights from the offices and apartments shining brightly, as if the viewer were looking down from the highest story of some building or other. In the glowing rooms in the foreground, people could be seen. Families, tired office workers, friends getting together.

She had titled the painting My City.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said, turning back to Alfred.

“Master Wayne sees Gotham as a dark place — a place full of hate, injustice, and cruelty,” Alfred said.

Leena pulled a face. “While I will not disagree with Mr. Wayne — Gotham is full of the worst kinds of things — but it is also still worth saving. And loving. And living in if only to save it and love it more.”

Alfred smiled, a soft and knowing thing that made Leena’s eyes narrow.

“And Master Wayne would agree with that sentiment as well.” He turned to the painting again, hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why he was drawn to your work so much. You share similar views on a city that many have lost faith in — a rare find, especially in art form.”

Leena was puzzled. Bruce Wayne grew up in Gotham, just like she did. But they saw completely different sides of Gotham. Wayne saw only the elite, the rich, the famous side. The side that lived in penthouse suites, owned entire blocks of buildings, and could afford to eat at those fancy restaurants downtown. The faces of Gotham City. While Leena saw the hands and feet, the workers and the heart and soul of Gotham. The side that worked fifty hour weeks, lived in the slums, and had to cut up and burn their own furniture to keep warm. Gotham wasn’t worth saving because of the side that Bruce Wayne saw, that made it worth damnation. Gotham was worth saving because of what Leena saw.

“Um — well — uh — I…I don’t really know what to say. I wish I could tell Mr. Wayne thank you in person.”

Alfred seemed to get an idea. “How about you deliver the painting in person to Wayne Manor? Tomorrow perhaps? You could thank him in person and he would get to meet the artist behind the painting that has captivated him for so long. That is, if you are free, of course.”

“Well, if he wanted to do that he could have come himself today.” Leena couldn’t stop the words before they came out of her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she stared at Alfred. God, she really needed to learn how to control her mouth. She could feel her neck heating up and her face paling all at the same time. Her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t look at him he would just go away or she would just sink into the floor. Either option would spare her from the agonizing embarrassment ripping through her right now.

“I’m so — “

Alfred chuckled. He actually started laughing. A polite and somehow very British thing that had Leena’s eyes flying open.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Duckett,” he chuckled out, “But Master Wayne has turned into a bit of a recluse as of late. And I really do think he would appreciate meeting you.”

Leena bit down hard on her lip. If it meant making the $500 the painting was priced at, she was willing to do anything honestly. Even it meant borrowing Jamie’s car and meeting the actual Bruce fricking Wayne himself. That was enough money to pay her half of the rent for the month and she only had to do one thing. Not work her ass off at two different jobs. Her need for the money more than outweighed her apprehensions about meeting a billionaire and talking to him about her art and her thoughts on Gotham.

“Alright. Tomorrow at three o’clock. Is that an okay time?”

“Oh, yes. Just in time for tea.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Please could you stop the noise? I’m trying to get some rest,” Leena sang as she cleaned her paint brushes, “From all the unborn chicken voices in my head!”

She moved back to the canvas she had set up by the windows overlooking the city. Who knew getting a meeting with one of Gotham’s most influential men would give her inspiration for a new painting? The reference photo of Bruce Wayne was tacked into the corner of the canvas. She had gotten the idea on the train ride and subsequent bus ride back to her apartment when her shift at the gallery was over. Something about Bruce Wayne being a recluse and seeing the good in Gotham just gave her a spark of inspiration. A spark of inspiration to lesson her fears about meeting the man by painting him as a vigilante sasquatch.

It was at least making her feel better about the whole thing. Jamie had walked in from her own work shift with many questions about it. But Leena had only held up a finger for patience and put her headphones back in. Jamie knew what that meant. Her roommate had had a weird day and needed to vent through her art.

Leena continued to paint for some time. Lost in the music and the colors and shapes that flowed from her paintbrush. Leena’s mother had given her paints and paper when she was very little as a distracting craft while she tried to clean around the house. But her mother could not have known that that would have sparked a lifelong love for art and painting. A dedication to get better and better and find her own style. Winning contests, medals, and even studying art in college. Leena felt the most at home when she was painting. Felt the most herself when she had a brush in her hand and a vision in her head that just needed to be let out.

This was one of those ideas she just knew would consume her every waking, and possibly sleeping, thought until she got it out and onto the canvas. Vigilante sasquatch Bruce Wayne was going to camp out in her cerebral cortex until she had brought him to life. Trekking through the woods, covered in body hair, wearing a stupid bright red face mask. If he thought the city was so worth saving, then why didn’t he give money to the police department so they had the tools to catch the criminals loose on Gotham’s streets? Why didn’t he donate money to improve Gotham’s infrastructure, education, hospitals, mental health services, or literally anything else besides funneling money into his own company?

If she were to see him right now, she would have a piece of her mind to give him that was —

Her phone started vibrating in the pocket of her apron. Leena groaned. She had gotten into such a good groove, too. She pulled out her iPod first and paused her music. Then she flipped open her phone and held it up to her ear. She didn’t even bother to see who was calling. Her mother usually called around that time of day anyway.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” she asked as she pinched the phone between her cheek and shoulder.

“Uh — “ A distinctly male voice came through. “Sorry, this is John Blake. Were you expecting your mom to call you? Cause I can call back later.”

Oh, God. After realizing that, in her euphoria, she had forgotten to get his number, she had been waiting to hear from him for nearly two days.  

“Oh, shit,” she said, quickly wiping her paint stained hands off on her apron, “Um, no — sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t — with my mom. I can talk now. Officer Blake — John. Officer Blake?”

