#This vague post is brought to you by me realising both parts of that fic are now over 200 hits on AO3

[whysamwhy123]

Hmmm...what if I continued Voice in the Dark?

Maybe? At some point? Somehow? Just a little...

[alittlebitgoofy]

sinking - dayasco

this is part of the bimbo daya au but can be read standalone, i wrote a depression vent fic and decided to finish it off and post it on a whim. i can’t even remember why i started it just realised i never finished it so here we are. 

ao3 link 

Daya glanced down from her sketchbook when her phone started buzzing, seeing Bosco’s name light up, she tapped the accept button without a second thought, vaguely wondering why they would be calling her rather than just texting. However, she hadn’t been the most responsive over the past few days, taking hours longer than usual to reply to messages and mostly only sending a few words at a time.

Bosco’s voice came through on the other line, sounding weak even through the muffled phone speaker.

“Daya? Can you come here?” She spoke as if each word hurt to force out, god Daya knew that feeling. She was too soft-spoken for the confident Bosco she knew, not quite the most talkative person but always self-assured in whatever they had to say.

“Yeah of course, what’s up?”

“Nothing I just- Can you hurry? I need someone with me right now and Jasmine’s gone to class and-” They couldn’t stop talking once they started, the anxiety in her voice creeping through and becoming obvious to Daya, she glanced over at where she was sat, grabbing one of her dinosaur plushes in a daze, wondering if it would calm Bosco down like it did her.

“I’m on my way right now, okay? Don’t start panicking, it’s okay.” She reassured as best she could, sprinting through the halls and almost running into a shocked looking Willow, who simply shrugged as Daya blurted a quick apology before racing off

“Thank you.” Was all Bosco could manage out, her voice cracking with tears starting to pour again. Daya rushed over, pulling them into her arms as the sobs grew, feeling Bosco burrow against her as if Daya was the last line of defense between her and the world.

The more Daya questioned how she was, the more Bosco cried. Something tipped her over the edge, seeing how caring Daya was despite being called for out of the blue broke the last remaining shreds of her walls, crumbling when Daya whispered reassuringly that she was there for them.

Sobs turned into shaking breaths, the energy to cry having disappeared but the pit in her stomach never left as Bosco felt the weight of the world on her, wishing she could just sink into Daya and never have to look up or go outside again.

How did they even communicate this? Bosco felt like they were drowning and couldn't come up for air. Everything was too much and they kept wondering what the point of everything was. Why was everything so painful? What was going on and why did every waking moment feel like she was sinking deeper and deeper into a painful state of mind?

“Hey, Bosco? It feels a bit silly, but I brought something, it makes me feel better when I’ve got too many feelings going on to really process, would it help you?” Daya rambled slightly, smiling nervously as Bosco peaked out from their spot in her chest, glancing curiously at the dinosaur plush Daya presented before wordlessly taking it and pulling it to her chest, one hand wrapping back around Daya as the other clung to the stuffed animal like a lifeline.

“Is that a yes?” Daya questioned, giggling softly as Bosco nodded, humming into her chest.

Bosco felt everything start to lessen in intensity, the realisation she hadn’t moved in some days apart from going to the toilet or occasionally grabbing something to eat became the more apparent the longer she stayed curled into Daya, beginning to panic that she looked disgusting to the blonde, though the loving stare she gave them said otherwise.

“I feel disgusting.”

“You’re not disgusting, we both know I’m the gross one. I ate a bug once, you can’t top that.”

Bosco just laughed weakly, appreciating Daya’s constant insistence that they were okay, even though they both knew it wasn’t true.

Daya moved one of her hands that had been secured around Bosco’s waist to her hair, pulling down the hood of the hoodie that she’d burrowed herself in to avoid being perceived and slowly running her fingers through the black curls, messily pulled into a bun to keep out of her face that fell out with a gentle tug.

Bosco squirmed slightly, whining when Daya made an attempt to detangle her hair and pulled it in the process.

“You’re not going to make much progress, it needs a long wash and about an hour's worth of brushing.”

“We can do that, if you want to.” Daya mused, continuing her fruitless attempt to detangle their hair, slowly pulling some strands apart as gently as she could

“You don’t think it’s gross?” They hesitated, watching Daya’s expression closely for any signs of discomfort as she continued to examine and run through her hair.

“I think you’re struggling, and it’s hard to take care of yourself when things are too much to handle.” She shrugged, such genuine concern in her eyes that Bosco felt sick to her stomach, how could someone care that much for her? All she was good for was some quick jokes and a one-night stand. Why did Daya have to care so much?

“I haven’t told you about everything, how did you know?” Bosco became quiet again, looking at Daya with slightly panicked eyes, scouring her brain for any mention of her precocious mental state that wasn’t played off as a joke, shrugging it off if she’d ever try to pry into it.

How much had she thought about them? Why was she the one thing that broke through Bosco’s calm aloof facade that let her go through the start of the year without incident?

She’d stayed, that was where it started, even knowing it would make things complicated. Daya had become a quick friend, always willing to go over notes from their shared classes or just talk about anything. She’d talk for hours the second Bosco prodded her about a topic she knew a lot about and it was always the best. How much had she listened to? God, this was horrible.

“Kerri mentioned that you have moments when you just shut off from everyone for days at a time and that she was worried about you, I figured something was up when your texts were so dry and just kind of put the pieces together.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the dumb one-” They joked, though couldn’t find the courage in themself to look up and see how the blonde redacted.

“I have my moments.” Daya grinned, giggling in a way that made Bosco unable to stop the corners of her lips from curling up ever so slightly.

“You really brought me a dinosaur because it helps you and you thought it would help me too.” Bosco glanced down at the stuffed toy in her arms, smiling softly at it. It was a tangible reminder of how kind Daya always was, no matter what in her own way she would show how much she cared.

“I didn’t think it through, but it made sense as I was rushing here. Don’t laugh at me too much.” Daya turned away, face flushing slightly in embarrassment. Bosco looked back up at her with a soft smile, wondering how she’d managed to get someone this caring in her life without so much as a complaint about coming to her when she needed someone.

“It helped.” They said simply, unable to communicate the mix of emotions boiling inside of them, though Daya’s shocked look did make them crack another small smile.

“You’re not just saying that to stop me from feeling dumb?”

“No, it really did.” Bosco slid her hand over Daya’s cheek, rubbing it gently and letting out the first genuine smile Daya had seen from her in a while. Their eyes crinkled in an utterly adorable way that Daya just couldn’t resist, pressing their lips together on impulse, gently kissing Bosco as they felt things start to feel lighter for the first time in the past few days.

When they broke apart, that same somewhat dopey grin was still on Bosco’s face, tugging at Daya’s heart the longer she stared at them.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess, but thank you for helping me through it.”

“Bosco. Don’t put yourself down, everyone struggles with things. You aren’t a bad person for finding emotions hard, I’ll always be willing to give you a shoulder to cry on. Literally, you cried a lot don’t you need a drink or something?”

“I need a lot of things, I think I should start with a shower to be honest my hair needs to be sorted out before I start feeling like a person again.” They grimaced as they touched their hair, irked by the knots that would take forever to brush out.

“How about you go shower and I’ll get you something to eat and drink, maybe I’ll even grab you a dr pepper, would that be nice?”

“You’re an ally, you know that.” Bosco poked Daya in the cheek, pressing a kiss to the same place as the blonde squeaked in surprise.

“I try my best.”

When she came back to their room, Daya found Bosco lying down, her eyes closed and finally looking completely calm. Her hair was still wet, soaking the back of her shirt as it dripped from the messy bun she’d pulled it into. What really tugged on her heartstrings was seeing Bosco cuddling the dinosaur she’d left in their room, securely grasped against their chest.

It was too cute a sight to ruin, though the food in Daya’s hands reminded her she couldn’t stay staring forever. Putting it down, she nudged Bosco gently, murmuring a gentle greeting so as to not startle them.

Bosco just let out a confused grunt in response, slowly opening her eyes to see Daya standing over her with a soft smile. Her sleepy confusion moved to slight embarrassment as she became aware of her surroundings. Shifting themself up, Bosco tugged Daya to sit next to her, grabbing the food before being aware of the fact Daya didn’t bring herself anything.

“You not hungry?”

“I’ve already eaten, plus I always carry around snacks in my pockets. Diabetes and what not.” Bosco shrugged, pressing a kiss to Daya’s cheek in thanks as she started to eat.

Daya just watched on quietly, smiling to herself as the smaller girl was too absorbed in her food to notice the staring, though once they finished they turned to Daya, an eyebrow raised as the blonde felt her face heat up.

“You just gonna watch me the whole time?”

“I wasn’t-” Daya hesitated, though the knowing look Bosco shot her soon broke her resolve. “Okay maybe I was but you’re too cute how couldn’t I?”

“Cute?” Bosco’s tone changed, somewhat incredulous at the suggestion. She’d been called a lot of things, intimidating, hot, occasionally pretty, but never cute. She scared people, even before coming out she’d always been on the alternative side, too tall to really look endearing to anyone. She’d come to expect the lack of cuteness, it just wasn’t her thing and that was okay. (At least until the dysphoria got bad)

But cute? Daya thought she was cute? The thought made her face burn, something churned in their stomach as Daya nodded at the question. An unfamiliar warmth seemed to talk hold of her, everything feeling fuzzy in response to one single comment.

“You’re cute, it was adorable when you were cuddling the dinosaur earlier.”

“You saw that?”

“I did, don’t worry you’re secrets safe with me. No one is going to know the hot goth girl is actually an adorable softie who loves cuddles.” With that, Daya pulled Bosco into a tight hug, leaning her head on their shoulder and looking up at them with adoring eyes.

Bosco glanced away, praying Daya wouldn’t see how much that affected them. Though her attempt failed as Daya grabbed her face, tilting them to face her again.

“See, cute.” Daya kissed their cheek, leaving a dumbfounded Bosco to stare blankly back. Processing everything they blinked a few times, realising the pit in their stomach had lifted completely when Daya was nearby.

“Also, your hair, can I brush it.” Daya focused her attention on their hair, gently tugging the bun and letting out the messy black curls. She raked her hands through it a few times, Bosco quietly humming in delight, leaning into her touch.

“Yeah, do what you want to it.” She shrugged, almost whining as Daya moved from her spot nestled against them to grab her hairbrush. She soon returned, sitting behind Bosco and planting a kiss at the top of her head before getting started detangling the mess they’d made of their hair.

They closed their eyes as she worked, enjoying the feeling of the way Daya would run her fingers through the knots she’d brushed out just to check it was completely gone or how she gently scratched their scalp after hitting a particularly rough bit, soothing them as the pain made Bosco jolt slightly.

By the end of it, she was putty in Daya’s hands, melting as she continues to stroke their hair and scratch at her head in a way that they couldn’t help but let out a content sigh.

“You like that?”

Bosco hummed in agreement, letting Daya do whatever she wanted as long as they could stay like that for a little longer.

“It’s kind of late, isn’t Jasmine coming back?” The blonde looked at her bed questioningly, not that she was complaining at the lack of the annoying ginger. They never quite saw eye to eye, Daya was always ready to bite back when provoked and the ginger loved to rile her up as she got reactions out of her incredibly easily.

Bosco wondered if they’d ever get along, especially if they kept spending time with Daya. Eventually, they’d work out their issues, or most likely she’d have to force them to get along.

“No, she went to spend the night with her new girlfriend, I don’t even want to think about the noise she’s going to cause coming in to get her stuff tomorrow.”

“She just left you alone while you were like this?” Daya’s eyebrows furrowed, a cold glint in her eyes that startled Bosco.

“I told her it was fine, I didn’t want to be a burden.” They shrugged, she took that as enough and didn’t pry more, instead starting to smirk at something.

“What?” Bosco knew that look, something she’d thought of was amusing to her but they doubted it would communicate very well.

“You’re not a burden, you’re Bosco.” Daya giggled at her joke, pouting as Bosco just rolled their eyes.

They leaned back, pulling Daya to lay down next to her as she curled up next to them, the exhaustion from all the crying and the emotions finally starting to weigh down on her. Her hands instinctively moved to their hair, gently stroking it as they let out a pleased sigh, melting into her arms and letting her eyes fall shut.

Daya felt Bosco doze off, fully relaxing in her arms, listening as her breathing evened out. The world felt like so much to deal with sometimes but they found safety in her arms. Daya couldn’t help but worry slightly, if this would happen again or get worse but looking at the black-haired girl calmly asleep nestled up against her was enough to reassure her that Bosco would be okay if she stayed by her side.

