#IT’S NOT EVEN GOOD ON INVERTED TOAST

[billcipherisntreal]

HEY WAIT A MINUTE WHY DOES MY BLOG LOOK LIKE THAT????

THAT’S NOT THE COLOR SCHEME OR HEADER I HAD SET FOR THIS BLOG?????

[ghostchems]

la bella luna -papa emeritus ii x female!reader (part 2)

secondo gives you a tour of the abbey.

author's note: part 2 is finally here! this is for @tasty-ribz <3. 3.5k words. mndi! we got a lot of spiciness here :) as of right now, this is the final part but there potentially could be a part 3 later on :) ao3 link.

“Are you gonna let me leave?”

He ignores you. He has been ignoring your pleas and questions for the duration of your breakfast. Despite the air of grumpiness and stress, the breakfast was quite good – over easy eggs, bacon and toast, that you happily devoured. Now that your plate is empty, you continue to stare at Secondo who is lost in some papers in front of him.

You are starting to get upset, your head starting to swim with thoughts that he is holding you captive now. The awareness that you left your phone in his room spikes your anxiety. Your knee is bouncing underneath the table as Secondo takes a long, drawn out sip of his coffee. You squint to try and make out what his papers say but a nun (?) quickly comes to the table, clearing it of plates and tucking the papers under her arm. She doesn’t even spare you a glance.

Secondo is gazing at you now, his expression completely unreadable besides the always present scowl that is painted on his face. He stands from the table and you quickly do the same, fidgeting with your hands as you give him the most unsure face you can possibly muster. He reaches for you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder and you feel a small sense of relief just from the touch.

“Come. I’ll show you around, cara.” His voice is calm, yet stern. You swallow thickly and nod at him. He seems so different than the night before, much more rigid and tense, but then again, he had been drinking. Secondo still offers a small squeeze to your shoulder before turning on heel to leave the dining area. 

You follow after him like a lost puppy. This is not how you imagined this morning going. You figured you would be home by now, having your precious alone time after a shockingly successful night out. But instead, you are following a man in flowing, scary robes around what appears to be a ministry of some sort.

There is religious imagery plastered along the halls and inside what appear to be classrooms and meeting areas, as well as plenty of inverted crosses. Still, overall it seemed like a nice place? People seemed happy. There is a huge library, a garden and a greenhouse, dormitories, common areas, an auditorium, a chapel and more. The more you saw, the more you were impressed but the sneaking suspicion started to creep into the back of your mind that this is a cult and Secondo is the leader.

The tour ends in his office which is the same exact color scheme of his room - black furniture with gold and green accent pieces. You are sitting across from him, your knee bouncing again as he looks you over from his side of the desk.

“Are you afraid, cara?” He finally speaks up, brows furrowing.

“I’m… stressed. I mean, this isn’t typically how one-night stands go, ya know? I should be home by now, I think.” You’re frowning at him, trying to convey how uncomfortable you are. He doesn’t seem too phased by it.

“You want to go home, cara?”

“Yes.” You sigh deeply. “I have been asking you all morning when I can leave, Secondo. This isn’t right; you can’t just force someone to stay here if they don’t want to.” 

“I don’t think you actually want to go home.” Secondo sneers, then stands up and walks to the front of his desk, just in front of you. He leans back on the desk, his feet settling between yours. 

“Are you serious?!”  You are practically screaming now, your face twisted in anger as you jump to your feet. “You don’t even fucking know me.” You have the urge to shove him but you refrain, instead cross your arms in front of your chest with a huff.

“Oh, but I do, cara.” Secondo reaches out and snatches you by the chin. You try not to seem phased by it but you can’t help but widen your eyes at his grip. “You’re bored of your life. That is why you agreed to that date, no?” The corner of his lips curl into a barely there smile.

You say nothing and clench your jaw against his grasp. Does he want a pat on the back for pointing out something so painfully obvious? Still, you can feel your cheeks start to heat up from his gaze and his touch. 

“You are curious, as well. Curious enough to follow a mysterious old man into a dive bar.” His thumb brushes over your lips and you can’t help but part them at the touch.

“You’re not that old. Plus, you were much more charming last night.” You want to sound confident but the words come out rushed and quiet. He slips his thumb into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue. An involuntary moan spills from your lips.

“I think you like me this way, dolcezza.” Secondo leans in close and removes his thumb from your mouth. You suck in a quick breath as his hand moves to the back of  your head. “It’s what made you follow me last night.” His fingers twist into your hair and he pulls you forward, pressing his lips to yours. 

The kiss is gentle, his soft lips moving against yours. You pull away and meet his gaze, almost getting lost in his sparkling white eye. You’re still frustrated, of course, but he was right, you are drawn to him in a way that’s hard to explain. You are quick to kiss him again, this time more forceful to assert control,, your tongue invading his mouth.

Secondo makes a surprised noise, his grip on your hair tightening as he kisses you back. He slips his hand down between your legs and presses his palm firmly against your cunt through your pants. You give a soft gasp and he takes the opportunity to suck on your tongue. All illusions of you being in control slip away at that moment. You’re putty in his hands.

“Come back to my quarters and let me show you other reasons to stay.” He purrs against your lips as he slowly rubs his palm against your cunt. You whine and you’re at a loss for words. You manage to nod your head and he grins, showing off his sharp white teeth.

Secondo quickly spins you around and you huff at the loss of contact. His hands rest on your shoulders and he starts to guide you from his office. You feel like you’re on autopilot, your feet pattering along the tiled hallway. 

The moment the two of you make it inside his room, he pulls you flush against him, your back against his chest. Secondo slips down your stomach and toys with the band of your sweatpants. You slide your hand around his neck and tip your head up to him, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Mia luna.” Secondo hums and pushes his hand down your pants. He swipes his fingers across your slick folds and your body shudders at the sensation. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never want to leave.” He hisses into your ear and slips a finger inside you. 

“Fuck.” You pant and give a soft groan as he curls his finger just so. Secondo chuckles against you, then dips down to your neck, planting wet kisses down it as he slips another finger in. Your back arches and you feel his hard cock through his robes against your ass. A shuddered breath leaves your lips as he picks up his pace, thrusting his fingers in and out, curling at just the right spot. 

He slides his hand underneath your shirt and starts to massage one of your breasts. Your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw goes slack. Secondo hums against your neck, teeth grazing it and then gives it a soft bite. You moan deeply, your hand pulling him even further into you. He grunts into your neck as he pushes another finger inside you and uses his other hand to pinch at your nipple.

You’re barely hanging on by a thread, moans spilling from your lips as he continues to thrust his fingers. He seems to know exactly how to make your toes curl, your head spin, your body tremble just with his fingers. 

“Will you come for me?” Secondo whispers into your neck, then seals his lips to it and roughly sucks. Your hips jerk wildly against his fingers and you tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “Will you, mia luna?” He didn’t have to ask you again, a strangled sob spilling from your lips as you reached your peak.

You don’t have much time to recover. Secondo picks you up around your waist and tosses you onto the bed, losing your pants in the process. You squeak as your ass hits the bed and he’s quickly kneeling in front of you. You manage to reach and tug at his robes, and he gladly helps you remove them. They drop to the floor in a heap, revealing a tight black t-shirt and even tighter briefs.

You’re finally able to get a good look at his face: the paint on the lower half of his face is smeared into a gray and you can see a little bit of his pink lips peeking through. Secondo’s fingers toy with the hem of your sweatshirt and you can’t help but wrap your legs around him and try to pull him in closer.

He nips at your jaw and then pushes your sweatshirt over your head, tugging it off and tossing it onto the floor. His hands are still gloved and he runs them up your back as he kisses down your chest. You rest your hand on his shoulders, then lightly drag your fingers to his neck. Secondo moans softly against you and you can feel the vibrations in your chest.

You suck in a breath as his lips close around one of your nipples, flicking his tongue against it. His fingers dig into your back and your head lolls back on your shoulders. He lets go of your nipple, lathing his tongue across it again before continuing to kiss down your stomach while his hands move down to your hips.

Secondo settles his face between your legs, looking up at you with dark eyes as his lips brush against your inner thigh. Your legs are already trembling and you move your hands to grip at the edges of the bed. He licks across your folds, moaning at the taste, and presses his face firmly against you.

His tongue dips inside you and your hips buck at the pressure. He grabs your legs and positions them over his shoulders, your heels digging into his back as he sinks his tongue even deeper inside you. You throw your head back, a loud, shameless moan spilling from your lips. Secondo digs his fingers into your hips, moving his lips up to seal around your clit.

“Secondo!” You whine as your heels press even hard into your back. You can feel him chuckle against you but he doesn’t stop. He swipes his tongue roughly against your clit over and over again while your leg muscles start to spasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You gasp, your chest heaving. Secondo growls again against you and this sends you over the edge again, tears stinging your eyes as you cum.

Secondo brings himself to his feet, lazily stroking himself through his briefs as you come down from your orgasm. He reaches for your chin with his free hand, running his thumb along your already parted lips. You’re panting heavily, your eyes watery as they drift up to his. The corners of your lips twitch into a small smile at the sight of him.

His eyes are blown wide with lust and you can see a blush peeking out from underneath his paint. You manage to lean up and run your fingers down his chest and stomach. He groans quietly, squeezing himself through his briefs. You move his hand away from his cock and tug his briefs down, his length springing free.

Your eyes flit up to his face and his mouth drops open as you grab him by the base. You lick the precum off his tip, a moan rumbling from his chest. Secondo moves his hand to grab you by the hair and forces you down his length. You hum around his length, your tongue running along the underside of it. His hips jerk into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag.

He yanks you off of him, a line of spit connecting your mouth and his cock. Your eyes are wide and you’re worried that you’ve done something wrong. That is, until he grabs you and pushes you down onto your back. He thrusts himself into you without warning and you scream, your nails scratching at his chest. Secondo’s hips are snapping ferociously into you, his thighs slapping hard against your ass.

“Fuck, Secondo!” You cry out, your voice hoarse from how much you’ve been screaming for him. He captures your lips, kissing you hungrily as he growls into your mouth. Your arms loop around his shoulders and you scratch at the base of his neck. 

“You like this, dolcezza?” He snarls between labored breaths. “You like when I fuck you into the mattress?” Secondo’s teeth tug at your bottom lip as you babble a series of “yes’s”. His hips stutter, jerking wildly as he reaches his climax. He buries himself deep inside of you and growls deep in his throat as he cums, spilling his seed. 

You’re left gasping beneath him, your chest heaving against his. Secondo picks his head up, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. He traces his gloved finger across your cheek with such tenderness. Your hands slide down his shoulders to his chest, running your fingers through his chest hair. He leans in and kisses you, a soft, gentle kiss that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Mia luna.” He mutters against your lips, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your forehead. “I have some work to tend to, dolcezza. Would you like a shower?” Secondo’s nose brushes against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. You try to speak but you’re unable to form words, only being able to mumble an affirmative. His lips pull into an even wider smile as he helps you to a sitting position.

***

You wrap yourself in a towel, your hair still wet as you step back into the bedroom. Secondo is gone. You take the opportunity to finally check your phone. There are several text messages waiting for you, one of which is your date from last night apologizing profusely about standing you up (some kind of emergency happened or whatever), and another from your friend you shared your location with, alerting you that you are at a satanic church.

“Good to know.” You mutter, tossing your phone onto the bed. Your gaze travels around the room before settling on the door. A quick beat goes by before you’re walking towards it, hand reaching out for the knob. You turn it. 

Unlocked.

A million thoughts start to flood your brain as you consider making a run for it. You quickly move back to the bed, changing into a new pair of sweats and crewneck that was left for you. An odd sense of anxiousness starts to fall over you as you eye up the door. Part of you is ready to go while another part is curious… curious if this was a trap and also curious as to what would happen if you just stayed… a bit longer. 

You lay down on the bed, stretching out your limbs as your brain is torn completely in half by trying to decide what to do. After a while, you end up falling asleep wrapped in Secondo’s comforter.

***

When you wake up, it’s already dark outside. You rub your eyes and sigh softly, thinking that you’ve probably missed your chance at escape. At this point, you’re not sure that’s a bad thing.

Your attention drifts to the window and you see him, not far off smoking a cigarette outside. You run your fingers through your hair and try to straighten out your sweatshirt. It’s bunched up and crumpled from taking a hard nap. You are teetering on the edge of going back to sleep or going outside to him. The pull from him ends up being too strong and you end up finding yourself walking slowly along the path to him.

You silently walk up beside him and he gives a soft grunt as a greeting. Secondo’s arm slides around your waist and pulls you to his side. “Mia luna, buona sera.” You can smell the smoke on his breath as he presses his nose to your cheek. You lean into his touch with a dreamy smile, still riding high off of the time you spent with him earlier in the day.

The moon is shining brightly like it had been the night before and the two of you stand, gazing at it in silence for a little while. “I do not offer membership here to just anyone, dolcezza.” Secondo muses, breaking the silence as he flicks his cigarette to the ground. He grinds his heel down on it, quickly putting it out. “I think you would thrive. You would be amongst other curious minds. Learn new skills and subjects.” His nose presses into your cheek again and you can feel that he’s smiling. “Plus, we would be able to have each other whenever we want.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks and offer a small giggle. “I still… have to think about it, you know.” You tilt your head so that your eyes meet his. The white eye is so bright in the darkness but his expression is much softer despite the scowling paint.

“Of course, dolcezza.” Secondo leans down to peck a kiss to your cheek. “You can leave whenever you like but…” He brings his hand up to stroke at your jaw. “I would like to spend another night with you in my arms, mia luna.” 