At the mention of that name, Jamie peeked her head out from the gap in the curtains surrounding her bed with a look of pure interest on her face. Mouth open and her eyebrows raised as she looked across the room. Leena shooed her away with a wave of her hand and an uncontrollable smile.

“You can just call me John,” he laughed, “You getting around okay without the bike?”

“Uh, yeah. Taking the train and the bus — definitely throwing my budget out of whack but — that doesn’t matter…At all.” Leena glanced over at Jamie, still listening in, only to see her roommate roll her eyes.

When did she get so terrible at talking to men?

“Well, I have some good news for you.” Leena could feel her heart jump into her mouth, making her physically stand on tip toe and stare out the window as he continued to speak. “I found it. So — uh, where do you wanna go for our date?”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, the smile on her face nearly hurting her cheeks as she tilted her head towards the ceiling. Was this really happening? After Jacob, she didn’t know if she would ever find anyone else. If she would be willing to put herself out there like that again. But with John, something felt different. He was safe, kind, and somehow she just knew that he would never hurt her like Jacob did. She twirled around once and she could hear Jamie whispering, asking what was going on. Leena ignored her roommate.

“How about Superdawg?”

Superdawg? Jamie mouthed with an unbelieving face.

“That hotdog place over by Robinson Park?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She heard him chuckle. “Sorry. I just suppose I expected you to pick something a bit more…I don’t know…”

“I’m not a fancy kind of girl, trust me.” Leena laughed. “We could eat and then maybe take a walk around the park or something? If that sounds good to you — I don’t — “

“No, that — that sounds great, actually.  Honestly, kinda glad you didn’t pick something fancy.”

“Okay, cool.” Leena looked over at Jamie with raised brows and a wide smile. “Uh, what time?”

“Saturday — tomorrow at six? I can pick you up?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then, Leena.” She loved the sound of him saying her name. “Bye.”

“Bye.” She flipped her phone closed and turned to face Jamie with fists triumphant in the air. “I have a date! And I’m getting my bike back!”

[crowleyellestair]

Silence For Happiness - Geralt

AN/// Sorry for the wait, work and life has been eating away at me. This week should be a large fic dump though, so expect content!!! Thank you for that fact, as I wasn’t aware. This actually make my heart flutter reading that, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart : ) I hope you like it. I tried to make it more playful at the end

For the wonderful @theichabbieclub​

Making baby sounds as an adult woman was weird. It had to be believable, to an extent, and she had to make it seem like it was coming from the bundle in her arms. Truthfully, there was a child size log with a bomb resting in her elbow, swaddled like a child, though their target wouldn’t know the difference. Y/n’s eyes darted from tree to tree while trying to look inconspicuous, shushing the log while bouncing it somewhat. She could hear the snapping of twigs and rustling bushes, though her head stayed forward. There would be no back up until the thing was in the open, though she had yet to receive the signal that Jaskier and Geralt had made it. Y/n scolded herself, reminding herself that she was a warrior, and she traveled with the White Wolf. She could handle anything by herself, and since there was no real child to take care of, she would be fine. There was a plop behind her, alerting her to the thing stalking close. It was go time.

Y/n lit a match against her leather belt, lighting the fuse. Keeping the bundle wrapped, she quickly kneeled, placing it on the ground. She swiftly started to walk away, only looking back one the thing stopped walking after a few paces, its claws picking up the blanket. Y/n sprinted a few more steps away as the bomb went off, flinging her cape up to shield herself from any stray silver shrapnel. The twisted entity in front of her shrieked, from both pain and the realization that the child was fake. When there was no witcher jumping into the small valley, she knew she was on her own. Y/n quickly charged the beast, silver saber drawn. The creature’s long nails swung, but wasn’t fast enough for Y/n to miss a parry. The warrior was reduced to only defensive measures as the beast was relentless. Soon enough, when Y/n had landed enough blows, the creature made a death throw, going all in. It charged the warrior, grabbing her by the vest, talon like hands digging into her shoulders. Her back hit a tree, and the creature pulled back, bringing her along. Again and again the beast slammed the woman into the tree, starts filling her vision, air fleeing from her body. With every strike against the bough, she could feel her spin rattle, and pain shoot through her ribs. After a handful of strikes, she finally noticed the large piece of shrapnel sticking from the deformed woman’s collar bone, and her hand shot out to push it in. The creature dropped her, and she rolled to her sword, swinging at the thing’s legs. She swiftly cut her down, taking of the thing’s head once and for all. Cuts throughout her vest and shoulders were the only visible injuries, though the internal damage was immense.

Jaskier burst through the bushes, lute raised, but his crazed eyes found her sitting, trying to catch her breath next to the headless creature. He dropped it, Geralt bursting through the bushes next, holding a similar swaddle. Her rows raised, trying to take her mind off the pain, silently questioning the bundle in her lover’s arms and the brown, red spread over her best friend’s figure.

“Animals. Dead animals everywhere. I took this part of the contract thinking I’d come out clean for once-.” Geralt’s scoff cut him off, though his tone was soft, and she recognized it as the tone he uses with her wrapped in one another’s arms.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Jaskier swaggered over to the beast’s body, poking it with his foot before holding out a hand to her. She declined, but motioned to the water skin on his hip, trying to take the attention off of how quickly she denied his help. If she was going to get up, it would be on her own time. She could barley breath as ribs were definitely broken, but she would take inventory in a moment. Though, all thoughts of that ended once the bard’s thumb jabbed backwards in the air towards the slowly moving Geralt.

“We found the kid alive and well. A happy ending for all. Do you think we will be named the kid’s Godly parents?”  Y/n’s eyes never left the witcher, her heart speeding up once more, and drowning out Jaskier’s voice. Wide amber eyes were entranced, staring in wonderment down to the bundle in his arms. His entire upper body was stiff, and he was walking as he would when sneaking up to a monster with heightened hearing. A small hand poked out, trying to grab at the lose white hair that swung invitingly over the child’s face. His brows furrowed upwards, looking almost frightened at the outstretched hand. The pain she felt ebbed away at the sight, nothing existing except the love of her life holding the child.