[pebblysand]

ooh ooh OOH I wish for Deep Thoughts and Director's Commentary on one particular thing--the thoughts you may have around Harry lighting a candle for Voldemort in the first chapter of Castles. I thought that was so interesting and beautiful, and there's stuff our narrator would not say or even know the words for about what led him to do it, what thoughts he might have, and I would just adore hearing your take.

only if you like, of course. thanks as always for all things.

ooooh thanks for the q! old school, back to chapter one, i love it!

okay, so the director's commentary on this is that long story short, i stole this idea from someone else's fanfic, and for the life of me, i couldn't tell you who 😆. i am very sorry, i swear lol.

basically, as i've said on here before, prior to writing castles, i spent a lot of time reading/skimming through many many post-war fics. originally, i think i was basically looking for something like castles. i wanted to find a story that was a realistic take on the post-war world, that had politics, that was canon-compliant, and written in the way i wanted it to be written. i was certain that the hp fandom was so big that someone else must have written something like that, and i was ready to just find it, read it, and enjoy it. it was only when i failed to find it that i decided to write it.

and so, whilst i was on this fanfic binge, i remember i read a fic (please, if this sounds familiar to someone out there, tell me what it is so that i can link it) where harry visited the room where they'd put tom's body after the battle ended, and sort of stared at it. i think, iirc, the fic sort of took a different turn afterwards because arthur found him there (not kingsley), and harry actually turned out to have anxiety over tom coming back and kept this sort of "watch" to make sure he didn't or something. i'm very vague on the details lol, this was a long time ago.

when i started writing castles, this idea came back to me and i kind of took what i liked from it, which was this idea of harry visiting the body. then it's kind of like: okay, what would castles!harry do in that scenario? and, i wanted to play with two things:

first, his "guilt" over killing tom, or at least, not being able to "save" him. offering him a chance to redeem himself, a chance that he was unwilling to take. and what it does to you realising that you've killed a person. obviously, this is another fic, but slipped and particularly the scene with the boggart also touches on this. it's a theme i'm interested in.

second, this idea that is extremely present in the first few chapters of castles, which is the war being the end of something. and, harry himself doesn't know of what yet, exactly, but it's not only the end of the war, it's the end of: an era, his childhood, their hogwarts days, etc. i can't remember if it's in chap 1 or 2 but there's a scene in which he watches ron and hermione together and thinks as well that it's the "end of their awkward teenage years" and the start of something else. and, no one knows what that something else is going to be like, but it's very much there. i personally tend to think of castles as having three "acts" and act one very much deals with that part of accepting that the war is over, that that period of time has reached it's natural end, so has their childhood/teenage years, and now they're being thrown into this big, wild world, and just like a lot of us when we leave home for university/first job/etc., it's a sink-or-swim kind of thing. the brutality of "adulting" in a way.

and so, i think to me, with harry lighting a candle "for" tom, it's both a literal thing (he lights a candle for someone he killed, and has to reckon with that feeling), but also a symbolic thing. he's mourning the end of the war. he's mourning their childhood. he's mourning this sense of purpose he's had since he turned eleven. and, it's a strange this to mourn something that has brought the world so much pain and anguish, but at the same time, it's been his reality and his equally as scary. and, so, i kind of liked the idea of him having a little bit of a ceremony and saying goodbye to that.

so, in sum, i took someone else's idea and changed it to suit my needs. the beauty of creative writing lol.

if you have any other questions, let me know :)

[thestarsoutofyourwindow]

To Survive this Pain, Part 1 - 11th Doctor x Reader

A/n: I'm not dead, I promise! I've just been struggling to finish off fics. If this seems slightly rushed it's because I just needed to finish something. It's exam season (it's extra-long now due to a certain virus), but they're over in a few weeks. I've been trying to stretch into writing for different Doctors, and in my new formats, but good old Eleven is easiest to write. Inbox is still open :)

Word Count: 2596

Summary: After the "death" of Amy and Rory, the Doctor is devastated. After deciding to isolate himself on a cloud, he leaves you with the Paternoster Gang till Strax informs you the Doctor wants to see you.

Warnings: Angst, Cold Doctor, Doctor is slightly ooc due to guilt, mild self-inflicted Injury, Bouts of Rage.

I should try to post part two as soon as possible.

This is my first ever Full Story (GIF isn't mine).

Your shoes splashed through puddles on the cobblestone road, on your way down to the park of which you knew he would be.

You hadn't heard from him in a short while now, but Jenny and Vastra frequently advising you to pay him a visit had been getting to you. That's why, when Strax brought you the news that the Doctor wanted to see you, you leapt at the opportunity.

You were worried, you'll admit. It was clear as day that losing Amy and Rory had him tearing himself to pieces. It was only a matter of time before he sent you off, too. Before he abandoned you.

Weaving around the quiet Victorian streets, the sun still yet to grace the sky, you had arrived at the park. Looking around the odd trees that decorated the perimeter, you picked out the tree that you knew had the elusive ladder directly above it. You stepped over the beds of wilting flowers that lined the pathways into the overgrown grass.

After completing the feat of reaching the ladders, consisting of either jumping or using your umbrella handle, you had successfully pulled the ladder down far enough to climb onto.

Making your way up the ice-cold rungs, you take a moment to consider why the Doctor called for you in the first place.

It made little sense to you. After all, the Doctor had been avoiding you for the better part of two months now; what had changed?

The Doctor planning on taking you home became all the more likely in your mind as you began to climb the spiral staircase, shivering as the late-autumn air nipped at your skin. Winter was slowly breaking through the remaining life.

If you weren't so hung up on adjusting to the less-than-ideal state of Victorian England, you would've had more time to worry about the Doctor. However, he was so hung up with his own issues, and you with yours, that he only crossed your mind when you were settling down for the night.

Of course, it hurt that you too. Never seeing Amy and Rory again. You did your best to hold onto the fact that they lived a happy life together.

A life that you knew could never have. You wish you could say goodbye to them, but you chose to carry the loss with you.

You were exhausted, it was safe to say. Spending your days helping out the Paternoster Gang with new cases that come in was certainly frustrating, especially when you had to avoid so much. Milk, green dyes, dodgy stairs, aliens and gas leaks. Nothing was safe in Victorian times.

Not that you didn't enjoy the company, mind you. Jenny always provided conversation, and paired with Vastra, there were plenty of investigations to be had. You just missed them all, sometimes.

The Doctor had become such a vital figure in your life that it didn't seem right for him to not be there. When you had both lost Donna, you were there for each other, and even then, he was a wreck. You had spent those first two months together, and you had never felt closer to someone before. At first, you couldn't admit it to yourself, but after six years, you knew that was when you started falling for him.

There was so much you didn't understand about him, yet so much he had begun to explain. You had seen and done so much together, places that surprised and scared the both of you. In distant worlds and ancient times, there lay so many memories that you had forgotten. Just another thing consumed by time.

A simple flip through your diaries would confirm that through all that, you admired him: mattering not which of his faces. You had accepted from the start that he was an unobtainable desire, no matter how you looked at it.

He was old, alien and a danger-magnet. Many considered the Doctor to be a God.

It upset you to know that the Doctor could never love you, not in the way you love him. Not in the way that he had shown you what love could be, what it should be. But that was what you had to expect from the Doctor.

You assumed that consistently losing those he loved must hurt immensely. You also imagine losing someone he could spend the rest of his lives with would leave another unfixable hole in his heart.

So it made sense to you that the Doctor would never willingly fall for a human. Your short life-spans and weak bodies meant that so much as a single bullet could rob you of your life.

The thought of what a state he must've been in at that very moment was disturbing, to say the least. You had seen the Doctor angry before, and it was not an easy sight.

His heart held so much pain, so much guilt.

After what felt like a good three minutes, you stepped off the staircase. Your shoes now emerged in a cloud, which could somehow keep you from plummeting into the streets below. You felt surprisingly light, almost like you were standing in a pit of feathers, yet some odd force kept you from losing your balance. Plucking your key out of your pocket, you press your hand against the door of the TARDIS. You unlock the door, pulling the key from the lock and stepping into the Console room.

You called out for him. After listening for a moment, you concluded that the Doctor must've been elsewhere.

The TARDIS was a glum sight. Most of the orange lights were dimmed: if functioning at all. A few even had fist-holes in them. There were what looked like hundreds of books cluttering the console, all of varying topics: The Time War, Time Lord Psychology, the History of the Universe, Earth History, Greatest War Losses. Some had bookmarks; others he had clearly tabbed.

Paper littered the glass flooring, each scribbled in several handwritings. They all clearly varied in ages and sizes, some a muddy brown, others a vivid white. Quite a lot were in small clusters of pages, as though they were ripped from a book. You picked up one of the sheets to inspect closer, and your heart nearly broke.

Each page had a sort of date in the corner, which you quickly realised must've been an approximation of the Doctor's age at the time. They were diary entries, ripped out and thrown in what you assumed to be a fit of rage.

The Doctors' tweed jacket had slipped off the console and onto the floor. The contents of his pockets spilt out onto the floor.

You leant to pick it up, grimacing at just how much he was carrying around. Throwing the jacket over the railing, you avoided stepping on any more pieces of paper.

"Tidy some of this, will you?" You addressed the TARDIS, a hand on the edge of the controls, "I'll go talk to him, where is he?" The TARDIS clicked and hummed in response, showing you a blueprint on the monitor, "The Library? Okay then."

Darting out of the Console Room, you attempt to discover the library as soon as possible. You vaguely remembered the three places the library is most likely to crop up. You went from there. Fortunately for you, you didn't have to go far before the library appeared.

You had always felt as though the library was too empty. Four stories of shelves filled with books, all visible from the ground floor, the rows of shelves created a sort of maze of titles and colours. The Doctor must've owned every single book in the galaxy, judging by the sheer size. Not to mention the several dozen or so empty seats. The library could easily hold thousands of people at once, yet there is rarely ever so much as a whisper.

You had a fair clue as to why the Doctor would be hiding away in there.

There the Doctor was, turned away from the door, in an intricately decorated armchair. You could just about make out the top of his head. You loomed behind him awkwardly, unsure or not if he was aware of your presence.

"Doctor?" You faltered. His head perked up slightly, and the Doctor strained out a hum. He stood up, his arms tiredly hanging at his sides after he stretched. It checked out with your fit of rage theory. The Doctor walked up to you, and you only then noticed how fraught he was.

His expression was tired, eyes sunken and lips pressed into a thin line. His shirt was unkempt: the sleeves were torn slightly. It also appeared burnt or covered in dust. His hands were covered in dust too.

However, you noticed that his right hand had quite a few cuts and gashes, which all seeped out orange-tinted blood.

His greenish-brown eyes search yours for a moment as a tear rolls down his cheek. He inhales deeply, nodding to himself.

"Look, I..." The Doctor paused, again glancing over into your eyes, "I'm sorry- I can't, I can't do this," He took in a trembling gasp for air, "I don't want to, but I can't keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I can't keep losing people. I'm so sick of saving the universe." Unsure of what to you, you reach a hand out to the Doctors. He puts a hand on top of yours, keeping the other, bloodier fist at his side. You brush your thumb over his knuckles, his hand hot against yours. The Doctor continues, "Everyone, everyone who travels with me leaves, or dies, and I'm always alone again. Alone and in pain. I can't keep doing this..."

Smiling sadly, you nod, "I understand," You looked back up at the Doctor, "If you called me here to convince me to go home-"

"Take you home?" The Doctor's voice cracked, "I could never. That'd be just as bad as losing you. I need you."

Oh, the Doctor have his way of making you feel important at the worst moments. Your insides bubbled giddily, but you refused to show it. Instead, you ignored it to the best of your ability; what he was saying was important.

Your attention had fallen back down to his hand, and it looked considerably worse than you initially thought. Pieces of glass dug into his knuckles, the skin seeming gnarled by the force of the oncoming storm, "Doctor, your hand,"

"It's fine." The Doctor seethed, staring numbly at you, "I'm not human, it's not going to kill me."

You wanted to protest. However, given the Doctor's already fragile temperament, you weren't going to push it. Instead, after an instant of silence, you asked a simple question, "How have you been, then?"

The Doctor blinked, giving an answer careful thought. He had an earnest grimace as he finally spoke, "Furious."

"I can see, that" You hum, putting equal thought into how you should approach your response, "What do you think you're going to do, now?"

"Stay here. I'm not getting involved anymore." The Doctor spat, pulling his hand away from yours, turning to sit down, "I don't want to care."

"That's fair enough." You reassure. You didn't like the sound of the Doctor retiring too much, but you respected his choice. If he didn't want to save the world, he doesn't have to. You hoped that, in his chosen conditions, he would heal.

You vowed to yourself at that moment that you'd do everything you could to help him. Starting with his physical injuries.

You heard the armchair squeak softly as the Doctor flopped back against it, picking up a book from the coffee table and beginning to read. You headed back over to the door and grabbed the small medkit from the bracket on the wall. You paced back to the Doctor, pulling a pouffe from a few feet away to sit on. The Doctor glared daggers at you, exhaling sharply and holding his arm out in your general direction. You thanked him meekly, beginning to remove the sharp, reinforced glass shards from his knuckles.

If you were new to travelling with the Doctor, you thought that seeing this might hurt you more. However, six years of travelling was more than enough for the two of you to be used to this sort of treatment. He never seemed to care much about his physical health, more about yours. That often ended up in you worrying about the Doctor, not that you minded. You supposed it worked out, as you both fussed over each other. If the Doctor's previous face saw how he was acting, you were sure he'd have a fit. Not that he mattered, as he was still a part of the man in front of you.

You could tell by the downtrodden way he pretended to read his book, staring a hole through it, that something was bothering him.

"Are you scared of me?" The Doctor halted, voice brittle. He had taken note of how delicate you were and had drawn it up to a fear that the Doctor would lash out at you.

"No," You shushed, focusing on removing the glass from his hands.

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am." You reassured bluntly, "I'm just being careful. I don't want to hurt you more."

"I'm not hurt! You don't need to fuss over me,"

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, "There's nothing wrong with feeling, Doctor. As you said yourself, feelings enhance life." The Doctor exhaled petulantly, eyes back on his book. "But not even you can be in pain forever."

"What is my alternative?" The Doctor strangled out, "I forget? I do something selfish?"

You grimace as you remove the last small shard from his pinky. You take out a clean cloth and some water, dampening the rag as you speak, "You're forced to survive this pain, this guilt, but you will grow from it. You make mistakes so that you learn from them."

You gently clear the blood from his hands and start to apply mild pressure to the deeper wounds. The two of you continued in silence, the Doctor only occasionally removing his hand to turn the page.

He was such a different person to the goofball front you were used to. He was melancholic. However, you would see a small amount of your Doctor bubbling to the surface. He would occasionally chuckle at the book he was reading or draw circles on your palm as you held his hand still. It provided you with enough comfort to know that you weren't wasting your time.

You finished up your last-minute medical care with a bandage around his hand. You closed the medkit.

"Alright, I'm just going to go restock this, then I'll go tidy up the paper in the console room,"

"Oh- right that... Must've been a mess. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay." You smiled pleasantly, "Come find me if you need me, okay? I won't be far,"

The Doctor caught your hand in his, just as you were about to leave, he tugged at your arm. You leant down, and the Doctor pressed a short kiss to your cheek. You countered with a kiss of your own on the middle of his forehead. Just like you used to, back with his previous incarnation.

As you wandered off, you were oblivious as to what that gesture meant. Was it a thank you? Another apology? Was it even platonic?

From behind you, you swore that he said something you thought you'd never hear the Doctor say.

[potionsprefect]

hi! can I request a fic where Victoria and Ethan talks about the number of sexual partners they had before, thank you! 🥰

Ooooo yes I love this! I’m gonna turn it into a headcanon if you don’t mind anon 🥰

Addressing Their Numbers

Ethan didn’t understand why he was watching this show, he found it utterly drivel.