***

You left. You had to. You couldn’t just up and leave your life at the drop of a hat, even with how tempted you were to do it. But you had a job, a roommate and plants to take care of at your apartment. Plus, you didn’t want anyone to think you were sacrificed at the local satanic church either.

The weeks drag on. You end up going out on a date with the guy who stood you up (due to an emergency). He’s nice and you make plans to see each other again, and then again. Work is boring but at this point you are resigned to do the bare minimum in order to get that paycheck. You hang out with friends every so often and also spend plenty of time in your room watching your beloved reality tv shows.

Things are fully back to normal in your life despite the small detour. But, you often find yourself drifting off during your day at work or when you’re out with friends, or even when you’re on a date back to the time you spent with Secondo. Nothing has felt quite as thrilling as that night. Not even the more you get to know your new boytoy. 

You feel like you’ve been on autopilot for sometime when you start to feel that pull again. It’s been there, deep in the back of your mind since you left but it grows stronger by the day. The more bored you feel, the more you want to leave it all behind and go back. You’re almost annoyed with how Secondo has wormed his way into your brain.

Almost.

If you were actually annoyed, you wouldn’t be packing your bags right now. You wouldn’t be carefully wording a text message to your date. You wouldn’t have put in your notice at work that you were leaving. You wouldn’t be boarding an uber right now to go back to the ministry.

When you arrive, there are people in black masks ready to help you with your bags. It’s like they already knew you were coming somehow. They guide you to your new quarters. It was smaller than the room in your apartment you shared but it was quiet and it was yours. You start to unpack and organize your things when you hear a knock at your door.

It’s him. You know it’s him. He’s in his robes and mitre, face paint as scowly as ever but you can see the light smile on his face and the brightness in his eyes.

“Ah, mia luna, I knew you would come.”

[phantomtgm]

Phantom - Chapter Twenty Four

Phantom’s P.O.V

“Dagger one away.” 

Maverick’s jet took off in a hurry and I took a deep breath in an attempt to focus. 

“Dagger two away.” Rooster then it was me and as soon as my jet bounced off the flight deck, I heard “Dagger three away.”

“Dagger four away.” Well that was the easiest part of this mission. 

We flew at such a high speed, it didn’t really feel like we were flying at all. 

“Recommend dagger continue.”

“Copy. Daggers descending below radar.” Maverick’s voice peaked through and I felt a small bit of relief.

With ease, all four jets descended below the crowds, our jets close to touching the water. This was so our enemy wouldn’t detect us so soon and no matter what, I couldn’t let my emotions interfere with my flying. Otherwise it wouldn’t end well for Omaha and I. 

“Here we go. Enemy territory up ahead.” Maverick warned but it didn’t scare me considering Maverick was leading the mission. With his experience, regardless of our relationship, I was confident this mission would be a success. 

A few moments of silence, Maverick was given permission to fire the tomahawks to the intended target. 

I could hear him inhale deeply then speaking with confidence, he said “Dagger attack.”

I knew then they would fire the tomahawks from the Destroyer that was waiting in US territory. 

“No turning back now.” Maverick’s voice sounded off in my headset. 

“Daggers, assume attack formation.”

I fell into line behind Rooster and we began our way through the canyon. “First Sam site overhead.” 

“Looks like we’re clear on Radar, Mav.” Rooster spoke. Just because we were clear now doesn’t mean shit. 

“Let’s not take it for granted.” Maverick said. 

“More sams! Three o’clock high!” I glanced up and saw the sams my team spoke up and if we went up a little higher, we would definitely be going to be toast. 

-

“Rooster if you don’t speed up now then the bandits will be waiting for us when we reach the target!” I yelled through the speaker. 

Rooster was beginning to make me worry as I followed behind at a slow speed. We needed to speed up or this mission would end with all of us dead. 

The only thing I heard Rooster say was “Talk to me dad.” It sounded like he was panicking but before I could speak, Maverick’s voice ripped through comms, reassuring Rooster in a fatherly way which I couldn’t help but to admire. 

“Come on kid, you can do it. Don’t think, just do.” His words even reassured me because even I was doubting whether we would be successful or not so as soon as Maverick spoke those words, Rooster took off like a freaking rocket. 

“Jesus Rooster, not that fast!” Omaha exclaimed and I bit back the smile that started to spread across my face. 

“Alright, hit your target and come on.” Admiral Simpson shockingly spoke through comms and I thrust the throttle forward, climbing the first steep hill. 

The pressure on my lungs was heavy but not enough to make me pass out so I grunted as I inverted the plane to dive. 

The next thing I knew, Fanboy was yelling “Dead eye, dead eye!” So I pulled up, got target loc and proceeded to launch a missile at the target. 

“Bombs away!” 

“Hell yeah Phantom! We got em’!” Omaha yelled but I didn’t let the smile spread across my face this time. 

“We aren’t out of the clear yet.”

Beginning the very steep climb, I could feel my lungs wanting to implode. My chest felt like there were a gazillion elephants on my chest and I could barely breathe. My breathing came out in bursts and I could see black around my vision which wasn’t good.

The jet shook as we climbed out. We were almost there. 

Suddenly, Maverick’s voice came through my headset. 

“You’ve got this Ava.” His voice was soothing and enough for me to gather enough strength to keep awake as I successfully exited the canyon and straight into where the enemy lay. 

“Well shit.” I uttered as I watched as several bandits were after my fellow aviators and now caught on to me. 

“Hold on Omaha, this is going to be a bumpy ride!” I yelled as I pulled the throttle back, effectively pulling off the cobra maneuver I saw Maverick once pull.

-

“We’ve been hit, we’ve been hit!” Omaha screamed. 

Panic seized my very being as the engines in my plane were shot out. My heart beat rapidly as smoke billowed out of every surface on my jet but I had never done this before so my reaction was delayed but a certain Navy captain’s wasn’t.

“Eject Ava, eject!” His voice was laced with worry and it broke my heart because I knew what was going to happen. 

I was going to die and it was going to leave Maverick devastated.

“Ava you can’t save it! Eject now!” I looked out of my window but I didn’t see Maverick anywhere so I don’t know how Maverick was seeing that I was in deep shit.

“Phantom please, we need to eject!” Omaha pleaded and it sounded like he was going to cry.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached below me as I spoke as calmly as I could into the speaker. 

“Eject Omaha! Now!” I pulled the ejection handle then with a loud bang, I felt weightless as I was airborne, falling from the sky and I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. 

The last thing I heard was the whooshing sound of the parachute deploying, the force of it effectively knocking me out.

[broke-on-books]

✒️ please!!

Send me a ✒️ and I'll pick a poem I think you'd like

After flipping through my notebooks I decided to go with my first instinct for you, which was "A Toast to the Alchemists" by Laura Gilpin. This poem hasn't been published online officially, so they're aren't a ton of sites that have it that I could find with a quick Google search. However I've attatched photos of a reddit post with it along with my version in my journal.

I picked this poem because of its themes of time and the passage of time, as well as magic and giving emotional significance to the most mundane and clinical of things (atoms and elements). In other words, taking magic from the world around us, especially through a lens usually seen as lacking wonder or whimsy. Also vibes, I mainly did it based on vibes.

Some other poems I considered in my search/additional recommendations are listed under the cut:

If you liked the writing of this poem, and haven't read it already (or have) I definitely recommend "The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin. It's by the same author and is her most famous poem and is fairly well known and also soooooo good. So good.

Poems with similar themes:

Poems with similar themes to "A Toast to the Alchemists" are

"Dusting" by Marilyn Nelson 💘 (literally cried to this. To be fair it was 10 minutes after I finished the HDM finale so it was mainly because of that but still. Great poem.)

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (90% sure you've read this one its the time theme but inverted and it's great if you haven't)

Rejected picks/Poems that gave me Anu vibes (many for no particular reason):

Poems by Ted Kooser for some reason??? NO idea why they're very different from the ones above but some of my faves are "Selecting a Reader", "In a Country Cemetery in Iowa", "The Constellation Orion" and "Flying by Night" (I'm v much questioning this pick now but I'll keep it up here just in case)

Honestly a bunch of random unrelated stuff was popping out at me ("Listen" by Miller Williams, "Cartoon Physics, Part 1" by Nick Flynn, "Snow" by David Berman) and like a million billion more which I all got from the same anthology (Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins) so if you want to read a bunch more poetry, based on vibes alone, I'd say look for the book, the website, or the sequel. The poems from that book aren't too similar to the one above but it's really one of two books I generally recommend people right off the bat (it was my lit teachers favorite lol) because it's meant to get young adults and teens into poetry and introduce contemporary poetry in general. Idk how much poetry you've read whatever but even if you aren't new to it it's still a good compilation of late 90s/early 00s poetry that makes you think but isn't super long/totally incomprehensible

Anyways that got WAY longer than I anticipated or anyone probably wanted but poetry is an obsession of mine and recommending poetry is much more complicated and harder that it looks, even for the people you know best in the whole world AFTER interviewing their opinions on poetry, not to mention how difficult it would be for internet friends on tumblr. But anyways there's a couple poems, I got the vibes as close as I could with the poems I had on file. (Although i do feel like I'm missing something big 🤔) Anyways thanks for the ask Anu! Hope you thought my pick was alright!

[linesonpages]

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone”

This happens to me all the time. I’ve been trying to learn the same lesson, from a different source but very similar. I often find myself getting anxious and defensive/explosively reactive and can’t identify the source of my overstimulation/discomfort, eventually that source is removed and I can finally regulate.

I want to be able to identify the sources while they’re happening so I can eliminate them sooner, but in the moment my brain freezes and my executives can’t function.

So I started a note in my phone to write down the triggers after it gets fixed and I identified it. When I have time and energy I write the trigger out as a question I can ask myself, and an explanation I can give myself as to why changing that thing might help. If applicable I also write out the tools I can use with my kids when my sensory needs conflict with theirs. I write it conversationally so I can read it aloud to myself and just follow my instructions, if it’s just bullet points I can’t always connect the information to the moment, or remember what those four words were supposed to make me think of doing.

I always like it when people share their lists on advice posts like this, so here’s mine in case it helps as a starting point:

Things to check when it’s all a bit too much:

Are any of the blinds up? You feel trapped and unsafe if all the blinds are closed and the house is too dark. Try opening a couple (even if the weather is bad)

Have you been outside today? You also feel trapped if you are in the same place for a whole day. Step out on the porch for at least 2 minutes even if the weather is miserable you ALWAYS feel better.

Have you consumed any calories in the last 2 hours? You are a grazer and a lil’ treat queen. Your brain probably needs a little glucose, if the kids are also tense give them something carb based too. This physically helps you and it often gets your attention off the stressor so you can try to find it.

Are the big lights on after 6pm? That’s unacceptable, you own lamps for a reason. You don’t need this much light all the time. Turn them off. If the kids are feeling stressed by the dark give them their lanterns, you bought them for this moment specifically. They need more light than you, so give them the dumb lanterns batteries are not as expensive as you think.

Are you cold? Are you hot? Change your clothes or get a blanket. Put socks on or off. It sounds stupid but inverting your sock situation tends to help.

Have you drank anything recently? Get a beverage of extreme temperature. It’ll give you some glucose for your brain and give body a job to do and a temperature change to monitor so she stops freaking out so much.

Are you sticky or wet? Are there crumbs on the floor and by extension your feet? Fix that and it’ll change your life. You abhor these things.

How many sounds are currently being produced? You often try to put on a podcast because you’re bored but if the kids have the tv on and your podcast is on it’s usually too much for you. If there’s multiple musics being produced you’re toast. Either give up on the podcast for now or get your good headphones, don’t forget to tell Tali she needs to come and touch your arm if she needs you while you’re wearing them.

I’m adding more each time I find one and it’s really helpful. My daughter has even started learning some things and offering to change them when she notices I’m getting stressed. Especially big lights after dinner time, I think that one helps her too. I gave my husband the list too, but he prefers bullet points over the long version.

It’s really hard to relearn and parent ourselves. But it is possible if we keep at it and give ourselves grace and compassion to grow slowly. We were supposed to learn this stuff over the course of 18ish years with our parents coaching and collaborating with us. So it’s going to take a long time for us to teach ourselves.

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[bangjiazheng]

Tropical Bliss Pound Cake 🍍🥥

Tropical Bliss Pound Cake 🍍🥥 Dreaming of a getaway? Why not bring the tropics to your kitchen with this irresistibly moist and flavorful pound cake? With the perfect blend of pineapple and coconut, it's like a mini vacation in every bite! Ingredients: For the Pound Cake: 1 cup unsalted butter, softened 2 cups granulated sugar 4 large eggs 1 tsp vanilla extract ½ tsp coconut extract (optional) ½ cup coconut milk (or whole milk) 1 cup crushed pineapple, drained 3 cups all-purpose flour 1 tsp baking powder ½ tsp salt 1 cup shredded sweetened coconut For the Glaze: 1 ½ cups powdered sugar 2 tbsp pineapple juice 2 tbsp coconut milk (or regular milk) ½ tsp vanilla extract Toasted coconut for garnish (optional) Instructions:

Make the Pound Cake: Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease and flour a 10-inch bundt pan or loaf pan. Cream the butter and sugar in a large bowl until light and fluffy, about 3-4 minutes. Add eggs and flavoring: Beat in the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Then, add vanilla extract and coconut extract (if using). Stir in coconut milk and pineapple: Combine until the mixture is smooth. Mix dry ingredients: In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Gradually add this to the wet ingredients, mixing until just combined. Be careful not to overmix! Fold in shredded coconut for an extra tropical touch. Bake: Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Bake for 60-70 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. If the top is browning too quickly, cover with foil during the last 10-15 minutes. Cool: Let the cake cool in the pan for 15 minutes, then invert onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Make the Glaze: Mix the glaze: In a medium bowl, whisk together powdered sugar, pineapple juice, coconut milk, and vanilla extract until smooth. Adjust with more pineapple juice or milk for desired consistency.