Much ran through her mind in that moment, many things consisting of the future she wished to spend with the witcher. She knew a kid wasn’t in the cards, but somehow, she would try to convince him to collect his child surprise. There didn’t need to be a cottage, stable job, thriving garden or lazy Saturdays to make Y/n happy. She simply needed Geralt in her future to make her future complete, and his happiness was hers. The glow of reigned excitement was familiar to her, often seeing it in her witcher’s eyes when he looked upon her in public. Y/n tried to be as much as she could for the man, though she was aware she couldn’t be or bring everything. But she would try her damndest.

She was taken out of the frequently repeated vows to bring the witcher light and contentment by the brunette plopping down next to her, and bumping his shoulder into hers. Pain flooded the forefront of her mind, and a gasp came tumbling from her lips. Worry painted Jaskier, and Geralt made for her, but stopped when he heard the child in his arms gurgle. Worried eyes flew over her form, and she steeled her looks to present a smile.

“Claws in the shoulder ‘s all.” He gave an unconvinced nod, but looked back down at the child. She slowly got to her feet, giving the same smile to the bard and began down the path where they had decided to leave Roach. Jaskier continued to hover, making the baby giggle, and Geralt was truly perplexed. Y/n wasn’t going to do anything to ruin the time the witcher had with the small child in his arms, so continued to keep her mouth shut about her ribs and back. Once the trio had gotten to the mare, Geralt had a bashful smile gracing his features. Y/n couldn’t help but truly smile in return, until it turned sour at the witcher’s offer.

“Get on Roach.” Usually Geralt would offer her the horse when she was far worse for wear than he, though she didn’t think it was the best idea. Offering it to Jaskier instead would seem to suspicious, let alone the fact that she had never declined the offer before. The only smooth way to keep her off of the horse would be to ask to carry the baby, though she would never do that when he looked so enchanted. Giving a curt nod, she pulled herself onto the mare, her forehead resting on her neck for a moment to regain her strength. Roach gave a worried snort in response to her tense rider, but luckily, neither of the boys noticed. The trio had made their way back into town, Jaskier singing of the spooky lair filled with animal corpses, Y/n keeping in sobs with every step Roach took, and Geralt wishing every happiness to the babe in his arms.

Hearing the bard’s voice, the mother they had met earlier flew out of the house, almost tripping over herself to get to them. She almost bulldozed the White Wolf, her arms wrapping around the baby. Geralt had a hint of sadness in his eyes, though a ghost of a smile was present seeing the baby smile, grabbing onto his mother’s thumb and shoving it into his mouth. The husband rushed out due to hearing his wife cry. A smile broke across his face as he jogged to them, tears streaking his own face. Mariene, the wife, smiled. Her hand reached up to the witcher, cupping his pale cheek. Y/n smile once more, Jaskier playing triumphant background music as the rest of the village left their tasks to surround them. The woman slowly slid down the horse, watching from beside the bard and mare how praise finally rained onto the wolf. Her hand went to hold her ribs, pushing.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Mariene cried. The thanks fell from her lips like a prayer, the witcher shocked. He shook his head and pointed to Y/n, Mariene pointing praise to the warrior as well. The husband, Bernerd, shook Geralt’s hand as Mariene hugged the lights out of Y/n, quite literally. She tried to say something, but the stars flooded her vision. Luckily, Mariene moved to Jaskier, but the bard’s worried gaze flew to Geralt as he called to him. The witcher quickly caught the fainting woman, all joy taken by fear. He was quick to her side, his amber eyes pleading with the bard silently to keep the village attention. They didn’t need a scene, the town loosing too many people to the creature already. He swooped Y/n into a bridal hold, but she started to moan in pain by the hold on her ribs and spine. She tried to arch away, but she couldn’t breath either, not being able to walk.

The woman continued to blink in and out of consciousness, the witcher’s worried voice keeping her earthed. His own pained expression silenced her, her lips sealing so all noises were casted into pained grunts.

“Stay with me, Y/n. Only a few more steps.” Despite her trying to do many things, among them apologizing for ruining his rare moment of joy, she couldn’t stay awake.

//

Jaskier’s voice flew throughout the inn, the melody he sung slipping through the floorboards into their room. Practically the entire village was there, despite everything. The couple had paid in full for the return of their child, the Alderman paying for the trophy of the creature, the innkeeper clearing their tab and the village’s heart once they heard of the whole tale. Y/n had been out cold for a day, and the town wished on every star for her health after finding that she was the one who fought the thing. The couple had brought the child around earlier in the morning for Geralt to see, wanting to see if Y/n had awoken yet. The witcher sat beside her since the healer left, never moving from his chair. His pale hands gently rubbed ointment into Y/n’s stomach as she awoke that night.

Seeing her eyes open to meet his made his mind finally relax. The entire day was spent scolding himself for not seeing the signs. He knew everything about Y/n, trying his hardest to make her happy in anyway he could. The White Wolf never really took to conversations, so he expressed himself by listening, observing and doing. He trusted Y/n to take care of herself, but that didn’t mean that slip ups never happened. Maybe if he noticed sooner. If he had stuck to their routine, checking over her like every other contract, he could have noticed, and they wouldn’t be in this situation. Jaskier had pulled up a chair, sitting and watching next to him the night prior. The bard had also refused to leave or sleep, only getting a wink of rest when he passed out from exhaustion. That too Geralt burdened. The bard took to mending Y/n’s main vest, the claws had punctured holes into it. He had also found water and a sponge for Geralt to wash her shoulders. Jaskier also tried to convince Geralt that it wasn’t just his fault, the bard not noticing or asking either, but the witcher refused.