But Victoria had a thing for British reality tv shows and he was subject to endless talk about Love Island every summer.

They were currently sat on his sofa, Victoria watching the show and Ethan doing anything but that.

He never found much time to watch TV in the first place so why on earth would his TV find the reality tv show channel?

But then Victoria entered his life and suddenly, he realised that if she wanted something, he would go to the ends of the earth to find it for her.

“Next question, how many girls do you think your guy has slept with?” The man on the TV said, Ethan rolled his eyes at it.

“Are you secretly enjoying this?” Victoria looked up at him from where she was sat by his side.

“I couldn’t think of anything worse to watch.”

“Suit yourself.” Victoria shrugged. After a few minutes she spoke again. “How many sexual partners have you had?”

“What?” Ethan looked at her incredulously.

“Just watching this on here.” She gestures to the TV. “All the men seem to have high numbers and I’ve realised we’ve never talked about it.”

“From what I remember, we didn’t seem to do a lot of talking.” Ethan chuckled setting the book down.

“That’s true. I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you my number, if you tell me yours.”

“It’s really not important Vic. It won’t change my opinion of you.”

“I know that but now I’m intrigued.”

“Okay then, tell me.”

Victoria sat up straight. “So when I was in medical school I had one boyfriend. It ended amicably and we both ended up good friends. And my number is 4. Which includes you.”

“I’m not sure what I was expecting. How long were you with your boyfriend for?”

“Around 7-8 months. We just realised we wanted different things at the end of the day. There were no hard feelings and we stayed good friends. He actually messaged me when I made us picta official.”

“Please say that last part again in English.”

Victoria laughed. “When I posted us on Pictagram for the first time. He messaged me asking how I managed to bag arguably the greatest doctor on the planet.”

“I’m flattered. I guess I should tell you my number now. It’s 8.”

“That’s higher than I expected.”

“Really?”

“Does that surprise you?” Victoria laughed.

“A little. Nothing ended up solid though. I was young and blowing off some steam. But since I properly started working, maintaining a relationship would always be difficult.” Ethan replied.

“I get that. I’ve never believed the ‘you shouldn’t date people you work with’ idea. We’re the proof that we can do it.” Victoria squeezed his hand.

Ethan brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “I agree.”

“Well I’m glad we cleared that up. I like learning more things about you.” Victoria said.

“Likewise. I didn’t expect us to ever have a conversation like that but I’m glad we did.”

Victoria laid back down against Ethan’s side as he threw an arm across her shoulders.

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“For the record, you are most definitely the person I would couple up with.”

Ethan, vaguely understanding what she meant, chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Ditto.”

Thank you anon for the request!

Tag list:

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[besanii]

double happiness at your door

Part 18 [end] | previous chapters linked on sidebar!

The initial plan was for Qing Qiu to send a retinue, personally led by Wei Wuxian, to pick up Lan Wangji and the rest of the bridal procession from the Nine Heavens. No expenses were to be spared—both Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang had had a lot of fun (perhaps a little too much fun) designing the bridal palaquin that would transport Lan Wangji from his quarters at the Palace of Enlightenment to his new home with Wei Wuxian in the Fox Den of Qing Qiu, and they had certainly not skimped out on the wedding gifts either—and for a while everyone had been happy. Except then Lan Qiren had gotten hold of the palanquin designs and thrown a fit, deeming it unsuitably gaudy and ostentatious for an esteemed member of the Nine Heavens Imperial Family.

Which, okay fair. Maybe having a pair of Bi Yi Niao drawing the palanquin had been a bit much. But still! That doesn’t mean Lan Qiren gets to cancel the bridal procession altogether!

So they had to compromise. They’ll keep the bridal procession and the palanquin if they do away with the bridal veil and the Bi Yi Niao. Which leaves him here, outside the Palace of Enlightenment with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang at his side, facing off with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

“Uh, so how does this work, exactly?” Wei Wuxian mutters under his breath, nudging Nie Huaisang with an elbow.

“They’re supposed to give you a challenge!” Nie Huaisang says, fluttering his fan excitedly in front of his face. “Something to prove your love and devotion!”

My what now?

He turns to the two imposing figures in the doorway and gulps.

“Taizi-dianxia, Chifeng-zun,” he laughs weakly. “Have you eaten yet? We’ve brought...cakes! And pastries! Please, have your fill!”

Lan Xichen smiles.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Xiao-dianxia,” he says, “but we have already eaten. Why don’t we focus on the task at hand, hmm?”

There’s a vaguely threatening twinkle in his eye that sends chills down Wei Wuxian’s spine and himself almost crashing into Jiang Cheng on his other side. 

“What does Taizi-dianxia propose then?” Jiang Cheng asks, drawing himself up to his full height. It’s an admirable attempt at making himself appear more threatening, but he’s up against Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, which pretty much speaks for its effectiveness (or lack thereof).

Well, at least he tried. Wei Wuxian can give him that.

“Mingjue-xiong, what was the purpose of this exercise again?” Lan Xichen asks, voice light and airy. “To prove Xiao-dianxia’s love and devotion for Wangji, was it?”

The grin Nie Mingjue gives them is anything but light and airy. Nie Huaisang audibly gulps.

“I know just the thing.” He stretches out a hand and summons Baxia into his grasp. It glints menacingly in the sunlight. “How about a duel? If you defeat me, you may pass.”

“Is that a good idea, Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang pipes up from where he’s half-hiding behind Wei Wuxian. “We don’t want to hurt Wei-xiong before he’s had a chance to perform his duties!”

Wei Wuxian chokes and turns red immediately—Nie Huaisang is so dead. He’s going to kill him. How can he say something like that in front of the Crown Prince? Lan Wangji’s brother? Does he want to get him killed? He still hasn’t seen Lan Wangji in his wedding robes! 

“Nie-xiong!” he hisses. To Nie Mingjue, he offers a deep bow. “Chifeng-zun, please spare your junior on his wedding day. How could I possibly hope to defeat you in combat?”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue smirks. “Do you not want to be married then?”

“Chifeng-zun!” Wei Wuxian heaves an incredibly put-upon sigh. “Then you leave me no choice. Luckily, in situations like this, I can call upon my trusty brother to fight in my stead!”

He slings an arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and shoves him forward with an encouraging shout, grinning wickedly at the abject terror on his face as he comes nose-to-chest with Nie Mingjue. Still, he grits his teeth and squares his shoulders and actually looks like he’s going to fight so Wei Wuxian has got to hand it to him—what a good brother! He’ll never compare him to a pufferfish again!

The moment is interrupted by Lan Xichen clearing his throat.

“While that’s all well and good,” he says mildly. “I think Wangji would prefer it if we didn’t destroy his courtyard, or injure his husband before the wedding. Why don’t we do something else?”

He swears he hears Nie Mingjue blow a raspberry. A very tiny, petulant one out of the corner of his mouth. But definitely a raspberry. But Lan Xichen appears not to have seen it, or at least pretends not to, as he waves his arm and a table appears in front of them with a blank scroll and a set of inks and brushes.

“Xiao-dianxia, if you will.” He motions for Wei Wuxian to take a seat. “I have a very simple task for you. Please write down all three thousand of the Lan family rules within the span of one joss stick.”

What?

“What?” he says aloud, dumbfounded. “All of them?”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow.

“You were gifted with a copy of them when you first arrived at the Nine Heavens,” he reminds him. “And again when we first sent pingli to your chambers at the beginning of this engagement. I trust you would have read them in preparation for your marriage. After all, these rules are very important to Wangji.”

He tops it all off with a beatific smile that has Wei Wuxian breaking out in a cold sweat. Okay, so he has read all three thousand rules before. Once. Sort of. Okay so maybe he’s skimmed them a bit. But to ask him to write them all down from memory just isn’t fair! He’s not even the one marrying into the Lan family! If anything, Lan Wangji should be the one to copy out Qing Qiu’s rules!

He forces a smile and picks up the brush.

“Of course,” he lies. “Of course I did.”

He’s about half a joss stick in when an idea strikes him and he scraps the page he’s been working on—he hears Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng groan and complain loudly and ignores them in favour of smoothing out a fresh piece of paper and setting brush to paper with gusto. They want him to demonstrate his knowledge of the Lan family rules? Well, he’ll give them one better.

He lifts the brush from the paper with a final flourish just as the last part of the joss stick crumbles away into dust. A splatter of ink gets onto Jiang Cheng’s robes, but he’s too busy setting aside the brush and picking up his masterpiece to acknowledge his angry muttering. He offers it to Lan Xichen with a bow.

“Taizi-dianxia,” he says. “For your inspection.”

Lan Xichen’s face softens as he takes in what Wei Wuxian has given him.

“Xiao-dianxia…”

It’s a picture of Lan Wangji sitting under the shade of a peach blossom tree, playing the guqin, from the first time he’d visited the Nine Heavens. He remembers climbing over the wall to escape his etiquette lessons and stumbling into the Palace of Enlightenment completely by accident while Lan Wangji had been practising. He remembers how the sunlight had shone through the branches of the tree just so to bathe him in an ethereal glow—if they had not been already immortal, Wei Wuxian could have sworn he was a fairy descended to earth—and the way his breath had caught in his throat at the sight. 

It was the first time he remembers really seeing Lan Wangji.

Nie Huaisang is smiling behind his fan while admiring the portrait, and even Nie Mingjue looks grudgingly impressed by his work. Jiang Cheng folds his arms over his chest and scoffs, but he too has a pleased little quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says finally, lowering the portrait. “I believe you’ve quite surpassed the task we set for you, Xiao-dianxia. Here is your reward.”

He steps aside.

Lan Wangji is standing at the door to the main chambers on the other side of the courtyard, dressed in layers of red and gold silk fitted to perfection around his broad frame. Even the customary silver pins in his hair have been replaced by a single one made of gold, fashioned into the shape of a dragon and slotted through a guan of flowing golden clouds. His honey-gold eyes are wide and stunned, his mouth falling open just a sliver as he looks Wei Wuxian up and down.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes. Wei Wuxian flushes, his insides squirming in pleasure under his scrutiny.

And oh. 

Oh.

Wei Wuxian presses a hand over his pounding heart in realisation.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unable to stop the smile breaking out over his face. “I’m here!”

Lan Wangji hums, his eyes soft. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “You are.”

--

Previous parts and ko-fi link on my sidebar!

--

Aaaaaaand that’s a wrap on the main fic, folks! The next part after this is the wedding night, which I’ve already written and can be found in the master post. Everything written after this will be purely extras :)

Thank you for sticking with me through it all! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’ll probably focus more on Shattered Mirrors while working on another WIP in the background, so please support SM too!

[scrawnytreedemon]

Ooh, how about Hojo for the ask meme?

OHOOOO, I HAVE A L O T TO SAY, BABY-- Especially after seeing that final showdown, oh boy.

(hfhdkjfhjkj sorry for this being late!! had many thinsg to do <33)

For context, I know jack-shit about Dirge of Cerbeus, and I’d rather it stay that way. Vee has scarred me enough with her recollections from the wiki alone, and unless we finally do that shit-movie night we’ve been meaning to for awhile, I’m not touching it with a ten foot pole.

First impression: Horrible rat man; nasty. Your run of the mill Mad Scientist except somehow Even Worse. Perhaps a little generic at times. Pervy fuck. Probably has a bunch of obscenely lewd magazines in his study. Fuck him for fucking over absolutely everyone that’s gotten within ten metres of him. This guy fucks, and that’s how we got Sephiroth. -1/10, Worst Scientist, Husband and Father of the Year.

Impression now: I... I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I like him now, unironically. You win, Hojo Fuckers. Seeing that scene at the control panel, I think that man’s genuinely depressed-- Like, ‘I’ve devoted my entire life to my work to numb the pain but now I’ve realised it’s all for nothing and it’s fucking useless and I’m fucking useless and there’s nothing for me to do other than sacrifice myself for my son, who fucking hates me.‘ Like... Jesus Christ, I did not expect him to be so self-aware. He’s still a downright horrendous person and many of the things he’s done, if I believed in such a mindset, are downright irredeemable. Basically, I actually like his character now-- full-on -- even if he’s still a right bell-end.

Favorite moment: The rooftop scene. Jesus Christ, man, that changed my whole view on him. The way he’s actually becoming aware of how wrong he was, and how it weighs on his mind-- How, almost absently, as if he’s saying it more to himself, he tells Cloud he should become a scientist. It’s a small thing... But it speaks to a level of respect I don’t think Hojo has had for anyone in a very long time. He’s been brought to his limit, willing to give anything and everything so that the one thing he’s done right, his son who he gave up to further his now-dead career, succeeds in world-annihilation. What really gets me is that moment in the fight, where you’ve ended the first phase, when he says, apathetically, how he hopes the Mako juice is going-- And then he turns into a monster. This horrendous, twisted thing that’s barely held together by skin and sinew-- Probably one of the most downright-horrifying things in this entire game --And it’s just... like... wow... he broke.

Idea for a story: A fic where him and Sephiroth actually try and make amends. I’ve seen this guy killed off-screen so many times, and everytime, I am deeply disappointed. I get it. Hojo’s probably the worst character in the game. He has no morals and no boundaries, and he’s irritating as fuck-- I get it --But he’s also the reason all of this shit has happened, and is such a vital character in the forming of the story, in Sephiroth’s specifically, that I want him to be done justice. I want to see one of them reach out to the other, and slowly, bit, by bit, by agonising bit piece together something vaguely resembling a foundation for their relationship. I want to see them reminisce over the few good times they had together, and address deeply the many, many bad ones. It’ll be painful, and there will be many bumps in the road where they’ll feel like there isn’t even a point to this shit, and yet push on despite that. Because despite everything, they are family-- And not because they are obligated to, but because they’re choosing to. I want to see that. I really do. I’ll probably write it myself.