Glaze the Cake: Drizzle the glaze over the cooled cake, letting it run down the sides for a beautiful finish. Garnish with toasted coconut on top for extra flavor and a little crunch.

Serve: Slice into this tropical delight and enjoy its buttery goodness! Perfect with a cup of coffee or tea, or even a scoop of vanilla ice cream for an indulgent treat. Let the flavors of pineapple and coconut whisk you away to paradise! 🌴

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #244

Today was another relatively slow and quiet day. I still feel relatively uninspired. I got lost in leisure writing for probably a lot longer than I should have. Perhaps tomorrow, after all my various appointments, I'll instead try to play some Dead Cells; I feel like it's been a bit too long.

...I'm... tired. I don't know whether or not you're going to be safe. Sometimes it weighs on me. But I suppose it doesn't matter; what choice have I got but to carry on anyways?

So I made myself a tea. This time, it was toast and jam tea. I realized I should probably use one teabag for this instead of two. So I tried that today, and it turned out to be even better than what I am familiar with. There's something really mesmerizing about watching the tea brew, and looking at all the colors and fluid densities bending light in interesting ways as it all seeps into the water:

...It rained a lot today. Like... a lot, a lot. To the point that one of the nearby roads flooded and no one could go over there. I've never seen that happen before. I thought briefly about dancing in this rain, but... I felt empty. So I didn't. I took a video of it for you instead, though:

...I'm not entirely sure why I feel so empty today. I'm not sure what's wrong with me.

Anyway, sometime after J's shift at work ended, he wanted to get out of the house, and I supposed that some such thing might be good for me, too. So we went to a local plaza; I needed to pick up medicine, anyway. There was an unexpected traffic jam, though, thanks to the flooded nearby road. So J and I chilled out at a bagel shop in the plaza:

...Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like bagels? I like everything bagels. Sometimes, I wish there was a such thing as a pumpernickel bagel, with carraway seeds scattered throughout the dough, and everything seasoning on top. But they don't make such things, for reasons I cannot comprehend. Do you have a favorite kind of bagel? Do you have a favorite bagel topping? I wonder...

...

I saw a lot, A LOT of rainbows today on the way home. J even indulged me a bit, chasing after them so I could get pictures of them for you. Here's what I was able to come up with. The first one is pretty faint:

...This next one was a rainbow so bright that it looked like three rainbows stacked on top of one another. I couldn't make the camera capture it fully before it faded away, but maybe you'll be able to see the faint outlines of the second and third bows, to the left of the main bow:

...Alongside the one pictured here, there was a fourth, inverted bow; I had to change my position just slightly to capture it. Again, I couldn't make the camera capture it well, but if you look closely, you'll see it near the rightmost cluster of stadium lights:

...So essentially... I saw a quadruple rainbow today??? Even if I couldn't quite capture it on camera, it was still certainly something awe-inspiring, to say the least.

...I wish you could have been here to see it...

Here are a few more pictures I took of different rainbows in different locations as J and I toodled around today:

...I thought I took some pretty awesome pictures today. What do you think, Sephiroth? ...Do you love them...?

...I'm not sure why, but... while writing that last sentence there, I almost started to cry. I must be a little more tired than I thought. Hmm.

...I'm feeling a little lost today, for reasons that elude me, especially since, by all accounts, I had a pretty kickass day today. But maybe I'll take all these rainbows I saw today as a sign that you're gonna be okay, as silly and ridiculous as that probably sounds. I'll keep looking for any news I can find about you, and hope that within that news, I'll be able to find something to put my mind at ease.

Sephiroth...? Please. Please stay safe...

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[symphonyofmalice]

"No good deed goes unpunished." (from: Elphaba Thropp - melpomeneprose)

@melpomeneprose

"Exactly" Nicolas agreed emphatically with a tip of his chin. If he had a glass he'd have toasted to her with it. "It's all backwards. Goodness, wickedness- the whole system. I can't even call it worthless. It's worse than that. It's inverted."

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Babe I donno if you're already getting a million asks for the february prompt list but ♡ Im here with buckets of love ♡ if you need it.

FANCY BRUNCH,,,,, special request can it be a drag brunch? (thats um definitely a thing in Seattle) (idk queens love to brunch I guess) ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Excellent addition to the prompt, @whothehellisbuckles! I hope it's okay if I plagiarize myself and use the drag personas Sam and Bucky have in my Single All the Way AU, A No Snow Christmas 😂

Date 7 of 28: Fancy Drag Brunch

| - 6 - | - Prompt - | - 8 - |

Wings made of hearts in waves of Purple Pizzazz and Shocking Pink and Wild Strawberry and Vermillion; bright to contrast the tones of Bucky's, the Rosewood and Burgundy and Rouge and Tyrian Purple, their fake nails matching their wings.

They both wore draped fabrics made from love letters printed on the cloth, pinned to look as if the fabrics were flowing off the full nude suites on them, as if it were Aphrodite's hair as she stood on her shell as well as strategically hiding certain parts of the body without seeming forced.

painted straight across their eyes and over the bridges of their noses were golden arrows, light pink mascara on Sam while there was a wine red on Bucky, their lips inverted where a golden heart was drawn over the matt maroon lip on Bucky and vice versa on Sam.

They had prepared for this drag brunch for a while; both of them excited to put on a show for their friends and family; Sarah, AJ, Cass, Bucky's very old younger sister Becca who was flown all the way out from Indiana to spend the week with Bucky, Joaquín, Sharon, Rhodey, Old Man Steve all the way from the Moon along with Fury, Shang-Chi, Katy with her plus one Xialing, Wong, Dr. Strange, Monica, Wanda, even Darcy Lewis and Jimmy Woo.

"Hello," said Sam, "And welcome to the Falcunt and the Winter Whorer's Valentine's Brunch Special!"

Sam and Bucky's backyard was decorated for the occasion; paper hearts of every shade of pink, purple, and red everywhere, heart-shaped faerie lights providing an ambiance under the tent, fake roses strewn everywhere ranging from the pale pink of the Scepter'd Isle rose to the rich, darker red of the Munstead Wood rose.

Mocktails and Cocktails like Rose-Colored Glasses and Be Mines and Pink Squirrels and Sweatheart Punches sat next to plates filled with heart-shaped french toast with raspberry sauce and roast duck toast with pomegranate sauce with a sprig of dill and chocolate-covered strawberries and seared scallops in brown butter.

Sam and Bucky had gone all out for this, and it had paid off, the crowd cheering, eating, drinking, looking great and seeming to have a good time thus far.

So far so good.

"Now, today, the Falcunt and I are not just our regular selves," said Bucky, Sam nodding along with him, "No, we are Erotes."

"Winged goddesses of love," said Sam thickly, smiling as he said, "I am Hedylogos, Goddess of Sweet-Talking and Flattery."

"And I am Pothos, Goddess of Yearning, Longing, Desire," said Bucky, the both of them leaning in on each other, "And we welcome you to our show of love."

The crowd cheered again and it was so hard not to turn to Sam. Sam with the better makeup, the cleaner look, just the most gorgeous no matter what the occasion.

"There will be fun and games and there will definitely be love tarot readings and love horoscope readings later, or maybe just reads," said Sam, letting the audience laugh, "But for now, you're here just in time for the talent portion of this special event. Or, rather, when I prove that I'm talented and the Winter Whorer tries to keep up."

"Lies and libel," said Bucky, "Speculation and slander. I can sing and dance with the best of them. I was a real hoofer back in the day; bopping at rubs, jitterbugging in speakeasies before they let me get ossified. Every dame and fella at a wingding wanted to gab my ear off and swing a wing with this thing."

"We get it, you're old," said Sam, the both of them turning to one another, a glint of competition in Sam's eyes, "Now, do you think you can keep up, Grandma?"

"I'll do more than keep up," said Bucky, the music beginning to play as they fell into the routine.

Bucky feeling lithe for once in his life, Sam ever graceful, the both of them lipsyncing as Whitney Houston asked How will I know? whispering, Don't trust your feelings, Love can be deceiving, but all Bucky could focus on was how good Sam looked, up on that stage with Bucky, how great of a dancer he was, how everything just felt perfect for this one moment in time.

And Bucky knew the song would end, and he and Sam would get on with the rest of the show, but he wanted to live in this song and dance for a touch longer, live in the pure joy radiating off of Sam.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Want to choose a date for Sam and Bucky to go on during this special February Daily SamBucky Fluff Diary event? Check out the prompts here and send me an ask! I’ll write you a drabble as one of my Daily SamBucky Fluff Diaries!

[lovelylou]

since 2020 is almost over, i thought i’d share (some of) my favorite fics that made my 2020 a lot better.

[note: not all of these fics were written/published in 2020, although most of them are, there are some that are older, but that i’ve read or re-read this year]

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tastes like summer, smiles like may by outropeace

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

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But It's Useless by thinlines

“Hey.”

Louis was even hallucinating now. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He chuckled wetly, head still leaning against the door.

“Can you get out of the way? You're blocking the door.”

He exhaled sharply before slowly turning around. His eyes fixed onto muddy Nike trainers before it traveled up to impossibly short jogging shorts. The yellow color was atrocious, simply ghastly.

“What happened to being polite, Harold?”

OR Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

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haunted by the ghost of you by missandrogyny

He’s tall—that’s the first thing that registers in Louis’ head when he spots him, standing with his hands behind his back. Tall, with curly hair, staring at them with the widest, greenest eyes Louis has ever seen. And wait, are those dimples? Louis didn’t know ghosts could have dimples.

Because he’s definitely a ghost, this boy. At first glance he looks normal, standing there pigeon-toed in a band shirt (The Ramones, Louis can’t help but note incredulously), dark jeans, and some boots, with rings on both hands, and tattoos littering his left arm—a sleeve made of anchors and names and roses and other completely unrelated things. But he’s also a little bit translucent; if Louis focuses, he can see the outline of the furniture, the design of the wallpaper through him.

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis. His face shifts; somehow his dimples dig deeper into his cheeks. His eyes flit from Louis, to Niall, to Liam, and finally to Zayn, and his face goes from shocked to elated. “I’m Harry.”

At in that exact moment, standing between three of his best friends and staring at a (quite handsome) ghost, Louis can only think one thing.

Nick Grimshaw was right.

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On the Edge by zanni_scaramouche

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

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even the best laid plans by falsegoodnight

“Anyways,” Louis stresses, narrowing his eyes, “just let me say it and then rate how terrible of an idea it is on a scale from one to ten.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, sitting up expectantly.

“I want to ask Harry Styles to take my virginity,” Louis blurts, holding his hands out for emphasis.

The way Zayn’s eyes bulge is almost comical. “Negative infinity,” he says, voice choked. “Negative infinity times negative infinity.”

“Technically, a negative times a negative is -”

“Really negative infinity,” Zayn corrects himself, shaking his head wildly. “Louis, what the fuck?”

-

Or, Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

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The Compulsion to Find Love by Toomanytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

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Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

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UN(RE)SO LVED. by daddyharrie

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Or, BuzzFeed Unsolved AU.

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Hate to Smoke (Without Me) by louhazpride

“For fuck’s sake,” he huffs, grabbing the pillow and pulling it on top of his head in an attempt to block out the banging coming from the other side of the wall.

It’s the third time this week that his neighbour has woken him up in the middle of the night with his little ‘rendezvous.’ Honestly, he's quite sick of it. There’s only so much sex he can bear to hear in one week and he has already hit his limit. If he wanted to listen to someone having sex, he’d turn to porn.

As if the noises weren’t enough, Harry immediately becomes aware of the faint aroma of weed filling his flat.

“I’m going to murder him.”

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

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Three Days in February by writing_practice

“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet.

“And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.”

“What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?”

Confusion slid over Louis's features.

“Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.”

The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

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Coming Up For Air by stylinsoncity

It's a long plane ride to LA but sitting beside Harry makes time fly.

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I'd Give Up Everything Just Ask Me To by Rearviewdreamer

They don't usually exchange Christmas gifts, but this year is different. This year, Louis knows exactly what he wants to put under the tree to make his boyfriend smile. He just doesn't know how he's going to get it.

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bruise you like a peach by falsegoodnight

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

-

Alternatively titled 'the peach fic.'

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Sometimes You Just Know by 2tiedships2

“Dear diary. Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why...”

“What are you doing?” Louis mumbled as he bit into a piece of toast.

“It’s been almost two years and today Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson reunite. Louis is very excited about…”

Louis’ chair screeched along the kitchen floor as he flew up out of his seat, quickly grabbing the paper from Niall’s grasp. As he scanned the page he found it amounted to lines of nothing.

“What is this?” Louis asked again. “We’ve discussed how Harry Styles will never be spoken of in this flat. I don’t care how long it’s been.”

Niall snatched the paper from Louis and proceeded to draw a line across the page before writing.

“Today is the day that he-who-shall-not-be-named is coming to dinner.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis don’t believe in soulmates… until they do.

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eyes off you by soldouthaz

“Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us all safe while we’re in there,” Liam says.

Through the crack in the door, Louis can just barely make out the broad curve of Harry’s back, the slope of his curls as they tumble down all sleep-soft and lazy, and the sharp twist of his arm - all leading down to where he’s got his pointer and middle finger crossed over each other behind his back.

“I promise,” he tells Liam firmly, “I promise.”

--

or; a charlie’s angels inspired fic where louis is the brains, harry is the charm, liam is the muscle, and niall drives the getaway car - and zayn is there, too. sometimes.

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Welcome to The Rivalry by 2tiedships2

“Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”

Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?”

Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?”

“Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?”

As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again.

Or a reverse You’ve Got Mail au inspired by the Ohio State/Michigan rivalry. Featuring duplex neighbors, (kind of) enemies to lovers, and an anonymous Twitter feud between omega Louis and alpha Harry.

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Cold Little Heart by seducedbycurls

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child

A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham

Louis really could use the help.

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[thebadchoicemachine]

SBI HadesTown AU That Lives In My head Rent Free

(in fact I probably pay it to live there)

Links at the end under the cut.

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Starring:

• Dream, George, and Sapnap as The Fates  • Philza as Hermes • Wilbur as Persephone  • Technoblade as Hades • Tommy as Eurydice

and

• Tubbo as Orpheus

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Changes to the story - 

Instead of spouses, Wilbur and Techno are estranged brothers.

Instead of lovers, Tommy and Tubbo are best friends.

The focus is still on restoring balance to the world but through familiar and platonic love instead of romantic. Also, the reason the world is so bad is a more social crisis (some people work too much while others can’t work at all) instead of a natural one (the seasons being wack.) 

It takes place during a seething summer drought rather than a frozen cropless winter but its still the same tune of spring/fall disappearing because the the world being out of tune. 

Character Changes -

+ Philza is an old god. He’s not weaker nor stronger than Wilbur/Techno, just fills up a very different role. He’s god of history, of legends, of simple stories and narration. He’s very human compared to most gods, some theorize perhaps he straight up IS human in some way shape or form. He lives a human life to meet people and collect their lives and stories and appreciate them. He can’t really interfere as more than a mortal man but still just tries to give as many happy endings as he can.

+ Tommy’s a scrappy lost child. His problem is similar to Eurydice but a little inverted. Rather than learning to trust people he needs to learn to value them. He’s no issue with interacting with people and enjoying their help/company but he’s a tendency to use them. He doesn’t believe they’ll stick around so he doesn’t bother caring about them.

+ Tubbo is also an abandoned child. Unlike Tommy he grew up in one spot, although still homeless. Philza found him camping in a crate box behind his station and gave him a job and a bed. He’s pretty much exactly like Orpheus, optimistic, sees the world for what it could be instead of what it is, but maybe spends a little too much time looking forward and not around.

+ Technoblade is basically the god of work and motivation. His problem is generally the same as Hades’ in that he misses his family and is too busy working and building security for what he wants to get what he wants. He misses his brother so much he’s hardend himself to the reasons they’re apart so much in the first place.

+ Wilbur is basically the god of play and rest. In this AU, instead of Hades, Persephone’s role is the biggest reason the world is out of wack. His problem is that he doesn’t face his problems. As the god of such frivolous things as music, games, rest, etc. he is (feels) weak and useless. He’s jealous of Techno and how needed he is so Wilbur retreats away to somewhere he feels needed and wanted, entertaining miserable people. He’s stayed away for longer and longer amounts of time, not realizing his distracting them from their troubles (inadvertently preventing them from fixing them) is a reason they’re so miserable in the first place. All he can do is have a good time so he’s begun forcing it every second of every day and ignoring his brother in the meantime. He needs to learn that he CAN do good, people NEED breaks and fun, but recklessly enforcing it only enforces what he fears, that he’s a liability. 

So, the main problem is a cycle the brothers have spiraled into:

Techno does obviously important things (stirring progress and improvement) and Wilbur feels bad, unimportant, and like a burden.

Wilbur leaves Techno to go distract himself/play with the humans.

Wilbur becomes useless and detrimental without Technoblade there to balance him out.

Techno works even harder, becoming empty and cold without Wilbur there to balance him out, trying to get enough work done so Wilbur won’t have to worry and will come back.

Wilbur sees Techno working so hard and shies away even more so as not to disturb his brother’s important work.

Technoblade has to basically force Wilbur to stay with him now, making it more work.

Wilbur sees Technoblade as both too important for him and now generally unappealing as unnecessary effort. Besides, he’d probably just get in the way.

Technoblade now sees Wilbur as just another part of his endless job. Keep people working, keep things improving, keep the numbers going up, try to keep Wilbur here. Its become work for the sake of work instead of work to the sake of rest.

So even when they’re together neither is relaxed enough to balance the other, both are distant.

Wilbur’s become too carefree, he ignores Technoblade and drops anything that seems challenging, including reconciliation and self-examination. He’s still just playing, even when with Technoblade.

Technoblade’s become too obsessed, focusing more on how to get and keep his brother with him than on being with his brother. The work has become meaningless without the end goal that Wilbur provides. A self sustaining cycle of labor for more labor’s sake.

Now the humans are suffering because they find themselves trapped in an unbalanced cycle of being either incapable of work or incapable of play.

Thematic notes:

- The dancers in the station during the first half are Skeppy, Antfrost, Bad, Eret, and Puffy. 

- The workers (the dancers in the second half) consist of Niki, Fundy, Quackity, Ranboo, and Awsam.

- Tommy is implied to vaguely know/be brotherly to Techno and Wilbur, this is partially how Techno convinces him to leave and go work for him. 

- Likewise, Philza has a few lines about feeling sorry about how Techno and WIlbur have ended up (implying he took some part in raising them) and already knows Tommy when he enters (implying he’s been a dad to helped Tommy out before.

- Technoblade is less malicious than Hades, more just cold and apathetic. In a way, he thinks he’s helping by pulling Tommy away from Tubbo. He, like Wilbur, believes that work is good so more work must be better, even if you’ve nothing to really work towards. At the end he listens to the fates because needs to figure out how to let Tommy go without undoing either all of Wilbur’s power or all of his. 

- Tubbo’s song has a bigger impact on fauna than floral, specifically insects. His first song brings out bees, butterflies, and moths that Tommy goes all star eyed for because pretty bugs but more importantly, living things that don’t want to hurt him!

- Instead of a flower Tommy gets a big beautiful orange moth (named Clementine) that hides in the back of his coat neck whenever Technoblade is near. He remembers in ‘Flowers’ when he goes to wipe some sweat from his neck but its Clementine and she flies around him while he sings. (I thought that’d be much prettier than him just holding her like Eurydice holds the flower.) 

- During ‘Living it Up On Top’ Wilbur dances specifically with Philza (who greets him very much like a father might greet a son who’s been away for a long time) and Tommy (who he teases and ruffles his hair a lot).

- Wilbur does drugs instead of alcohol. He... he makes a lot of drugs so I thought this would be an appropriate swap. Also it’s really funny to me that he sings Our Lady Of The Underground (or, Brother To The Underground) just completely stoned; handing out weed and shit to the workers.

- Instead of a mine Hadestown (Technotown? Technoville?) is a farm in a giant glass case built way up high. Instead of going through the dark that challenge is Tubbo has to climb up its side to avoid the train. Its an unnatural and unwelcoming greenhouse. Everything grows in lines but they’re mismatched and overrun with thorny weeds. Everything is grey and tough and flavorless. There’s so much dust and dirt being kicked up it’s hard to breathe and see. The workers are using various gardening tools during the beats instead of swinging a pickaxe. Half will sharpen while the other half swings (tilling the ground/cutting weeds), it makes a real nice schwing/thunk mix sound. 

- During ‘Word To The Wise’ George sings (“if you tell them no you’re a heartless man”) Sapnap sings (“if you let ‘em go you’re a spineless king”) and Dream sings (”here’s a little tip”) and (“men are fools, men are frail”)

- Tubbo still looks back during ‘Doubt Comes In’ because he's scared of Techno and feels bad about himself (“Who am I? Who am I to think that he would follow me into the blazing heat again”). Techno, Wilbur, and Philza try their best to take care of them but it’s still a tragic ending. 

- Tommy and Tubbo may or may not become (very sad and minor) gods. Unofficially and not in the story, but still... maybe. If they WERE, hypothetically,  they’d be a very tragic pair. Tubbo would help mend relationships and guid people towards good advice while Tommy would help catch/ignore/cut out bad ones. Always working together, never together. 

Lyrical Changes 

> Pronouns are changed, obviously.

> Techno and Wilbur sing “brother” instead of “lover.”

> During ‘The Wedding Song’ (The Friendship Song, I do not care if it’s childish, Wedding is replaced with Friendship) They sing each other’s names instead of “lover.” (Tubbo, tell me if you can...////Tommy, when I sing my song...)

> Anytime they’re complaining about the cold winter replace it with a hot summer

> Tommy’s lines are much sharper. He never loses his edge with Tubbo. Instead of him remembering him and going “my best friend, Tubbo” he remembers and says something more along the lines of “that fucking idiot, Tubbo” but he’s say it with a quivering smile and bittersweet tears in his eyes. Harsh in words not in tone. 

> Wilbur still pours a glass for a toast during ‘Living It Up On Top’ but the rest of the time he’s smoking something instead of drinking. (Who gives breaks when the work is hard?//That's right, Wilbur Soot!//Who makes the music? Who’s your bard?//(Wilbur Soot!)//Thank you//Who makes a rough life fun again, in spite of a pig//(You do!)//Who’s the most awaited gig? Eh? Wilbur Soot, that’s who!)

> When Wilbur shows up during ‘Chant’ he complains about how cold and dark it is. (Colder than a tundra) Techno explains it away as having set up shades/coolers to counter the glare from the sun through greenhouse glass and how he did it to protect/comfort Wilbur. (Brother when you feel that chill, it’s my protection from the kill, its my protection that i’ve built for you.)

> In the Chant Reprise the workers are singing about why they’re working if they can never enjoy the security and safety they keep making. Technoblade, instead of telling him to buy Tommy’s love, tells him to make himself needed. He, instead of warning Tubbo about Tommy leaving, scolds Tubbo for being too light and fluffy and spinelessly letting Tommy go. He scolds him for trying to take Tommy away, back into uselessness and empty fluff, when he’s found a good purpose because clearly Tubbo wasn’t point enough. 

> Philza’s still the narrator, but diegetically his lyrics show more clearly that he knows everyone in the story already. I really like the idea of him giving Tubbo advice on making friends that gets shown in ‘Come Home With Me’

> When Tubbo sings about Techno, instead of singing about minework, he’ll sing things like ((from the second stanza of Epic II) “Technoblade, king//of power and pain//of a hard days work//that never ends//and for half of the year when Wilbur’s away//the strain and the stress just won’t give way//he thinks of his brother, light and carefree//and is taken in a rage of obligation and need//to ensure wants are met and safe//so there will be time for play//so his bother//his brother comes home) 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post all started because I was thinking of Tubbo singing the “La lala laaa” that was originally Wilbur’s song. 

Also, I realize this entire AU is just one big punch in the gut to Philza, like, “HEY, ALL YOUR SONS ARE SCREWED UP, NOW SING ABOUT IT.”

[megamegaturtle]

golden syrup

Rating: G

Relationships: Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter (Friendship)

Tags: Post-War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Baking, Self-Love, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Hand Holding, POV Harry Potter

Summary:

Golden syrup: a thick amber-coloured form of inverted sugar syrup that tastes delicious on scones, hot cakes, and treacle tart with a buttery, caramel flavor.

Golden: something Harry Potter hasn't felt in a long while.

[the one in which Luna teaches Harry how to bake]

(For the Dumbledore's Armada Discord Flash Comp: Magic Begins From Within! Winner for Overall Favorite, Best Platonic Friendship, and Best Use of Prompt!)

Read it here on Ao3

Harry Potter welcomes the new year with a six-pack of beer and booming fireworks. It smells like war. Gunpowder screams overhead and the lively colors flash before his eyes, but no one dies at the tip of a wand. He trembles, his muscles are weak, and he is defenseless. 

With each explosion, he relives every death. Cedric, in the graveyard, his face devoid of red. Green howls on the top of the Astrometry Tower and Dumbledore falls. Sirius, in a flash of blue, his body gone in a blink.   

Change feels like swimming in the desolate waters of the Black Lake. It is numb and no one can save him, but Harry still swims. He longs for the shore, but breath is scarce, just like his seconds. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but he waits for it with a guarded heart.

Life slows in solitude, Harry decides. It is as cozy as an empty flat that has a drafty window. Winter creeps in every crevice and rustles the tops of cardboard boxes. Loneliness nestles in the space where his friends used to stand, but Ron and Hermione are moving on to tomorrow, with or without a plan.

He sits in a deserted living room, a ratty couch as his lonesome furniture. He stares out the window, the gray sky frozen in the sunlight. It does not thaw as the sun moves across the day. He sits there frozen too and welcomes snow to fall over his soul. He wants to be buried under soft white until he sinks into the cold. 

He is the aftermath of war.

He is the definition of lost.

But someone finds him anyway.

The knock on his door is light, but persistent. The knocks continue even after a full minute. Harry gets up, his knees creak and his joints sore. He drags his feet just like his blanket clings to the floor. He trips over a cheap rum bottle; the glass echoes a shrill laugh in his flat.

His fingers glue to the doorknob and shake at welcoming someone into nothing. Hot disappointment whispers in his ear, and warm, breathy shame is enough to propel him into battle. Harry plants his feet to the ground, his body tenses for a fight. He clenches his jaw into a familiar ache.

Harry prepares for someone to drag him into a hug. He expects someone to force him back to a life with obligations. But Luna Lovegood only pauses her knocking and takes a step back. Grocery bags rest at her feet and her bottle cap necklace jingles like a blessing. She smiles up at him like she saw him yesterday.

“Hello, Harry,” she says. “I like your blanket cape.”

A blush paints his cheeks, and he clears his throat, his voice raspy. “Hey, Luna.” 

