#I'm really happy with how this one came out too!

[letorip]

aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

===+++===

===+++===

"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

===+++===

You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

===+++===

well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

[multific]

Saved Him

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: When news came to you about Chrissy's death, you wondered just why she was with your boyfriend at the time. You knew he had a crush on her a while back but Eddie swore he was over her because he liked you.

A Satanist?

A cultist?

A murderer?

Your Eddie?

No.

These people were just blinded by rage and fear. 

Jason was also blind.

And fucking dumb.

He claims he saw things. Which you don't deny, but it wasn't Eddie's doing. And you knew that better than anyone.

You have been his friend since middle school, and his girlfriend for the last 2 years. You knew him better than anyone. 

You knew about his struggles, hobbies, friends, and favourite places. You knew everything.

And you also had a feeling about where to find him.

Skull Rock.

You followed the kids there and surely enough, there he was.

"Eddie?" 

"Y/N!" he rushed to you, hugging you. "I didn't do any of that."

"I know." you hugged him tighter. "I know you didn't." you smiled as you pulled back and he kissed you. 

The same kiss he always gave you when you felt bad, to calm you, to encourage you, to show you that he loves you.

But this kiss was also filled with fear.

You heard the others groan as Dustin spoke. 

"We don't have time for this."

You had a lot of catch-up to do. And you couldn't wait for an explanation. 

But now, for now, you were just happy to have your Eddie back.

Later, as everyone was getting ready, you watched Dustin and Eddie bond before he came over to you.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked and you looked into his eyes.

"I understand the nightmares come from Vecna, I understand how miserable it must be to have such nightmares. What I don't get is why was she at your place?"

"Is that really all you can think about when we are heading to death?"

You looked at him with no emotion on your face, but your eyes said every word your mouth refused. 

He let out a sigh and grabbed your hands into his.

"I do not, did not love Chrissy. She wanted to put her mind at ease because of the nightmares. I only wanted to help her."

"But you get it how it looks? Do you know how many times I have Jason tell me that his girlfriend was with my boyfriend when she died? Do you know the whispers and looks I got?"

"Why do you care so much about what people say?"

"Because they are telling me that you cheated on me. That you don't love me and it fucking hurts, Eddie." you tried your best not to raise your voice, the others don't need to hear your argument.

"But I do love you and I would never cheat on you, Darling."

"I know. This is why I feel like I'm being pulled into two pieces. One part of me understands and knows that you love me. The other is extremely jealous and furious."

"No need for you to be jealous, My Love." he lifted and kissed the back of your hand. "I promise, I only love you."

"I love you too Eddie." the sincere look in his eyes helped you calm down the rising storm.

---

Eddie was being attacked when you let out a yell. To save his life, you needed the attention of those flying things.

"HEY YOU DUMB THINGS FOLLOW ME!" you yelled and it got their attention. "Dustin! Help Eddie!" you yelled as you ran away. 

You managed to lock yourself into a car hoping those things would give up.

But as they banged on the windows and doors of the car, you weren't so sure you would survive.

One moment later, it all stopped.

All banging, all screaming, everything just stopped.

It took you a couple of minutes to get out of the car, you looked for Eddie and Dustin and you soon found them in the trailer. You rushed over to Eddie and hugged him.

"You saved me." he said. "Thank you." he tightened his grip as you let out a long sigh of relief.

He was alive.

He was fine.

He was holding you.

"I love you." 

He loved you.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[kingdomaddiction]

I've been thinking in a Cumplane friendship idea.--

You see, everyone seems to believe SQQ and SQH can't stand each other. Quite the opposite, really. When it's only the two of them they don't feel the need to keep up the pretence. It's so easy to relax, to put the mask aside.

They aren't peak lords nor cultivators. They're just two dudes in their mid tweenties trying to survive in this forsaken world.

SY knows he might not be the kindest nor the most loving of friends, (he spent so many years alone in a cold, hospital room, he's not good at socializing) but he does care for Airplane. A lot. He will never say it out loud because it's embarrasing but that stupid author is his best friend.

So, that's why when the news of Qinghua's disappearance finally reach him (two weeks, it took two full weeks before someone decided to tell him--- )they absolutely destroys him.

He seems calm at fisrt. Not truly procesing the news. LBG makes a few comments about something Mobei told him (you fucking knew and didn't tell me, how dare you, husband?! )

Gone, SQH? No, that's dumb. He couldn't be gone. He's a peak lord, he has responsabilities, a bunch of little ones to teach. He even takes care of the north. And most importantly why would he leave Mobei? It makes no sense, not fucking sense.

SQH wouldn't leave like that. He... he wouldn't leave SY behind.

He can feel sob building up in his throat. That... stupid, idiot--HACK AUTHOR!

His crying fit is so strong and sudden that sends LBG and his whole demon staff into a panic.

"Shizun?!" He says looking for visible injuries-

"Don't touch me!" He screams and LBG looks at him with hurt.

"Husband? Have... have this disciple done something wrong?"

SQQ just turns and walks to his chambers ordering LBG not to follow him. His husband is left feeling distressed and cries for very different reasons.

Later that night they talk. SQQ feeling tired and sad finally calls for his husband to comfort him. He explains to him why he is angry at him and LBG apologizes.

"This one thought you hated Shang-shibo and that Shizun wouldn't care about his dissapereance." He says in a small, careful voice. "Mobei jun came to the palace days ago to beg for help in his search... "

"You turned him away... " SY says, sounding very tired.

"Yes. But this husband will make it right, Shizun. I will find your friend for you, promise."

SY sighs and hugs his husband, hiding his face in his chest.

..

Idk 'm all over the place but the idea is that the system is glitching and took SQH and is kind of keeping him hostage? Like, in between worlds. Not the mordern universe, not PIDW.

I imagine LBG having a very hard time accepting his shizun worries and loves others and not just him (??? why??? I'm more than enough you need NO ONE else shizun). He's too possesive and would like very much just to lock his shizun away, but that would break him and he never wants to see him cry like that ever again. Even if that means he has to share his attention.

MBJ is very broken in this one fiding himself lost without SQH. they had just finally stablished their relationship so he's between angry and scared. Also his trust and loyalty to LBG has taken a blown since he refused to help him find his lover. Didn't he help LBG when everyone turned his back on him as he clinged to his dead shizun's body?

While they work together (before they can even figure out where sqh is) LBG slowly realizes he might have fucked up a bit and ??? misses Mobei ??? are they friends???!!

SY tries his fucking best to keep it together. Really, he loves Binghe but that man can be so dense.

They find where SQH is being kept. The place is like a limbo. Cold, and vast where no time passes. In order to get him back LBG, MBJ and SQQ work together to reforge Xin Mo and travel there. There's a cool fighting montage, tears, hugs and everyone is happy at the end

Yeah that's all i got so far. I'll be going back to work now--

[miraculouslyfine]

bombed it

(Doesn't follow the events of anything, established relationship)

The one where Peter Parker and Y/n Stark don't see eye to eye for once.

Word Count: 10,8k

"You can't be serious”   “I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”  

~

Peter and Y/n rarely fought.   

They just got each other. They understood each other on a deeper level; their shared traumatic experiences definitely played a part in this mutual understanding. Their love had been tested and tempered, growing stronger with every challenge they faced together. Throw some ever-growing affection and trust into the mix, and there you have it: a happy, healthy relationship.  

Sure, they had their fair share of squabbles and petty arguments, just like any couple, really. But they both valued honesty and communication. They were open about their feelings in any and every given situation, always making sure they see eye to eye, always trying to find middle ground. After all, that's what relationships are for, right? Compromise.   

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.  

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.  

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.   

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).  

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing. 

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him? 

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence. 

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. 

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out). 

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided. 

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend. 

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything. 

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face. 

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset. 

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-" 

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-" 

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm  

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-" 

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?" 

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!" 

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. 

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..." 

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle. 

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."  

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms. 

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from. 

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is? 

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.” 

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly. 

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I” 

“I never-” 

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. 

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”  

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her. 

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.” 

Peter was fuming. 

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it. 

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.  

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within. 

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure 

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears. 

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return. 

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you” 

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there. 

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!” 

And... silence. Complete and utter silence. 

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced. 

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that. 

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter. 

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing. 

“A liability, huh?” 

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling 

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone. 

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.” 

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense. 

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.” 

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.  

“And I won't forgive myself either”  

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet. 

Peter cleared his throat. 

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer. 

Soon enough the silence became unbearable. 

“Maybe it's best if we just-”  

“I should-” 

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing. 

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak. 

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. 

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”  

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well. 

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?). 

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her. 

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?  

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol. 

He reluctantly nodded. 

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?” 

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving. 

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.  

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh) 

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.  

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him. 

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her. 

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him. 

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense. 

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge. 

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.  

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.  

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep. 

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him. 

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.  

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness. 

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions. 

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away. 

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak. 

This is bad, she thought. 

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole. 

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion. 

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning. 

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room. 

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him. 

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep. 

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. 

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little. 

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part. 

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness. 

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm. 

"Yes, I am." 

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone. 

“Are you very mad at me?” 

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her. 

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you." 

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more. 

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?" 

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness. 

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile. 

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed." 

"I don't like sleeping without you" 

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.  

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?" 

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order. 

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all. 

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process). 

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch. 

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped. 

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly. 

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked. 

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.  

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter. 

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books. 

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all. 

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do. 

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.  

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end? 

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her? 

She cried even harder. 

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern. 

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer. 

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. 

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking. 

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve. 

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.  

“I could hear you from the living room” 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down” 

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.  

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting. 

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape. 

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly. 

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.  

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" 

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt. 

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-" 

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love. 

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever." 

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-" 

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again." 

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears. 

"Peter..." 

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.  

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.  

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done." 

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said- 

"W-what? You can't be serious”  

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose” 

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future. 

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me." 

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks. 

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed." 

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"  

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears. 

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely. 

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us." 

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles. 

“Would you do it?” 

“Would I do what?” 

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it. 

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-" 

"Okay, then.” 

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era. 

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end? 

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-" 

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.  

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?  

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered. 

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-" 

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying. 

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things. 

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong. 

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.  

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.  

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions. 

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti. 

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast. 

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.  

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now. 

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay." 

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.  

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this? 

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay." 

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain. 

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone” 

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.  

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n. 

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.  

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay." 

“But it won't be *our* stuff” 

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him. 

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me." 

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face. 

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake. 

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you." 

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face. 

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"  

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side 

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.  

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" 

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"  

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well. 

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis. 

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal." 

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her. 

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date” 

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it. 

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.  

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk." 

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.  

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound. 

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away. 

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be. 

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?" 

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action. 

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.  

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit. 

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care. 

"And you're still talking" 

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination." 

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are." 

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all. 

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings 

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked. 

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it." 

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words. 

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it. 

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart. 

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness." 

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head" 

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.  

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?" 

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina." 

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry" 

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?" 

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser." 

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together" 

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?" 

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection. 

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?" 

"Old time being... yesterday?" 

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime." 

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice. 

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together." 

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement. 

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake." 

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart." 

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?" 

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself. 

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips. 

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his. 

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime." 

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist. 

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?" 

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again. 

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?" 

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night." 

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad” 

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment. 

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build. 

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.  

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully. 

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together” 

With that, they fell in silence. 

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew. 

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?” 

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer. 

"You always have to ruin the mood”, he said jokingly, “We'll figure it out, baby. Just you and me. And your dad. We should probably call him and beg him to let us crash because we're kind of screwed otherwise”  

[jediwrites]

this won’t work

pairing: anakin skywalker x jedi knight fem!reader

theme: angst/comfort

summary: after a mission, you’re feeling like shit, anakin comes to comfort you.

warnings: a little angst, but we get the confort part too :) mentions of nightmares, toxic thinking (i guess? idk how to name it sorry), sad feelings, probably grammar mistakes

word count: 881

A/N: hello there, just a small work to start (idk if i can call this angst?). i'm really excited to share this with y’all, it’s far from the best but i liked how it turned out. this is the first time i post my writing, so i'm afraid, but really happy too, so i hope yall like it. if you want to make a request (or just want to talk) feel free to ask!

You felt the sweat getting down on your forehead and spine with every swing of your saber, your hands held the base with a strong grip, trying to stop the trembling. You had been in the training room for hours. It was probably late at night, but you didn’t care. You would be there until your body ran out of energy or ran out of those feelings that were consuming your very being. The meditation wasn’t working, so the saber fight had to.  

You shouldn’t be letting those feelings consume you. So much shame, regret, anger. You were a Jedi, for the Maker’s sake. It seems like you were incapable of controlling it, though. You had failed them, how it would be possible for you to not feel anything? 

Since the attack of Grievous and his droids, it has been impossible for you to have a good night. Every time you tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, the sounds of screams and shots flood your dreams, with the creepy laugh of the cyborg being the melody of them. So you wake up more tired than before. Wanting to run away from those memories, your mind came to the idea that if you worked your body to exhaustion, you probably wouldn’t have dreams or nightmares. 

“This won’t work at all” a voice suddenly filled the room, startling you and making you come to a halt. Your distraction almost got you hit by a blaster, but you deflected it with a fast swing of your lightsaber. With a command, you turned off the droid.

“You scared me, you idiot!”

The man laughed. “Well, I can’t say that wasn’t my objective.”

Rolling your eyes, you retracted your lightsaber, putting it in your belt. Drying the sweat from your forehead with your robe’s sleeve, you turned in his direction.