Unpopular opinion: I think my newfound appreciation of him in general, lmao. I won’t get into the paternity debate, as I’ve addressed that in Vincent’s post and another one. Perhaps the fact that I think it’s stupid that the scientists in FFVII get referred to by their first names-- Like, who does this shit??? Who out here thinks Hojo sounds like a first name??? It’s just... Really unprofessional and I don’t think Hojo is comfortable enough with anyone to just have them call him by his first name. Also Dr. Faremis Gast sounds better than Dr. Gast Faremis. I know it’s a pun in Japanese but I don’t give a shit. Fight me.

Favorite relationship: Him and Sephiroth, because there’s just, alot of shit. I don’t think he was ever truly close enough to Lucrecia for me to get invested-- It’s clear the relationship, though while initially stable and they probably got along well, was one mostly of work --And I don’t think there’s anyone else close enough to Hojo’s character to serve as another option, either. Maybe Vincent, but again, that was through Lucrecia. Seph and Hojo have this dynamic where strained doesn’t even begin to describe it. Hojo thinks Seph doesn’t know and Seph thinks Hojo doesn’t know that he knows-- And it’s painfully clear that had it not been for Hojo, Sephiroth wouldn’t have been so unstable. There was alot of abuse, physical and psychological, that got framed as ‘work,’ and it’s undoubtebly fucked with Seph’s very concept of ownership, and who owns another. It’s clear that on some level, Hojo feels shame for what he’s done-- Not guilt, shame --And is unwilling to let the boy(and perhaps even himself) from knowing his true parentage. Part of it’s definitely spite for Lucrecia, but there’s more. I could go one for hours, honest to god, so like, feel free to tack on your own ideas, fellow trash conoisseurs.

Favorite headcanon: Him being Wutaian. Not sure if it’s entirely headcanon, but like, it really is ironic. I personally think his family moved to Midgar while he was still young-- Perhaps due to a faction split -- so he grew up on the Eastern Continent, so he was stuck in this weird middle space alot of immigrant or descended from immigrants children where on one hand, you’ve got your family’s legacy, and you probably, if not fluently, speak their native tongue and carry out their traditions, and on the other hand you’ve grown up with people who’ve been here for generations and inevitably get moulded by their ways and their customs, perhaps to the point you’re more culturally theirs than your native land’s. If we’re going with the faction split, I think Hojo leans hard into the latter, out of a deep-seated indignance. Maybe his family were fairly influential, before they had to move to what was, no doubt, a less than idyllic neighbourhood. I think part of what made him want to become a scientist was that need to regain that honour, that dignity-- It’s very self-centred, and clearly didn’t work out.

Thank you Vee as always-- You incredible bastard --For both asking and also rambling with me about this grease-weasel for like, a good long time.

Knowing my luck I just might’ve gotten another hyperfixation. A terrible one. Fuck.

And to anyone who’s read this far, thank you! As always, feel free to throw in your own thoughts, whether they be replies or reblogs. I’m curious to know what the general vibe is about him(other than Haha Stinky Goblin Rat), as I don’t think he’s talked about all that much? Maybe I’m looking in the wrong places.

Anyhow Hojo Fuckers, I owe you a beer. Not a good one, probably tastes of piss, but knowing you lot, that’s probably just fine, lmaooooooo. Keep up the ungodly work <3

[gumnut-logic]

Snake Bite (Part 1)

I wrote fic! For the first time this year. New fic! yeah, I know I have WIPs, but the muse was misbehaving and rebelling all over the place, so as you saw in a previous post (amongst all the amazing fanart, wow), I wrangled it and this is what I came up with. It’s not much and isn’t finished, but fic! I hope you enjoy anyway.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ and @tsarinatorment​ for the read throughs and support. you guys rock ::hugs you both::

-o-o-o-

It was a beautiful evening. The day had been hot, but the sun was waning and a breeze had picked up enough to disturb the cloying heat prologuing the cool desert night.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped off the decking in a suit with a champagne glass in his hand, perhaps he should have left his explorations for another night when he could have been dressed appropriately, but Virgil was used to grabbing the moment and the inspiration when he could. Tomorrow was never guaranteed.

Tonight was a rare case. Lady Penelope had invited the Tracy family out to her station in the outback for an evening of entertainment. There were a number of notables there and Scott had been heard to mutter something about working holiday, but Dad had shushed him and promised to take some of the networking load.

It was times like these Virgil felt a little guilty. While he didn’t mind a party and it was certainly fun to socialise, he felt he didn’t have that suave business sense like Scott, his father and even to a certain extent, John, who hated parties at the best of times. Though if you gave John a long distance communication method and he could have anyone eating out of his hand. A skill Scott deployed on many a business occasion.

No, Virgil was more of the practical sense. Something broken, he could fix it, someone hurt, he could tend to them. Juggle the fallacies of business and the underhand agendas? He had no patience or tolerance. Besides, he had reliable feedback that he couldn’t lie to save his own life.

But whatever, he was good at what he was good at.

So, sometimes the quiet desert evening was more attractive than the bustling social scene inside.

He eyed a bird of prey circling far above and wondered vaguely what type it was. Thoughts of different birds on a different farm came to mind.

A sigh and he swallowed a sip of champagne.

The bubbles popped on his tongue.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped out, dressed in a suit, carrying a glass of champagne, but the evening was picture perfect and the quiet so alluring.

He didn’t go far. While Australia had become more familiar since they had moved to Tracy Island, it was still vast, still had a reputation of being deadly to the unwary, and this was no Kansas farm.

The red sand under his feet glowed in the evening sun.

Sharp grass - learnt the hard way - grew in tufted spikes along the path, tiny flowers dotted between the rocks. Penelope had said that spring was on the region and that they might see some lovely flower displays.

Virgil fully intended on investigating as soon as possible.

The path rose a little as he climbed a hillock and he couldn’t help but look back over the ranch buildings to the glowing presence of Thunderbird Two parked on the far side.

He had brought her with him for two reasons, the first being in case of a callout. The second was more related to that business manoeuvring thing. The overt presence of an International Rescue vehicle, while never explicitly used in dealings, was useful as a reminder to those who may forget exactly who the Tracy family were.

Virgil’s lips thinned as he stared at his ‘bird. It was a Dad thing. One of the many new things his father’s return had introduced. Scott had never used IR as a business tool and Dad technically wasn’t, but there was a contrast between how Scott worked and how their father worked and there were lots of little things like this that made that obvious.

The fact the Thunderbird was high up on her struts and towered over the landscape was functional and strategic at the same time.

A sigh and Virgil took another sip of champagne before turning to once again follow the path up the hill.

He didn’t see what he stepped on, but he felt it.

Soft, moving, he had that split second of realisation that his foot had encountered something alive, a stumble to try and avoid hurting whatever that was, and he overbalanced, only managing to not faceplant in the dust due to many years on the training mats with Kayo.

He still landed in an uncoordinated mess in the middle of one of those spiky grass tufts.

It stabbed him through expensive fabric.

Ow.

And rocks. There were rocks.

Damnit.

Red dust coated his pants and suit jacket and there was a definite scuff on one shoe.

Whatever it was he had nearly squished, slithered off into the grass on the other side of the path.

It only took him a moment to connect the dots.

He’d stepped on a snake, apparently, a little one, but a snake.

In Australia.

The continent renowned for such deadly reptiles.

Aw, hell.

But Virgil was an experienced responder. There was no need to panic. He rolled himself off the grass, his eyes pinned to where the snake had disappeared.

The grass complained and stabbed him a few more times through his clothes, but he got onto his hands and knees.

Nothing obvious was hurting, other than all the needle pricks, so that was a good sign.

His dress shoes were more red than black, along with the nice charcoal suit pants. The sooner he got off the ground, the better, but the medic in his head was yelling at him.

He yanked up both pant legs and poked around his socks, examining his skin for breaks. Even then, he almost missed it.

Two tiny little pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Shit.

The current locations of his family members flitted through his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was going to be absolutely fabulously newsworthy to have one of the Tracy brothers carted off in his own ‘bird simply because he didn’t look where he stepped.

The setting sun was still calmly gazing over the landscape, lighting everything up in gold. But it felt far more sinister now.

The breeze ruffled his hair.

Sitting in the dirt, knowing he shouldn’t move, Virgil sighed and thumbed his comms. Maybe he could minimise the damage.

“Gords, you got a minute?”

-o-o-o-

Gordon was having a great time.

If there was something he missed living on an island in the middle of nowhere, it was this.

Penelope had one soft hand on his arm and was smiling at him as several of her friends laughed at one of his jokes. The fact the stuck-up toff, Duke Butterfingers, looked less than pleased was just icing on the cake. He was definitely on Gordon’s scorn list after his snide remark regarding Sherbet versus his ‘real dog’ wolfhound blah-blah.

It appeared the dog was smarter than the owner.

But Pen’s girlfriends were great conversationalists and it was nice to talk to someone other than family or those with their lives at risk for a change.

Yes, it was proof that he needed to get out more.

The subtle twitch of his collar comms against his skin wasn’t to be ignored, however.

A hand on Pen’s hand. “Please excuse me a moment. Duty calls.” He did not bow. Well, not really, but the amused smile and the sparkle in Penny’s eyes made it worth it anyway.

Her hand squeezed his arm and let go gently. Her eyes didn’t leave him immediately. “Felicity, do tell me about your new parlour. I hear it is being featured in Great Homes of Britain?”

If her blue eyes hadn’t turned away at that moment, it would have been questionable as to whether he would have been able to leave. But leave he did, wondering which family member he had to torture in the future in revenge.

Finding himself a polite corner, he opened his comms and frowned at his brother’s worried voice. “Virgil? What is it?”

It took a moment, enough to grab Gordon’s attention a little more. “Virg?”

“I’ve been bitten by a snake.”

“What?!”

“I’m up the hill at the back of the ranch. I stepped on a snake.” I need your help. It wasn’t said, but it was obvious. “Don’t tell Scott or Dad. Yet.” That last was said a little tentatively.

But Gordon was already moving, running the list of dangerous snakes that could likely be found out here through his head. If anyone noticed him dash from the room, he didn’t really care.

Compression bandage. Immobilisation. “You stay absolutely still, you hear me?”

“I’m aware of the procedure, Gordon.”

The location of first aid kits in Penelope’s house was quickly overridden by the vast store of equipment out in the carpark in Two.

Gordon was in a full out run before he realised it.

The evening was cooler but still warm from the day as the sun still hadn’t gone down. Two loomed over everything as Gordon dashed between cars and dodged guard rails. Two parking attendants stared at him as he tore past, but he ignored them.

Reaching Two, he swiped a dance of finger code over his left jacket sleeve and a control hologram leapt up from the fabric. The keys to his brother’s ‘bird were a necessity he was ever grateful for in this moment.

The great green Thunderbird hummed to life and lowered on her struts, smooth as ever, down enough for her forward hatch to reach him. He jumped on board and was in the first aid lockers without a second thought.

The countdown in his head was predictably short as his comms went off only a few seconds later. That would be John.

Gordon ignored it and switched back to Virgil.

“Any idea what type of snake?”

“Small and brown. It’s all I got. Didn’t see it. Stepped on the poor thing.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Gords.”

“It happens.” He slammed the locker shut, grabbed a hover stretcher and linked it to his comms. He cursed the lack of his uniform and all its inbuilt necessities with it. The essentials woven into his suit jacket and collar comms were barely minimal.

A brief thought of moving Two to his brother faded quickly as he poked the pilot’s dash and Virgil’s location lit up. He wasn’t very far away at all and there was no room to park Two anyway.

No room in the Australian Outback? An oxymoron, but it would be faster to just grab his brother and throw him on Two.

It was going to be bad enough lifting off once.

He jumped back onto the hatch and lowered himself. Securing Two he broke into another run. “You know you’re not going to be able to hide this from Scott, Dad or anyone here? You’re going to hospital, bro, and Two’s the fastest way. No one is going to miss her launching.” He leapt over a fence, the hover stretcher darting to follow.

“I know.” It was a quiet and sad answer.

“Medical status, Virg. How are you feeling?” He peeled around the corner of the main building and fixed his eyes on a figure part way up a hill in the distance.

Virgil waved.

“Gordon, report! John says it was you who accessed Two. What are you doing?” Scott, as commander as ever.

A harsh breath as his feet hit the bottom of the hill. “Thunderbird Four responding to a medical emergency. One of Penelope’s guests has been bitten by a snake. Evac imminent.” Another breath as he finally made it to Virgil’s side. The expression on his brother’s face could only be considered despair. “Scott, we will need media management. Victim is high profile. We need to keep this on the downlow.”

A pause as Gordon set down the first aid kit. Virgil’s lips were tight as he pointed to the red and swollen twin pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Gordon shoved open the kit and, without another word, grabbed bandaging.

Scott’s voice was sharp. “FAB. John is accessing Five. Victim identity?”

Virgil sighed and his shoulders dropped before he thumbed his comms. “Scott?”

“Virgil?”

“It’s me.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

[wlfkssd]

Valhalla must wait ( oneshot )

Prompt based on the ask ‘on the edge of consciousness + ubbe’ sent by @ritual-unions-gotme​ from this list.

Summary : Ubbe is on the edge of consciousness, having spent so long at sea without food or water. Loosely plays with the timeline between 6.15′s storm and 6.17.

Warnings : mentions of dying.

Pairing : Ubbe x Torvi 

Word count : 1,084

Additional notes : First piece of posted vikings work and I’m realising it’s small for a oneshot / mini fic. Whoops. Othere makes an appearance as well as some other characters as Ubbe has a vision of Valhalla.

Has everything been a waste? All this for nothing? 

Ubbe's eyes are heavy and he fights every instinct to close them; an internal struggle to add to the never-ending external one. He looks about the ship with what little strength he retains. Torvi is weakening - Gods know how their child, baby Ragnar, has survived for so long - and Othere looks to be following.

The sun beats down upon parched lips and the water buckets are scraped dry by those still able to crawl to them. Forgotten are the days of sharing equally because none exists. A sad truth that will most likely be the end of them all.

Rough hands run themselves over his face, feeling the way his skin seems to flake away and Ubbe tries to remember the ocean's spray hitting him when he was young, travelling with his father and Hvitserk to Paris all those years ago. The expression that slowly takes couldn't be called a smile or resemble any kind of joy really but, if he closes his eyes, perhaps...