Geralt would do anything for Y/n, and he put things like checkups in order to keep her healthy. He couldn’t give her things most people want, and nowhere close to what she deserved. But he tried, and this didn’t help show it. He felt as though he failed her, and failed himself. Y/n was his world, and he couldn’t take care of it. If he couldn’t take care of it, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He watched as she slowly blinked, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes flew down to her chest, finding her abdomen and shoulders dusted with ink black, blues and yellows with bruises. She sighed, barely trying to sit up before pain shot through her spine and she settled back down.

“I could have said something.”

“I should have noticed.” She sighed again, her hand landing and stilling one of his that continued its butterfly touches as it rubs in the ointment.

“I would have remained silent again.” His face steeled, leaning in closer as his brows furrowed.

“Why? You were harmed, and I could have helped.” She smiled, eyes closing.

“You looked so happy with that baby. I… I know we can’t have a lot, but you deserve the world. A little joy with the expense of some bruising is worth it.” His hand flipped, snatching hers within his, squeezing.

“You are my world. I should be giving you that joy.” She grunted in annoyance, though her eyes were bright as she opened them again.

“You being happy makes me happy.” He grumbled, clearly defused, but something still bugged him as he went back to rubbing.

“Still, I’m sorry for not asking earlier-.”

“Geralt.”

[too-many-baes]

Cito Books

Pairing: Fem!reader x Peter Maximoff

Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: AU where a bookstore owner is enchanted with a man who regularly frequents her shop. She guesses he’s taken as he brings in two kids constantly but litle does she know that he is pining after her just the same - requested by the ever lovely @steve-chandler​

A/N: Wow, what’s this? Another long overdue request? It couldn’t be, but it is!! I’m so sorry about that wait, but if you haven’t already completely lost interest in wee Peter here you go. (p.s your other one is still in the works) xx

I hope you all enjoy!

A bell’s chime fills the small room you occupy, your favourite sound of the day. Shortly after the initial sound, two sets of small but loud footsteps thump out as they race across the dark ochre floorboards of your shop.

“Girls, calm down!” Your smile only grows as the voice you had been anticipating follows the girls. You giggle lightly to yourself, propping your upper body up on your elbows to peer out your office window. Standing directly in your line of sight was your favourite customer, despite the fact he was one of your more recent regulars. A smile stretches across his face as he watches them run down into the children’s section, reaching up and mussing the shaggy silver mop that sat atop his head. You let your eyes linger on the movement, watching the sun filtering in from the long front window and glistening in his locks.

You realise that you’d let your eyes rest on him too long, as he turned around at the feeling of being watched to see your eyes on him. The longing of your stare was obviously lost on him as his smile remained and he lifted his hand in a cheery wave. Your cheeks instantly flush as you extend a much smaller wave than his own before putting your attention back down to your inventory logs where it should have been all along. Best not to dream about things you can’t have.

You loved your wee office. It was situated directly behind your counter by the front door, which meant with its window, it allowed you to simultaneously work and keep an eye on your shop, Cito Books, all at once. The room had a door, but you opted to never shut it, instead a wedge kept it permanently open to allow you to hear customers calling out to you. Today was no exception.

“Y/N!” The younger of the twos voice rang out from the back corner clear as day. You promptly leave your chair and make the short journey to where all three patrons now sat on the matt in the children’s nook.

“Yes Lorna?” You ask, your eyes occasionally flicking towards the silver haired man who had an easy smile resting on his lips. You can’t help but let your eyes briefly look at his hand splayed out on the rug. No wedding ring still.

“Do you have the next Rainbow Magic book?”

“Well what one are you up to?”

“Izzy the Indigo Fairy!” She exclaims excitedly, her sister still intently staring at the shelves in search of the book her sister so desperately wanted.

“I think we just got it in actually, give me one second,” you say, even though you know full well it had come in with your most recent stock. You fetch it from one of several boxes in your office before nonchalantly presenting it to the ecstatic girl.

“Wait, I thought you didn’t have this one last week?” The still seated man asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Well Mr- ” You go to answer him before you are interrupted as he stands and speaks.

“How many times do I gotta tell you? It’s Peter.” The smile he gives you as he absent-mindedly swipes his hands on his jeans makes your cheeks flush again. You hated that you loved the impact he had on you. You wordlessly asked Lorna with a gesture if you could take the book back. She passes it to you and you lead the three to the counter to process the purchase, replying as you do.

“Well Peter we actually just happened to get it in so…” You let your feeble reply fade off as you ring up the book and place it into one of your paper bags, refusing to meet the eyes you knew were on you.

“If I didn’t know any better Y/N I’d say that you got it in especially for us.” Just as you suspected, when you dared to briefly meet his gaze he had a cheeky smirk on his lips and mischief in his eyes. You involuntarily gulp before passing the book to eager outstretched hands.

“That’ll be $14.99.” You fail to find anything to say that would dispel his absolutely correct assumption. He shakes his head slightly at his verbal victory before pulling out his wallet and handing you a twenty dollar note, telling you to keep the change. You immediately protest this, as he supports your little store plenty without needing to not take his change but he was having none of it, firmly placing his wallet back in his pocket where his hand remained. You give him what was supposed to be a disapproving look as you put the money into the till with a ‘thank you’, him merely giving a jovial shrug of the shoulders in return.

“Isn’t that the last one in the series?” The other little girl, Wanda, finally pipes up. You reply with a smile.

“It is actually, but don’t worry there’s a whole other series that comes right after.”

“Do you have it?” Lorna asks, quick as a snap.