Luna stares at him patiently from the threshold as Harry opens the door wide enough for her to enter. She does not comment on the state of his empty flat or how it’s been so long since she’s seen him. She only asks to be directed to the kitchen. He leads her with slow steps, each movement heavy on his person. Luna trails behind him, and the items in her bags jostle together as a cheery chime.

Without help, she hoists the bags onto the counter and takes everything out: golden syrup, ginger, and other baking ingredients. She rests a pie tin to one side and a few mixing bowls and some utensils to the other. Carefully, she pulls out a handwritten recipe and reads it once before putting it on the counter too.

Harry licks his lips, desperately wishing he had a glass of water. “Luna, not that I’m not happy to see you—”

“But you’re not happy to see me, Harry,” she interrupts. “You haven’t been happy to see anyone.”

“Okay, fair enough, but—”

“I am happy to see you though,” she interrupts again, her smile honest and sweet. Her smile cuts like crystalized honey. It has sat too long in the opened container in the pantry, forgotten. 

Harry swallows his growing irritation; burning anger kept tight under a lid. “Right, well—thank you, but what are you doing?”

Luna blinks and gestures to her ingredients. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re making a treacle tart. Mother said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Harry sputters. “You want—my heart?!”

“No, Harry,” she sighs. “We’re making this so you can get through to your own heart. You like treacle tart and I brought Mum’s recipe.”

“Luna, I don’t—I don’t need to get through to my heart. I’m  fine. Perfectly and utterly  fine.”

Luna only hums and begins reciting the instructions. “Okay, first we must make the short crust pastry. Hermione said it’s easier the Muggle way, so I am willing to try, but I don’t know the Muggle way. Anyway, Step 1) gather the flour, butter, and very cold water. Step 2) place 272 grams of flour in the mixing bowl—272 grams? That’s such an odd number. Okay, place 272 grams of flour with 2 sticks of butter, cubed, and—” 

Luna pauses when Harry does not move and points to the counter. “Harry, what are you doing? I can’t make the tart by myself.”

Tension in his chest crawls up his throat. “Yes, you can. I didn’t even ask you to come over here today. I said I was fine and you’re—I don’t need a bloody tart, Luna! I just want to be left alone.”

Luna puts down the recipe. “Harry,” she whispers. She says his name as if he’s precious. “I don’t want you to be alone the same way—the same way you didn’t want me to be alone.” She reaches across the counter and touches the back of his hand. “I just want to help you find your shoes, Harry. Can I—will you let me help you find your shoes?”

Her chilled fingertips carry the weight of friendship in their gentle touch. Twigs crunch under their feet. They laugh as teenagers laugh. They love as teenagers love. Magic weaves into all their moments of silence, never forcing either to speak.

Luna’s pale blue eyes find him with kindness, her heart an anchor when he feels so far away. Harry wonders if he is a ghost now, but Luna’s hand wraps around his and she tugs him away from gunpowder explosions, pulling him out of darkness to stand by her side. She is the lifeline in the Black Lake, skipping like a stone across the water to the other side. She takes him with her and for once, Harry does not feel like he’s drowning.

Smiling doesn't feel right, but he clings to her hand. “Okay, Luna. We can make a treacle tart.”

She beams at him and begins reading the instructions again.

Harry was always a decent student, but in the stillness with Luna, Harry listens. He makes the crust as she instructs and makes the filling too. Together they watch the golden syrup simmer over the hob with juicy lemon and mix it with breadcrumbs. They beat the egg and cream together with a fork, but never has Harry felt more sure about a moment. Luna has never asked him to face his own crossroads. 

His chilly flat warms with the oven and the loneliness thaws with Luna’s laughter. She charms his blanket into a real cape, and it fastens around his neck with a simple button. She says it suits him.

The timer buzzes and Luna dons lion oven mitts. Heat pours out of the oven as she opens it and delicious buttery caramel wafts under their noses. Harry’s mouth waters as he watches steam rise from tart, tasting the sweet syrup in the air.

“Very good, Harry Potter,” Luna praises. She rests the tart on the table and performs a cooling spell. “The golden-brown color reminds me of the hares we see in the garden during spring.”

“...is that a good thing? That sounds like a good thing. ”

She peers at him with a small smile. “Of course. They never played tricks on us when we fed them fresh berries from our bushels.”

Luna fishes out a bowl of clotted cream she kept tight under a statis charm. The pie cools to perfect temperature with the aid of her magic, and she spells some plates to set themselves at the table. They whiz around the room until they lay calmly like little birds. Together, they sit at his small kitchen table for two. Luna pours them both a glass of milk and serves them each a slice of tart. She tops their slices with a delicious helping of sweet, clotted cream.

Harry holds his fork with trepidation, the humble slice gooey at the edges of its filling. The toasted breadcrumbs feel crunchy under his fork, but he is too nervous to slice it.

Luna’s foot touches his under the table. “Go on, Harry,” she says. “Try it. You deserve it.”

Harry meets her eyes only for a moment, but then he nods, bracing himself as the metal of his fork hits the ceramic plate. The sound snaps like a crumbled bell, but still rings with finality. With nerves on fire, he takes his first bite with dolloped cream.

Buttery warmth melts in his mouth, the hint of slight spice and sweetness oozing in all his bones. He sinks in his chair as he relishes the delicate pastry crust, the flakey layers dissolving on his tongue. The cream cuts the sweetness, so it is not overbearing, but remains pleasant like a tender kiss.

Luna props her chin in her hand and grins at him. “How does it feel to fall in love with something you made?”  

Harry blinks at her words, startled by their genuine curiosity, and he remembers the dough as it stuck to his skin. His hands still smell like lemon and when he bends his index finger, a cut stings from the juice. The pie in front of him unassumingly sits in in the middle of the table, enveloping him in kind warmth and wonderful memories.

His mouth wobbles as he takes a second bite, and Harry remembers his Hogwart’s letter. Another, the first time he made friends. He eats more and remembers Hermione’s fierce hugs when she thought no one was looking. A thick part of filling and he can feel the comfort from Ron’s laughter as they stayed up all night. At the very last bite, he remembers dancing with the girl across the table when no music played just because she wanted to dance.

Like the sun dawning, emotion wells at the corners of Harry’s eyes and his chest caves as he hunches over the table. He heaves a choked sob as he curls around his finished plate, the loneliness in his heart thawing in the warmth of a home cooked treat. Blindly, he pats the table, searching for Luna’s hand. Her icy fingers thread between his and squeeze tight as she kisses his knuckles. Her thumb traces over the spot where her lips touched.

She says nothing, but he hears her heart: I am here with you. 

Love builds inside him and spreads to tips of his toes, igniting a fire of forgiveness in its wake. In the trail of flames, he saves some love for himself. 

Magic washes over him when Luna squeezes his hand once more. With a teary laugh, he sits up and wipes his face. Luna looks at him as if he is handsome as she wears a content smile. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the snow inside his body melting in Luna’s bright friendship.

Harry cups his hands around Luna’s, relishing in the peace that settles over him.

He smiles for the first time in a long while.

“Thank you, Luna.”

[writingithink]

Tangled Timelines Chapter 1 Rated: T Wordcount: 5,895 Summary: The Doctor and Rose have some news to share with Jackie, but the trip doesn't go quite as planned. Notes:Hello! This is my fic for the Classic Tropes Event. Mine was Fix-It Fic. This one is going to be a multi-chapter, with more tags added as I go. For those of you who have been reading the whole series, I actually plan to finish up the honeymoon fics (they've just been giving me grief). So those will come later, with edits to series order etc etc. If you haven't read the series, I think you should be okay? They're bonded. It was an accident. That should be all the info you really need. All of the thanks ever imaginable to @hey-there-juliet​ for betaing <33 All mistakes are most definitely mine (esp since I did a lot of glaring at this thing after it was beta'd). I own nothing.

Multiple trips to the TARDIS' library and seemingly endless cross-referencing all culminated in the moment the large tome slipped from the Doctor's hands and onto the bed. It knocked against Rose’s leg and his eyes automatically moved to her face - still asleep. Since their bonding, his wife had gotten used to him bringing various things into bed with them for when he inevitably got bored while she slept.

“And you couldn’t alert me to this, because …?” he whispered to his ship, voice flat and eyes wide as his brain struggled to assimilate everything he had just read.

There was no answer from the TARDIS, not even a hum of acknowledgement. It figured.

The Doctor scrubbed his hand across his face before leaving the bed, heading straight to the infirmary despite the fact that he was only wearing boxers and a vest. This time he didn’t ask his inconsiderate ship for any assistance, simply pulled up every single file on Rose Marion Tyler that existed, on the TARDIS or not. It only took seconds to hack into Earth hospital files, after all.

Not that they helped much, as the technology used in Rose’s time was appallingly primitive.

“Level five medical garbage,” he muttered to himself, zooming past all of her records. Vaccines, minor illnesses, nothing that gave him a good picture of Rose Marion Tyler before she stepped onto the TARDIS. Which, overall, was a good thing - it meant that she had never been so hurt that she needed a CAT scan or an MRI. It would have just been nice to have the data, what with his near obsessive compulsive desire to have the most complete picture of his wife’s biological history.

It’s as if no one had ever heard of voluntary medical data filing. But so be it. The TARDIS had more than enough base scans, starting from the first moment Rose set foot on the ship. This time he wasn’t going to cut corners like he had before, when he’d looked at just her telepathic centers and absolutely nothing else.

Thinking about the last time he and his wife had been in here, weeks ago, the Doctor opened a new screen to check the progress of the six-dimensional comprehensive deep scan results. They were nearly complete.

A feeling of dread lodged in his stomach.

They should have been finished ages ago. The fact that they weren’t - 

He shook his head, wiping a hand down his face as he swiveled back to the primary view screen. The base scans should be able to offer him an explanation. Would. They would, because he needed to know exactly what was going on.

The TARDIS had automatically compiled all base scans since their last visit, and his previous parameters were still in place, focused solely on what in humans was called the pineal gland. The Doctor wasn’t sure that name quite applied for Rose’s brain anymore - Epiphysis Cerebri seemed like a much more accurate name for her telepathic center, which was still showing slow, incremental growth.

Fingers moving quickly, he navigated away and started gathering new information. Graphs of brain capacity and function, cellular activity and health, levels of all hormones and neurotransmitters and molecules with a special search for anything that wouldn’t normally be found in a 21st century Earth human.

Waiting for the TARDIS to compile all of these graphs felt like torture, even though it took a relatively short amount of time.

And then he had screens and screens of data all vying for his considerable attention and painting a picture that had his hearts going into overdrive, adrenaline throttling through his systems. Terror. Elation. Fear. Hope. All of his emotions were muddled and changing by the nanosecond. Panic was a constant, however.

All of it was so overpowering that the Doctor soon found himself actively fighting his traitorous body as it tried to enter a completely unnecessary healing trance, confused as it was by his sudden inability to keep control of processes that he generally had a tight grip on.

Two hands fell onto his shoulders, shocking him into jumping up, nearly crashing into the infirmary’s computational system. He whirled around to see the confused and frightened face of his bondmate.

“Doctor?” she asked, hesitating.

He wondered how long she had been trying to speak to him, both verbally and through their bond. Covering his face with both hands, he finally got his breathing back in order and his hearts-rate down.

“Sorry,” he finally managed, once he was capable of speech again, though the single word came out hoarse and scratchy.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Rose asked, still not moving, hands fisted at her sides.

Focusing on their connection, he could feel her overwhelming concern … for him. Well, it did make sense in the ironic way these things always tended to. Since she had been asleep when he left her, the Doctor hadn’t put any thought into shielding. All of his emotions must have barreled into her like a freight train. Couldn’t have possibly been a pleasant way to wake up.

Reluctantly he dropped his hands, palms sliding down his face slowly as he gave up their paltry defense.

“Nothing’s wrong per se,” he hedged, wincing as her mental disbelief permeated their link. “It- it’s more complicated than that. It’s-”

He didn’t know how to explain it. His normally ever-present gob seemed to be offline now that he desperately needed it. Telepathic communication seemed to also be out, as his brain was still in the process of resettling from the accidentally self-induced bulldozing of his basic systems.

“It’s what?”

As the Doctor took another deep breath, Rose looked around, seeming to just realize where they were. She must have raced through the TARDIS to get to him in her worry. He felt incredibly guilty.

“It’s something that we would probably be much more comfortable discussing somewhere else,” he decided, scratching the hairs at the nape of his neck and looking down, shocked to realize that he was nearly naked. “Maybe after getting dressed. And a shower. Breakfast. Not in that order!”

Rose sighed and crossed her arms. The Doctor took a moment to notice her clothing, which consisted of a housecoat and slippers, but he couldn’t tell what she had on underneath (if anything).

“And then we’ll talk?” she questioned, both eyebrows raised, getting his mind back on track.

“Yes. Definitely. How does tea in the library sound?”

Her lips were pursed, but she eventually nodded.

“Good. Great! And I- I’m really, truly sorry for worrying you,” he sighed, finally moving forward and wrapping his arms around his impossible wife. It took a few moments before Rose relaxed into the embrace.

“This is about me, isn’t it?” she whispered after a few long, silent moments.

“Shh,” he scolded. “Shower first. Shower, clothes, food, then talking.”

Procrastination really is just a different type of running, and no one knew that better than the Doctor. He also knew that he wasn’t fooling Rose for a moment. Their bond was still wide open, the contents of their impending discussion only hidden due to the fact that it was all categorized in his mind as ‘scientific information’, and therefore held back by one of the many barriers he kept permanently in place so that he wouldn’t inundate his bondmate with headache inducing amounts of information.

“Alright then,” she conceded, “let’s get going.”