No.

Ubbe knows if he closes his eyes, even to rest for a while, they won't open again. His stomach growls like Fenrir and Torvi painfully looks to him. Their gazes rest tiredly with one another and there's a shared guilt. Anyone can recognise the look of a woman who's lost a child but for Torvi, that shroud lays over her face twofold. For both of Bjorn's children are gone now; lost first to the blade and then to the sea.

Would that he could take her into his arms and give some kind of comfort but the mere thought of moving is too much. It exhausts him and Ubbe feels the first of many tears slide easily down one cheek unchecked, catching it with the tip of his tongue as it comes to latch onto his cracked top lip.

Thoughts creep back to the whale and how Othere had claimed it would be a sign from his Christian God. Perhaps his Lord and the old Gods were watching now; both indecisive enough to let their subjects suffer for lack of commitment.

Clear blue eyes turn to the sky.

"Ubbe," Torvi's voice breaks the monotony of the stillness and Ubbe brings his attention to her slowly, careful not to exert himself. Every movement feels like death but he knows, should he die, others will follow within days from their broken hearts. 

It would be the same if Torvi died first.

"My beautiful wife." Paying such a compliment seems empty now but Ubbe does it anyway. What's the harm? Torvi smiles - proving she is just as strong as he's always believed her to be - and summons the strength to bring their child to him, settling once again at Ubbe's side just as she has been for years.

He looks down into the bundle, at the face of his son and begins to cry in earnest. He feels Torvi's forehead press tightly to the bolt in his jaw and vaguely he hears her speak. But nothing touches him so much as the temptation to let go now. In this moment, he is happy. For he has his family around him in the most impossible situation and it makes him sad for his father.

Alone in his final breaths.

Turning his face, with effort, Ubbe rests his lips to his wife's hair. It feels dry and coarse but he doesn't mind. It smells just as he remembers and despite their misfortunes, that fact alone is a comfort. Ubbe finds himself smiling as the smallest, most familiar of sounds scrapes itself from his throat.

"I love you."

It's all he can do to let Torvi know the depths of his feelings for her now. If they were back in Kattegat, he'd kiss her deeply, breathing in her life, take her to bed, gift her every part of him. But here? Those three simple words are all he has to give. They make him a poor man, indeed, but if all the silver in the world meant dying alone, he would gladly be a pauper to the end of his days with her.

And his eyes flutter then, closing as he inhales for what could be the last time.

The gates of Valhalla stand before him in their golden glory and, inside, he sees the faces of those great warriors, brought into the warm feasting hall for their courage. They each have a curved horn, filled to the brim with ale and their faces hold only smiles for Ubbe.

Ragnar, Lagertha, Bjorn.

Bjorn.

"Brother! Come!" Familiar voice encourages as a now unscathed hand is offered. "Come on. Everyone is here. We are all waiting for you!"

A feeling of utter ease overcomes Ubbe and he takes his first step forward; all hardships, injury and hunger forgotten in the euphoria of his journey. Until, from behind him, another more distant voice calls out.

"Ubbe!"

"Torvi?" He stops sharply, knowing exactly who owns that voice. Surely she cannot have followed so quickly? Turning - with every intention of embracing her - Ubbe finds nothing. Just an open plain of the greenest grass he's ever seen and the tranquillity of birds overhead. Every fibre of his being screams to be reunited with his brothers and father, his mother and other warriors he's lost in his life, but the urgency of his wife erases such a need with absolute surety.

Valhalla must wait.

With a last look back at Bjorn's face, and the nod his brother gives in understanding, Ubbe smiles and allows himself to be pulled away from the embracing calm and back into the storm of his first life.

"Ubbe, there's water. Drink." The large hand feels foreign as it settles at the crown of his head, providing a little comfort as he opens his eyes. A drop of rain clings to Othere's nose, threatening to fall, and his expression is one filled with relief. "Drink, my friend."

One of Ubbe's own hands reaches up to hold the ladle that's set close to his mouth. He drinks slowly, savouring each sip as though he well knows it could be his last.

"What did you see?" The question comes from Torvi, soaked to the bone beside him.

"Valhalla."

She blinks at him, arm coming to lay upon his own for a moment before her fingers seek his, holding tight. "What was it like?"

"Full. But also empty. You were not there, so I could not stay." There are tears in Ubbe's blue eyes as he leans his aching body to touch his forehead to Torvi's. "Nothing could make me leave you. Not even death."

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXI

A/N: So, I wrote the end of this chapter in April. I had... next to no idea when I was going to get to use it, because all I knew was it would come while they were on the Silk Road, and I don't have a chapter plan for this fic. This chapter ended up being a bit long again, but with the ending scene... I really think it's worth it. I really look forward to seeing what y'all think of this chapter, I personally am very happy with it. I might make a more detailed post about what the ending of this chapter means. Until then, enjoy the update! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

While Aethelind and Ivar were sitting on the rock, their paths were crossed by a man with a cart, who was making his way down the road. He stopped when he saw them, noticing how the man on the ground was leaning against the rock, his head laid in the woman's lap. Ivar had fallen asleep there, while she was messing with his hair, and she hadn't stopped once he had. They both deserved some peace, she thought, and a little bit of rest. They were far enough along that his brothers wouldn't find them there, not just yet.

When the man stopped, Aethelind looked up at him. He noticed her gaze, and so he asked, "Do you two need help?"

Aethelind shrugged, smiling a little. "We've stopped to rest," she answered. "He has a hurt leg, it was bothering him. We'll be alright."

The man noticed the crutch then, and he nodded slowly. He had no way of knowing that this wasn't the full truth, that a 'hurt leg' was really two legs which wouldn't well support Ivar's weight. But, he knew that someone who was injured wouldn't be able to easily travel along the road. That was just common sense.

"Where are you two going?" he questioned then, and Aethelind kept her smile warm. Ivar was beginning to stir due to the conversation.

"We're just wanderers," she said vaguely. "So... wherever the road and the gods take us, I suppose." Ivar gave a little hum as his eyes opened, and he looked up at her. She made a quick decision, to keep their identities secret. "Hello, sleepyhead," she said sweetly to Ivar, and leaned down to kiss his forehead affectionately. The look he gave her was very confused, but the man couldn't see his expression, fortunately. Before he could ask anything, she said, "I was just telling this man here about our travels, how we've turned ourselves over to the gods to see where they'll take us."

Ivar was quick, thankfully, and he nodded. "Ah, of course," he said. "And what else have you been discussing?" In other words, Catch me up, so I know what not to say.

"I told him how you've hurt your leg," she answered. She looked back up at the newcomer, and easily said, "I don't know if you're married, but finding my husband lying there with a broken leg just about broke my heart."

Ivar wanted to look at her with the extreme What?! he'd thought, but he merely hummed and gave her a tight smile.

"Well, if you're just wandering," the man said. "I'm on my way to the Silk Road. I've got some trading to do along it, but I could give you two a ride, if you'd like. Don't want to make a hurt man walk more than he needs."

Immediately, Ivar felt like protesting. But Aethelind saw the opportunity this presented, and so she grinned, nodding eagerly. "You're truly a blessing from the gods, sir," she said. "Thank you." With that, she stood up, and Ivar let out a little sound of protest as if he wanted her to come back. She took his crutch and offered it to him, so he could get to his feet. He wasn't wearing any of his braces, though, and so he gave her a look as if to ask, What do you want me to do with that?

Aethelind grimaced as she realised this, and looked to the leg braces, still abandoned at the river. He'd risk really breaking a leg, if he stood right now. So, she went and grabbed his arm braces, and brought those to him. While he put those on, she collected his leg braces and put them on the cart.

"What are those?" the man questioned curiously, and Aethelind chuckled softly.

"Oh, these? We stopped back in Kattegat and had them made to help his leg," she lied. "They've done wonders for his mobility while he's hurt, but..." She gave a shrug. "They can only do so much before we still need to rest, hm?"

Ivar blinked a few times as he heard her effortlessly crafting this cover story. She was brilliant, and he wondered where exactly she learned to cover so well. Perhaps it was at court. After all, he'd heard that the English courts had a tendency to be rather... complicated, he supposed one could say. She must have gotten good at covering for her absences, or other various infractions while there.

Once his arm braces were on, Ivar flipped himself over, and crawled up to the cart, which he managed to pull himself up onto with a little of her help in stabilizing the thing. Just to sell the story that he was her husband, she rubbed his leg affectionately, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. The man gave a small nod, and went to his horse to start her off again. "What are your names?" the man called back.

And, here was the part Aethelind wasn't sure of. The only Norse names she knew were those which would surely be recognized. Ivar, however, was quick to answer the man. "My name is Erik," he said. "My wife is Ingrid." Thankful for the quick thinking on his part, Aethelind reached over and took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze. He smiled at her a little, prompting her to smile in return.

"Erik and Ingrid," the man said. "My name is Gunnar."

"It's good to meet you, Gunnar," Aethelind replied, and settled in against Ivar. He wrapped his arm around her instinctively, then, which earned a smile from the Shieldmaiden.

For a few weeks, they travelled with Gunnar, who was quite a kind man they both realized. He was older than them both by quite a few years, closer in age perhaps to Ivar's parents. Any question he asked, they were able to come up with an answer for easily between themselves, and so it never came to be suspicious to him, their background.

Each night, the small group would stop, have dinner together- some sort of stew usually prepared off of what they could find around. Aethelind and Gunnar would hunt, and Ivar would get a fire started. They’d come back, put it together with some of the rations Gunnar had brought, and share the meal amongst themselves.

After they would eat, they’d all settle in to sleep, and according to the tale they told, Aethelind would sleep very near to Ivar. As the nights grew colder, Ivar’s legs began to ache more, and it became harder for him to sleep. One night, as he laid there trying to get comfortable- failing to do so- he noticed something different.

Aethelind was shaking in her sleep, the cold seeping into her just as it was him. He chanced a glance down at Gunnar, noticed the man was sleeping still, and so he flipped onto his stomach and crawled to her. Putting his hand over her mouth, he shook her gently, and whispered her name to wake her.

The Shieldmaiden woke with a start, looking at him with wide eyes before she recognized him, and relaxed. “What is it?” she whispered to him. He gestured with his hand for her to follow him, and he crawled back to where he had been laying. She did as he said, and when he laid down, with one arm out, she gave him a confused look.

“You were shaking,” he answered her as softly as he could. “It is cold, and you should not freeze here.”

She smiled softly and nodded, before lying beside him. Ivar wrapped an arm around her, and she gave a soft hum as she settled in. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him in the dark. “For noticing.”

Ivar gave the sort of noncommittal shrug which spoke of his reluctance to accept the gratitude. “I was also cold,” he said, and she chuckled softly.

“Of course,” she teased. “Well, then I’m very glad I was able to assist you.”

He rolled his eyes in an amused sort of way, and reached with his free arm to grab his cloak, covering them both with it. “Go to sleep, Shieldmaiden,” he said. “We have long travels ahead.”

“Very well, Boneless,” she whispered in response. She let her hand come up to cup his cheek briefly. “Sleep well.” Her hand moved down to rest on his chest as she closed her eyes and settled in to sleep, unaware entirely of how that little action had made him stay up, deep in thought, the rest of the night.

Gunnar made no comment about the pair the next morning, about having woken to find them lying together for the first time on their trip. Truthfully, he had been a bit surprised when they slept apart each night, seeing as they were husband and wife. Or, so they said.

He hadn’t told them that he had come from Kattegat. Gunnar was a trader, had meant to set up there, and had arrived mere hours after the battle. Seeing there was no market set up, he left some supplies for the wounded, and moved along. The rest Ivar and Aethelind had taken gave him enough time to catch them, though he hadn’t meant to.

News in the city had been that Ivar the Boneless was on the move, with his Prophet at his side. Gunnar hadn’t ever seen Ivar or the Prophet with his own eyes, but finding a man who had to crawl, or walk with braces on his leg and a crutch, with a woman at his side… He was nearly certain he had stumbled upon Ivar the Boneless and his Prophet.

If he ignored the warning signs of the truth of this matter, pictured the pair as a loving wife with her injured husband, he could lull himself into a false sense of security, and so that was what he tried to do. Most times, it worked. But every once in a while, something would happen to break that illusion. Something such as the pair not sleeping side by side, as a Viking man likely would do with his wife, regardless of company.

As they travelled the next day, something happened which made him unable to pretend any longer.

‘Erik’ and ‘Ingrid’ were sitting on the back of his cart as usual as they went along the Silk Road, and he saw the excitement in the former’s eyes as he looked around at all he saw. They’d stopped at one stand, and the merchant had let a bird walk up his arm. The woman who called herself Ingrid had grinned, told the man who was probably Ivar that he looked quite handsome with that bird on his shoulder, and he had teasingly asked her if that meant he was not normally handsome.

All had been well for a while, until they’d finally come to a stretch of land where there were no merchants, no markets for quite a few miles. Ivar had fallen quiet, and Aethelind noticed this. Taking his hand, she whispered to him, “What’s on your mind, love?”

He gave her hand a small squeeze and looked up at the horizon they seemed to be travelling ever away from. “Freydis would have liked that bird, I think,” he commented.

Aethelind swallowed at the mention of her. “She would have,” she agreed. “Do you remember that blue dress she wore? With the red in it?” Ivar nodded. “Its colors reminded me of that dress.”

Ivar gave a tight lipped smile, and nodded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Things were quiet for a few moments, and Aethelind finally whispered, “Do you think things would have been different if I had come in a few moments sooner?”

At this point, Gunnar was certain they had fought in Kattegat. Whether that meant they were Ivar and the Prophet, he didn’t know just yet. It was possible ‘Erik’s leg had been broken in the battle, and they’d fought for Ivar, and so run from Björn Ironside before the battle ended. Hearing them speak now of a ‘Freydis’, which he knew had been the name of Ivar’s queen, had him certain at least that they’d been on the Boneless King’s side.

“You might have changed nothing,” Ivar said, holding her hand a little tighter. “You’d have had to have gone instead of me.”

She sighed. “Wish I had. I’d rather he separated from her by choice, rather than by death.”