Looking at Anakin made your heart skip a beat. That’s probably because of the intensive training you were doing seconds ago, nothing related to the man, of course. Crossing your arms over your chest, you spoke:

“I thought you were on a mission.” You weren’t expecting to see him so soon, but you felt the relief of seeing Anakin again getting through your body. 

“You thought right, but the council called me to get back to Coruscant.” Anakin had his arms crossed in his back, with every word he did say, he gave a step to your direction. You kept still, waiting. With only a small distance between you, Anakin put one of his hands on your shoulder, squeezing softly. “Are you alright?”

His caring tone made you break. Before you could prevent it, your eyes were burning and your face was buried in his chest, with his arms around you. You were crying like a baby, probably his robe would be wet after that, but you couldn't care less, neither could he. 

After some time of your crying being the only sound in the room, you calmed down, feeling Anakin’s hand soothing your back. You missed him so much.

“It’s alright, you’ll be alright.”

You moved your head from his chest, being able to see his face without getting away from his embrace. Anakin got a small smile on his lips, you could see the sadness in his eyes. He knew very well what you were feeling. Losing men to the battle wasn't an easy thing that you could just forget that happened, but going on after surviving and fighting for those who had fallen was the best to do. Dwelling in the possibilities of what could have happened if another decision or move had been taken, wouldn’t bring anything good.

Letting his mechanic hand on your back, he put the other in your face, getting rid of the remaining tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You thought about it. Maybe it would help, the last time you spoke about the fateful day was with the council, and if you would be honest you didn’t say everything. Right, you told them how you and the soldiers got to fight Grievous and the casualties, but besides the strategic thing — and the tragedy —, you didn't say anything more. In your mind, telling them about how this mission affected you would make them perceive you as weak, or worse, perceive you as someone incapable of returning to the battlefield. So to not give chances, you kept every feeling to yourself.

“No,” you said. “Not now, at least.” 

Having Anakin in your arms made you feel more at ease. It was ironic how this very man, who has a mixture of emotions flooding from himself, was the one capable of soothing your stormy feelings.

A thought passed through your mind, making you a bit embarrassed. Wanting to hide this from him, you got your head back in his chest, tightening even more your arms around him. 

“But I will be glad if you could stay with me, like this, for tonight,” you whispered, a comment only for his ears.

The sound of his laugh made a smile appear on your lips. “My beautiful girl, you don’t have to ask again.” Anakin kissed the top of your head, whispering back. “I won't let you go from my arms tonight” or ever.

[chainfen]

I want to preface this with the fact that response came from myself and OP directly discussing this post, and me offering to further elaborate on my own opinions on a universe I too enjoy very much.

As I've delved into the HDG universe over the last few months, I've found myself struggling to understand why I find a lot of the writing I'm really enjoying to in some way still be unfulfilling. Reading this piece helped me realise that for a lot of them, it's because they simply do not cement themselves in fantasy. As a group of widely diverse both creators and readers, whether that be race, gender, sexuality- we are choosing to engage in a collective universe, with established boundaries and context, that is high fantastical. That's the entire point of it, is it not? the concept of being allowed to build a version of yourself that is your 'idealised' form; free from the economic constraints of capitalism, the socio-political constraints of wider society and social perception, for some even the limits unbreakable by species.

I don't, like you said, want to put down the idea that there is a catharsis and a rawness in being able to do that. The things I would do to be able to do that. The sheer escapism that the HDG universe offers me- a chronically ill, disabled, transsexual butch plural system, is something I would struggle to find anywhere else. But it feels like there is trend within the content in the universe to build it's women out of a generic base model, one that I see every day on every billboard all around me. There's an almost sterile nature to it, that makes me feel uncomfortable. A woman is small, submissive, feminine, hairless... perfect.

Tangential talk about noncon here, but it's relevant. I'm willing to roll with the idea that noncon as a concept exists within the HDG universe because the Affini believe that they do things for the best interest of the sophont in question- this is not something I'm trying to bring into question. However, as we know it is very thematic for this override of control to include egg cracking, HRT, removal of body hair and body modification that ranges from minor health related changes, to limb changes and additions, as well as full SRS. And whilst I as a reader can not only enjoy these elements, but understand the necessity of them within the storytelling, it once again removes me from the fact that this is meant to be fantasy.

What does it mean to 'be feminine' or be made 'girly'. How does one define those words? How does one separate them from gender, if you can? I can understand that the responses to those questions might be different for each person- but putting that aside, the only actual prerequisite to being 'girly' is to be a girl. I am not ignoring the social implications of being called 'girly' and it's wider use to often mean effeminate, or weak, but I am calling to attention the idea that there is no one look to what is perceived as 'girly'. In regards to femininity, as a GNC butch who has femininity often imposed on me societally because of my stature, there is a pain in the norm of associating these things with the ideal woman without a much wider commentary on why we feel the need to do this.

The Affini are bound by a collective and paternal duty to, well to put it short, care. To ensure the safety, happiness, and realised potential of all xenosophont races they domesticate, every individual, even those who resist it the most. I don't want to have to suspend my disbelief in my escapist fantasy world to believe that they, as an entire race, believe that the best way to treat the damage done to transgender Terrans is to reinforce and comply with the standard that caused them the very damage and trauma they're trying to undo in the first place? This idea of what a woman should be. This perfect model of ideal sterilised femininity who is gorgeous, ageless, hairless and always youthful. That the path to healing the insurmountable harm humanity has committed against transgender, non-binary, and GNC people is to reinforce their home world stereotype that was constructed around an imposed colonialist view of gender that centred the subjugation of women as a gender and ensuring they would be subordinate

and a note, for those in the comments saying OP is 'holier than thou' for the way they express their trans-femininity, or their thoughts on hair removal. I need you to reflect on the fact that your perception of an ideal woman is racist. I am not, in any way saying that it is wrong for you to feel the way you do or to want the things you want. But there needs to be a reflection on the values you apply to womanhood. Idealised white femininity intentionally devalues non Eurocentric features and labels them as masculine to dehumanise and devalue women of colour. You are not being radical or subversive by continuing to uphold these values in a fantasy universe that is meant to be for all.

Trans Feminism and the Human Domestication Guide

Or

Wishing on a misogynistic star won't make your dreams come true

Thesis: A running theme in some parts of the HDG sphere is the unintentional chase and valorisation of misogynistic standards for women in the pursuit of validation.

“The most radical thing that any of us can do is to stop projecting our beliefs about gender onto other people's behaviours and bodies”

― Julia Serano, Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity

I would like to open by declaring my own identities, both as a shield against a particular kind of bad faith criticism, but also to demonstrate that I’m operating in good faith here. I’m a fat, hairy, physically disabled, transgender, butch dyke who writes within the HDG setting with great joy and greater love for the community. I’m also hot as fuck. That established, I’ll continue:

There is a particularly pernicious lie that revolves around the state of women's bodies; that there is a correct way to have one and that those who do not meet these standards are unfeminine or otherwise worthless. It must have a vagina, of course, but it must also be white, thin, able, hairless, youthful, fit but not strong and, of course, soft. 

Trans feminism, and by that I direct my attention to feminist speech within trans and gender non-conformist spaces, has managed to, if not defeat, then at least combat one of the great evils of cis sexism, the necessity of the vagina. The ongoing and necessary validation of the girl cock as beautiful, as wonderful, as feminine is a wonderful, joyful thing. We (trans feminine people) exist as part of the spectrum of womanhood, and that means that our bodies also exist within and without that spectrum of womanhood as well. 

However, trans feminism of a particular kind has - rather than continue the work done to uplift the gock - has embraced a particular kind of ugly lie we’re taught. In many cases - due to a perceived desire to be as close to flawlessly woman as we can be - the focus will instead fall on a particular kind of trans feminine person who manages to engage with and evoke those standards aside from the obvious. To paraphrase Julia Serano in illustrating this point:

“Whether unconscious or deliberate, the gatekeepers clearly sought to … ensure that most people who did transition would not be “gender-ambiguous” in any way”

― Julia Serano, Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity 

One of the beauties of the class-G is that it allows the character to experience their body in an idealised form. I recognise and applaud this position, it is beautiful to see a writer able to imagine themselves completely idealised, completely transformed into something that doesn’t hurt. However, therein lies the rub; the ideal depicted displays some of that ugliness, some of the roots of misogyny that thread their ways through our brains like poison and make us into useful fools for its goals.

The thought that brought about this essay is a repeated phrasing that appears across several works within the HDG milieu; that to be hairless and soft is to be feminine. A character will have their body hair, all their body hair bar that on their head, removed and thus will be made ‘girly’. They, and other characters, may remark on how much more they feel like a woman, unconsciously or consciously linking womanhood to that hairlessness. 

You may note that this directly plays into another cis-sexist standard of beauty; that to be feminine requires a certain girlishness, a pubescent budding that belies the possibility of cellulite or wrinkles or the consequences of living a life where one is not simply a doll.

What is my objection to that? Surely, every writer has the right to depict their own wish fulfilment fantasies. Certainly yes, but also… one must ask at which point we celebrate their dreams and at what point we ask people to engage with their biases and question what they consider to be true. Women, all kinda of women, are hairy. Women have pubic hair, arm hair, leg hair, chest hair, even facial hair. The seeming desire to be completely hairless is as ‘unnatural’ a goal as any other, as ‘unnatural’ as any expectation set for us by the white supremacist culture most of us are steeped in. To return to whipping girl:

“Rather than question our own value judgments or notice the ways that we treat people differently based on their size, beauty, or gender, most of us reflexively react to these situations in a way that reinforces class boundaries: We focus on the presumed “artificiality” of the transformation the subject has undergone.”

― Julia Serano, Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity 

It must be noted that at least part of this problem is with what the reader brings to the table. When something goes unstated, we resort to the baseline of our biases and, due to the way society is structured, that baseline is generally white, thin and physically able. Beauty and femininity are racialised concepts, and I think we fall into traps headlong that white supremacy establishes for us. I am not the person to write an essay critiquing race in HDG, but I recognise the consequences of race and the expectations of white femininity on the work. Thus, then, we must consider the text, and the text is very often pretty clear about its characters.

How many protagonists of a human domestication guide story are textually fat? How many are stated in the text to be people of colour? How many of them are, if not stated to be, then implied through lack of mention, white, and thin? These questions ignore the many that are actively identified as those things. (I will pause here to note that Dog of War - notable as the most popular piece of work in the setting - features a protagonist who is both brown and fat, and I’m extremely happy to see it).

Collectively, as writers, we have seen a future where everyone is accepted and have created a world where the depictions of acceptance come with conformity to modern misogyny. We create a world without boundaries, where a person can be digitalised or made into a dog, and our characters are still aping their ancestors of five centuries prior in seeking validation of self. We are, I would argue (and borrowing heavily from Butler), ‘uncritically mimicking the strategy of the oppressor instead of offering a different set of terms.’

This is not, I would like to be clear, an attack on any particular story. You may recognise elements of several stories in this essay, and perhaps there are particular things I am drawing on, however, this essay does not charge the product of the writer's work with anything. That body of text can exist and be critiqued, but does not exist as a thoughtful, philosophical actor. Rather, I would charge us writers, all of us, with being more thoughtful as we engage with what femininity means to us and what is and is not feminine in a world where anything is possible.

Finally, a quote from Gender Outlaw that I direct at myself as much as anyone else:

“Let's stop pretending that we have all the answers, because when it comes to gender, none of us is fucking omniscient.”

― Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation

[happypotato48]

GMMTV 2025 Part 1 Unhinged Tangent Thoughts

Well well well, here we go again. gmmtv the first horseman of the QL apocalypse has grace/curse us again with their presence. surely there would be something worth watching out of this branded trash fire. i will left that one het show out because i don't go there but lol, Nanon really is the last bastion for straight people huh? 🤣

รักแห่งสยาม (The Love of Siam) The Musical : i was 12 when this movie came out so i didn't watched it in theater, only catch it later online when i was in my late teen. tbh i didn't really liked it, i was knee deep in yaoi at that point so i found this movie to be a bit boring. let see how it goes but fornow... no comment.

Dare you to death ไขคดีเป็น เห็นคดีตาย : Eeh, not gonna lie i'm not feeling this one fams. joongdunk doesn't sold me as an actors that could do mystery well. i might be wrong but i'm putting this one for a maybe.

ไหนใครว่าพวกมันไม่ถูกกัน (Head 2 Head) : Only boo! did major disappointed me, and this one seems to be a basic BL so i'm not having much hope. but i still want to see how SeaKeen doing as an growing actors. i'm going to tune in for the first couple EPs then see how it goes.

Burnout Syndrome ภาวะรักคนหมดไฟ : They already got me at Off being naked, and a messy love triangle nonetheless yes plzzzz. glasses guy (i refuse to learn his name) need more workshop, he's too stiff and wooden to sell me on this messy romance he going to has with Gun.

คุณวาฬร้านชำ (Whale Store xoxo) : Its looks cute and i do like LoveMilk. another one in the show up for the couple first EPs pile.

Only Friends : Dream On : or as i dubbed Only Firends 2 These Homosexuals are about to get electrocute boogaloo. i refused to watch Only Friends season one and i will refuse this show again. .... will definitely show up for sex scenes that will get cut up an posts on twitter tho.

That Summer ผมเจอเจ้าชายบนชายหาด : NOPE! next one plz. jk this one seems boring and basic and i hate prince and princess story in thai media. cuz you know the la majeste law is a thing so they are always come from some imagined country and i just don't like that. this one goes to the never to maybe if i hear some buzz pile.