The Doctor took her hand as she pulled away, allowing himself to be led through his time ship. In his current, nebulous state he doubted he’d be able to find their room if he tried. He was just grateful that Rose understood that his desire to put off this conversation didn’t mean he wanted to be separated from her in the slightest.

It was funny, sometimes, to imagine that all of the effort he had previously put into studiously trying to not overwhelm her with just how much he wanted to almost always be in her presence had been completely inverted now that all of their cards were forever on the table.

They got into the shower together and he began to wash his wife’s hair as if on auto-pilot, only refocusing on the present moment when feelings of relaxation and contentment began to pierce through the veil of unpleasant emotions tangled across their shared minds. Once the shampoo rinsed away, the Doctor couldn’t stop himself from cupping her face and pulling her into a relatively chaste kiss. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince himself that everything would all truly be alright (for once). Because one thing that had been clear while looking through her scans was that Rose was perfectly healthy. Her life wasn’t threatened in the slightest.

Things were just … different.

Before he was quite ready, they had finished showering, were both fully clothed, somehow tea and toast had been made (though he barely remembered being in the galley), and they had reached the library. Rose immediately sat down on the sofa, a fire already crackling away in the grate. He followed her, taking a large gulp of his beverage the moment he sat down. For all of the time he had spent trying to organize his thoughts, they were still less than refined.

The problem was, despite being bonded and therefore having an intimate knowledge of her thought processes, the Doctor still couldn’t predict how she would react to any of what he’d discovered in the hours his wife had spent sleeping. And despite the fact that she wasn’t actually saying anything, he did know that she was growing more and more impatient by the second.

“Sooo,” he began, hoping that the rest of the words would just happen, as it were, “this is cozy, innit?”

Obviously it didn’t work.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” she suggested.

“Oh, blimey, alright then. Well, billions of years ago, a cataclysmic explosion of a singularity caused what you could refer to as the Big Bang, Event One, or even just ‘creation’. It resulted in a very compact, tiny universe that was very dense and very hot, riddled with dimension pockets and full of space-time anomalies that are now considered exceedingly rare. These were the beginnings of the Dark Times, of which not much is known - time travel so far back was-”

“Doctor,” Rose interrupted, “does this have anything to do with what has you so upset? The, erm, results?”

“Ah, well, no … not as such. I mean, it’s tangentially related to absolutely everything, of course, but it … right, sorry.” He took another sip of tea, followed by a deep breath. The beginning, but not that beginning. “I finally tracked it down. Old texts, ancient, that had descriptions of telepathic marriage bonds. Took ages to find one that sounded right, though. Apparently most ancient Gallifreyans needed to have the assistance of an experienced telepath who specialized in this kind of thing in order to join their minds. Knew that couldn’t be right, so I kept on digging and when I-”

The words were flowing out now, faster than he could keep track of and for once he was aware of just how irrelevant they were. With a huff he stood up and began to pace in front of the fire, hoping that the movement would help.

“Very old, very rare, very specific. That’s what our bond is. There isn’t even a translation for what they called it, the word would be absolutely meaningless to anyone else, anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. It’s the specificity, though, that made me realize that there was much more at work than just your growing telepathic abilities. When I went to the infirmary, it was really a toss up - either I was right or I was wrong and hadn’t found the proper information yet.”

“But you weren’t wrong, were you?” She bit her bottom lip, eyes tracking him as he moved back and forth across the sitting area that for once seemed much too small.

“No,” the Doctor sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “The 6D scans will probably be ready later today, but I didn’t need those. Just different graphs of your base scans to measure different things. The thing is,” he nearly shouted, “if I hadn’t been about to regenerate, and then freshly regenerated, and then unpardonably distracted, I should have done this all ages ago! Quick as I could after I’d taken the Vortex out of you.”

“Think we were a bit busy savin’ the Universe to bother with all that,” Rose pointed out, comfort and understanding passing over to him through their link, along with a few spikes of irritation and general chastisement for pointlessly blaming himself for something yet again.

“And what’s my excuse for after all that?” he drawled, unwilling to let her absolve him for this appalling negligence of her health and well-being. What kind of doctor was he, if he couldn’t be arsed to take adequate care of the woman he loved?

“Maybe, I dunno, the fact that I felt absolutely fine? That we were busy navigating all your new quirks and preferences while still saving planets? Anyway, you still haven’t even told me what’s going on.”

The Doctor scrunched up his face as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. She was right, obviously. Somehow he was still managing to procrastinate. His teeth ground slightly as he set his jaw and made his way back to the couch.

“You have a large amount of artron energy,” he began. “More than just background radiation. Way more. I would say life threatening amounts, except you also are absolutely riddled with huon particles. Also deadly.”

“Huon particles?”

“Eradicated by the Time Lords near the end of the dark times - oh, look at that, it all came back ‘round, sort of.”

“But you just said they were deadly,” Rose frowned. “Why does it sound like they’re a good thing? I mean, your people obviously had a reason for gettin’ rid of ‘em all. How’re they even there?”

Oh, his magnificent, brilliant, fantastic bondmate - always asking the right questions. A small smile lighted her face as she caught the thought.

“See, the TARDIS is connected to the Vortex, which goes all the way back - remnants of huon particles exist in her heart, which you opened up and used to merge with her, a whole fifth dimension running through the both of you. The huon particles are stabilizing the artron energy - it’s feeding them instead of overtly impacting the rest of your body. So in this case, this one case, the reemergence of deadly particles from the dawn of time is a good thing. Even so, that wouldn’t be enough, except you didn’t just merge with the Vortex alone but with the TARDIS. The TARDIS emits chronon particles, and one of the key differences between Time Lords and non-Time Lord Gallifreyans is that our bodies are surrounded by a bio-plasmic field of chronon energy, allowing us to bond with a TARDIS.”

“Oh. Right, that’s why when you were sick the TARDIS wasn’t working properly. Couldn’t translate for us.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.” The Doctor got back to his feet, the need to pace outweighing his desire to remain close to his wife. “Now, the thing about having a surrounding field is that it can, er, leach on to others. Infect them. Not in a bad way. It’s what provides me with protection from the time stream, helps with cell rejuvenation, etcetera. So actually, if a bit of it didn’t migrate away to those I’m close with, I’d never be able to bring anyone along on the TARDIS with me. Too dangerous. Thing is, you have your own now, not just an echo of mine. Which makes sense. You two became one, of course she would bond with you as well. Thing is, to do that - your DNA, Rose. Becoming Bad Wolf. It’s given you symbiotic chronon nuclei.”

“And what’s that, then? Something to do with the chronon particles?”

“In a sense. It’s only viewable with a temporal reading, which the TARDIS base scans do automatically, because that’s what’s normal for me. She doesn’t change protocols just because the other person she’s scanning happens to be human. I’ve mentioned before that I have TNA. Triple helix instead of double, yes?”

Rose nodded, taking a wary sip of her tea.

“Well, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that. Properly, temporally scanned it’s actually four strands. That symbiotic chronon nuclei is the physical, quasi-symbiotic link between the TARDIS and I. Now you have one too.”

“So wait, I’ve got four strands of DNA now? And we didn’t even notice?” Her mug clattered onto the table as she deposited it and stood quickly.

“No, no, no, just the three. No TNA. But this is where things get complicated.”

“You mean there’s more ?” she screeched, going paler than she already had been, thoughts becoming a whirl of panic. “Isn’t it complicated enough?!”

“Weeeeeell, let’s go back to that third strand I’ve got, yeah? It’s pretty much, and by pretty much I mean almost the sole reason, that regeneration is possible. Stores all the information for past and future incarnations, as well as other things,” he explained, waving his hands around, “and as far as I understood it, that’s what allowed for a Gallifreyan’s self-replicating biogenic molecules.”

“Your what?”

“Remember the nanogenes?” he asked, finally walking back to her in order to weave their fingers together.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Gallifreyan bodies have something like that. Biological nanites. Not only do they allow for regeneration, but on a daily basis they repair and prune any damaged or malformed cells. Hence why we age so slowly. I’ll look just like this for hundreds of years yet.”

She nodded slowly. “And lemme guess, I’ve got those too, somehow.”

“Yes. Though wired differently than mine, You’re still human , Rose. Just … with genetic modifications. Powerful genetic modifications. Obviously meant to keep you alive, because really, thinking about it properly, you shouldn’t have survived the trip back to the gamestation, much less been able to accomplish everything you did. A symbiotic self-renewing cell structure is really the obvious solution to the problem, and if you did have TNA like I do, the gigantic surge of artron energy would have triggered a regeneration, just like it did for me. But your body doesn’t work that way, so it just- just healed the damage, no mess, no fuss.”

“And they’re still there now, healing stuff?”

The Doctor nodded.

“So what does it all mean, then, exactly? Without all of the science babble.”

“Without it?” He winced at the way his voice nearly squeaked.

“As little of it as you can get away with,” Rose conceded, the smidge of laughter in her voice doing wonders for his frayed nerves.

“Alright. Well, your cell death is almost non-existent. Your brain activity, in addition to the new telepathic adjustments, has increased in both capacity and function. You likely haven’t noticed because you haven’t tried to stretch things more than average, and why would you? Despite all of these changes, it’s not like you really knew about them or have had any sort of training on how to incorporate them aside from our telepathy lessons. With the way you’re connected to the TARDIS, you could probably learn to sense time. That’s what allows for most of my time senses, by the way.”

“Doctor, less babble,” his wife helpfully reminded him.

“Right, yes, well,” he swallowed audibly, “the main thing is … you’re not going to age at the same rate as everyone else you know. Everyone human, that is. There’s no way for me to be certain how long your life might be, since our timelines are too tightly wound together.”

“They are?”

“Of course they are.” At this, the Doctor finally smiled, wrapping his arms around her. “That’s the thing, the crucial thing, about the bond. Why I needed to check the scans to make sure. It exists not just because we love each other, not just because we have compatible minds, but because our timelines were able to be synced. Literally able to be together forever, however long forever might be. This connection we have, it’s not the kind that can be forced, it can only happen spontaneously. In fact, from what I’ve read, the existence of this form of bond is exactly why the practice of making less deep and all encompassing ones came into being. Others who weren’t as, as destined for each other, for lack of a better word, wanted the same kind of intimacy. And of course it fell out of favor, not just because of Gallifrey’s abandonment of emotional ties in general, but because of the pain associated with losing a partner you’ve permanently telepathically merged with.”

“So that, us … we won’t have that?”

“I can’t view my own timeline and I can’t view yours, but I do know that they’re so tightly twined that you can’t tell the two apart. I can feel it, and maybe someday you will be able to on your own, but for now I can always show you,” he offered.

“I- I’d like that, but …” Rose trailed off, biting her lip and looking away.

“What?”

“’S just, you were so, so upset earlier. And it’s definitely a lot to take in, but, I mean, doesn’t it all seem like a good thing?” she asked, turning back toward him, eyes locking with his and broadcasting her pained confusion just as adequately as the bond itself was.

“For me? Of course it is, and the selfish part of me has never been more happy. But Rose, you have to understand that I wasn’t trying to be dramatic that night, outside of the chippy, when I said that my lifespan was a curse. You’re going to outlive everyone you know and love, aside from me. You won’t age at the same rate that they do. And I know that it’s expected for children to outlive their parents, but you’re going to spend far longer without your mother than with her. This … it was never something I wanted for you, the pain of so many goodbyes.”

Rose shut her eyes before burrowing her head into his chest, holding him tighter. For a long time they were silent, though the Doctor could hear her racing thoughts as she tried to process all of the information he had shoved at her in such a short period of time. He was content to just hold her, rubbing a soothing arm up and down her back until a singular thought rang out across their bond that had her gasping and him groaning.

We have to tell mum.

The Doctor spun around the console in a whirlwind, Rose clinging to the jumpseat. He could feel her trepidation as they landed, her worry about her mother’s reaction to their news. So he wasn’t surprised in the slightest at her shock upon opening the TARDIS' door and finding them very much not on Earth.

“Think your driving’s a bit more off than usual,” she noted vaguely as he finally stepped away from the console to grab his jacket.

“Is it really?” He gave her a look of wide eyed bewilderment, just as his thoughts inevitably revealed that he had had no intention of making the trip to Jackie’s - yet.

Rose crossed her arms, giving him an unconvincing glare as the Doctor finally met her at the door and stuck his head outside.

“Ah, perfect!” he exclaimed. “Right where I wanted to be.”

“Oh, really? And where’s that then?” his wife asked, finally stepping out of their ship and having a look around. There were rows and rows of stalls and booths as far as the eye could see.

“It’s a bazaar. On an asteroid. Moves around every four cycles to a different asteroid in a different sector. Used to just be a handful of merchants and artisans and performing artists, a sort of circus, if you will, only without the mistreated animals and exploited people. Was called Mz’trak’s Marvelous Moving Menagerie - gotta love that alliteration, absolutely amazing. But as you can see, it grew. Doesn’t have a name now. Too much going on. Still, organized enough to make it’s trip across the quadrant. They span galaxies, Rose Tyler! This is the place to go to find anything you could possibly imagine!”

“Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the word as she turned back to face him. “And what, exactly, are we lookin’ for that’s so important that you’re putting off visiting mum?”

“Oh, right, see, about that - I thought, maybe, just maaaybe, you’d be able to find something for her here. To, erm, soften the blow, as it were. Butter her up a bit.” Make her less likely to regenerate me, he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to. The thought was pretty much blaring on a loop that his bondmate was unlikely to miss.

“Seriously?! Doctor, if you hide away again and force me to have this talk all on my own, I swear-”

“No, no, I won’t! We’ll do this together, I promise!” he hastened. No need to have two angry Tylers on his hands.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so afraid of her,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes before taking his hand and beginning to walk through the market.