Ivar gave a sigh. “It is by choice,” he said. “We all made choices that have led us to where we are. She chose to betray the King. You chose to let me go to her instead, and she chose to confess to me. I chose to spare her the humiliation of being tried for treason.”

Aethelind huffed at his answer. “You could have chosen to spare her entirely,” she said. His brows lifted as he looked at her, and noticed for the first time the hardness of anger in her eyes.

“You know I loved her,” he began. She laughed bitterly and released his hand, dropping off the still moving cart so she could walk alongside it. Surprise showed on his face. “What? Are you angry with me now, hm?”

She laughed a little louder. “Of course I am angry!” she confirmed. “You didn’t have to do what you did! I chose to save you because I care for you, and because I could not save her. But I loved her too. I sat behind her when she delivered Baldur, I cared for her when he passed. Did you never notice how, some mornings, she and I would appear together? Those were the mornings after the nights she would forego her bed, and come to me.”

Ivar realized she had mentioned the name of his son, of the son of Ivar the Boneless, in addition to them both freely saying Freydis’s name. He hissed out her false name, trying to get her attention, to warn her, as they walked along. But she took this as him trying to silence her, and so she snapped, “No! No, I get to be angry about this! I spent my nights after Baldur’s death with Freydis in my bed, holding her and comforting her because you could not accept what had happened!”

“Ingrid,” he tried again, his eyes widened and stressed. The cart had stopped moving, and she had simply stopped with it, still continuing to fume.

“I had no idea of what she intended to do,” Aethelind continued on, ignoring his warning once more. “But I do understand why she did it. Instead of coming along beside her, you turned against her and blamed her for his death! I saved you because I couldn’t take losing one more person, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to your role in her death, Iv-”

“You’re Ivar the Boneless.”

Aethelind froze in the middle of her words, holding Ivar’s gaze for a moment as she suddenly realized what he’d been trying to tell her. His eyes closed and his jaw tensed, and she turned to face Gunnar.

“And you’re the one they call the Prophet,” he said.

She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “And if we are?” she questioned. Her hand was on her sword now, in case he caused trouble.

“You are,” Gunnar said. “I had my suspicions when I first picked you up, but my suspicions were weak enough, filled with enough doubt, that I couldn’t be certain. I am now, though.”

Almost in the blink of an eye, Aethelind had drawn her sword and grabbed Gunnar, holding the sword to his throat. “If you breathe a word of this, you’re a dead man,” she hissed. “We’ve come too far now to let a merchant be our downfall.”

Gunnar swallowed hard as he looked down at her sword, and then into her eyes. “I won’t tell,” he promised. Her eyes stared back into his, debating on what he said.

“Ivar,” she called, without turning. “Do you believe this man?”

Ivar hummed from his place on the back of the cart, having turned to see what was happening. Gunnar looked to him, fear evident in his eyes, and Ivar chuckled darkly.

“I believe him for now,” he said. “And there is no one here for him to tell, anyway. Let him live.”

Aethelind pulled her sword away, and sheathed it. “We continue on,” she told Gunnar. 

He nodded and, heart pounding, moved to guide his horse once more. Aethelind returned to her place sitting at Ivar’s side.

“I tried to warn you,” he said.

She replied, “Shut up.”

The first and only warning to Gunnar came that night, as the three were eating dinner as they always did. Aethelind had asked where the nearest town was, acting as if she were merely curious, or hoping to get some better supplies then. Gunnar had, out of fear of what would happen if he lied, answered her honestly.

They finished their meals and settled in for the night, with Aethelind curling up against Ivar’s side as had become habit for the pair.

Once Gunnar had fallen asleep, Ivar turned to whisper to Aethelind, “We need to break off from him. He is a risk now that we cannot take.”

She nodded a little, and rolled up so she was looking down at Ivar. If Gunnar woke, so long as she spoke quietly, it would appear to him that they were merely sharing a moment, that perhaps Ivar and his Prophet had… more than a strictly professional relationship.

“I agree,” she replied. “I’m going to get your braces. Put them on, and get ready to leave with your crutch. We’ll get rid of him and take his money. We can use it for something in the next town.”

Ivar nodded to agree with her plan, though secretly, he was concerned about her willingness to do something like this. Gunnar had never been unkind to them- quite the opposite, in fact. He was a kind man, one who didn’t deserve what was happening to him. But that was the tragedy, wasn’t it? Aethelind hadn’t deserved to lose her closest friend, at his hands.

With his approval, Aethelind silently got up, brought his crutch and the lighter of the braces, and then returned with the heavier. He began to put them on as he watched her go to Gunnar, and kneel beside him. He was sleeping on his back, blissfully unaware, and she swallowed.

Ignoring the twisting in her heart, Aethelind prayed silently for forgiveness before she unsheathed her sword, and slit his throat. His death was mercifully quick, and would have been painless for the most part, assuming he never woke.

She searched his body for money, and found some, which she tucked away on her person before going to his cart. Finding the rest of the money he had stashed away, she put that on the horse, and released the cart from her.

The sound of Ivar’s crutch approaching told her everything she needed to know, and she turned to see him approaching her, on his feet once more. Admittedly, she was glad to see him walking again. It felt good to see.

“Why are you taking the horse?” he asked her, and she answered,

“We’ll sell her. The more money we have, the better.”

Ivar nodded, and they set off down the road once more.

As it turned out, Gunnar’s directions to the next town had been entirely accurate, and once there they easily sold his horse to the first stable they found, and collected quite a large amount for her.

There was an inn in that little town, and so Ivar and Aethelind chose to stop in there for the night. They got warm meals and a cup of ale each with some of the money, but their presence had drawn attention. Even if news of the events in Kattegat hadn’t yet reached this far, people knew who Ivar the Boneless was, knew how to recognize him by the braces he wore on his legs, and the crutch he required to walk. Like Gunnar, they couldn’t be certain of the man in this inn’s identity, but they could have their suspicions, and they could discuss them as such.

Aethelind bought them a room for the night, keeping to the story that they had initially given Gunnar, and they were provided the key along with their meals. She noticed the gazes of many people on them, but one particular group of people caught her eye. It was a group of men, all armed, and they were almost unnerving. Not enough for her to heed Ivar’s warnings not to approach them, but enough to actually make her feel the need to do so.

“So, what are you lot, then?” she asked, stopping at their table and leaning on it. The men sitting there chuckled a little as they looked up at her.

“I can be a king if that’s what you want, sweetheart,” one of them answered, but the glare from her shut him up quickly.

“Met kings. Fought kings. Titles don’t impress,” she said sharply. “I asked what you are, not what you could be. Are you lot sellswords?”

“We are,” one confirmed, and she looked to him then. “You looking to buy?”

Without so much as a word, she put the coin purse she’d pulled from Gunnar’s body on the table, and watched them all look at it.

“Meet me back here in the morning,” she said. “I’ll tell you what we need, and if you choose to let us hire you, I’ll give you half the rest then. The full amount will be paid upon completion of service.”

“See you in the morning then, Princess,” the one who seemed to be their leader almost sneered. Her own sword was pulled and pointed at his throat in a flash.

“Call me that again, and you don’t live to see a coin more,” she threatened, and then returned to Ivar. “Erik, let’s go.”

Ivar got up and followed her to their room, shooting a glare at the man who’d attempted twice to flirt with Aethelind. He took her hand with his free one to make a point.

Finally getting to shave off the beard he’d grown on this journey was something Ivar hadn’t realised he’d looked so forward to, but he really had. He’d done it while Aethelind was getting into bed, so when he came and got in beside her, she laughed and ran her fingers over the freshly smoothed skin.

“Ivar the Boneless,” she quipped. “Welcome back.”

The next morning, they met the sellswords and struck an agreement. They would travel to the end of the Silk Road with Ivar and his Prophet, which Aethelind and Ivar had elected to confirm for them were their identities, and ensure they arrived safely. It ended up being the fame of having served Ivar the Boneless which won them over, and so they set out.

Using some of the money they had left, Aethelind bought something of a rolling seat for Ivar’s use, which they attached to one of the horses the sellswords had. Settled in, they continued their journey north.

One night, as Ivar and Aethelind laid how they always did, he found himself unable to sleep. The past months were replaying in his mind again and again, along with the argument he and Aethelind had had.

He didn’t realise she was awake, when he first began to speak to her. Her face wasn’t visible with the way he was holding her, his chin resting on the top of her head. They hadn’t been this far north yet in their travels, and he was glad for the extra warmth she provided. Unknown to him, she was also glad for the extra warmth he provided.

Aethelind thought, perhaps, he had unknowingly saved her. She hadn’t brought any of her furs from Kattegat, any of the thick dresses she had gained while there. Only her sword hung at her side, and as they travelled, his cloak wrapped around her shoulders. He’d given it to her to wear after the first night they’d shared its warmth. And so throughout the day, it was as if his warmth protected her from falling to the cold. And at night, she knew it may as well have only been his warmth which saved her.

But, it was also her warmth which saved him. The way her eyes had pleaded with him to go, to escape from the longhouse, and to escape Kattegat before his brothers came, was incredible. He had always remembered the softness in her eyes when she said goodbye to him, when they were still children in Wessex. This was the first time he had seen such softness reflected in her eyes again. That day, she had promised to miss him. And then, years later, she promised not to lose him.

Ivar couldn’t understand why. She had seen the worst of him, as King of Kattegat. Everything he did there, those he killed for no purpose, those he’d had killed, what he’d done to his own son…

He swallowed hard as he tried to shut out the memories of Baldur’s quiet cries in the forest, and later still the dead silence when his cries of hunger and thirst finally ceased, until it was broken by Freydis’s sobs at the loss of their son.

As if the closeness to her could chase these thoughts away, Ivar pressed his face into her hair, before taking a deep breath. The way she shifted, as if to accommodate his movement, made him swallow hard.

It was so like her to silently accommodate, to do what needed doing without a word, and it was just the right thing to push Ivar over the edge.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her tighter to himself, and he would never know the way her heart ached as she felt him let out that first sob. Nor would he know how she hated the pain in the words that spilled from his lips.

“Why did you do this?” His words were barely a whisper, and yet so clear to her, as clear as ice. “After all I have done, why do you stay, hm? I killed your closest friend. She died by my hands, her blood stains my hands, and yet you choose to follow me into the cold and dark?” His voice was rough, and cracking, under the emotion, and just slightly irritated, as if he felt weak for the display. She knew his voice well enough now, just as well as she knew him, to know he was not angry with her, but himself, at the regret in his chest.

He continued, “I cannot understand you. You came to me disheveled, having struggled to be at my side, after the pain I caused you. You think I missed the betrayal in your eyes, when you came to my side. So why do you stay? I called you a prophet, but I begin to believe you truly must be so. What do you know that has not yet come to pass? What have you seen?” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall at his broken pleas for answers, the strangled confessions that only barely escaped.

“Why do you gift me with your loyalty? I don’t deserve it… I don’t deserve you, my sweet Shieldmaiden. My Asta, I don’t deserve you.”

That one word, Aethelind had not yet learned. Asta. Her mind pondered its meaning even as Ivar fell asleep beneath her finally, until the steady rise and fall of his chest eventually lulled her to sleep as well. But until then, no thought filled her mind other than what that word might have meant, and why he had called her by it.

Asta- from the Old Norse ást (n.) meaning, “love”.

--

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[aethylas]

For anonymous: a series of answers/clarifications/amendments on The Goldenrod Revisions! (I've answered these all in one post just to make it easier). Thank you so much for the asks, this helped me a) clarify my thoughts b) solve some canon continuity issues so I really appreciate them!

THANK U for agreeing to answer my questions! I'll have to ask them separately so they're not in 1 super-long impossible-to-read ask. I have 3 about 15x19, 1 about 15x20, 2 about 15x21, 2 about 15x22, and 2 about 15x23. quick disclaimer: i don't mean any offense at all by my question count! I didn't even notice these oddities the first time I read this; once I read it and accepted it as the true canon, I took a closer look and then noticed. but plz don't think these made your fic any less great!!

No worries anon! It is literally my pleasure to answer them and I am VERY very happy to find discrepancies with canon in the fic - then I can hopefully fix them and make the fic better :) Also I really appreciate the very systematic way you laid all these out, it really helped me reply, and also subsequently make a couple of edits to the fic!

For 15x19:

1. Why did Chuck trust Michael with the task of killing Jack? As God he should know Michael betrayed him in 15.08; did he expect Michael to disobey him again?

I think in this case we're/Chuck is relying on knowledge from the canon 15.19, i.e. Chuck would assume the outcome predicted by the show - that Michael WOULD betray the Winchesters/the world in order to please his father. So God assumed Michael would act the way he did in Inherit The Earth. But additionally, Chuck isn't actually very keyed-in to his own characters' motivations (esp. when love is involved) or very attached to certain results - he basically sends Michael and Lucifer to kill Jack because he figures it will entertain him no matter what happens - whether Michael and Lucifer kill each other, whether they kill the Winchesters/Jack, etc. - either Jack dies this way or Chuck will think of another way to do it.

2. How was Sam able to kill Lucifer? It was said only an archangel could kill another archangel with the archangel blade; was this a total lie or could Sam do it since he's Lucifer's true vessel? (plz don't change it to have Michael kill him; Sam being the one to do it was perfect, I just wanna understand how he could do it).

So glad you raised this because I honestly totally forgot! But now that you have, I have corrected that lore continuity with a line about biblical metaphors.

3. How is Rowena alive? She said she was dead in 15.08, so I initially assumed as a witch and the Queen of Hell she found a way to travel between Hell and Earth despite being dead. But then Sam says "Michael could've killed you" and then Chuck kills her twice in 15.21, both of which indicate she's alive here - does this mean Michael resurrected her when she summoned him?

God okay this is like - please call me out if this is incorrect or still confusing - but it's kind of like, based on the very inconsistent and confusing lore of the SPN afterlife that I assume Rowena is 'dead' but also 'alive' in the sense that Crowley was 'alive' and is now 'dead'. Does that make sense? She's not 'alive' as a human but rather as a demon (or something like it). So as Queen of Hell and a presumably demonic-adjacent entity, when she's 'killed' she gets sent to the Empty now vs. being 'killed' as a human and going to Heaven/Hell. (Based on when we see her in Hell, I assume she possesses her own body? Unclear. Just go with it. They've never been great with what it means to show vessels in Heaven/Hell etc.)