“No not just at the moment.” You reply with a slight frown. Peter places a hand on both the girls’ shoulders, gently starting to lead them out the door.

“Don’t worry though, if we’re really lucky it might just be here next week,” he says with that signature cheeky smirk and a wink. Even though he had assumed correctly, you weren’t about to admit he’d been right. “We’ll see you next week Y/N,” he yells over his shoulder, turning his head once they are out of the shop to wave at you through the window as they leave your sight down the street.

“See you next week,” you say with a smile to an empty shop. You rest your head on your hands as you stare at the space that they once occupied. The family had probably only been coming in for a month, yet you could confidently say they were your favourite customers. There’s just something about him that never failed to put a smile on your face, even from the first moment you saw him.

You shrug yourself out of your thoughts, settling on sorting your new stock. Even if he wasn’t married, which he still could be for all you knew, he had two kids. There was more than likely someone in the picture, so you needed to rid your thoughts of the cheeky silver haired man. Even if you didn’t want to.

*

Over the next few months you saw Peter more often alone than with the girls. He had taken to coming in sometimes as often as twice a week, just browsing rack after rack that hadn’t changed since the last time he was in. Some days you’d engage in idle conversation, some days you were too busy with customers to chat with him, but that would not deter him in visiting. You thought occasionally that he was looking your way, yet every time you turned to face him his eyes were firmly on the shelves. Just wishful thinking you supposed.

You had felt a lot of strange gusts of wind in the shop recently, and you had no idea where they were coming from. Sometimes pages in books would rustle when nothing had happened, and gusts of air had taken to flying past your face, catching loose strands of hair in its motion. You had investigated your store thoroughly and came up flat, no holes or crevices that so much draft could be coming through. The events puzzled you when it happened, but for the most part you left it be. If only you knew the source.

You see, Peter was taken with you. From the first moment he had stepped foot in your store and was greeted by your smiling mouth that bid him welcome he’d been under your spell. He usually took the girls to a different book store but as soon as he had found out you owned the quaint bookshop, he had yet to take his business anywhere else.

He wanted to see more of you, he couldn’t help himself. He found himself through that front door more often than he’d like to admit. He’d walked the shelves so many times that you’d probably never have to do another stock take again, he could just recite your inventory to you.

He couldn’t help but watch you. How you gleamed when recommending books to customers. How you chirped up when your doorbell chimed. How you tidied your shelves and store daily, making sure your shop was always pristine. The pride you took in your work was evident, and Peter loved your passion, sometimes whizzing by in super speed just to see the glint in your eyes for a fraction longer. He was lost in thought when a voice rang out.

“Something I can help with?” He jolted slightly, dropping a book out of his hands in shock. Somehow he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed you approaching, and didn’t manage to catch the book before it hit the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a joking lilt to your voice as you retrieve the fallen book and place it back on the shelf, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He lets out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck out of embarrassment.  

“You must be too quick for me.” You laugh at his joke, despite not knowing it was much more for himself than for you.

“So, anything in particular you were looking at Mr- ,” the quirk in his eyebrow stops your sentence dead in its tracks, “Peter.” A smile springs to his lips at his name leaving your lips.

“No you’re okay,” his eyes involuntarily flick between your rose tinted lips and your eyes before looking back at the shelf, the motion making a shiver dance down your spine, “I was just browsing.” You nod at him, not wanting to call out the fact that he’s browsed everything there is to be browsed, because frankly you didn’t mind his constant company.

“Well, I’ll be just over in the kids’ corner,” you motion to the brightly coloured area, “let me know if there’s any other books your daughters might want.” You smile at him intending to make your way there but the puzzled look on his face stops you in your tracks, your expression mirroring his. “Did I say something?” You question quietly.

“Daughters?” He says incredulously, you simply nod your head. “Y/N, Lorna and Wanda are my half-sisters, I just look after them when I can.” Your eyebrows furrow before they raise in surprise.

“Oh!” You exclaim, nodding your head at the new revelation and what that might mean. “Well, that’s great!” Shaking your head you go to the kids’ corner to sit on the matt and tidy the shelf, cheeks flushed with your last statement.

“Yea it’s pretty great,” Peter says following you, sitting in the much too small pink chair directly behind you, “they’re great girls.” You hum in acknowledgement, smiling over your shoulder to show your agreeance. You were dying to ask him if he was single but didn’t know how to approach the topic.

“So you’ve got no kids of your own then?” You ask instead, trying to make yourself seem busy enough to offset how much you wanted to know his answer.

“No.” He replies simply, making you think he was not going to divulge any more. “No partner to have kids with either, so none for a while.” You can’t help the giddy sensation that fills your chest. He was single. You felt like you had to act upon this new found information but once again the silvery man had you at a loss.

“So you’re single?” You pluck up the courage to ask, standing from your spot and walking to your counter, avoiding eye contact as you do so. Peter follows and leans on the opposite side of the counter to you, keeping his eyes on your face.

“Free as a bird.” You grin at him, finally having the courage to meet his expectant gaze. Something in them said that you weren’t alone in your feelings, that maybe you made him feel the same as he did you. You can do this. Just ask him.

“How free are you at 5:30 tonight?” Your sentence that you hoped would come out smooth and collected came out rushed and jumbled, making him let a soft breath out.

“Free enough that I could get dinner. If I had someone to go with.”

“I could do dinner.” You can feel the giddiness radiating on your face leaching into your voice, completely nullifying the indefinite you spoke in.

“Alright, 5:30 then. It’s a date.” With that, he reaches over and gives your nearest hand a gentle squeeze before parting with a wink and the dinging of the bell.

You let out a contented sigh, finally allowing yourself to not feel guilty about your pining, knowing clearly he was feeling the same. No more staring and imagining, you had a date with him. Tonight.