Normally she buzzed up to nearly every stall, wanting to see as many strange and novel alien things as possible, but this time his wife was quickly passing them by, categorizing everything in their immediate vicinity as ‘too alien’. Admittedly, the Doctor hadn’t given that much consideration when he decided that a gift for his mother-in-law would be a good plan.

“It’s a premonition I have, really,” he told her, “that your mum will be the death of me. Unlikely, I’ll give you that, but you never know. Sometimes these things have merit. I was once very good at that kind of thing, seeing the future. Well, not really. More like an unconscious tracking of future timelines that seems like a form of prescience but is really-”

“You are so full of it,” Rose laughed. “But speaking of past yous, I’m not going to regenerate, am I?”

While the Doctor had thought that he’d been very clear in the library earlier, perhaps he hadn’t explained very well. Too much ‘science babble’, probably.

“Nope,” he assured her, popping the ‘p’ and giving her one of his best grins.

“So Bad Wolf didn’t make me into a Time Lord. Just …”

“Bad Wolf didn’t do any such thing,” he frowned. “If you want, I can show you the second by second time stamps of the scans the TARDIS took of you during all that - constant state of danger, there’s hundreds of them. But no, the TARDIS did all of that herself so that you two could become Bad Wolf. If you recall, our ship is a multidimensional alien being that even I don’t completely understand. And she likes you. A lot. Didn’t want you to die.”

He stopped himself, barely, from continuing on (again) about how he should have realized this all ages ago. There was really no point to it, just his wounded ego. Plus, who had time for brooding, anyway?

“Sure she doesn’t just like you a lot?” his wife asked with a smirk. “Y’know, making sure the girl her pilot likes so much has a matching lifespan?”

The Doctor abruptly stopped his near-skipping and pulled Rose into his arms with a growl.

“Oh, I much more than like you, Rose Tyler.”

“That so?” his cheeky wife asked him with a tongue touched grin.

Minx, he chastised telepathically, his mouth now busy as he dipped her into a snog that was likely inappropriate for public, but for once she wasn’t complaining.

“Also,” he added, after breaking the kiss so that she could catch her breath, “it would be Time Lady, you know. And that is a little complicated, now that I think about it. Because you’re not Gallifreyan, but not all Gallifreyan’s are Time Lords or Time Ladies. Then again, you have the bit of genetic jiggery pokery that makes a Gallifreyan a Time, er-”

“Let’s just go with Time Lord, yeah?”

“It’s a hypothetical political correctness jumble,” he muttered with a grimace.

“So I’m a bit like a human Time Lady? Kind of?”

“Kind of. Eh. Doesn’t really matter, though, does it?”

Rose had gone back to scanning the booths, but was quick to turn her sharp gaze back to him. “How could it not matter?”

“Well, I mean, you’re still Rose Tyler. Doesn’t matter to me, what kind of species you call yourself. The important thing is that you’re you, and I get to keep you.”

And the Doctor could tell that she didn’t exactly agree with him, all of the ramifications of this still buzzing around in her head and the impending talk with Jackie making her permanently anxious. But still, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Finally some stalls came up that looked promising and his bondmate began looking at things in earnest. As he watched her flit about, the thought began to really settle in. They would be able to stay together, not just for the very short human forever that he had struggled to come to terms with, but for his forever.

The weight of the Universe on his shoulders had never felt lighter.

It suddenly did seem a little bit ridiculous, all of his worries about Jackie’s reaction. At least when it came to him . Over 900 years old, he could (probably) take it. If anything, he was more concerned for Rose. If (or really, it was more likely to be when) her mother reacted poorly, she would undoubtedly be hurt.

Flashes of their ‘marriage announcement’ briefly passed through his mind.

This time, though, he would be there for her. Absolutely no swanning off or hiding or cowering of any sort. Well, minimal cowering. Can’t set the bar too high, knowing he was about to get a smack (even if none of it was actually his fault). It would all be worth it in the end, being able to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved.

“Do you think mum would like this?” Rose asked, interrupting his chaotic stream of thought.

“What’s that?” The Doctor walked closer to the booth, finally taking notice of his surroundings instead of blindly following his wife. “Oh! These are all made of bazoolium! That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, touching a large piece that was either intended to be abstract art or a Raqkle Bear about to attack, unsurprised by the neutral temperature. After all there was no weather to speak of on the asteroid.

“Yeah, he was just tellin’ me that they could predict the weather,” she said, gesturing toward the shopkeeper. The Doctor barely spared him a glance before investigating the ones that were combined with wind chimes, surprised when the chimes were actually made of bazoolium as well.

“They’re not incredibly unlike the barometers you lot have, only much more accurate. The truly impressive part is the fact that this property is naturally occurring in the mineral. Plus there’s really not much interpreting to it - if it’s hot, you’ll have a nice sunshine-y day, and if it’s cold there’ll be rain. Or snow, I suppose. But all you have to do is touch it. Definitely simple enough for Jackie to get use of-”

He winced when Rose telepathically zapped him, which he really should have seen coming.

After apologizing, the Doctor (for the most part) kept his mouth shut as she selected a small one that looked as un-alien as possible, something that any of Jackie’s friends would look at and think was some random tchotchke, just a thing and then think nothing of it. As soon as she finished her purchase, he took her hand and reluctantly headed back the way they came.

In a private corner of his mind he had come up with thousands of different ideas for putting this next trip off, but eventually discarded every single one of them (even if some were astonishingly brilliant). His wife wanted to get this over with, so that’s what they were going to do.

If anything, he regretted putting all of their efforts into getting her mother some bauble to put her in a good mood when they should have also been coming up with a plan for distracting her after this ‘talk’.

“Distracting her? How would we possibly distract her?” Rose wondered aloud.

The Doctor felt strangely giddy, knowing that she’d been paying attention to him over the bond. They were starting to get pretty good at not constantly acknowledging all of the thoughts that were projected without real intent, so much so that he sometimes wondered if his wife was listening most of the time. His thoughts were very interesting, after all, so he wasn’t sure how she could ignore them if she wasn’t just tuning it all out.

She rolled her eyes, making it clear that she’d caught all of that as well.

“I don’t know,” he went on, “I’m not sure what would hold her attention, aside from gossip and telly. Maybe we should nip into the future, get some Eastenders DVDs. Or some tabloids. Then again, I doubt your mother could keep her future knowledge a secret and next thing you know, we’ll have a paradox on our hands. Can’t have that.”

Rose laughed as they entered the TARDIS.

“Dunno if it’s really much of a distraction, but I do have some laundry I’ve been meaning to bring over.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I refuse to believe your mother actually enjoys doing your laundry. There’s a perfectly good laundry room in the TARDIS. You don’t even have to do much of anything. Just put your clothes down the chute and she’ll do all the rest, even the folding.” And yes, he had told her all of this before, on multiple occasions - every time she had laundry to bring back, in fact.

So the Doctor wasn’t surprised when she said, “It makes her feel useful. She likes doing mum stuff for me.”

She said something along those lines every time. This time, however, his responding ‘fine’ was telepathic, rather than verbal as he began piloting them into the Vortex and she disappeared down the corridor to gather said laundry.

Since he was going to have to wait until Rose was finished before flying them to Jackie’s (let it not be said that he can’t learn a lesson) he almost followed her to their room. But just as he moved away from the console, he sensed that his bondmate could use some privacy while she got her thoughts in order, trying to decide exactly what she was going to say to her mum, not wanting to get into absolutely everything.

So he sat down on the jumpseat, kicked his feet onto the console, and focused on sending soothing emotions over their bond. Eventually, Rose reappeared with her giant red duffle, looking plenty nervous but definitely less so than she’d been before.

“Ready?” he asked, hopping back to his feet.

“No,” she sighed, dropping the bag onto the newly vacated seat before flashing him a wary grin. “Let’s go.”

[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in shadows - Chapter four

Enjoy the chaos that was this scene!

Chapter 4 - The stag party

"This looks promising." John smiles at Sherlock, who smile in return. The room is huge. There are acrobats entertaining the guests, music plays in the background, chatter fills the air. John and Sherlock have been seated in a prime spot. The hostess asks what they would like to order.

"We'll start with the champagne. We may need more chairs." John says, looking at the hostess beside him.

"Perhaps a good cigar." Sherlock suggests. "And, um, don't bother with the chairs." He says a little quietly. The hostess leaves.

"What is it your brother does exactly?"

"He's the keeper of the broom cupboard of state. No ambition, no energy, yet I'm repeatedly told that he's indispensable to the British government, particularly the foreign office."

John spies Mycroft speaking and laughing with a group of men up ahead.

"I would to propose a toast." Sherlock says, raising from his seat.

John looks a little bewildered as he reaches for his drink. "Really?"

"To my dear friend," Sherlock raises his own flute of champagne, "Dr. John..." Sherlock looks around, he's looking for someone. "...Um, Hamish Watson..." He spots a man coming down the stairs near the back.

"I'm right here." John states, looking up at his friend from his still seated position.

"...On the eve of his wedding. He..." Sherlock's eyes continued to scan the room. "...has been the best of companions." He spots a man on the floor above emerge from a curtain.

"Shouldn't we be waiting? For the boys from my rugby club?" John asks.

"He has always kept us- They couldn't attend- flat footed on the ground."

"All of them? Hmm. What about the chaps from my medical school?"

"I attempted, they declined."

"The lads from the regiment?"

"There's no man better...." 

"Who is it you're looking for?" John asked, his patience running thin. Sherlock barely looked at him twice during this little speech. His eyes more focused on those around the room. It was obvious he was up to something.

"...worth having at your side..."

"Because I don't know a single damn person here, do I?" Watson asks, agitated.

"There's no need for hysterics. You know me and you know Mycroft. Don't be a ponce, Watson."

"Ponce? You completely forgot about my stag party, didn't you?"

Sherlock gulps down the entire flute of champagne, once again avoiding looking at John.

"Why are we here?" John asked, tight lipped and serious gazed.

"Your very good health, Doctor." Mycroft spoke, a small smile on his face as he approached them. His conversation with those men long since ended. "Shame none of your friends could make it."

Sherlock laughs.

John chuckles, though sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Mycroft began to laugh too, raising his glass to the good Doctor.

John forced his laughter out, and then glared at Sherlock as he stopped.

"I'm going to the gaming tables. I refuse for this night to be a total loss. Give me my money." John held out his hand.

"Happily. Give me the wedding ring." Sherlock ordered.

"Oh, so, now you're interested in being the best man." John digs into his pocket. "You're supposed to keep the ring anyway." He places the box on the table in front of them both. "Just as you're supposed to organise my stag party."

"You don't want to lose it on a bet, John." Sherlock held up the money.

"And invite my friends, of which by the way, there are many. You're the one with no friends, Sherly no mates. Not even Y/N it seems." John steals the cigar that Sherlock lit for himself. He then grabs his drink and storms off, leaving Sherlock standing there.

"He's all me, me, me, isn't he?" Mycroft asked, looking at his brother.

While John's sits at the betting table, seemingly enjoying himself, and Mycroft makes more rounds within the hall, Sherlock makes his way up stairs where he can see the party continue below. He hovers in front of the curtains and then slowly draws them back as he turns and takes a look behind them.

It's dark. There's a table. A woman stands with her back to him. He approaches her.

"Please, sit. Put your money on the table and we will begin."

Sherlock tosses coins onto the silver dish.

"Welcome. I am Madam Simza." She says, turning around and facing him. "Cards can illuminate your past..." She lit the candle next to her. "...clarify your present," she waved the match around in circle in the air in front of her slowly, "and show you the future." She waved the match out. "If you have a specific question, hold it in your mind."

Simza picked up the cards, which were facing down, as she sat across from Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes- scrunched them more like- and put a finger to his head. Simza waited for him to think of a question, though he was being a little over the top about it.

"I'm... holding." he said, having thought of one.

"Let me know when you're ready." She looked at him.

"Actually, I'd prefer to read..." He took the cards from her hand. "...your fortune." Holmes looked at her.

Simza say up straight and watched as he began to flick through the cards, which he had turned to face him.

"Temperance..." He placed the card down for her to see. "Inverted. Indicative of volatility. A woman who has recently taken her comfort in drink. From what does she seek solace? What does she not wish to see?"

Madam Simza shakes her head. "A fool embarrassing himself?"

He both give a soft chuckle.

"Oh, yes. The fool. Someone has been led astray, involved in something without their knowledge."

"Not bad, but, um, you have to make me believe you." She says, leaning forwards. "I have to see it in your eyes."

"Right. I can do better." Sherlock says.

"Uh-huh."

"The two of cups, a powerful bond. But between whom? A brother and sister perhaps? And I see a name. Yes, it's...Rene."

Simza's expression has fallen slightly. She looks at him with disbelief. "What do you want?"

"The devil." He places that card across the other three.

"Why are we playing this game?"

Sherlock reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out an envelope. He holds it out to the woman across from before letting it fall to the table in front of her. Simza looks at it and then picks it up to open it.

"Where did you get this?"

"I stole it from a woman in an auction room... but I believe it was intended for you." He tells her.

She opens up the parchment within the envelope and her breathing becomes ragged. On it is a sketch of a man, clearly of someone she knows. On the back was a letter, written in French. Simza read it to herself, muttering the words quietly.

Sim, my love,

Remember my face, as you will never see it again.

That is the price I must pay to change the course of history.

I have finally found my purpose in life.

Rene.

"Found my purpose in life." Sherlock spoke out as she reached that part of the letter. "So, the question I've been holding is, what purpose is Rene fulfilling?"

"Time is up." Simza says, voice even and her expression blank. "I have other clients."

Sherlock gets up from his seat, saying nothing to that, but he comes around to her side and leans in close to her.