My Romance Scammer รักจริง หลังแต่ง : Sign me the fuck up! let gooo! i'm in a weddings mood and this one has Hot Ohm as a scammer and Dimple Fluke as a dumb himbo whose marriage someone after knowing them for a month. yessss! this show is specifically made for me and i will be seated! Mark and Junior also there i guess.

ความลับในบทเพลงที่บรรเลงไม่รู้จบ (Melody of Secrets) : this show is not really my style but forcebook is forcebook and i'm an easy whore. plus they did ripped my heart out in that ep of PP. i will be watching with caution cause let be real we have no faith in gmmtv to pull this kind of thing off :P

รักครูเท่าโลกเลย Love you teacher : *a loud voice of thousand people yelling Shame! Shame! in background, me tapping the mic : Perth might pull this one off y'all. LET ME COOK! hear me out hear me out this trailer is the first time that Perth feels like he understood the assignment. he looks grumpy and tired but also really in love with Santa's character. this is the first time that this boy made me feels things and i'm just happy for him. AND LET ME BE CLEAR i never read any age regression fics before in my life so this is not even in my trash turf. but idk, i feels thing and it's fluffy and nice. so i will be watching, plz don't judge me.

MU-TE-LUV โปรดใช้วิจารณญาณในการรักเธอ : uhhhhh i'll watch the kathoeys ep and that's it :P

เปย์รักด้วยแมวเลี้ยง (Cat for Cash) : i'm not a firstkhaotung boyie so idk seems like another basic one. another one to the maybe pile wooo!

Girl Rules กฎหลัก...ห้ามรักเธอ : Only Friends but for the girls, pass.

เปิดเทอมใหม่ หัวใจหัดรัก (Boys in love) : Basic highschool BL with PodPapang as a side in 4 couples show?!!? what sin did i commited huh!? gmmtv why are you doing me dirty like this. i will be watching it for the newbies and PodPapang but i will be holding a grudge the entire time.

ทำนายทายทัพ (My Magic Prophecy) : My babies are back!!! and Sea is swol, my, my. don't know what to think of it yet also wtf with all the tarot and fortune readings did someone at gmmtv is going through a divorce ??. anyway i'm a royal whore so i will be seated for this one.

หมาเห่าเครื่องบิน (A Dog and A Plane) : TAYNEW is back in a bl fucking finally!! this one seems promising with its plot and the comedy seems strong. poon also in this as a hussy and i can't be more stroke for my boy. i'm a bit worry about class disparity again cause the thai name of this show is "A dog barking at a plane" it's idiom that mean a lower class person pursuing someone out of their status. we got burned before with peaceful property so holding out hope that we'll not to going get burn again.

มีสติหน่อยคุณธีร์ (Me and Thee) : Phuwin doing comedy inner monologue?! You son of a bitch i'm in. although Fish upon the sky sucked ass in terms of plot imo it was one of the best BL comedy coming out of thailand in recent years and this show reminded me so much of that. at worst it going to be funny nonsense of a show, so what could possibly go wrong hehe (plz don't fuck this up gmmtv.)

WU : Oh hell no! this show is going to be a bromance i've learned my leason from PP and i will not going there again. its looks cool but i'm not doing it I CAN'T!

จาฤกรติชา (Memoir of Rati) : i'm not fan of period piece but this one seems angsty and queer. and maybe second time's the charm for greatinn. they also uses a cheap trick of Great's oilly naked body to lure us in like the siren song of abs and sadly that worked for me 😅

Ticket To Heaven เด็กชายไม่ไปสวรรค์ : G4 are not in a cutesy BL Wowoh! i really like the trailer for this one. the thai name for this show is "Boys/Boy don't goes to heaven" and it's make me get all the feels. i'm intrigued and excited for this one the most cause this one doesn't feels like a typical gmmtv show and against all odd i will hope they could deliver.

Welp let see, i'm excited for 5 out of what 20 shows?? oohh boy gmmtv really in the we throwing things untill something stick era ain't they. i think i'm in the more hopeful side of people whose has been burned by gmmtv. so i'm really hoping that the more unique shows that they got would actually turn out great cause despite what i've said lately about Thai BL, i'm very passionate about them and want to see them do well. i want to see Thai BL and Thai media in general to be someday be recognized on the global level, and gmmtv with all it woes is still the leading voice in this industry. i want them to learns and grow out of this idol manufacturer mindset, which maybe a wishful thinking but i'm still going to be holding up hope for a better days for Thai BL. any fucking way don't fuck Ticket To Heaven up gmmtv or i will be doing cursing ritual on you!

[geospiral]

The stage was always Luka’s world, and everyone else was just living in it.

Luka’s first round in the 50th Alien Stage competition was the fourth round, but really it should have been the second given the predetermined matchups. The Segyein were saving his round for later in order to excite the in-universe audience to the previous winner’s grand return.

(There is no dimmed profile in the second bracket.)

Luka being set up to go against either Mizi or Sua was absolutely intentional; the Segyein knew whoever came out of Round One would be an easy target for Luka’s manipulation, which, in their eyes, would make for a good show. When organizing the rounds, it seems like the Segyein try to go for which setups will elicit the biggest emotional responses out of the contestants. They clearly already knew about Mizi and Sua’s intimate relationship with the fact that the contestants’ profiles are most likely created by the Segyein with little to no input from the humans themselves (probably made with the help of the ever-present camera flowers in Anakt).

(translation)

This would also explain why Sua and Ivan were so certain about Mizi going up against Sua in the competition despite them not being told about the round matches yet.

(Take this with a grain of salt because it is possible they were already told who was against whom before this comic, but given how young they look, I'm thinking that it's probably too early for them to know.)

(translation)

If Luka weren’t in this year’s tournament, they would have probably set Till up against Mizi in Round 5 instead since the Segyein are aware of how much she means to Till. They technically could have still done that with Luka in the competition and had Round 6 be him vs. Ivan, but they most likely didn’t want to save Luka’s signature act until the final round, which the Segyein would have believed themselves to be doing given how they don’t seem to know how important Till is to Ivan (probably intentionally on Ivan's part).

(Text: "Intimacy: 70% It feels like I'm being chased all the time, but I can't find any evidence, so the teachers only suspect me!!! I'm so pissed!! He's always done things I don't like, and I don't understand... Anyway, he's a bother.)

Note: While I think the character profiles were probably made by the Segyein, I don't think the intimacy levels from the artbook are. I'm showing Till's intimacy level for Ivan to highlight his comment about the teachers not believing him when he says that Ivan is constantly following him around.

The Segyein knew the two were friends at least, but that seems about it. Maybe that was enough for them to be a possible sixth round setup if they came out of 2 and 3 victorious, but given the vast potential there was for Luka vs. Ivan after a Mizi vs. Till round, I don't think the Segyein knew the depths of Ivan and Till's relationship and therefore didn't care until it became blatantly obvious after the canon Round 6 and could be capitalized upon for the finale.

From a meta perspective, an Ivantill round was obvious, but my personal opinion is that in-universe I think that matchup was more akin to a happy little accident on the Segyein's part.

This is also all ignoring the huge elephant in the room, which is the Rebellion throwing a wrench into the competition.

I think the biggest change in the direction of the competition (not the results of the rounds but in how the rounds themselves were organized) due to the rebellion was how the Segyein decided to have the finale be mere hours after Round 6. If the fifth round hadn’t been interrupted, I think that the sixth would have been performed right after, like how the first four rounds were. Also, I don’t think they would have tried to aid Luka in his manipulation by throwing up pictures of Ivan on the screens and would have just left him to his own devices like in Round 5. But the Segyein wanted to lure the rebels out to save Till, so basically flashing a big sign that says, "THIS GUY IS MESSED UP FROM THE LAST ROUND AND WILL DIE IF YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING" was probably the best way to do it.

This is all to say that I think it's a lot more interesting if Luka was being set up to be the winner the entire time. Obviously he still had to work for it, but I like the idea that almost everything was set up in his favor; he just had to take advantage of it. The Segyein wanted a good show, and Luka knows how to perform. He did not disappoint them.

[chococara25]

Thanksgiving

AU where Buck woke up, thinking about Tommy and decided to cook for Thanksgiving, baking crusty pecan pies & pumpkin pies, delicious green bean casseroles and sweet potato gratins, cheesy cauliflower cheese with turkey bacon bits, creamy mashed potatoes and the classic stuffings.

After done with baking and cooking, he realized he had no one to give it to (Everyone would just give him weird looks if he brings everything to potluck Thanksgiving dinner, plus they had forbid him from cooking) and wondering if he should donate to the homeless shelters cos at least someone can sleep warm with a full stomach when Lucy Donato texted him out of nowhere complaining how everyone is swamped in calls all day long and how hungry they are including Tommy, who came in to cover someone's shift and EPIPHANY!! He can just give them to the 217 AND check on Tommy at the same time.

He starts to pack everything before separating some food into different containers and stick a sticky note on each of them. He then unload the bread loaves and cookies he had been making for the past week into a basket cos waste not, want not right?

Tommy coming back from a weird call involving some idiots trying to make turkey barbacoa in their backyard when he saw everyone gathering around the dining table, stuffing their face, moaning about the delicious food and praising the cook.

He was confused till he turned around to see Evan of all people staring at him, unruly curls and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. Lucy said you guys haven't eaten all day." Evan looked awkwardly at him.

(At the corner of his eyes, he can see Lucy slunking off guiltily, carrying a whole pie and weird a plate of cupcakes with her)

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something but looked away, his lips twisted unhappily. He pushed a bag full of containers and a basket full of bread and cookies at them before running away.

Tommy hid in one of the closets, checking the bag and basket, its contents each marked by a sticky note.

The Banana Loaf - "Everytime I think of calling you, I baked instead. Now my fridge is full but I'm still thinking about you."

The Snickerdoodle cookies - "Jee asked where cool uncle Tommy was. She misses her tea party partner."

Vanilla and raspberry mascarpone loaf cake - "I can't stop thinking how you would enjoy all the cakes and pastries I made for the past few months."

green bean casserole - "I still have your clothes and I kept wearing them to sleep cos its the closest thing I have to you because I have a hard time falling asleep without you holding me in your arms"

Carrot cake loaf - "I saw a helicopter today at work and I wonder if it was you flying it. We never did have that flying lesson."

cauliflower cheese - I'm sorry I never told you I love you when I really do. I love you and I missed every single minute the moment you walk out of my life.

pecan pie - I'm sorry I said the wrong things when I asked you to move in with me. I'm sorry I too much in the end for you and drove you away."

pumpkin pie - I'm sorry you felt pressured but I didn't lie, I really admire you and your confidence made me feel safe, being with you was like waking up for the first time from the lightning coma, I could breath again and you were the one who set me free.

sweet potato gratin - "You said you were my first but not my last. Tommy, you might be my first boyfriend but you definitely my last."

stuffings - "You are my beginning and my forever happy ending. I have no interest in looking for a different happy ending if you're not in it."

By the time he reached the last container, his eyesight were blurry with unshed tears.

Brownies - "Can we try one more time? I'm not ready to give on us."

Tommy was startled when the door to the closet swung open, Captain Pruitt looming over him with a plate of pecan pie in her hands. "I saw firefighter Buckley earlier when he dropped off the food. I don't know what's going on between the two of you and why both of you decided to break up, but Kinard, that man looks as if he still in love with you."

She panicked as Tommy burst into loud tears, holding the container of brownies to his chest.

Evan was cleaning up his kitchen, he was too tired and too emotionally wrung out to stay for the Thanksgiving dinner other than dropping off the last two pies for everyone to enjoy.

He frowned when he hear the doorbell, wondering if Maddie is going to stage another intervention on him when he opened the door, before staring in surprise.

Tommy was standing in front of him, still wearing his flight suit, holding the container with brownies and the sticky notes in his arms.

"Can we talk?" He asked with hopeful eyes.

Evan pulled him into the loft, closing the door behind them.

[phillietemple]

i’ve finally been able to collect some of my thoughts on the tour! under the cut if you want to read my yapping

- First of all we were really far away like almost all the way in the back of the balcony. We could still see the stage obviously but i couldn't really see their faces :( if i was doing it again i'd sit closer lol.

- The dolls were incredible. they really did all that

- Our conspiracies were toilet, clothes, tour bus and wedding which now that i've seen what the other ones are, i think was a pretty good combination. Tour bus was actually crazy like.. I mean i'm not too surprised that it was true but i AM shocked that they actually confirmed it! Like what!! I didn't even know about that conspiracy beforehand so yeah i was gagged

- They yapped for a minute about pizza. Phil hates cheese but loves pizza WHY it’s because pizza tastes like its own thing. One time dan PRANKED him by getting pizza with GOAT CHEESE on it and phil hated it. (phil’s wording lol, it wasn’t actually a prank) Also they said the best pizza they ever had was here in boston! And it had soy sauce on it apparently

- “Doesn't matter babe” did happen, i wasn’t sure if i heard it right but i was like “did he just say that?” i figured it was just part of the script but apparently not. I witnessed phistory

- They said “wang” so many times they LOVEDD the fact they were in the wang theater

- The fight was so funny i borrowed my friends binoculars for a minute so i got to zoom in on them slap fighting like 5 year olds and phil choking dan with a cable. why are they gay

- I SCREAMED when sister daniel came out like that was taylor swift levels of screaming from me. I knew that would happen but seeing her in the flesh was something else

- I appreciated how real they got. I think they balanced it with humor just the right amount but still went deep into stuff!