And you couldn’t wait for 5:30 to tick around.

[bearbaitmegs]

I know I don’t have a lot of active followers here, but I’ve been going though some major changes in my life recently (both good and/or disorienting), and one of the things I am aiming to achieve with that is to reestablish myself online in some small way. Just casually, socially. I used to enjoy interacting and making friends online and some of my oldest friends remain people that I met through the web.

I hope these sporadic personal posts don’t bother you.

I think part of these changes that I’m aspiring to involve getting into the habit of simply posting more. I honestly am unsure of where to migrate to online outside of Tumblr. I’ve ditched Facebook except to check on businesses I’m planning on visiting and occasionally to sell something. I’m only on Snapchat and Instagram to follow one person. I haven’t logged into DeviantArt in almost 10 years. Yahoo 360 is long gone. Adjusting to Discord has been a slow and lurking process because it reminds me of some particularly haunting memories and it lacks most topics I’d be interested in (publicly, at least). Twitter never fit right. I refuse to engage with people on Ao3 or ffn because I’m very hesitant to engage with people who has the same media interests as I do because I’ve had far too much fandom-related trauma and drama and I still have trouble forming friend groups despite 9 years of distance

My brother has an undiagnosed and untreated personality disorder and it has often felt like his drama has been my defining feature for almost 2 years. I have gotten tired of carrying his monkey into all of my relationships and conversations, especially when trying to make new ones. I wish I had custody of my nephew because he and his ex are both sucky and neglectful, but all I can do is wait until the kid turns 18 or asks about emancipation. My brother deliberately seeks out relationships that renew and reinforce his past traumas in order to legitimize his unwillingness to move on and I hold him at least partially responsible for our parents’ decline in emotional, financial, and physical health. I recently opted to go for No Contact/Very Low Contact with him and it’s been freeing and refreshing and I feel immensely happier and more motivated. 

I frequently feel like I don’t have anything worth saying or cannot really think of anything to say. It’s a work in progress. I have always carried a sense of awkwardness and that continues to persist into my 30s, despite the fact that I generally consider myself a confident person. I’ve been in a romantic relationship for 5 years and it fulfills 95% of my social and emotional needs, which... I think has led to leaving many of my other relationships to pasture.

Instinctively, I want to reach out and rectify all of these relationships all at once. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, and in trying to pace myself I find I often procrastinate. I set myself a goal of reaching out to a friend per week, but it’s more like one every two weeks. I know some of us will pick up where we left off like we’ve never been apart. Some of my friends will have moved on and our re-connection will separate again because we’re just different now and I’m honestly not bothered by that. It’s normal. I just hesitate because I don’t know where to start even though the script should be so easy. I feel annoying and needy. “Hey, I hope you’re well! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was thinking of you today every day.” Ugh.

I’m pretty financially, mentally, and physically stable and have been for a while. I like my job and I’m paid very well! I like me! I like my hobbies and my apartment! I’ve worked very hard to get here and there’s really only a few key things I want to improve upon.

But somehow I feel like I’m rediscovering myself again. Like I was shut out of something and didn’t even realize there was a door. I’ve missed something. I’m naturally comfortable alone and tend to be willfully obtuse about things that don’t involve me only to get startled by them later.

I moved back to my hometown 2 years ago in order to introduce my partner to my family and be around for some major family events. It was supposed to be a 4 month summer visit. The family drama just never stopped and I’m just...still here. I can’t wait to leave, but I also don’t resent my hometown as much as I did when I left. It’s changing immensely, but so am I. I definitely won’t be able to afford to stay.

I had a patio garden over the summer and, while we hardly got our money’s worth out of it, it was pretty and tasty and fulfilling. A few of the plants are overwintering with us.

I still haven’t lived somewhere that allows me a pet, but I keep saving stray cats. 

I have way more fabric than I know what to do with from old clothes and dead ideas, but I finally tuned up my sewing machine and bought a set of sewing machine feet and I have lots of plans and ideas that I just need to sit down and actually execute. Especially embroidery.

I finally spent the damn $70 on an old school drawing tablet and took the time to download some free art programs. A modern tablet is still too much to budget for and a mouse and MS Paint is not enough. I do not know why it took me 10 freaking years when I’ve spent far more money on far less desirable luxuries.

I am hoping to find a decent enough mountain bike at a manageable price to do a long-distance cycling trip next year. If I don’t, I’ll divert to hiking a long-distance trail. I’ve never stopped craving spending weeks and weeks out in the woods with an overstuffed backpack since my first trek in 2016. I’m willing to go out of my way and budget hard to make it a reality on an annual basis.

I’m slowly picking away at my original story, JatGSL, a 10+ year Work In Progress, and I finally have a setting and characters that I feel good about and have a lot of fun imagining. I’m afraid to say much about it. It has dying androids and mushrooms and mythology and domesticated seals and braille and it takes place on a melted Antarctica. But my writing is a muscle long neglected and I don’t know if I’ll ever really get it back.

I sometimes think about moving some of my old fanfics over to Ao3 so they won’t be lost, but my old penname carries weight I’d rather not pick up and I don’t want to add anything else to JKR’s legacy and some of the things I wrote when I was 17-22 have aged pretty poorly. So, I hesitate and debate and do nothing.

I keep having simple, but neat ideas that nobody out in the market seems to be doing/making, but I lack the connections and knowledge to do anything with them.

My romantic partner is an amazingly perfect fit. Absolutely well-fitting, in-sync, mind-blowingly complementary in every way. I increasingly worry it might not last because my partner has 1 (ONE) key issue that I just can’t live with long term and if they can’t figure out a healthy way to cope I don’t know if I can go another 5 years dealing with it. I grew up with it. I won’t live with it.