4. I thought asked all I wanted to know about Goldenrod but I just thought of 1 more thing: I don’t get why some dialogue implies Michael was dead? He mentions how he “found himself back on Earth” and tells the Empty it couldn’t stop Chuck from resurrecting him & Lucifer, but prior to 15.19 we last saw Michael leaving the bunker with Adam alive and well in 15.08, and it seemed like he was gonna stay on Earth for Adam’s sake. So what happened to him?

Oh that's a great point! I think that is actually just a confusing choice on my part that Chuck killed absolutely everyone including Michael/Adam in 15.18 Despair and THEN chose to resurrect Michael (but not Adam) alongside Lucifer when he was bored/wanting to kill Jack. I made some slight adjustments in-text to hopefully make it less confusing because I know that's different to the lore of canon 15.19 Inherit the Earth.

For 15x20:

1. How did the angels and demons in the Empty wake up? Did Michael use the last of his grace to wake everyone up? Were they already awake thanks to Jack blowing up in 15x18 or did they somehow sleep through that? (Not expanding on the Empty's claim that "you made it loud" is one of countless things I'll never forgive the actual show for, so THANK YOU for taking the show back to the Empty in the first place; I was just curious about this one element.)

So the Empty was already 'loud' according to canon, but since canon is vague on what exactly that means (thank you writers!...) I got the impression it meant the Empty wasn't 'peaceful' anymore but still powerful enough to suppress the beings inside, like the beings in there were awake and suffering but unable to rebel. Sort of what we see with Cas in this version of 15.20. Maybe like, additional suffering in sleep paralysis? Regardless, Michael does expend his grace to weaken the Empty enough that other beings wake up and/or are able to fight back and exist outside their own personal nightmare chamber. So whatever your impression of 'loud' is with regards to the other beings in there, assume Michael was able to free them from the Empty's control.

For 15x21:

1. Having Jack & Amara take out Hell & Purgatory was a BRILLIANT idea; I love that they ended all the places of suffering and changed the system. I just wonder - what happened to the souls and the demons still in Hell at that point, and the Leviathans and other monsters still in Purgatory? Were they just wiped out completely and sent to the Empty? Or did Jack turn them human and add them to the cycle? (I don't think the show clarified whether or not Leviathans have souls, so...)

No matter whether they were monster or demon or even angel, they would eventually be given human life. I broke it down to 'human enough souls' vs. 'not human enough souls'. Human-enough were immediately brought to life with memories and versions of their original bodies, and not-human-enough were sent to the Soul Queue to be born as infants. I assume Leviathan and most demons fall into 'not human enough', therefore, whatever tiny microbe of personality/soul they had was added to the cycle of rebirth and would be translated to a new human soul. Of course this might have a WILDLY different impact on the world depending on how many people go to hell in this system, how many people were 'human enough', etc.... But we're basically fudging those numbers a bit one way or another just to give certain characters the revival they deserve haha.

2. Did Cas drown and die after Chuck threw him in the lake and Jack left their limbo-dream world? If so, did he go through the same question-&-answer situation with Death that Sam & Dean did? Or was he with Jack & Amara when they rebuilt the world?

Cas was already dead/dying even when he was talking to Jack, he was sort of in a different version of the 'Veil' per se. VERY wishy-washy, but basically he and Jack were on a different dream-plane that they were jolted to in the chaos of the disorganised no-Death world.

I think Cas, Rowena, Lucifer, Michael, etc. as beings who were killed after the snap is a bit ambiguous. Rowena and Lucifer, I think, as entities who were demonic-dead or Empty-level-dead pre-Snap probably went through the reincarnation Yes/No Death questionnaire. Cas and Michael might not have since they were technically 'alive' and human before the Snap. Regardless, I think they probably wouldn't remember the interaction even if they had it.

The reason the question happened to the Winchesters AND that they remember it is Main Character Syndrome... they were the only people left alive when Jack and Amara did a hard reset, and that honestly Death took time to chill/exposition at them because he likes them. Really. Despite all appearances. Or respects them enough to let them know what's gone down, anyway.

Metatextually, it was really just to reaffirm to the audience that Dean (and Sam) want to live, in contrast to 15.20 Carry On 😅

3. Did all the snapped people (Eileen, Adam, the Waywards, etc.) also go through the Death question-&-answer process but not remember it, or did Jack & Amara just send them back?

Snapped people were reset automatically! Normally the new-humans also wouldn't remember their interactions with Death/reapers, just like in canon lore when someone like Dean has a near-death experience.

I realise this whole section and various other lore reformation parts of the fic aren't SUPER clear on specific logistics but on some occasions I'm like, I've done enough info-dumping, I don't want to overwrite exposition. But if you think it's worth clarifying certain points let me know and I can try to do so!

For 15x22:

1. The twenty something blonde guy in sunglasses getting hot tea, is that Belphegor? sure sounds like it but I wanted to confirm.

Yep!

2. Since Death mentioned that Jack only resurrected the angels, demons, and monsters from the Empty who had enough of a soul, and since all the human souls from the Veil went to Heaven as confirmed by Kevin's presence, how exactly are Anna's human parents and Bela alive now?

Great question - 1) I SOMEHOW FORGOT ANNA'S PARENTS DIED? Complete screw up on my part, I don't know how that happened. I fixed this so it's her grandparents now. 2) Bela was sent to Hell as part of her deal, so I was assuming she was a demon by this point in canon (since it would be... MANY Hell-years since she died.) Therefore she had a 'human' enough demon soul to be put back as a human.

3. Oh, and the tall woman with the flyer in 15.22; who is this supposed to be? Hannah I’m guessing?

To be honest I didn't have anyone in particular in mind for that scene; it was kind of a catch-all for missing characters like, it COULD be Hannah. It could be Raphael. Hell, it could be Abbadon. I didn't want to do a full shot of every single person missing from the cast who had died (esp since like - we wouldn't know who they were anyway! Their bodies would be different). So this one is literally just fill-in-the-blank. But if I had to assign a character there I'd say it would probably be one of the more arrogant angels like Raphael or Uriel.

For 15x23:

1. How is Bobby in the Roadhouse with the gang? 10x17 seemed to imply the angels were about to throw him in the dungeons to punish him for helping Cas; did Ash hack him out of prison, or was he never imprisoned at all? Also, is Jack not surprised to see another Bobby in Heaven because the boys already told him there was another Bobby besides the one he knows from Apocalypseverse? (I was half-expecting him to comment about that and confuse Bobby).

Oh that's a great point! I think that's another sort of fill in the blank since it's been five years since 10.17... even if he was in prison of some kind, I think it's likely either Ash helped him get out in the same way he helped everyone else, and since the angels were extremely short-staffed I doubt getting Bobby suitably imprisoned/punished was their top priority. But honestly I'm not super clear on how the angels intended to punish Bobby, I don't think canon is clear either... like, We Just Don't Know.

Finally I'd like to know, has Sam proposed to Eileen yet by the end of the final episode? The script doesn't mention a ring on her finger, and as Sam's fiancee, I'd assume she'd also have carved her name on the table. Sam mentions the innuendos Dean has said "in the past year," so it's been a while since Jack's prayer scene, yet Cas says Dean & Claire's argument was the last time they spoke, and it doesn't seem likely to me that Dean wouldn't call Claire in a year given how close they are...

Nope! I think Sam is saying 'I'm going to marry her' as a declaration of certainty of his feelings and faith in the future, not neccessarily as something that immediately happens. With regards to 'in the past year', that referred to the period when Eileen was alive during s15 as well! I assume Dean did teasing off-screen (and I mean, he did plenty on-screen too.)

I honestly think that Sam and Dean are just very very busy in the aftermath of the events of the 15.20 reset, like they have to deal with the new world AND try to wrangle all these hunters into this new system of collaboration. I didn't put Eileen on the table because she isn't there in the finale and because I do think the Sam/Dean/Cas/Jack family unit was a bit more central and important to the show, but maybe they add her (and any possible kids, if they have any) later on. God, imagine generations of hunters and/or Winchesters carving on that table. Sacred Artefact...

(1) Ok that's all the questions I have. Again, so sorry to blow up your inbox - I really appreciate your willingness to clarify these things! If there are some things you'd rather not explain and leave ambiguous, I totally get that. And in spite of these aforementioned confusing parts, I still ADORE your fic and will continue to read it whenever I feel like re-"watching" how Supernatural really ended! Thank you so much!! .... (2) I’m SO sorry to overload u! I know I asked a lot and I didn’t mean to sound like a hater saying “none of ur story makes sense”; that’s not what I meant at all! If this was a regular good ol fix it fic I wouldn’t have said anything but since u said u wanted it to wrap up the show as replacement canon, I thought maybe I should point out places that didn’t line up. But take as MUCH time as you need! Good for you working to meet your deadlines; I hope you succeeded!! And again I really appreciate you taking the time to answer whenever you have time—absolutely no rush!! Have a GREAT Memorial Day Weekend!!!

Anon thank you SO SO much for all these questions, as you can see it really helped me identify problems or straight up errors in my work wrt continuity and I'm so happy that means I can improve it. If any of the answers weren't clear or you think I should modify the fic to make certain things clearer than they are right now (other than the things I said I'd fix in-text for sure) let me know! It's really been a pleasure answering them too, I'm sorry it took me so long to get around to it, I actually went back and proofed/edited the whole fic as part of adding some of these corrections in (and that took like... three weeks...) and as you said, it's very important to me to get it as true to canon as possible so - yeah, just, once again, thank you!! You're wonderful! ♥♥♥

[studentville-struggles]

A Double Life

Chapter 5!!

A self-indulgent Daniel Ricciardo fic.

Summary: Returning to old passions results in the start of chaos and living a double life. We say we hate chaos, but the thrill is unlike anything else.

Words: 1,941

Masterlist // Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

F1 was no joke.  

PhD’s were no joke.

You were exhausted. Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover how you felt. Were you dying? Who even knew at this point.  

One monday your legs finally gave out as you were walking into university, collapsing from the exhaustion you were fighting. Thankfully you had just made it into your building, the porters quick to call a medic. You actually ended up having to take a couple of days off of lab work and go home and just spend some time sleeping and spending time with your parents. Your supervisors were so worried for your health and the stress you had been putting yourself under they pretty much banned you from the lab for a week.  

You still did the workouts you needed to and prepped for races from home. You just did everything on more than five hours sleep. The luxury. It was so damn needed.

Speaking on the phone to Lando one night, the two of you becoming closer friends since being team mates and him checking in more frequently since finding out about you collapsing, you had been joking about how nice sleep was. 

“I used to think that being ordinary was boring. Now I’d do anything for a 10 hour nap and a chippy.”

Your little exhaustion moment had scared you a little bit. You’d always managed to do everything. You could have two intense lives and work it. You had felt that for the last three years you mastered juggling a double life. Was it finally coming to crumble around you? Was this it, was the dream over?  

You wouldn’t allow it. You couldn’t. Youd fought so hard for this, to have your cake and eat it. It was never meant to be easy and you knew that, this was just one more thing to overcome. Once you had your PhD you would be able to live any life you wanted. You might even be able to sleep seven hours a night on the regular.  

You would make this double life work for a little longer, you had to.

Having re-evaluated routines and switching things up so that you could make the most of both lives whilst still being healthy, you were feeling confident, comfortable and it was growing with each race that passed. Sure, not all of the results were what you dreamed off; after all you were yet to tip Lewis off his pedestal, but you were getting there. Getting the car to do your bidding was the first half of the challenge. Now you just needed to do that, but better than every one else on the track.

The other thing to come out of your health scare; especially after some of the drivers have commented on your less deathly appearance was an interesting change in your friendship with a certain Australian.  

Sure, you had the big change from thinking he was rude to being caught smiling at his texts, to hanging out in Australia at the start of the season. That you had kind of seen coming; but this? This was unexpected, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it currently.

After finding out about your little incident, Daniels’ entire energy changed. He was visibly concerned about you, whether you were better now, how you were doing getting everything under control for good. His reaction to discovering the in-depth extremeness of your routine having binged watched your show – he claimed it was a curious interest to occupy his flight but you knew it was to be nosey and you didn’t mind that – was even stranger He had effectively cornered you at the paddock in China with a written out list and spluttering of expletives with the general message of “what the fuck, no wonder you're exhausted.’.  

The frequency at which you two texted and chatted was steadily rising as your friendship bloomed but after his discovery of ‘the incident’, it had sky rocketed. Both in general conversation, but also in his concern for you overdoing things. He’s started to make a point, like Lewis often does, to ensure you take a bit of time for you and to relax; so movie and game nights are now a little thing you get when you meet up for a face to face catch up.

The vibes between the two of you were shifting ever so slightly and you weren’t entirely sure where there were setting themselves.

---

You were very lucky in that your family would often come to support you, especially your mum and dad. Albeit your mum couldn’t watch half of the races due to her fear that her little girl was going to be hurt, but she was there every chance she had.  

As the season progressed and you were getting some races closer to home, you felt it was about time to invite the main group of people who were yet to see this side of you. Given the intense patience and grace they had given to you, supporting you though everything and allowing your camera crew all access; it was time to invite your boss. Well your other boss. Your supervisor.

Getting back into the swing of things at work in the lab after the Spanish Grand Prix, you felt it was finally time to give back to your lab family.

“I’d like to take you to work next week, and maybe a few others once I check numbers.” Your supervisor knew what ‘work’ meant for you but with more and more people questioning your regular three day weeks, you were starting to feel like letting your two worlds collide a little more.  

“Where is work next week? Monaco?”  

“Yup. I’ll give my media team a ring and see how many we can take including hotels and go from there”  

“Including?!”  

“Full VIP, would be rude of me not to.”  

A short phone call later, with some rough numbers figured out, you had five full VIP passes at your disposal. Given you rarely have guests at Grand Prix’ they allowed a few extra tickets this time. As one would imagine with a free weekend in Monaco, the academic staff in your research group snapped up those tickets in no time. Of course, with the amount of time spent in your offices and labs, you were safely assuming three of the five had no idea what your job was, though were very curious as to how and why it was taking you to Monaco.  