- the song was AMAZING it’s still stuck in my head and i’m gonna need that on spotify as soon as the tour is over. it was so clever to have it be from either perspective and the lyrics honestly made me cry!! but it was also such a banger!!!

This was kind of a schrodingers hard launch. They’re being open and honest about their relationship, but they also realize that a lot of the fun of the phandom IS the conspiracies and reading into things and the teasing. We have fun with it and they have fun with it, if they tell us everything then what’s left? It's like a sitcom that loses interest when the big will-they-won’t-they couple gets together. There’s a mutual understanding here, and the mysteries and intrigue are such a big part of the fun that we’re going to keep doing it. At least for now.

overall this show made me feel so happy to be part of the phandom. our parasocial relationship with them has been a rocky one, toxic at times, and at one point we thought it was so over but we are SO BACK. THEY LOVE US and WE LOVE THEM and we kinda need each other!! i’m so excited to see where they go from here.

[schumi-nadal]

Wow, I didn't think that post would get me even more hate to be honest 😅

First of all, I wasn't talking about ALL Carlos fans but about some "fans" (you can't call them like that, not after the really harsh words I received) who came into my asks when i asked nothing: I never was mean about Carlos, i didn't even defend Charles. I only posted 2-3 things related to this Charlos gate or whatever the fandom is calling it.

Here are some of the posts in questions:

After the first one, I received insults (anons and non anons, I don't know what is worst, that's what I was talking about them being younger and not knowing how the Schumi era and baby Shumi era were, (the non-anos were 17-18) because people misunderstood it (or understood what they wanted to understand).

After one or two more posts after the end of the race, it escalated very quickly, I received death threats! That's very serious! How can it come to this for a FUCKING sport? There are more serious things in life!

So, yeah, I was quite pissed after that.

Also, I didn't even defend Charles in my post, rereading now and I undertand I may have sound like I did but I'm French and I may have translated word by word what i wanted to say (it's a bit complicated but we sometimes use "you" to talk about people + ourserlves in some sketchy expressions). Anyway, what he said was definitely inappropriate and very "childish" in a way. Those words should had been spoken in private with his team and Carlos, not in front of million of people; and I think if FIA penalised swear words, they should start looking at those kind of statements.

Also, for those saying that I would be the kind of person to insult their favorite driver(s), you don't know me, you can even check my blog if you have nothing more interesting to do (lol), I never insulted anyone like some people do in f1blr. We can dislike or even hate a driver with our whole being, that's ok, for each their own I guess. We can't love everyone, you have the right to defend your favs, that's our choice too, but don't go and roast people when they didn't even say something wrong in the first place. (again, i hope those anons are reading it)

I never got haters before today (just one a few months ago with tennisblr but it was more a troll more than anything else) I usually don't interract a lot because I don't like conflicts but receiving multiple insults for something I can't control: I'm not Charles, I can't control what he says, I'm not a Carlos hater neither, i'm just here, blogging and reblogging stuff I love, mostly sports, sometimes with my particular sense of humor.

Nobody is perfect for sure, and I'm sorry if some of you thought I was just calling out Carlos or defending Charles. He may be one of my favourite drivers, just like other drivers can be yours: all of them are not flawless and we may continue to like them or not after different sorts of situations, that's up to us.

To finally finish my thesis (sorry if you're still reading), I didn't know that I would be so stressed on tumblr one day (call me a sensitive person) but this website is my sanctuary, I hope it will stay like that for a very long time but you can't be appreciated by the whole world, I lost some of my mutuals and i accept that. This morning's messages went too far and that's not normal to say thing like that, no matter how peacecul I am, I had to call them out. Also, on my other fandoms, you can share thought without (or almost) getting attacked verbally, that's sad that it's not the same anymore here, but yeah, football is the same.

You can choose to answer or not, I won't block anyone because I don't feel the need to, opinions can be shared but respectfully, I would be happy to talk more if some of you are up to.

So, I don't know what to add, have a great end of the season, everyone!

i don't know if everyone who reblogged or commented can see it when I reblog it so i'm tagging y'all: @midesastremanifiesto , @janesurlife , @gaypoetsblog , @katarf1a , @chaitalinath , @danieldrivesfast , @landhoe-norris , @eightsixtiism

One thing is funny about being insulted by all those Carlos "fans" (won't call them real fans tbh he deserves way better than toxic people): I was already watching F1 that they were not born, if you think that Charles was shitty today, just remember we had Michael Schumacher as the most dramatic queen ever and Sebastian Vettel was a little Gremlin at some points. REAL FANS WERE NOT FIGHTING FOR THAT!

[peachhcs]

need to know if sammy ever finds out about what kevin and will said

part 3! i think this is gonna be the last part to this side plot unless you guys want me to make a part about samy confronting kevin + breaking up with him or anything else you wanted from this side plot

au masterlist | previous part

"i don't know, will, i think you should tell her the truth," ryan mumbled quietly in the kitchen of the hughes house where marcie and gabe stood around the kitchen island nodding in agreement. the blonde flushed, adverting his gaze from theirs.

it was the weekend, 3 days after the fight between will and kevin. the boy's poor bruise hadn't gotten any better either. it turned that familiar purple-yellow-green color where anyone who saw it would stare a little too long and wonder where it came from. samy had invited the guys and her close friends over to her house as a little post-win celebration. the three happened to find themselves upstairs for a moment away from the commotion down in the basement and ryan brought it up first as he watched his friend wince anytime he talked.

everyone knew the brunette was being serious too because ryan never called will by his first name unless he was being really serious. "it's a perfect time, too, because kevin isn't here," marcie added, but all will did was shake his head.

"guys, i can't. you know i can't."

"dude, he fucking punched you first and yet he's the one threatening you with the video of it. it should be the other way around," gabe scoffed and the other two nodded again.

"yeah, i know he's a fucking idiot, but i can't. if it were any other time, any other year, i wouldn't care, but it's the last year of ntdp. they're counting on me and if i can't play, i'm letting the whole team down," will specifically looked at ryan and gabe when he said that part. "plus, if that video gets out, they could take back my decision about boston. i can't risk that," there was so much riding on this and usually, will wouldn't care about any of it when it came to samy, but he had to this time around.

there was a lot of big things coming up in the next few months and he couldn't ruin it by a stupid video getting out (even if he wasn't in the wrong).

the other three slowly began understanding where will was coming from. a sigh escaped marcie's lips, "you having like 15 people from your family going to bc doesn't hold any weight if the video did get out? would they really take away your spot like that?"

"i mean not really, and yeah they could. we have to keep up our grades and hockey which means no funny business a.k.a no video of me punching and tackling some kid to the ground," gabe and ryan nodded along to the blonde's words.

the weight of this situation seemed to be really hitting everyone.

"well, shit. you shouldn't have to be watching your back for the rest of the year just because of kevin's words and actions. that's not fair because you didn't do anything wrong besides punch him back when he punched first," the girl frowned deeply, shaking her head in frustration.

"that's the technicality of it. i punched back. if i didn't, it might've been different but i engaged in it," will sighed too.

"but what if you did talk to samy and she was able to do something about it like talk to kevin and make sure all the videos are deleted?" gabe suggested, but his idea was shot down when the hockey player shook his head again.

"no, i'm not doing that. kevin was pretty serious the other night about more consequences happening if samy did find out the truth. i don't even wanna begin to think what he would do to her or hurt her if she ended up finding out and confronting him. plus, i don't wanna be the one to tell her how shitty her boyfriend is."

"kevin wouldn't hurt her, i know that. he has a weird soft spot for her," marcie cut in.

"either way, that's not the kind of friend i wanna be to her. if she's happy, then she's happy. i don't wanna ruin that for her," the blonde stated.

"well how happy can she really be if her boyfriend is hurting her other friends, especially the one that means the most to her?" ryan pointed out, raising his eyebrow. "i think she'd appreciate it more if she knew the truth than it being kept from her. i think she'd beat herself up more about it if she found out she didn't know."

"who's boyfriend is hurting who?" samy's sudden voice made all four of them jump. she was lingering in the entryway, her gaze finding will's first before drifting across to marcie, gabe, and ryan.

the blonde flushed, his gaze rushing to any of the other three for help. they struggled and quickly knew they couldn't lie their way out this time.

"maybe we should let you guys talk.." ryan mumbled, nodding his head to the door for the others to follow. samy grew even more confused while will glared at them as they snuck out.

"seriously guys?" the blonde huffed.

gabe just winked before completely disappearing from the kitchen. only will and samy were the ones left.

"so.." samy wondered carefully, her eyes on her friend in front of her who shut his eyes briefly.

"wanna go outside? it might be quiter," the hockey player suggested in an attempt to stall for more time and figure out how he was gonna word this.

samy didn't say anything as she followed will to the back patio. the two sat down on the top step, a bit of an uncomfortable silence surrounding them.

"remember when marcie said she hit me on the cheek and that's how i got this bruise?" the blonde finally began.

"yeah?"

"that wasn't true..we were lying to you," will cringed at his own words and avoided samy's gaze.

"lying? what? why? who gave you that bruise then?" the brunette pushed her questions all to which will hesitated in telling her again. she found his gaze, her own clouded over with worry and concern for him.

"your boyfriend," will admitted quietly.

there was a slight pause.

"kevin?"

"i wasn't supposed to tell you, but you walked in at the wrong time when we were talking about it," will looked away again.

"kevin punched you? why? why didn't you tell me sooner? are you okay?" more questions flew from her mouth in a crazy rush.

"because he threatened me, samy. he threatened me with a video of it happening when i punched him back in exchange that i wouldn't tell you," the blonde cut her off, his tone becoming a bit firm which shocked both of them.

"threatened you? will, what the fuck. a video? why did he not want me to know?" the boy cringed for probably the fourth time. he picked at the skin on his fingers to do anything to keep his eyes off the girl beside him.

"we shouldn't even be talking about this," the blonde muttered.

"will, tell me."

"him and his friend tyler were standing behind gabe and i during halftime at the game. they were trying pull a reaction from..from well, me, and tyler started saying how kevin was so lucky because you're the hottest girl at school and he'd totally fuck you if kevin didn't already have dibs. kevin never defended you and it pissed me off what they were saying about you, so i whipped around and told them to shut up and stop. they didn't and we argued and then kevin punched me. i punched back and we started actually fighting one another," the whole entire story slipped from the hockey player's lips and he left out the part where kevin was taunting him about liking samy too.

the youngest hughes was silent for a good 30 seconds as she processed everything will just told her. he sat there nervously awaiting her response.

“then he threatened me with a video of the whole thing and how he’d post it so i’d get in trouble by my coaches if i ended up telling you or anyone else the truth about what happened,” the blonde continued when samy didn’t say anything.

“holy shit, will. i didn’t even know or even suspect..” the girl trailed off.

“i mean how could you have? we lied to you and i’m sure kevin did too.”

“jesus..that’s why you didn’t wanna tell me?” they finally met each other’s eyes.

“if it were any other year, i’d tell you in a heartbeat, but with this being the last year of..everything, i couldn’t risk it. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have..”

“don’t apologize to me. you have nothing to be sorry for, will. you didn’t do anything wrong. fucking kevin did and punched you and i’m so sorry he did,” samy shook her head.

“i was just scared of what he’d do to you if you found out the truth and confronted him if he could throw a nasty punch like that to me,” they both frowned.

“well, i am gonna confront him either way. he shouldn’t be doing this shit, especially to my friends. i-i should’ve known. i don’t know why i didn’t push further about it to the other night.”

“if he finds out you know he’s gonna do a lot of real damage,” will grimaced.

“well, i’ll make sure he doesn’t. trust me, will. he has a soft spot for me. i’ll make sure he deletes that video and..i think i’m gonna break up with him,” the last part caught will of guard even though everyone’s been wanting that since they got together.

“break up with him?”

“i’ve been thinking about it for..since three weeks into the relationship but i wasn’t sure. this can be my real excuse that i don’t wanna be with someone who treats my friends that way,” the girl explained with another shake of her head.

“i-i didn’t..i don’t wanna be the reason you break up with him though if you really like him,” will sputtered.

“i don’t..really like him. he was just someone that was there..i don’t know. he’s been saying shit to me and i just don’t wanna deal with that anymore.”

“shit, i’m sorry, samy,” the hockey player frowned.

“don’t worry about it. thanks for telling me, will. i’m glad you’re okay and please don’t be afraid to tell me stuff like that. you’re my best friend and i don’t want people hurting you because you’re someone i’m close with,” she caressed the bruise and her touch sent will’s entire body on fire.

she was so gentle with her fingers and those thoughts will’s been trying to keep down came running up his chest like a finish line. so much so that he nearly did something about it until the back door flew open and the two pulled apart.

“shit, sorry,” it was lauren.

“you’re fine. what’s up?” samy jumped up.

“nothing, we were just looking for you. didn’t mean to interrupt..” will stood up too and quickly shook his head.

“you weren’t interrupting. we were just talking,” the blonde managed.

lauren glanced between the two again before slowly nodding and disappearing back inside. will let out a small breath he was holding it, shaking off the feeling of how close him and samy were to kissing.

“i’ll talk to him. don’t worry, okay?” samy said one last time, her hand on his arm.

“yeah, thanks,” the blonde smiled.

she returned his smile before the two headed back inside to continue the party. the rest of the night will’s mind was filled with the feeling of samy’s touch on his skin and how he wanted it to happen again and again.

[skeletboi]

InTRIdimensional AU part 27!

First /// Previous /// Next

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Stan smiled in response. “I'd like ta know you.” he said, scooting closer. “What's your name?”