"Though you may not have detected the wisp of Astrakhan fur snagged on a nail over my left shoulder, you couldn't have failed to notice the overpowering aroma of herring pickled in vodka in tandem with a truly unfortunate body odor. There's a man concealed in the rafters above us. A Cossack, renowned for their infeasible acrobatic abilities... and are notorious for moonlighting as assassin's. So, it's safe to presume that your next client is here to kill you." He looks at her with a wide eyed gaze. "Anything else? No?" Sherlock then steps back.

He walks over to the curtains where an umbrella stand is. He pulls one out and gazes at nothing in particular as he holds the umbrella with both hands. His mind is at work.

He pulls the man down from the rafters, clips his wings- so to speak- and then hits hims across the face. He uses the umbrella to hit him in the groin, counter attacking the man's knife attack a few times before finding his opening to be back to back with the man, once again using the umbrella to flip the man over him and hitting the man in the face with the handle. The man is knocked out.

Only, when he pulls the man from the rafters.... the plan is instantly put out of action as a dagger hits the man in the chest.... along with two more.

Sherlock let's the man fall to the ground.

Simza stands with her arm out, having just thrown the daggers.

"Come with me. I need you alive. Now." Sherlock tells her.

She takes his hand and the detective guides her out of the room, ignoring the couple who just entered. As soon as they leave, the man gets up from the floor, barely flinching. He gives chase.

The man uses the banisters to help him get down to lower levels, being an acrobat makes this easy. He comes to a stop in front of Sherlock and Simza. They work together to get him out of the way. Now that they have swapped sides, Sherlock can focus on fighting him, putting Simza behind him.

Below, John is non the wiser to what's happening just above his head.

Simza smashes the Cossack over the head with a bottle. Sherlock narrowly avoids the knife pointing up at him as he pins the man down, but it doesn't last long as man gets free and runs along further. Sherlock chases after him. The man grabs Simza by the hair, pulling hard. Sherlock grabs the man from behind. As he pins the Cossack to the wall, he doesn't notice him hooking himself to Sherlock, so as Simza gives a a hard shove, the man falls out the window, Sherlock being dragged back with him, just able to stop himself falling out too. Simza grabs Sherlock to use her weight to help. It doesn't do much good as the Cossack below pulls Sherlock down with him successfully.

The fall is not a soft one.

Simza looks out the window to see Sherlock looking up at her. The man had buried himself in the sand, hidden from view. His arms shot up and grabbed Sherlock from where he landed. The Cossack tries to get away after pushing Sherlock further below, but seemed to forget he was still tied to the detective. Sherlock was being pulled in the opposite direction, therefore the Cossack couldn't run, he is dragged in the same direction by Sherlock.

"Calm him down, folks. Calm him down." A man in a dusty old bowler hat steps up. It would appear they had interrupted a small fighting ring. "Looks like we've got ourselves out next cockfight." The crowd gives a cheer. "Five, four... three, two, one... Let him go!"

Both men got their hands on a weapon, but the Cossack didn't know where to turn. Sherlock was quick and managed quite well to keep the upper hand. He used the rope to his advantage, tripping the man up as he tried to run in the opposite direction. Both men were then pulled back to each side. The Cossack used that chance to cut the rope, causing Sherlock to fall back.

It was safe to say the detective was glad, for once, you weren't present. He didn't need you to see him like that.

The Cossack climbed up and out, leaving the detective behind. He climbed his way up the tower, where Simza was still standing in the window. She could see him climbing up to her. Sherlock, at that moment, was back up on his feet. Simza doesn't waste any time standing around, she goes back inside.

Sherlock grabs the rope hanging near him, which is connected to the building, and climbs up.

The Cossack reaches the window and climbs back inside.

John just won another game. He holds a basket filled with his winnings. Just as he goes to put them away, Sherlock comes crashing in through the window near by. He lands on the table, slides across it and meets the floor. John's winnings are everywhere, the game is ruined and the party had come to a stop.

Mycroft pokes his head up over the crowd to see what had happened.

Simza is running across the balcony above, the Cossack using his skills to close the distance between them from the platform above her. Though he soon jumps down when he gets closer.

Sherlock gathers himself and stumbles off to catch up, saying nothing to John. He probably hadn't noticed him.

John just watches his friend go. His money is all over the floor. His opponent sees it too, as do the men and women surrounding the table. John knows right away what is about to happen. Everyone fights to grab the money.

Mycroft shakes his head and excuses himself from his company.

Simza makes it downstairs. The Cossack right behind her. He trips her, but she rolls, pulling her dagger out as she gets back up to her fight and takes him on. She's not as strong or quick as he is, but she lands a few hits. The Cossack, however, hits harder. Sherlock comes in right on time, using his jacket to block the next attack meant for Simza, who is on the ground holding her nose in her hand.

Sherlock, with one swift kick, pushes the man through the wooden wall beside him and he falls down into the water below.

Simza gets up and tries to get her breathing under control, blood streaming down from her nose.

"You're right. He did stink." She says.

"Hey! You, you can run." Watson stumbles in. "Whe- where's you? Just had a fight." John is all ruffed up, blood on his cheek, suit a mess. He stumbles and falls to the ground, knocking everything over. "Just had a fight."

"Yes."

"Where were you?"

"I'm glad to see you're taking your best man duties so seriously, Sherly." Mycroft says, standing on the stairs.

"There I was on my own!" John yells. "Not gonna get my monies! She was biting my leg."

"I'll have Curruthers put some fuel into that motor carriage of yours. You do have a wedding to attend." Mycroft points out.

"Oh, I'll drive." John sits up, looking cheery.

"Another drink!" John says as they both go back up to the party- or at least where it have been held- to gather their things.

"No, no, I think you've had quite enough." Sherlock tells him.

Once Sherlock has grabbed the letter, put on his jacket and stopped John from stumbling to the bar, they go outside and climb into the car. Next stop: John's wedding.

You were going to be furious with him.

Tags:

@hufflepuff-pide-honey-badger @theatricalbride @phantomofhogwarts @awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum @sigynbandraoi-blog @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @photography-to-all @sitkafay @melancholicsthings

[kob131]

Ironwood and Team RWBY

You know, sometimes there isn’t a right side. Sometimes there isn’t a wrong side. Sometimes there isn’t even a worse or better side. It’s just two groups doing what they can.

I’ve seen a lot of accusations of protagonist centered morality on the side of Team RWBY and bootlicking on the side of Ironwood. And honestly, this whole thing pisses me off. Because from I can tell from the writing: NEITHER SIDE is suppose to be seen as definitively right.

Let’s start with Ironwood since he’s simutaioniously more complex and simpler. Ironwood acts in direct opposition to the themes of the show (trying to strive for the best possible solution, trying to be the best person possible), he’s clearly not thinking straight what with his own mental scars and the fucking TOASTED arm, this kind of thinking hasn’t worked in the past and actually has a history of fucking him (the Fall Of Beacon was possible in part thanks to his paranoia being used by Cinder) and he’s not being entirely irrational. So surely he must be completely wrong, right?

Well, no. Ironwood, even though he’s depicted as irrational, isn’t depicted in the same way that say, Adam is. No, Ironwood is actually what most people think Adam was before he was ‘retconned’ *rolls eyes*. Ironwood’s just doing his best with what he has in the situation. And considering that really, he’s been shown to be one of the most empathetic characters in the show (I honestly see him as an authoritarian version of Ruby), the framing of his last line to Team RWBY and the sheer soul shattering look he has when he shots Oscar: he’s crushed on the inside. He’s as much a victim in this situation as the people of Mantle.

But what about team RWBY? Surely the noble virtuous Team RWBY must be in total right in this conflict, correct?

HAHAHA-No.

And to be honest, I don’t understand how anyone can think that. Throughout the Volume, the team has been spilt about lying to Ironwood with people questioning the person who did it first, Ruby, a lot. Oscar in particular questions and pushes Ruby about this. And Ruby herself acts guilty on a few occasions, like when she first lied as she hesitated in telling Ironwood and when he makes her into a Huntress. When a character believes they are right, they don’t show hesitation or remorse about their actions because, in their eyes, it’s totally justified. And when a narrative thinks a character is right, the character doesn’t show any weakness in their stance usually and dissent is usually framed as a bad thing on the part of the dissenter, something that isn’t true with Volume 7. When a writer doesn’t want you to think a character is wrong, they try to hammer it into you.

Not to mention how...familiar this situation. Reverse the positions of the sides and replace Ironwood with a similar high ranking figure lying to them and this looks VERY familiar doesn’t it? It should, I’m describing the beginning of Volume 6 with Ozpin. And why would it be so similar but with inverted positions? Well, wanna know a good humanizing tactic for a writer when a character gets called out but you want to emphasize that the people who called him out aren’t completely right, like people believed Team RWBY to be? Force them into the position that the supposed bad person was in. FOrce the characters to walk a mile in the oppositions shoes. Show them that things aren’t so easy.

Ozpin’s position as the big good guy was called false by a lot of people after Volume 6 and I think The CRWBY knew it was gonna happen so they forced Team RWBY into his position to make Ozpin look better.

My point is: No one is right or wrong. Its basically the age old “Needs of the many vs. the needs of the few” debate that has been raging for millennia now.

[thetapirsarehyperfixating]

5 Things I’ve Made Meme

okay so @tompkins-square-ditmas​ tagged me and made me come do this, 5 things i’ve created in the last year that i’m proud of, in no particular order.

oh god

5. AUTUMN NARALLAL’S COIN

[ID: a transparent drawing of two gold coins, painted over. They both have light blue at the top of the coin, red at the bottom, dark blue on the left, brown on the right, and gray in the center. One coin has a symbol like a rising sun painted in black, while the other has the same symbol but inverted, with the sun going below the horizon line. The coin with the rising sun is labeled “front - life”, while the inverted sun is labeled “back - death”. /end ID]

This was a prop-like thing I did for @mundane-campaign​, the D&D campaign I DM for. it’s basically a membership card for a group called the Chaos Coalition, and the two sides of the coin are customized for whoever makes them but they’re meant to symbolize life and death - the neverending cycle of the world. it was the first time i really tried to make something look like it was painted and while it’s a little old at this point, i still really like it.

4. HUX AIREAIRE AS THE CHARIOT

[ID: a fake tarot card for the Chariot card featuring a kobold with multiple scars. He stands in a chariot, with a scar on his right ear frills, two moon-shaped scars on his shoulders, and a lightning-like scar on his right arm. He is wearing a torn yellow tank top with a chainmail shirt underneath, and the shirt’s tears are in the shape of a square with another smaller rip above and to the left of it. In front of the chariot are another two versions of the kobold. The one on the left wears a black tank top with an image of two crossed battleaxes on it; the one on the right wears a faded yellow shirt and has soot and ash all over him. The original kobold looks ahead with a neutral-upset expression on his face, the kobold on the left looks excited and angry, while the kobold on the right looks scared. The chariot has a pink cupcake on the front of it, and above it is a cloth canopy with a star print. The main kobold has a neon green worm on a string looped around his horns. The entire image has a border with golden circles at the corners and something like train tracks going between them. A tab at the top of the image contains the Roman numerals “VII” and a square at the bottom reads “CHARIOT”. /end ID]

A few weeks ago in @horizons-campaign​, we started talking about Horizons characters as tarot cards, and then i sat down and made this and never thought about it again (oops). Hux is such a good character and i care about him so goddamn much, and doing this was really fun and a weird but interesting way for me to try and figure out how to apply tarot symbolism and imagery to this dumb idiot man. The border to the image was done by @zagreuses-toast​ (ty eliza <3)

3. THE PICTURE OF CECIL SMYTHE

[ID: a more realistic drawing of a white man, staring to the right with a small speech bubble next to him with the rainbow flag inside of it. He is wearing glasses, and has a slightly red face. He looks mildly serious, and is smirking. His hair is dark at the roots but fades into being blond. He has a few freckles dotted over his face, and is wearing a pale blue collared shirt with pinstripes and little dark blue spots all over it. /end ID]

This was a thing i did as a joke for an english presentation - basically i set out to make a joke about a quote about how Oscar Wilde’s “sin” is only known to those who have committed it, and how because I did the research, I know what Wilde’s “sin” is but i clearly haven’t committed it. as soon as i mentioned in my presentation that Wilde was queer, this image would come up, a parody of the painting’s transition from normal to showing all of Wilde’s “sins”. it makes a lot more sense in context but it was also a lot of effort for a dumb gay joke and i wouldn’t trade it for the world. it’s the most realistic i’ve ever tried to make a drawing and while i don’t think i’d try it again, i’m still proud of it.

2. THE STAG AND THEIR MEADOW (JUST, IN GENERAL)

Alright, so this one isn’t a work of art, but I’m still very proud of myself for the work I’ve put into TSATM (or fawnsverse). it’s an original novel i’m trying to work on, about a series of four people all dealing with new parts of their lives to understand and adapt to - one character’s college romance, another character’s experience coming out, etc. it’s a long process but even though i keep going back and back and back and rewriting all my old stuff, it’s still fascinating to see how far my characterization has come since the original drafts of the main characters.

1. THE MUNDANE CAMPAIGN

finally, we’ve found something i’m actively working on. i started writing a campaign for my D&D group and it’s been such a work of love and so excited and so fun that i can’t help but be proud of it. it’s made me a lot more confident with my storytelling abilities and my abilities to do voices, and over the last year that i’ve been playing D&D but especially now that i have to talk a whole lot, it’s made me feel better about my voice. seriously, the mundane is incredible and i love my players and all the dumb shit we do while we’re playing and im so proud of everyone involved.

hoo boy, that fucker was long. if you wanna do this, go ahead and do it and just say i tagged you!!