It often feels odd to talk about myself (even here. even now) because I feel so much happier than I seem to be describing myself.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! I hope it's not much trouble, but I'd really love a little fic of reader coming back to camp devastated because she got her heart broken and Arthur tries to comfort her. Maybe if he's secretly in love wih her would work too. I'd appreciate it, thank you! :)

Anon, I’m so sorry I took so long!!!! But this one turned out so extra fluffy and sweet, it’s almost offensive. Honestly if you think it’s too mushy, I get it. But the truth is I live for this kind of fluff. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You walk across camp, humming lightly with a small bundle of flowers in your hands. You can’t wait to see your boyfriend, and you hope he’ll appreciate the colorful petals you’re bringing him. Although you don’t notice, there’s a pair of eyes on you. They belong to Arthur of course, he watches you far more than you could know. Not in a predatory way, of course, but he has quietly harbored feelings for you for years. 

He’d never tell you this though. Even if you weren’t involved with another man, he would never bring the shame of his affections to you. He’s too much of a bad man for someone like you, or at least that’s what he tells himself. You’re better off without him, and your boyfriend is likely a good man. 

You mount up after tucking your flowers away and then ride off towards Valentine. The town is still bustling with rumors about the reported train heist in Scarlett Meadows, though you’ve been very careful to not tell anyone that your gang was involved, not even your boyfriend.

When you pull up to his house, you pull out the flowers that you’ve been careful not to crush. Beaming, you walk up to his door and knock. He opens it and gives you a smile. You’re enough of a fool to not notice how fake it is. 

“I brought these for you!” you say, holding up the flowers. “I know they’re your favorite color.” 

“Oh,” he says lightly and takes the flowers. You notice his smile flicker, his eyes almost look disappointed. “Thanks, y/n.” 

He turns and pulls out a vase and puts them in. For the remainder of the day, you stay with your boyfriend. He has you bake a few things, adding just enough physical affection for you to not notice how patronizing he is. 

You do notice a few of his remarks sting. Your boyfriend thinks you have an honest job (he knows nothing of you being an outlaw). He doesn’t approve and he does mention quite often that when the two of you are married, you won’t have to work. Of course, you’ve never really noticed that he implies more that you won’t be allowed to work when you’re married. The idea of being married catches you too off guard to notice his implications. The only thing that has prohibited you from getting married to him is your loyalty to the gang you’ve run with for most of your life. 

The other thing that has stopped you from marrying your boyfriend is your thoughts on Arthur Morgan. He’s helped you so much throughout your life, he’s the person you can always depend on. You’ve quietly held a flame for him too, but you watched him too often chasing after Mary to feel like you ever had a chance with him. He just wasn’t able to notice you the way you wished he would, which is why you’re involved with your boyfriend now. 

Sure, he’s not as attractive, burly or kind as Arthur is, but he’s steady at least and you do love him. There have been times when you’ve wondered if everything between you is just an illusion based on how your boyfriend will talk to you or treat you, but you convince yourself it’s just your perceptions due to low self confidence. 

That night, you leave to return to your gang, despite your boyfriend pleading with you to stay. He’d tried convincing you and he’d made it very clear he’d intended to have sex with you all night. However, you just really didn’t want to. Sure, you’ve slept with him a few times, but the truth was he just didn’t do it for you in the bedroom and sex was a chore. You lied and said you had to get up early for your job. 

“All the more reason to consider marrying me, little woman,” your boyfriend said. “When we’re married, you won’t have to get up early for a job.”

When you returned to camp, you sat near the fire, feeling down about yourself. Lately, you’ve started to feel like shit about yourself when you’ve been with your boyfriend, but you’re sure he loves you. Why would he constantly talk about marriage if he didn’t?

“You okay?” a familiar voice comes up from behind you. You turn and smile at Arthur.

“Yes, just fine,” you say, hiding your feelings. 

Arthur sees right through you, of course. He’s seen your boyfriend with you a couple of times, and every single time he’s had to leave your presence quickly to prevent himself from punching your boyfriend in the jaw. That bastard treats you so poorly and he tries to put a lid on everything that makes you unique, the things that makes Arthur love you. 

You’re aware Arthur doesn’t like your boyfriend just on the fact that he avoids you when you’re with your boyfriend, although you don’t really know why. There’s been a couple of times when Arthur has asked you about why you’re with him and you’ve tried coming up with reasons, but even to you they sound feeble. 

Arthur sighs as he sits next to you. “That boah still treatin’ you right?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. 

“Of course, Arthur. He’s okay.” 

He suppresses another sigh, knowing you’re lying. But the two of you have had a couple of mild arguments about your boyfriend and you essentially told him to leave you alone about it. But he can tell you’re feeling down about yourself, so he settles for simply trying to be with you as a comfort. As much as he wishes to put his arms around you and tell you how amazing he thinks you are, he doesn’t. You made it very clear you’re not interested in him. 

The next day, as you’re finishing your midday chores, Dutch and John gallop into Horseshoe Overlook with Strauss riding behind John. Dutch yells at everyone to start packing things up and that the camp is moving. 

After a few minutes of scrambling, you hear that the gang is moving to the next state, quite a bit further south. This means you’re going to have a harder time seeing your boyfriend. You tell yourself that when the gang has moved and chosen a new spot, you’ll make a trip to go and see him and try to explain the situation that you won’t be able to see him nearly everyday. 

After a couple of days when the gang has settled into Clemen’s Point, you leave early in the morning to go and see him. You just hope he’ll be understanding and you’re going to try and leave out the fact that you’re an outlaw if you can help it. 

You buy a bottle of your boyfriend’s favorite wine. As you walk up to his porch, you feel a little nervous. Maybe a part of you knows this is a bad idea, but you beat that idea down. He loves you, right? Therefore he’ll accept the things you have to do. 