“Axolotl above, you're kidding, right? My name's Cam. And you're Stanley, I'm guessing, considering the five fingers.” Cam said with a put-upon sigh.

Stan blanched for a second, but quickly composed himself and smiled again, opening his mouth to speak. Cam started talking before he could.

“Your brother push you in the portal and you're trying to get back, or did he side with the Euclidian?” They asked, tilting their head in mock curiosity.

“Side with-” Stan started, but got distracted when the door to the bar opened.

“Oh.” Cam said, finally cracking a smile as they watched Fiddleford and Ford enter the bar. “I've only seen this once before. That's actually interesting. Y'all really fucked up, huh?”

Stan glanced back at Cam and frowned. “Wait, what is that supposed to mean!?”

Cam smiled as Fiddleford and Ford came up behind Stan.

“Stanley, did you really find the only other person with a mullet in this bar?” Ford asked tiredly.

“Hey-” Stan started.

“Yes he did.” Cam said, cutting Stan off as they narrowed their eyes at Ford. “How'd you fuck up so bad that all three of you ended up here?”

“How did I- what? Do I know you?!” Ford asked, a mix of incredulousness and fear in his voice as he studied Cam's face.

“Nah. But I've had the misfortune of meeting a few different versions of you. I'm assuming, by the whole gang being here, that you didn't side with whatever Euclidian you had. Hope you killed him, or you're really fucked.” Cam responded nonchalantly as they sipped at their drink.

“Different versions of me?!” Ford asked, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “How curious! But, no, we didn't have the chance to kill him yet. I'm still reeling about how he betrayed me.”

“Damn, fresh out the womb, huh? Portal-womb, I mean. That sounds gross. Forget I said that.” Cam replied with a grimace.

“There are others of us?” Fiddleford asked, nervously tapping his foot as he glanced around the bar. “How do ya know them, then? And whadaya mean ‘misfortune’ of meeting a few versions?”

“A lot of the versions of Ford that I've met have been the type to side with the Euclydian. We run in the same circles, you could say. Though, there are some less psychopathic versions I've run into.” Cam replied, then smiled at Fiddleford. “I've met a version or two of you, as well, and Stanley. I'm usually a fan of you, Fidds. You're clever.”

Fiddleford frowned, not happy with that vague answer, and Cam laughed.

“Look, a bit of free advice- and I don't give that often, so count yourselves lucky or some shit- stay away from other versions of yourselves! Especially the Stanford that wears the blue visor glasses, and the Fiddleford and Stanford with the blue snake-like Euclydian that try to sell you bath bombs. They are all bad news.” Cam explained.

“But wouldn't talking to them help us get further in our goal of defeating Bill?” Ford asked.

“They'll kill you before you get the chance. Well, the blue visor guy will, the other's will probably ignore you if you ignore them. The other version of all three of you might be helpful, but they were about as lost as y’all are now last time I saw them.” Cam said thoughtfully.

“That ain't helpful, and what in tarnation is a bathbomb?” Fiddleford asked.

“It's like for baths… You know- nevermind. Just stay away from them. If you end up in a dimension with other versions of yourself, don't touch them. It’ll destroy both of you and the universe they're in. That's all the free advice you get. So don’t die out there. Or do. Fuck if I care.” Cam said, turning away and sitting on a bar stool.

“Wait- wait. You obviously know some shit, and you're just going to leave us to the wolves here?!” Stan asked.

“Don't take it too hard. I like the versions I've met of you, too Stanley- but I got shit to do, people to kill, etcetera. Figure it out for yourself. I'm not the one who made a deal with a demon.” Cam said, not bothering to look away from their nearly-empty drink.

“Didja jus’ say people ta kill?!” Fiddleford asked, sounding nervous all over again.

Cam just huffed out a laugh in response and downed the rest of their drink.

“Do you know how to kill Bill?!” Ford asked.

“A way for you to kill Bill? I don't know. I could probably kill him, he's like, a lesser god or whatever. You'd need some type of dimension disrupter? Or get him to go in your head and then die? I don't even know if that would work. Probably not.” Cam mumbled, half to themselves as they frowned down at their now empty drink.

“A lesser god?” Fiddleford asked at the same time Ford said “Dimensional Disrupter?”

“Yeah sure those things.” Cam said, waving down the bartender and asking for another drink in a language Fiddleford and Ford didn't understand.

Stan took the dimensional translator out of his pocket and gave it a cursory glance before sighing and sitting down on one of the bar stools next to Cam.

Cam glanced over at him and gave a half smile.

“Or, take a page from Stan and my book and just drink about it!” Cam said, glancing over their shoulder at Fidds and Ford as they lifted their newly filled drink.

Fidds and Ford glanced at each other with matching frowns.

“That don’ sound like a good plan.” Fiddleford said.

“Agreed.” Ford added.

“Did building an interdimensional portal for malevolent god-like trigonometry sound like a good plan? I don't think you're one to talk.” Cam said.

Stan laughed and fist bumped Cam.

“That's…” Ford started, then sighed, “Fair enough. Maybe one drink.” He finished, taking a seat on the other side of Cam.

Fiddleford sighed and sat next to him.

Stan took out the translator and used it to order a drink for Ford and Fiddleford.

“Translator. Good start.” Cam said.

“Not much of a start without knowing where these next rifts lead.” Ford mumbled.

“Here. I know where this one goes.” Cam said, taking a knife out of a a belt on their side and slicing the air in front of them.

Ford looked on in interested wonder as a small rift opened in front of them.

“Wow, do you have another one of those?” He asked excitedly, reaching his hand out towards the rift.

“Fuck no.” Cam said, swiping the blade back up and closing the rift. “Humans can't go through these rifts anyway, you'll disintegrate. They're my… personal rifts.”

“Are you not human?” Stan asked.

Cam sheathed the knife and lifted a hand, a small flower bloomed in their palm.

“Fascinating.” Ford said with an excited smile. “What are you?”

“That's a rude question.” Cam responded, flicking their fingers out, causing the flower to burn to ash in their palm.

“What… species are you?” Ford tried.

“No.” Cam responded.

“Not even a hint?” Ford said, his excited smile turning to a frown.

“Check my wanted posters. There's probably a hint there.” Cam replied, then downed the rest of their drink and stood.

“Wanted posters?” Stan asked, his eyes lighting up at the prospect in a eerily similar way to his twin's expression from just minutes before.

Cam just laughed as they set some alien coins on the bar, then walked towards the door.

“Good luck out there.” They said, taking the knife from their belt and separating it in two.

They turned, swiped both blades across the air, and walked through the rift the blades created.

Stan, Ford, and Fidds watched until the glow of the rift faded, then turned back to their drinks.

“What in god's name jus’ happened?” Fiddleford asked after a moment.

“I'm not sure.” Stan said, glancing towards the bartender, who was distracted by another patron at the end of the bar. “But we can't pay for these drinks without weird space money. So I hope they left a good tip.” He took the money Cam left and pocketed it.

“That don’ seem smart. That Cam person looked like they could kill us all in a second. Prolly not a good enemy to make.” Fiddleford said nervously.

“It's a big universe. Hopefully we never run into them again.” Ford said with a shrug. “Better the enemy you know, or something.”

“I can practic'ly hear my gam rollin’ in her grave.” Fiddleford said, burying his face in his hands.

“What did they say to the bartender, anyway, Stan? Right before you also sat down and ordered a drink?” Ford asked.

“They said ‘I'm going to need another to deal with this lot. Ax save them, they'll be here awhile.’ Whatever the fuck that means.” Stan said, taking out the translator again and putting it on his wrist. “Looks like I'll be needing this more, so might as well wear it.”

“I don't get why you weren't wearing it before.” Ford mumbled.

“There wasn't a lot of different language going on in farm land.” Stan said. “Didn't want to risk losing it in one of those boxes or some shit.”

“Makes sense ta me.” Fiddleford said, downing the rest of his drink with an ease that peaked Stan’s interest. “We should take ‘nother one of those rifts out there. I gotta find the supplies ta make more a those watches.”

“Agreed.” Ford said, leaving his drink mostly full as he stood.

Stan nodded, downed the rest of his own drink, and left one of the multiple coins he had taken on the bar. Ford watched him, but didn't comment. They would need some type of money, and wasting it here wasn't a great option.

They all got up and high tailed it out of the bar before the bartender got the chance to see how much they left.

-----------

Bye, Cam, it was fun!

Don't @ me, I love them. They're so sassy. I might actually bring them back for a minute later on, but for now they just get this cute little cameo.

Anyways, the other au's mentioned here are as follows:

@aeli-tan-art 's Overlords AU

@squatch-and-stretch 's Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

And

@orxinus 's MM!Ford from... an AU I unfortunately forgot the name of.

If you haven't already, go check them out! I love them.

Thanks for reading!

The next part with be Cam's wanted poster because I do what I want- then there will be more of these three being ridiculous!

Edit: Cam's wanted poster here.

[howling-medic]

Impertinence

Summary: Five times Pippin call Aragorn Strider in places he shouldn't, and the one time he didn't. With an epilogue and bonus snippet because I couldn't leave it where it ended. This is entirely unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

A/N: Holy shit. This was kind of a beast to write. I also wrote it mostly while on shift, so I'm really hoping I caught all my mistakes, and it's mostly decent. I am not sure how happy with this I am, but I think it is as good as I am going to get it. If I keep agonizing over it, I'll never sleep today. So, up it goes. Also, I am too lazy to make this into multiple chapters right now. Maybe one day I will, but it is not this day. For now, there are headers at the start of each section

This whole thing came about because I mentioned to someone that I want Fourth Age content because I wanted to see Pippin being a little shit in court, and I was told emphatically that Pippin would clearly grow up and behave himself. I think that's insane. Pippin is a socially skilled class clown with a high level of intelligence. He also has zero regard for authority figures. So I wrote a whole fic about how much of a dork Pippin is and how Aragorn adores that dork - even if he a giant pain in his ass.

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, sadness, heartbreak, mentions of alcohol

WC: 7562 words (This was never intended to be this long, y'all.)

Making An Entrance

“Strider!” The shout cut through the den of the courtyard of the Citadel. King Elessar sighed fondly and turned to find Pippin jogging towards him in his road dirtied court attire. In the past two years Aragorn had learned one thing: every time the young hobbit came back to court, he would call the King by his old moniker in public at least once. Usually more. As with each time, everyone in the vicinity turned to search for the source of the disrespect to their monarch.

“Thrain Took,” Aragorn called in greeting. At the use of his title, Pippin’s ears went pink, and Aragorn laughed at the sight of the very moment the young hobbit realized his mistake. To the utter shock of any in the area who did know of Pippin or the story of the name Strider, including the Harad emissaries who had come to discuss a new trade agreement, Aragorn knelt to welcome his friend with a warm embrace. “How are you my dear friend? How was your journey?”

“Ach, I am as well as ever! The road was long, but certainly shorter than my first journey here.” Pippin was about to launch into a long winded tale of the trip and all those he and Merry saw along the way, as well as all the doings of The Shire. Aragorn could see it in the hobbit’s eyes. Just before he could open his mouth, Aragorn interjected, “And I cannot wait to hear all you wish to share. I am certain we have much to discuss politically and personally, but I do not wish to keep you from getting a bite and a bath, so go freshen yourself. Then come to my quarters for dinner.”

Pippin glanced over Aragorn’s shoulder and saw the assembled group of men waiting on his liege to return, and then he looked back to Aragorn. His lips pressed into a thin line. The group of Harad dignitaries looked utterly aghast at his apparent impudence. Aragorn shrugged nearly imperceptibly and rolled his eyes, at which Pippin’s face lit up anew. “As you wish, Strider.” Aragorn barked out a startled laugh and shook his head. 

“Fool of a Took,” he murmured and rose to return to the Harad behind him. “Gentlemen, where were we?”

“You accept such disrespect from a creature so small? Was that a child?” One of the men asked while his eyes followed the retreating form of Pippin.

“That,” Aragorn said in a voice still light with laughter while watching Pippin disappear inside the Citadel, “Was a hobbit of more renown and valor than you could imagine. His name is Peregrin Took. He is the Thrain of the Shire, and a Knight of the Citadel. He was also one of the nine of the Fellowship of the Ring. He, the others of that party, and the Thrain’s kin are the only people from whom I accept that name. So no, my lord, I suffer no disrespect, nor was that a child.” The laughter in Aragorn’s voice died, and he turned back to the group before him. “I would advise you to not disrespect hobbits in this court - particularly those who were a part of the Fellowship. They are much beloved by myself, my household, and this land.” The three assembled emissaries took a collective half step back. Looking at each of the three in turn, Aragorn found his humor and patience was spent. Silent judgment and covert murmurs about his patience with Pippin he could handle, but the incredulity in this man’s voice with no knowledge of what he spoke, of who he spoke, was not something Aragorn could abide. “I believe we are done with negotiations for today.” He broke off for the briefest of moments and pushed aside the temptation to put these three men, the truly impudent ones in this situation, in their place in favor of remaining diplomatic. “Let us resume tomorrow for I desire to inquire after Thrain Took’s companion, Meriadoc, and hear the news of a region of my land from which I receive very little.” 

“My lord,” they said in unison. 

Aragorn took his leave. As he turned, he caught their shared look of disbelief. “Strider?” he heard one ask. “Hobbits?” another asked. “Strange land and a strange people,” the final man declared. Aragorn chuckled. Once again, he was going to have to have a word with Pippin. No matter how much more he loathed the Harads’ words, Pippin had to watch around whom he spoke in such a manner. Even if Aragorn wished it was not so.

However, later that evening as Aragorn entered the sitting room of the Royal Apartments, the earnest look of joy Aragorn saw in Pippin’s eyes when he exclaimed the name - the one given to him by an innkeeper that Aragorn once loathed - stayed his tongue. With a sigh of relief, the High King of the Reunited Kingdom lifted the winged crown from his head and placed it upon the black velvet cushion on a side table that was as near to the door as possible without blocking it. Then he did away with the heavy blue velvet cloak adorned with the crest of the House of Telcontar selected by his attendants specifically for his meeting with the Harad dignitaries. “Strider indeed, my friend,” Aragorn said with a fond chuckle. “You truly will never let that name remain in the past, will you?”

“Why ever would I?” Pippin asked. His brows furrowed in earnest confusion. “It is the name I first knew you by, and someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear.” 

Aragorn laughed. It started as a choked back sound of surprise and devolved into a truly uproarious, booming laugh. So few dared to speak to him in such a manner that it was refreshing to hear such cheek. “Verily, and I suppose one so close to the ground would be just the person to do so?”

“Precisely! I am glad you understand!” Pippin beamed up Aragorn with mirth and mischief dancing in his eyes that spelled nothing but trouble. The Ranger of the North could not find it within himself to fret over it. 

Of Hobbits and Their Food

“Strider! Do not be absurd!” Pippin cried with his hands thrown up in exasperation. Aragorn resisted the urge to let his head fall to the wooden table before him. The assembled council looked in utter disbelief at the impudent hobbit in their midst. The annual meeting discussing each region’s harvest dragged on well past lunch and was showing no signs of stopping - despite the originally listed eleven o'clock end time for the meeting. Several regions’ summers had been unusually dry, and The Shire’s harvest outperformed all others. As a solution, one of Aragorn’s advisors proposed requisitioning a small portion of its grains and preservable legumes to help offset the dearth from the other areas of Gondor. Pippin was displeased with the notion, to say the least, and turned that displeasure to Aragorn. The King sat with his fingers steepled on the table. It was logical, but many hobbits viewed ‘Big Folks’ with intense weariness. Declaring a portion of their harvest the property of the crown would only validate that weariness and breed resentment in a fledgling political relationship. The crown was meant to protect that vulnerable region, not pilfer from them. Yet, his other territories were in a precarious position with meager stores to last the winter.

Of all the times and days to use the old nickname, this was the least ideal. Years with poor harvests led to contentious, and frequently panicked, fall assemblies of regional Lords. This assembly included many from outlying communities who did frequently make it to court. Protesting a proposal was one thing. An outburst that - given their ignorance to the background of the familiar title - would appear to these Lords as impudence was another. Impudence they would perceive as tolerated by their King, which they would likely take to mean their King lacked control of his troops and court. Aragorn could feel every eye in the room trained on him, awaiting a response. Awaiting his rebuke to the comment. 

“Nothing has been decided Thrain Took,” Aragorn responded coldly. The emphasis he placed on Pippin’s title drew smirks from several Lords. Pippin did not flinch. 

The ever genial hobbits looked back at his friend with narrowed eyes. An unmeasured emotional outburst may have drawn the name from Pippin, but he showed no signs of being cowed that easily. “My apologies, Lord,” Pippin said bitterly. Aragorn suppressed a sigh of defeat and smile simultaneously.  

“State your case for reserving your resources. It is only right we hear your rebuttal after hearing the argument for requisitioning some of your bounty.” Aragorn’s tone took a more neutral tone. Arguments could remain behind closed doors - in places where the defiant nature of his friend would not raise eyebrows. Now was the time to draw an already overlong meeting to a close without further incident, so Aragorn could rein in his frustration for the time being. 

Pippin spoke eloquently of the need to keep The Shire’s resources within and not dispersing them, his tone turning to a dispassionate recitation of facts and history. He outlined the way they often support outlying communities like Bree and the general distrust nearly all the ‘shire folk felt’ of any situation where resources were taken in such a manner following Saruman’s abuse and subjugation. It was a persuasive case that Pippin would not have possessed the maturity to articulate five years ago when Aragorn met him in the Prancing Pony or four years ago when the hobbit first rode back to his home. The spirit and fierce protectiveness of his kin was the same, but the ability to debate over argue was a new development that Aragorn felt privileged to have witnessed. The inability to relinquish the old moniker of Strider in public seemed an enduring habit, however. 

Lunch was sent for as soon as the King left the meeting hall. Pippin sat before him with defiance radiating off him in waves. The look in his eyes was so similar to that which Aragorn saw in Rivendell when Elrond attempted to send Merry and Pippin back to the shire instead of with the Fellowship that it nearly made him laugh at the old memory. Almost. “Peregrin Took,” Aragorn started, “We have had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and I have told you before that I am not likely to ever truly change. I may be older, and I may have fancy titles, but I am still no more than a hobbit from the Shire.”

“Is that so? Are you not a knight of the citadel and a member of this court? The designated ambassador from your land and representative of your people?” Aragorn asked, voice stern and lacking any of the humor with which he typically spoke to his friend. Even in their most heated political debates and spirited debate over old history, neither were prone to harsh tones. 

“Aye, I may be, but I am still simple folk. Unschooled in court and prone to gaffs.” Pippin’s protest held no water, and he knew it. Five years of serving in the court as Thrain of the Shire left him well schooled in court affairs - even if he traded on his humble, rural appearance and accent frequently in court dealings.  

“You know it causes a stir throughout the whole of the court each time you do that?” Aragorn asked sharply. “It reflects on how I manage my advisors and troops. I know things change slowly in The Shire, if they change at all, but are you so incapable of change yourself? Can you do as your King and liege lord commands in this, if you won’t do it for your friend?”

Pippin visibly deflated as Aragorn spoke. His shoulders drooped and his eyes fell to the cluttered desk before him. “Aye, Strider. That I can do. So long as I can still call you as I ever think of you out of earshot of those who fuss about such odd things.” Aragorn softened then. As I ever think of you. The simple statement drew a lopsided smile to his face that was reminiscent of the first night he met Pippin in Bree, the one that played across his face each time the four hobbits impressed him with their boldness in the face of fear and peril and each time they showed their heart and wisdom along their long journey. “Do you still see old Strider in me? You did once promise to ground me in that version of myself, did you not?”

“That I did, and that I do. You may wear fancy clothes and bathe regularly now, so your old rascally look is gone, but that does not mean you are not the rascal I first met. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I dare say it will be many times yet in the years we spend together. I find less and less of the Ranger in myself each day I spend in these stone halls.” “Do you not sneak out anymore? Slip past your guards and flee to the woods?” Pippin asked.

“Not in many months. I have been tied to this desk long into the night, and when I am not I am with the little ones. It also seems that many people who have no right to an opinion on the matter feel rather strongly that I ought not to ever be anywhere with a guard.”

“Would it please my lord to escape this evening then?”

“Did we not just say that we need not use titles away from listening ears?” Aragorn inquired through a laugh.

“That we did, but I am still an ass and a Fool of a Took after these many years. I shall do as I please behind closed doors and do as you please beyond them,” Pippin answered simply and grinned.

“I suppose I can abide that,” Aragorn replied and fell silent for a moment. “I do believe an escape into the woods sounds like a wonderful idea - plus none can protest that I will be unprotected with a Knight of Gondor at my side.” 

“Excellent! Then let's settle the matter of the Shire’s crops, so we have no work to haggle over while we are beneath the stars…Strider.”

Feasts are for celebrating

It was the Midsummer’s Feast, and all the remaining members of The Fellowship, their spouses, Éomer, Lothíriel, Éowyn, and Faramir sat at the head table. A few notable dignitaries from Aglarond and Legolas’s kin in Ithilien had also been designated seats of honor with the tightly knit group of nobility. Eight years into the Fourth Age left the lands prosperous and healing. Areas that had long since not seen inhabitants were being rebuilt. Maps were being redrawn with each passing year because they lacked new settlements. That was a struggle all were thrilled to have. 

Eight years of retelling stories, however, meant they only still possessed roots in the truth. With each new recitation details were exaggerated anew. Drama was added. Some events were simply fabricated from nowhere. Some were far guiltier of these transgressions than others. Pippin was fairly notorious throughout the Reunited Realm for embellishments - especially when the wine and ale flowed freely as it did at feasts. As it was at this Midsummer’s Feast. “Strider! Strider!” Pippin called from halfway down the table. The guests of honor from abroad, who were seated next to him, looked gaped at the hobbit who had shared many fascinating tales that evening. “I was rather indisposed with dancing and singing, and you were the only one with Frood at the time in the Prancing Pony. Could you tell us the story of what you saw - or didn’t see, for that matter - in the tavern when he disappeared? These lovely gentlemen from Aglarond have not heard that story yet, seeing as we had not yet met Gimli!” 

Each person well acquainted with Pippin, and his propensity to forget proper etiquette, looked around the table and then to Aragorn. Every feast it happened eventually, no matter how many times Pippin was lectured, and each time his friends reacted the same. Aragorn was beginning to wonder if Pippin acted as he did simply to get a rise out of those around him. Someone has to keep you grounded and your head from flying away with those wings you wear echoed in Aragorn’s mind as he watched the familiar sight of the friends he called family react anew to Pippin’s antics. Faramir grumbled something incoherent into his glass of wine, for which Éowyn promptly kicked his shin. Éomer snorted out a rather undignified choked laugh. Lothíriel glared at him. Merry groaned into his hands to muffle the sound. Legolas pressed his lips into a thin line to hide a smile. Sam shook his head in dismay. Rosie giggled into her napkin. Gimli had no such compunctions and chuckled rather loudly. Diamond sighed and looked apologetically at Arwen. Arwen visibly fought back laughter. Aragorn, donning the Winged Crown and Star of Elendil, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and proceeded to give a full recount of the events in the Prancing Pony the first night he met the hobbits. That retelling quickly led to several more tales shared - and debated. Tales of travels and battles, and all the embarrassing mishaps and pranks along the way. The formality of the night quickly devolved, and strict court manners gradually faded from each of the friends. 

After a few more glasses of wine and ale, Pippin was far from the only one at the table who had their fun at the expense of the King sitting at the head of the table. Merry recounted the time Aragorn “mercilessly taunted me while I was ailing in the Houses of Healing! I had just stabbed the Witch King himself, if you’ll believe it, and here was my friend telling me I had lost gear that was sitting by the bed the whole time!” Gimli and Legolas shared many tales of their time as ‘The Three Hunters’. The one that earned Gimli the most laughter was the abject horror of being awoken well before dawn only for Aragorn to lay himself flat on the ground for “nearly a whole age of men” to declare many horses were nearby…only for Legolas to be able to see them on the horizon and correctly count them. Éomer was all too happy to chime in that Legolas had been only three riders off on his count, before adding his own note on how he nearly killed all three of them on sight. He then apologized to Merry and Pippin, for easily the hundredth time, for almost inadvertently killing them while killing the band of orcs who had captured them. 

By the end of the night, King Elessar doffed his ceremonial headwear and pulled out his pipe. Once he lit it, he tossed a bag of pipeweed to Pippin with a grin and a nod. The court gaped at the King who had turned into a Ranger before their eyes, though many who had seen this mood take their Lord before just chuckled. Aragorn looked around and grinned. They could gape and murmur, for this night was a celebration of all that had been hard won, and the uncouth and unendingly frustrating hobbit gesturing wildly while telling all there was to know of the Battle of Isengard and the Final March of the Ents won much of their bounty back for them. Tonight needed no lecture. 

Joyous News

Nearly silent feet padded down the hallway outside Aragorn’s office. Had Aragorn not spent several decades around hobbits, and a decade listening for that sound in his own palace, he never would have heard it. Pippin had been in Minas Tirith for only two days, and mischief was already afoot apparently. “Stri-” Pippin started and skidded to a halt, and his jaw snapped shut. “My Lord,” he began again and then addressed the Captain- General standing before Aragorn’s desk. “My sincerest apologies to you both,” he mumbled. Glee still danced in the hobbit’s eyes despite the faint hue of pink on his cheeks. “I will come back later. I did not mean to interrupt.” 

“Peregrin,” the officer said and gestured him into the office, “join us. There is clearly news to be shared. Do not let me keep you from it.”

“Sire, please. I mean no offense, but this is news I need to tell Str- King Elessar alone.” Pippin caught himself midway through the old nickname. When he did, he looked up at Aragorn rather abashedly - the pink dusting to his cheeks darkening. Rarely did Pippin truly feel shame for breaking proper court etiquette, but breaking rank in front of his superior military officers was one of few things for which he felt ashamed, however. His place within the army was more ceremonial than anything else at this point, but he drilled each time he came to court and practiced with any those he could at home. It was a matter of pride that he maintained his skills. The practice of going through his drills kept the memory of Boromir alive, and Pippin meant to honor his promise to Denethor to serve Gondor until his dying breath in repayment of his debt for Boromir’s death.

Aragorn sighed and rose from his seat. He was not escaping the back and forth of deference that was brewing between these two. Pippin had already derailed the meeting and taken the focus off the report of Southrond raiding parties harrying several outlying communities. “Captain-General, if you would please excuse us for the briefest of moments. Clearly something urgent of a personal nature has come up, but I will return shortly.” Aragorn’s voice was tight, but he motioned towards the side door that led to a private side room off the office. Pippin shuffled in behind Aragorn. The embarrassment at his multiple slips of the tongue were gone from Pippin’s face when Aragorn turned to face him. All that remained was a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “What on all of Arda is going on? And did no page or guard inform you I was in a meeting?” Aragorn asked.