However, when you begin to tell him just that you won’t be able to visit as much due to moving away, he grows very upset. He starts pushing you for more and more reasons as to why you’re moving and finally you just have to come out with it. 

“It’s because I’m an outlaw, okay?!” you holler at him. “And my gang got found out by some Pinkertons, so we have to leave! I promise though, I’ll come and visit when I can.” 

“You’re an outlaw? Wait, your gang is the one that shot up Valentine!” Your boyfriend flies off the hook then. No matter what you say or do, he screams at how horrible you are. He accuses you of being a prostitute, claiming that as an outlaw you have no morality or a sense of honest work. He calls you stupid and weak. 

After he rants at you for a long period, you’re sitting at his kitchen table, sobbing. “Please,” you beg him. “You… you kept talking about how we should be married.” 

“You think I wanna marry you now? I ain’t marrying some trashy outlaw! Now get the fuck out of my house!” He grabs the bottle of wine you bought and then smashes it onto the floor, stating he won’t take anything you brought. You literally run from the house, afraid he might grab his gun and threaten to shoot you. 

You ride back towards camp, unable to stop the tears. You just wish you could disappear. How could you have been so stupid? It’s obvious now how controlling and manipulative your ex was, constantly bringing up the marriage thing. 

When you return to camp, you stay on the outskirts, feeling too crushed and heartbroken to mingle with the others. They all know you were involved with someone and most of them really didn’t like him as he was in Valentine frequently. You don’t want to hear them talk about how much they disliked him, or to see their pitying stares. Worse, you know that in their minds they’ll be thinking exactly the same thing you are, that you were a damn fool to be involved with him. 

As you sit on the log close to the lake, you hear someone approaching from behind. You really wish they’d go away. But then you hear the last person’s voice you want to hear. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Arthur asks, stopping just behind you. However, you can’t help but look up at him, aware of how messy you must look. 

“I… I’m doin’ okay,” you sniff. 

He sighs and sits next to you. “You don’t look like it. Look like hell. Can ya tell me about it?”

Something about Arthur makes you want to open up. Maybe it’s because you know he’ll always protect you, just like he does with nearly everyone in camp (except Micah), or that he makes it clear he cares about everyone in camp. Or maybe it’s just because you still have a massive crush on him. 

You wipe your cheeks dry and tell Arthur about how your boyfriend dumped you. You end up crying again, but Arthur doesn’t interrupt. He even puts a hand on your knee. Normally you’d question this movement, but it’s comforting. 

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Arthur asks softly. 

You shake your head, sniffing again. “No, but… I know he thought about it.” 

“Mm, I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s bad business. But… once this pain has passed, I think you’ll see there’s a lot better out there waitin’ for ya. ‘Sides, now you won’t have to make it a point to go out there and see him. Sounds like he didn’t appreciate ya properly.”

You look up at Arthur and smile a bit. He returns it, his eyes bright. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning on his arm. You just want his physical touch. He stiffens when you lean against him, and after a minute, he moves. You begin sinking again, knowing you’ve crossed a line. However, Arthur surprises you by draping his arm around you and bringing you closer to him. Your chest begins to burn with affection and pain as you lay your head on his chest. 

Little do you know, but Arthur’s glad for this excuse to hold you. He’s been wanting to do this for ages. It was only out of respect for you that he didn’t, knowing you were in a relationship and believing he wasn’t worthy of your affections. However, as he holds you close now, it feels so right and so good. You fit against him like a puzzle piece and your heat seeps through his shirt to his skin. 

The two of you stay in that position for sometime. By the time you pull away, you’re no longer crying. In fact, the pain of what happened is greatly lessened. You rub your tired eyes a bit and then look up at him, blushing. 

“Sorry, Arthur. Didn’t mean to inconvenience you like that.” 

“You think you was inconveniencing me, miss? I’d call it the opposite.” He gives you that adorable crooked smile you’ve only seen a handful of times but is your favorite. His hand is still on your back. You look down and see yours is still on his chest. You’ve imagined cuddling with him a hundred times, maybe more, but they never came close to how good the real thing felt. 

Throughout the rest of the night, Arthur stays close to you, wanting to be a comfort and provide himself as your rock when you need it. You’re incredibly grateful, he helps fend off nosy questions from the others. You notice he frequently puts a warm hand on your shoulder or your back, but it helps to make you feel more steady. 

By the time it’s late enough to go to sleep, you realize you don’t want to sleep alone. Arthur leans over and whispers in your ear that you’re welcome to sleep in his cot and he’ll sleep on the ground. As much as it pains you to hear where he’ll be sleeping, you accept his offer. However, when the two of you settle down to sleep, you realize you’d love for nothing more than to have him beside you.

“Arthur?” you whisper, leaning up to see him lying on his ox skin rug. 

“Hmm?” he says in his deep tone. 

“Will you come up here with me?” you say before you have the chance to chicken out. 

Arthur sits up. “You sure?” When you nod, he stands up and slides into the cot next to you. Instantly you slide into the crook of his arm and put your head on his chest. His heart beats hard and a little fast in your ear, but his arm winds over your back. Just as you’re beginning to drift off to sleep, you feel his lips brush against your hairline. Is it possible that he feels something affectionate for you too? You like to think he does. After all, why would he be treating you like this if he didn’t?

That thought warms you up and sends you to sleep. Arthur stays awake for a long while, thinking about you. When you’d told him what your boyfriend had done, it filled him with anger. Maybe he’ll go and pay your ex a visit in a day or two when you’re more settled. But not now. He’s too happy to be here with you draped over him, your head tucked under his chin. He’d be happy to stay with you like this for a thousand years.