“Well, as for pages and guards…no, but I did not really give them a chance to stop me either, for all my excitement.” “Then out with it, man!” Aragorn laughed, shaking his head with disbelief and amusement alike. His aggravation was quickly waning in the face of Pippin’s delight.

“I’m going to be a father! Diamond is pregnant!” Pippin exclaimed. 

The Captain-General standing on the other side of the thin wall with his urgent report no longer held even a fraction of his importance as he had moments before. Aragorn dropped to his knees to embrace Pippin. Aragorn’s lingering annoyance at the interruption and Pippin’s continued struggle to keep the name Strider behind closed doors was forgotten. “Well, that is a worthy reason to interrupt a meeting - and a reason to celebrate!”

“I would say so! Though, had I known you were otherwise engaged, I would have at least waited in the hall. It’s not as though the bairn is going anywhere just yet.”

“No, indeed, but I will gladly be interrupted for joyous news, my good hobbit.” Aragorn looked to the door and then back to Pippin. “I have to hear this last report, but go find Arwen and Diamond. I think we are all done working for the day. It is time to celebrate a new generation of Tooks.” As Pippin turned to leave, Aragorn added, “But Pippin, you have to let the staff stop you next time even if I welcome interruptions for good news - and please, after eight years, stop calling me Strider while we are working.”

“As you wish, Strider!” Pippin called halfway out the door. Aragorn groaned and shook his head, gesturing for the Captain-General to take the seat across from the desk.

“Do not ask, for I have neither the time nor the energy to explain,” Aragorn said in answer to the inquisitive look the man gave him.

Infrastructure of the Fourth Age

“It will never work, Strider,” Pippin interrupted in the middle of Aragorn’s explanation of his plan to dig new wells in the lower levels and outlying communities surrounding Minas Tirith as the city’s population outgrew the confines of its walls - and the limits of their water supply. Most of the assembled advisors, craftsmen, and lords present were well used to the behavior of the Thrain of the Shire. Several were not, and looked wide eyed between the King and his Knight. Aragorn looked at the ceiling as though he expected to find an answer to the riddle of Pippin’s behavior there. There was none. Strictly speaking, he was not even needed or invited to this meeting, but he had a habit of poking his head into court sessions that were not pertinent to his duties or position. 

“Thrain Took. Please. I welcome your thoughts and opinions, but I cannot abide your interruptions or use of familiar names during council meetings. We have discussed this at length,” Aragorn said sternly once he looked back at the hobbit and after a long sigh.

“My apologies, your majesty, but I do not beg your pardon. You cannot hold this old hobbit at fault. I simply forget myself in my advanced age,” Pippin said. The room stilled. Aragorn laughed despite himself. At one point, he hoped and expected Pippin to mellow as he aged, but the opposite proved to be the case. Each year the hobbit became bolder, but he was savvier about it. There were few times, however, where he sounded much like his younger self. 

“I have heard that excuse before from an old hobbit in Rivendell who blamed senility for gaffs. I did not believe him then, just as I do not believe you now,” Aragorn said and smirked.

“You may choose to believe me or not as you wish,” Pippin said with a shrug, “but that does not change the fact that I think this plan is entirely foolish and ill conceived - and I agreed to march on the Black Gates with you. And that was a plan with near certainty of death and small chance of success. This, I would wager, has no chance of success.” A few of the younger people in attendance gasped. Most of the older council members laughed under their breath. Pippin matched Aragorn’s smirk and did not flinch. This was the level of pointed discussion they reserved for Aragorn’s study and had over a bottle of wine. However, Aragorn had not shared this plan with Pippin - as it truly was not a plan that impacted the hobbit in any fashion, nor did it seem a plan that would interest him. Apparently, he should have.

“And do you have another suggestion then, Thrain Took?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Pippin declared in a smug tone with a grin to match. “We just had to manage the exact same issue in Hobbiton - granted we lack the many levels and such owing to most hobbits not even handling homes with second stories well, let alone a city of multiple levels with buildings of even more levels - but good ol’ Merry and some of Legolas’ elves came up with a brilliant way to reroute some of the water from the Brandywine to make new distributaries! I think we may need to do the same here.”

“And why would wells not work as they always have?” Aragorn challenged, but his words held no heat, nor did he ask unkindly. There was an elegance to the idea Pippin was proposing, and Aragorn was keen to hear it. Now came to the political jockeying needed to sell opposition to one of Pippin’s less tactical rebukes of a plan proposed by Aragorn. “How in the world do you think you are going to find new well sites that nobody in the history of this city has found? Are you going to go digging up roads all over the first and second level? No. You most certainly aren’t. Instead you can reroute some small distributaries off the Anduin to create a water source in the outlying communities and then work with Gimli and the other dwarves of Aglarond on a system for running that source up to the first and second levels. They have to have a system for it in their caves.”

“Master Thrain,” Aragorn said flatly.

“Yes, my lord?” Pippin asked.

“I am commissioning you back into my service for this project. You are now the lead on it. But, Peregrin, do not interrupt me like that or address me so in any of the meetings on it again.”

“I shall do as my lord bids me,” Pippin said. The smug grin on his face had never faded for a moment. The old members of the council rolled their eyes, and the young ones still gaped at him. Aragorn sighed and shook his head once again. 

Sounds You Miss

Years dragged on and Aragorn found the gift of his long life became a curse once again. His friends were aging before his eyes while he stayed ever young. Sam sailed after Rosie passed away. Éomer died in the autumn two years before. The men of Aragorn’s guard when he first took the throne were dead or fading before his eyes. Their sons served him now. This was not the first generation of men that had passed before his eyes, but this was the first he had spent the majority of in one place, the first he tied himself to closely. 

Aragorn sat upon his throne and attempted to focus on the day’s open court. Truly, he put a valiant effort towards it, but his mind refused to bend to his will. The citizens of Gondor brought their woes, struggles, and strife to him once a week - more often if he could manage it- and he always listened intently. He did his best to resolve each issue that came before him, and he was known for his attentiveness and benevolence amongst his subjects. Today he simply could not manage to keep his focus trained upon the proceedings. It was instead in the building nearly directly below him where Merry and Pippin had resided for some time now. Neither were well. The ravages of age spared none of the mortal beings of Middle Earth, no matter how desperately those who would outlive wished it to be otherwise. Their aged bodies looked like shadows of the young hobbits Aragorn had once known. Merry struggled to use his right arm no matter how Aragorn strove to heal it. Pippin fared far worse. His lungs failed him frequently, and his knees plagued him with pain. Despite it all, they still insisted on coming up to the citadel for nearly every meal, and their spirits were high as ever. Age and weariness could not diminish those, nor could it quiet their laughter. Withered as he was, Pippin continued to be as unruly as in his youth. Except for the past few days. Of late, He seemed distant - like he had one foot beyond this land. 

Heavy boots thundered down the hallway towards the throne room. Aragorn tensed. All eyes turned to face the source of the sound. Eldarion came to a skidding halt before his father. He faced King Elessar red in the face and panting. “Pippin?” Aragorn asked. His voice was already thick and choked with tears. His son need not answer. Lest peril had befallen his siblings or mother, there was nothing that would have made him run so. All the same, Eldarion nodded. Aragorn rose slowly from his seat and composed himself enough that he hoped his voice would not shake. “Court is adjourned for the day.” His voice held an air of finality which none dared defy. “Please see the Master of Ceremony on your way out, and he will take note of that which you came to address. When I am able, I will review all issues submitted. Now I must attend to a matter that I fear cannot wait.” With instructions given, Aragorn stepped down from the throne and moved as hastily as he could without looking entirely undignified through the crowd of subjects, but as soon as he was out of sight of the main hallways and corridors, he was running.

The air in Bair Nestad felt stifling. There was a tension that could have been sliced through by a sword. Every healer stepped aside wordlessly and bowed their heads as Aragorn made his way to Pippin’s room. Typically, he was greeted with warm smiles entering this space, and not infrequently he offered aid or advice. Not this day, however. The scene that greeted Aragorn on the other side of the door brought him up short. Merry - old and stiff as he was - was seated cross legged on the too big bed. Tears ran silently down his cheeks while he dabbed at Pippin’s forehead with a wet towel. The younger hobbit’s face was pale. Far paler than he had been even the night before. A cough had plagued for weeks, but he had continued to claim all was well. Now his lips had gone blue. Even the sound of heavy footsteps did not rouse Pippin. “The fever took him in the night. Didn’t tell a soul,” Merry said without prompting, “he can’t catch his breath anymore.”

At the sound of Merry’s voice, Pippin’s eyes opened slowly. His gaze was unfocused and distant until he saw Aragorn. His face broke into a weak smile, but before he could say a word a coughing fit that wracked his entire frail body overtook him. “Let me go fetch some herbs. We can treat the fever and soothe the cough,” Aragorn began, but Pippin shook his head with what little strength he could muster.

“There is nothing left to try,” he croaked. His voice was so faint that it could barely be heard even in the silent room. “Just come sit with me, my old friend.” Aragorn sighed. Every part of him yearned to fight the invisible foe that plagued Pippin. This was no battle that could be won with Andúril, nor yet by all the trainings of Elrond in the days of his youth. This battle was the same one that destroyed the Númenoreans and nearly decimated Gondor itself. It was one with no victory. The battle against time and age. 

“As you wish,” Aragorn answered reluctantly after several seconds.

Aragorn sat beside Pippin for hours. There was idle chatter here and there. Sometimes with Merry while Pippin slept. Every once and a while, he would wake, and the three friends would recount the old days, rather Merry and Aragorn retold Pippin’s stories to him with Pippin correcting them when they forgot the fabrications he added over the years. Eldarion and all those who had come to love the Thrain over the years came by to say their goodbyes. The King never left his Knight’s side. Eventually Pippin let him send for Athelas to ease the pain that came with each coughing fit. It comforted all who sat vigil, and the tension lessened in Pippin’s face while it brewed beside him. The room smelled of the woods of The Shire, and when Pippin first smelled it, he smiled and sighed. “Home…would that I could see it once more.”

“Maybe you can, Pip! We might be able to take one last grand adventure yet!” Merry tried to make the words sound hopeful, but they came out hollow.

“I think the only adventure that awaits me, old Merry, is whatever comes next. If you do make it back to The Shire, tell Faramir I love him for me. I’ll tell Sam and Frodo ‘hello’ for you, when I get wherever I am going - if they ever went there, that is.” Pippin’s words were weak. 

With each time he woke, his gaze became more distant. Both Merry and Aragorn clung tightly to his hands as though they could keep their friend with them for even a few extra moments if they just held on tight enough.

“Merry lad,” Pippin murmured at length. 

“Yeah, Pip?”

“I don’t know if I ever thanked Treebeard for making me the tallest hobbit on record. Could you do that for me, please?” Both Merry and Aragorn laughed through the tears rolling down their cheeks.

“I think I can manage that, but I think he knows you are grateful to him for it. Don’t worry about that just now.”

“I wish I could see him again. Him and Quickbeam. They are such odd fellows. And Bombadill. We never would have made it home without them.”

“We will make sure they all know they were on your mind,” Aragorn said gently and had to swallow down the lump forming in his throat.

“We never could have made it home without you either, and to think we almost didn’t trust you to go with us at all.”

“Well, don’t go counting me in that tally, Pip. I wasn’t there to not trust him, remember?” Pippin laughed. The sound came out more as a wheeze that caused him to start coughing once more. His lips were even more blue than when Aragorn first reached the Houses of Healing, and Pippin’s fingers were cold in his hand. “But I won’t fight your revisions - just this one time,” Merry added as an afterthought.

“Our King and protector from the day we met you,” Pippin said. A smile graced his features, and for just one last moment Aragorn could see the young hobbit saying that asked him about second breakfast, and then Pippin’s eyes fell closed for the final time. The name Strider seemed to hang in the air, but Aragorn never heard it again. 

Epilogue:

Pippin laid in state for a week. Tradition stated he be laid to rest in his uniform, but Merry insisted he wear his favorite coat and scarf, and so it was. At Aragorn’s insistence, Pippin’s livery lay folded at his feet to carry his honor with him wherever this last journey took him. Aragorn would not dream of laying Pippin to rest in his uniform. He was a hobbit of The Shire foremost and a soldier second, but he fought valiantly. He needed that honor to stay with him. His sword, in true warrior’s fashion, was placed upon his breast. It was an odd picture: the bright colors of a hobbit’s traditional dress paired with the barrow blade. It felt fitting for the hobbit who caused trouble everywhere he went. Aragorn could think of nothing that would bring Pippin more joy than to know he caused a ruckus in court even in his death.

Mourners lined up all the way down to the fifth level to bid farewell to Ernîl Pheriannath. Each day the queue would begin at sunrise, and each day they came to lay flowers at the base of the bed upon which he rested and say their final goodbyes. A mere few hours before Pippin’s funeral, Aragorn stood before him. Aragorn wore no royal finery - hadn’t since he returned to his chambers from Bair Nestad - instead he wore the same clothes he wore the very first night he met the hobbits in Brie. The coat had more patches and the shirt was more threadbare than that night, but it mattered not. They were more treasured to Aragorn than any ceremonial tunic and cloak. No other hand mended them, not even Arwen. Now more than ever before they felt sacred. A last anchor to the Ranger of the North Pippin vowed to which Pippin swore to serve as anchor. 

Each time Aragorn thought he could cry no more tears, more welled in his eyes. Now he wept openly. The sobs rang off the stone walls. It was not the first time in the past week he found himself in this position. The first night Merry found him there, and they cried together. When there were no tears left in either of them, they took a bottle of elven wine to the outer wall and drank and shared stories until the sun rose.

This night nobody came, and Aragorn was glad for it. Anger held his heart as much as grief. Blessed with long life, they said. It was no blessing to watch nearly all he held dear fade before his eyes. It was a curse greater than any he could fathom. There were only so many friends one man could lay to rest and watch sail away from him. Each time Aragorn stood before a crowd and spoke of the courageous deeds of those he fought beside and journeyed with it felt like his world shrunk that much more. Pippin left the world far smaller than his small stature accounted for and quieter than Aragorn could have ever predicted. At each turn he expected to hear “Strider!” called from down the hall followed by the sound of small bare feet slapping the stone. 

With a shaky step, Aragorn stepped up to Pippin. For just a moment, Aragorn saw the hobbit as he was during the War of the Ring: a young hobbit asleep in a bed roll needing to be roused for another day on the march. A simpler time - albeit infinitely more perilous. A time before Aragorn wore the weight of the winged crown. “Strider I shall ever remain, my dear hobbit, ere I draw my last breath. I shall not let the wings of my crown fly me away from my roots.”

Bonus:

Aragorn never experienced the Sea Longing of the elves, but he knew when it was time to lay himself down for his final rest. His body did not move as it once did, and he was weary. This world no longer held him like it once did. When the time came, he said his goodbyes and felt no regrets. Arwen asked one last time for him to say, but Middle Earth was no longer his home. Aragorn had given every piece of himself to it. To saving it. Rebuilding it. Nurturing it. Growing it. His time had come to an end. When Aragorn shut his eyes for the last time, rest took him quickly, and at last he was at peace. 

He tried to roll over and shield himself from the light to sleep a few more minutes, but then his mind caught up to what he had just done. Aragorn’s eyes snapped open, and he was forced to blink against the brightness until his eyes adjusted to light around him. It seemed to have no clear source. He was laying in an unfamiliar bed. The room was nondescript and unadorned with no windows. Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed, assessing the situation. An open door faced him with an even brighter hallway beyond it. With no other clear option, he slid on the boots beside him. The feel of the old leather brought a smile to his face. Then he grabbed the familiar green leather jacket laying on the end of the bed, and walked out into the hallway. 

One end of the hall was a dead end and the other was the source of all the light. It was a blindingly bright glow that obscured any terminus. Aragorn faced it and concluded that was the only way he was supposed to go. With a sigh, he set out. As he neared the light, it resolved into a large, open corridor with many hallways branching off of it. Aragorn looked from one direction to the other and froze. Just as he was about to choose a direction at random, the sound of small, bare, running feet came echoing down the hall on his left. Aragorn froze. He refused to feel hopeful. Refused to look. “Strider!” a familiar voice cried from his left. Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat. Fifty three years he had waited to hear Pippin say the name that had hung in the air since after he died. “Strider!” he called again, and Aragorn turned to see Pippin barreling towards him at a pace the hobbit had not been able to run for many years. He looked just as he had that first night in Bree down to his jacket and scarf. 

“Pippin,” Aragorn sobbed and fell to his knees just in time to catch Pippin in his arms. “My dear, dear hobbit. How I have missed hearing you call that name.”

“Did you manage to stay firmly on the ground, or did those wings you wore fly you away? I hoped I reminded you who you are enough times before I left you, but I have fretted a few times that I didn’t quite do enough.”

Aragorn shuffled back from Pippin enough to take a good look at him and shook his head in disbelief. “You did plenty enough to remind me who I am, but I hope I never have to go without hearing you call my name - whichever you want at any time and in any place - ever again.”

“Well, you are in luck, Strider. As it turns out, we hobbits go the same place men do, and everyone is waiting for you.”

A/N: So I made myself cry like 17 times writing the last parts of this thing. I apologize for the pain, but I hope you enjoyed!

///////////////////////////Tagging those who liked my original post//////////////////

@wisheduponastar

@stayindraw

@randalekobolt

@emmbethsstuff

@salivary-gland

@softboiledwonderland

@denerturee

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@hastyhobbit

@elenna-elrondiel

@gentlegentian

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@thelittletobsterthatcould

@scholarlyhobbit

@unwordy

[lachencha]

A Million Springs: Anya Mouthwashing x Reader

i updated today?

you know i had to double itttt

this was based on my dreems

i hope you guys like it! and thank you for liking and reblogging you beautiful people!

does anya’s ghost count as a warning..??

Abandoned sheets of music lay scattered across your desk, with crumpled, balled-up ones overflowing the trash can. Sleepily, you scribble more lyrics onto a fresh page, writing words of love you wish you could've said to her one more time. It's been almost a year, but the ache hasn't dulled. If anything, it lingers sharper in the quiet.

She loved music. She loved when you sang songs to her, when you'd dedicate them to her during a gig. Though you never thought of yourself as much of a songwriter, she liked whatever impromptu melody you came up with. Anya liked everything—oldies, R&B, pop. You smile softly, remembering how diverse her playlists were during your late-night car rides, each song a little glimpse into her ever-curious heart.

You strum your guitar lightly. The sound feels hollow. Usually, Anya would be there beside you, swaying her head to the rhythm as you practiced, sometimes humming, sometimes shyly singing along. She was always self-conscious about her voice, and you never understood why. You told her she was amazing, better than she realized. But she'd always shake her head and laugh, playfully stubborn. She didn't believe you, though you wished she had.

You glance at the mess on your desk and begin sorting the scattered sheets. Anya would've scolded you for leaving it like this, she hated clutter. She used to tidy up your desk while muttering good-natured complaints. It feels wrong to organize it now without her, but you do it anyway, her voice echoing in your mind.

After a quick shower, you slip into bed, your body clean but your mind anything but. You stare at the ceiling, too tired to move but too restless to drift off. The silence presses heavy around you.

"(Y/N)."

Your breath catches. That voice—it couldn't be.

You sit up, your heart racing, and there she is. Your raven-haired beauty, her familiar eyes gazing down at you with a softness that breaks you. Her lips curve into a gentle smile, and you can't stop the tears that well up in your eyes. Slowly, almost afraid she'll vanish, you reach for her. She takes your hand, her touch warm and steady.

“Anya..." you whisper, the name trembling on your lips. You throw yourself into her arms, sobbing.

She holds you tightly, her fingers stroking your hair with the same tenderness you'd missed so desperately.

"I've missed you so much, Anya. You have no idea how much I've missed you. I wrote so many songs, so many poems—everything for you. I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you."

"I know," she says softly, her voice like a balm on your wounded heart.

She guides you to sit beside her, her hands warm against yours. "That's why I'm here," she says. "It hurts me to see you like this, to see you cry. I've heard every song you wrote for me, and I love each one."

"You did?" you ask, your voice breaking.

She nods, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I did. But..."

She hesitates, her eyes searching yours as she holds your hands closer to her chest. "I need you to stop."

Your stomach twists. "Why? Do they bother you?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "It's not that. But I can't bear to see you so broken. I just want you to keep going, my love. I want to see you happy."

You glance down at her hands, tracing the faint lines of her palm. "Do you remember the night we started going out? And you made me play my guitar for you?"

She chuckles softly, a sound that makes your chest tighten. "You kept forgetting the lyrics to that one oldies song."

"And you sang it instead," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was the first time you let me hear you really sing."

"I only sang because you wouldn't stop begging," she teases, her eyes glinting with the memory. "And you made fun of me the whole time."

"Because you were so good, and you didn't even realize it." You grip her hand tighter, your voice trembling. "How am I supposed to keep going without moments like that?"

She looks away, her expression softening. "You'll make new ones," she says quietly. "And one day, they won't hurt as much."

"I don't want new ones," you say, shaking your head. "I want the ones we never got to have."

She cups your face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I want them too," she admits. "But I'm not here to haunt you, my love. I'm here to remind you that you're still alive."

"How can I keep going?" you plead. "You were everything to me. How could I ever forget you?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but you press on, desperate to make her understand.

"Give me a million springs," you whisper, your voice trembling, "and a couple of centuries to adore you. After that, I'll forget you. I promise I'll never bother you again."

She sighs, her expression tinged with sorrow. "That's impossible."

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. "As impossible as it is to forget you."

Her grip loosens, and she lets your hands fall. "Please," she says softly. "I need to see you move on. I can't stand watching you cry over me anymore. Promise me you'll try. Promise me you won't live in the past."

You sigh, your chest heavy. "I'll try," you murmur.

She smiles faintly, her lips brushing your cheek in a final kiss. And then she's gone.

You wake up alone, her words echoing in the silence, and you stare at the empty space where she had been.

She's asking for the impossible.

Not even a million springs would be enough to stop loving her.

[another-kiraidesunosekai]

Personal Impression: Fangs of Fortune.

After watching the first episode, I already knew how this story would end.

It would end with tears like a river.

I knew many will die, even the lead character. I knew. Even so, I keep on watching it, every single episode, not even skipped any scene nor fast forward it.

Because of one reason ....

HIM.

Neo Hou is so gorgeous as the great demon!! >.<

I really like his make up and styling in this series. He really look like a 34.000 years old demon. His aura, demeanor, and his voice, really really resembles an old and presumptuous and flippant demon. Neo really did a great job for this role! BRAVO!

The story pace was quite slow though. Not only the story, but the dialogue, the movement, were also slow. I really have to hold out the urge to press the FF button. XD

And, although it came from the same director as My Journey to You, but the action scene movement isn't as thrilling as the previous one. Also, somehow they work too hard to give the heart warming feeling and the slightly comedy at the early episodes. Everyone always shed tears, even from the first episode. It feels like a rehearsal for the sad ending. XD

Everyone is trying too hard to ease each other pain that it looked unnatural for me.

BUT!!!

I do love this family.

A family consist of demons, a goddess, an human, a young mountain god, and an half human-half god.

I wish they would be together till the end and on. Doing adventure and demon hunting together.

Then again, it's Chinese drama land. We often get different kind of ending than we wanted, even if it was adapted from a novel and has an happy ending. I really don't understand with this kind of "satisfaction" to have a sad end, rather than an happy ending where everyone would smile and be happy. XD

Zhao Yuanzhao (Neo Hou) was actually a pitiful character. He was responsible of killing Zhou Yichen's brother and father, he has also killed Wen Xiao's mentor, the previous baizu goddess, and he was the reason for the death of Ying Lei's grandfather, the previous mountain god. All that because he was the vassal of malicious energy, and he can't control it (also can't control his own conscious). He also break up his friendship with Li Lun, the tree demon, which he accidentally hurt in a fight to protect the human. I could say, Zhao Yuanzhou's entire life is fill with misunderstanding.

I remember reading a comment saying, "In the first episode, Zhao Yuanzhou wanted to die because of what he has done, and in the final episode, he died when he wanted to live."

Damn. That hurts. Especially with the scene when Zhao Yuanzhou had to slapped himself before he sacrifice himself. He wanted to live with his loved ones, with his friends, but he has to make the biggest sacrifice. The death he has been wishing for. :((

Someone also said that Zhao Yuanzhou was like a sun for Li Lun as the sunflower. Li Lun only look at his sun, Zhao Yuanzhou, but the sun is actually owned by the people. That's touching, and it makes sense. But I still think Li Lun is like a brat which his favorite person was taken away by some other interest. XD

The sadness kind of traumatized me, even though I still able to made jokes when I watched it till the last episode, like "One down." XD

The characters were kind of pitiful, and it's always the demon side who suffers the most.

I'm quite happy that this series still have "connections" with real world, like the love between Miss Qi and Ran Yi was touching. They only wanted to be together, but their differences got in the way. "Whether you are a human or a demon, you are both my path and destination." It's like saying "I love you" in Fangs of Fortune's way. X3

When A Heng fights to protect his unconscious sister, Zhen Mei said he can't save his sister, and A Heng said, "I can't ... but I must." He know he won't stand a chance against Zhen Mei, but he still has to fight to protect his sister. That's a real power.

When Wen Xiao was poisoned and likely dying, she said that she doesn't want to die, and she still has lot of things she wanted to do. This is a natural reactions when we know that we only have little time left to live. Wen Xiao doesn't pretend to be strong by saying kind words like it's a sacrifice that she gladly will do as the baize goddess. The same thing with Ying Lei when he's dying, he said that he's scared and he doesn't want to leave ... my heart really broken for him. Ying Lei is my second favorite because of his cheerful nature. :((

I really like they still put that natural reactions and emotions as a common human would felt. (Note, Ying Lei's words were an adlib by the actor. Superb!)

There were several unforgettable moments in this series, including the death scenes. But, there's one that engraved in my mind. That one moment when Li Lun confronted Zhao Yichen who was about to turned into a demon. At first Li Lun was being all above Yichen, then it was the opposite. Yichen succeed to put some conscious into the stunned Li Lun. Li Lun wanted Yichen to be depressed and become a demon like him, yet Yichen stay righteous just like Zhao Yuanzhou had said about him. Yichen even said he becomes to understand Zhao Yuanzhou, rather than to Li Lun. That's like a totally defeat for Li Lun.

And lastly, Zhao Yuanzhou words to Wen Xiao, that when he died, he will become the rain and comes down to stay by her side.

Zhao Yuanzhou, do you know, because of that words, every time the rain came down now, I always said, "Da Yao, it's raining." TwT

Oh, well ... for me, it's quite good series. Although I still dislike the end, and even the special episode didn't do any good ....

Just remember, that it's a dream, and when you wake up, everyone actually living a happy life together, just like in the ending scene dance. XD

Neo Hou really did a great job in portraying a thousand years old demon. X3