Academic life was no joke. Everyone was busy, everyone had very little free time. Watching sports was only done by super fans really. There weren’t any motorsport super fans in your office and somehow both your show and driving career had still remained unquestioned. How that was true with the camera crew still following you around, you had no idea.  

You had sent out a rough, and very vague itinerary, reminding them to be ready to leave work at 6 pm on Wednesday, heading straight to the airport. You had also sent strict dress code instructions- the smarter end of smart casual, knowing that they would likely, if not definitely, be appearing on camera.  

With some of your team meeting you at the airport, ready to get your race weekend media started, the confusion of your university colleagues was growing. It peaked as they had you film a short clip to start the weekends media off, it was only a short Instagram story, post hair touch up, to say hi to fans.  

“Hey guys, just me taking over the Instagram stories! We’ve just arrived at the airport to head over to Monaco! Can’t wait to see you guys this weekend and I’ve even brought a few colleagues from the university so you’ll be seeing my two worlds collide as well! See you soon!” Waving at the camera, you cut the video. With all thumbs up from your team, you uploaded it to your team Instagram, views piling in almost immediately.  

“Rachel what the hell do you do?!”

“Oh you’ll see soon enough, I don’t want to ruin the surprise now.” You teased, surprisingly enjoying the suspense.  

Walking up to the private jet having gone through security with ease, the shock was only increasing, though you everyone was feeling very excited for the flight now they saw the plane. Things were fairly calm after this, the journey quick, smooth and you avoided giving too much away.  

Arriving at the hotel you sent everyone off to their rooms, giving timings for meeting the next morning. You would be leaving before them to start greeting the media and doing some press conferences before your track walks, and so had arranged for a few cars to be sent for transferring the rest over to the main hub. Once they were all happy with the plans, not that you’d given many details, merely timings, you could head to your room where Daniel had snuck over waiting to reunite.  

He had many complaints about spending the evening having your catch up in a hotel when he had a perfectly good home a few minutes away. At some point during the evening, after the food had been demolished, the words said and a crappy Netflix original on the tv, the two of you had fallen asleep. When you woke a couple of hours later, you were awkwardly hunched on the sofa still, somehow having entangled yourself with Daniels body.  

Realising that it was far too late to send Daniel home, you both needed sleep if you were to survive the media day, and you couldn’t send him on his way in the small hours of the morning. Trying not to wake him too harshly, you start untangling yourself from the mess of legs. With Daniel starting to stir, you grab his hand, wordlessly pulling him from the sofa, over to the hotel bed.  

Still in the silence the middle of the night brings, Daniel shed the majority of his clothing, slipping under the covers in only his underwear, with you following soon after as you quickly change into your sleepwear.  

For something so foreign in your friendship, the ease and comfort at which you snuggled together, falling asleep again under the covers, was almost unnerving. Almost. In your sleepy state, you couldn’t recognise that, only time would reveal that.  

--

Having snuck off to begin your media day trackside, you were eager to see your lab colleague's reaction to where they were. It was as you were heading back into McLarens hospitality that you, as well as the whole group, could see the full magnitude of this job and how it differed to the Rachel they were used to seeing in the office.  

“You’re a driver?”  Shock? Disbelief? You couldn’t quite tell but the reaction was  

“Yes”

“What the fuck? But you’re in the lab like 10 hours a day”

“Now you know why I don’t have time to get things done otherwise in my three-day weeks.”

Once the shock wore off, the excitement and initial questions had settled, you set the group up with timings for the day and let them wander round the paddock freely as you headed back to your meetings, promising to see them during the lunch break.  

Having your worlds united felt good. It felt as though some of the pressure you hadn’t realised was there from keeping them separate, was melting away.  Although the feeling that was beginning to bubble away every time you bumped into Daniel was very close to being a distraction.

You needed to drive; just get in the car and block everything else out. 

[trainsinanime]

I think in retrospect, my post bitching about Ladrien was a mistake. It was written out of frustration, in response to a post that I perceived as trying to push Ladrien as morally superior to Marichat. That was probably not the right way to read this post. And even if it had been, the correct response would certainly not have been to vague-tumble (sub-tumble?) about it. I should just delete it.

…or I can double down and post more controversial Miraculous Ladybug shipping hot takes. Which one of these would be more fun? Difficult, difficult…

Adrigami vs Lukanette

I have seen more than one post argue that people prefer Lukanette over Adrigami because of racism, or because Kagami is too pushy, or similar. Now, for the record, I prefer anything above Lukanette and I personally love to ship Adrigaminette (specifically the version where everyone involved is really stupid about it). But I don’t think the moralistic argument can explain all of why Lukanette is so popular.

The problem is that we all love our point of view character Marinette and want good things to happen to her. Yes, there are exceptions in the fandom, but those are a small minority, no matter how loud they are. Adrigami is fun, interesting, engaging, they have both common points and interesting conflicts, and I’d absolutely love to watch a show about it… but Adrigami has one key drawback: It makes Marinette sad. And nobody wants that.

Lukanette, on the other hand, doesn’t make anyone (in universe) sad. Adrien and Kagami are okay with it, and it doesn't seem to affect Marinette's emotional state at all. (Yeah, sorry, not a fan of Luka, but I'll try not to dwell on it because my reasons for not liking him are not interesting, much like he is.)

Lukanette also works really well if you want to be salty about stuff but aren’t willing to go full Batman. The main salt objection to Adrien is that Chat Noir can be too pushy with his romantic feelings, which is arguably true, and that this means he is a horrible person, which I don’t exactly agree with. That cannot be said about Luka, who has no flaws, wishes, character motivation or similar nasty things that could get in the way.

All of these factors have nothing to do with Kagami whatsoever. Now, if you’re wondering why Lukanette is more popular than Kagaminette, then we’re getting somewhere.

Next up, more controversial opinions about other pairings:

Adrienette

Horrible, awful. Adrinette is king.

Marichat

Just to reiterate: I love Marichat moments. I don’t think regular Marichat dates, whether that is romantic dates or friend dates, works at all. Marichat lives from the fact that they’re both friends, yes, but also from the low-key spy vs spy antics where they try to convince each other that they’re not actually best friends yet. (Ladrien could do the same but they’re too busy awkwardly blushing at each other to get any sustained antics going)

Ladynoir

These two do not go on patrols in canon. I know every fan claims so, but there’s no canon evidence, except for Dark Owl/Hibou Noir, where the regular patrols are clearly established as something unusual that both of them want to end soon. Yes, I know there’s one instagram post, and supposedly one tweet (not that I’ve ever seen it), but it’s not in the show. And let’s be real, why would they go on patrols? Hawkmoth canonically creates Akumas whenever, including frequently during school hours. Patrols can’t help against that. That’s why our heroes canonically use alerting apps.

The reason why people love patrols is because it gets Ladynoir together without having to invent an Akuma. I can see the appeal behind that… but honestly, isn’t that just lazy? The show generally makes sure to show us the tail end of the adventure that brought them together this time, and I think that is more fun. Alternatively, sometimes, the show just doesn’t bother to explain why they’re together in costume at all (e.g. the end of Chat Blanc), and it turns out that this is also a thing you can do and nobody will hate you for it.

Adrinette

This may be my most controversial opinion yet, but I want these two crazy kids to kiss and hold hands and grow old together.

Adrigaminette

Yes, I know it'll never be canon. But I refuse to believe that they didn't realise people would ship it when they wrote the beginning of Heart Hunter. That whole sequence seems like it was designed to get me to ship it, and you know what? It succeeded.

Maribat aka Daminette

Kill it with fire.

Alyanette

We don’t have enough of this.

Alyadrien

People, including Zag, are sleeping on what a great platonic friendship pairing this could be. Just those two geeking out about how great Ladybug, Marinette, Nino and Carapace are.

Kagaminette

I have nothing but love for this pairing; I'm just including it here for completeness.

GabeNath

The problem with that ship is that I don’t want good things to happen to either of these people. Which means I'm perfectly okay with the canon version of this ship, where it's clear that both of them are emotionally stunted, callous and immoral and are never going to find happiness. The fact that it’s technically cheating only adds to that. I am not fond of fan versions where these two and Adrien are one happy family, though.

DJWifi

The pairing is perfect, but I have to say: Lady WiFi is cooler and fits better for Alya than Rena Rouge. Who ever thought to give the journalist the Miraculous that is all about lying and deception?

I’m very okay with Nino not being the Bubbler, though.

JuleRose

Come on Zag, they deserve to be unambiguously canon.

MarcNath

See JuleRose. Actually, I think when directly compared to JuleRose, they could really do with some more development, some more scenes of them together. I do ship it, but they seemed to have gotten the “official unacknowledged gay boys couple” almost out of nowhere.

MarcNath where Nath means Nathalie

I don’t think it would be a good idea at all, but the troll part in me (which is responsible for this post existing in the first place) thinks it might be worth exploring.

MariLila

We need more of this ultimate crack ship.

Adrigamilukanette

Get rid of Luka and then we’re talking.

Chloegami

I used to think it was a stupid idea but I’ve read a number of very well written slow-burn stories about them, so now I ship it.

Felinette

I don’t get it at all. I feel like I should write more about it in a post like this, but I'm mostly just baffled by its existence.

Lukagami

Kagami deserves better.

Juleka/Lila

I just saw that this tag exists, on a "here are my drabbles" fic that was last updated in 2018, before it got to the Juleka/Lila part, and now I’m both intrigued and frustrated.

Adrichat

Hah, you had almost forgotten about that, hadn’t you?

[ethekitchenator]

You know, it's funny, even though I haven't watched the show since (the disaster) season 12, a part of me is still incredibly sad that Supernatural has ended.

When the show first came out, my best friend and I loved it. We would joke that Dean was hers and Sam was mine, and we would talk for ages over what was happening.

Due to the time it started airing around season 3, I had to stop watching it, and mostly got snippets from friends over what was happening. By the time I hit uni, there were even more fans there, who spoiled more than a few things for me, but I still wasn't overly worried, I just kept telling myself that I'd watch it one day.

Then a couple of my main friends started rewatching it, around season 8 or 9 I think, and all I was ever told was "You will love Crowley". All throughout high school I was known for writing horror/dark supernatural stories, so that was always the response I got along with other vague descriptions.

"You will love Crowley."

I believe it was another year or so that I finally sat down and decided to rewatch it.

Those early seasons reminded me of the discussions my then best friend and I had. Then, I got even more enraptured as Castiel was brought onto the scene, the angel lore was exactly what I had been craving in the show from when I first used to watch it.

Then came Crowley.

I never told any of them, bar maybe one, that I did indeed love Crowley. I began to look forward to his appearances more and more, and always found myself...disappointed when he wasn't. The show was about Sam and Dean after all, but I always felt like they were underutilizing both Crowley and Castiel.

As season 11 ticked over into season 12, I started to realise that the writing and story telling wasn't going how I felt it should. As a writer myself, it suddenly became hard for me to turn away from the bad writing, I couldn't get as easily lost in the show as I once used to.

So when the ending of season 12 happened, when there was absolutely zero respect shown for my favourite character, I stopped. I was upset and angry and more than a little frustrated that something like this had happened, that a character that had been with the show for so long, that I felt brought a whole new level to it, was gone.

A part of me is still upset about it today, and you know what? That's okay. Things aren't always going to go the way you want them to, in anything, and if you make a choice in the moment, you can choose how that will stick with you.

For me, I first started to turn to fanfiction. Those of you that know me and my writing, know that I have a lot of Crowley fanfiction on my writing blog, even today I'm still writing away many fics involving him. He's worked his way into my heart and is refusing to let go. It didn't mean I didn't write for anyone else in the show, they all have a place with me forever, but Crowley was the one that had the biggest impact on me.

As I continued to watch the fandom go through the remaining seasons, caught snippets of things here and there, I began to see less and less of it around. It was...odd, whether it was from the Tumbr purge or people just really wanted to avoid spoilers, I don't know, but not seeing as much of it as I used to, even through snippets, made me somewhat sad. I didn't watch show anymore, but that fandom space was still apart of me.

Now that the show has officially ended, I find myself still mourning with you.

My opinion on the ending is rather irrelevant, as I've only heard it through the long posts, the memes, and the tears that have been shared around. Have I been impressed with what I've heard? No, both as a fan and as a writer, but then I also wasn't surprised due to my own reasons of stopping. Does it make me want to suck it up and watch the last few seasons? Not in any sort of hurry, but maybe one day, a few years from now, the pain may finally fade enough that I can try and stomach it.

My point through all this though, is it's okay to feel what you're feeling. Make your long posts about it all, spew words forth until your head hurts and your fingers bleed. These are characters, people, that have been with you for a long time now. Psychologically speaking, they are as real to you as your friends and family. If you're like me, then they've helped you through difficult periods in your life, and that is something that's hard to get through.

So do your posts, make your voice heard, but just also take a moment to have consideration for others too. The creators and actors and all those involved in the show, this is an ending for them too. It's probably more real for them than it is for you, and many tears will most likely be shed.

Make your posts, but don't go after the actors and creators. If you really want to say something to them, use your words and feedback constructively. Going out of your way to make threats, to tell them you hate them, or go to any of the other extremes is just not fair on them after years of hard work.

You have a right to be angry, but don't take it out on them.

You have a right to be overjoyed, but don't start fandom wars over it.

That was never the point of the show.

For me, as I said, I turned to writing fanfiction, I was giving a voice to the character I loved, and you know what? It's helped me go back to my own writing, it's helped me start to create my own worlds and characters again and given me inspiration for new ones that I'd never considered it before. My negativity from what the show did, I managed to turn into a positivity for myself. I made my posts at the time, voiced my anger, but I didn't go after anyone directly. I called creatives out on their bullshit, but never directly. I knew it would be pointless to do so, and doing so in anger is never going to be constructive.

I'm now at a point where I've seen this happen in multiple fandom, the last couple of years for me in these fandom spaces has not not been a fun time. So many endings I've seen have just lacked so much creativity, have just been so lazy in writing and directing, that it's made me frustrated with the industry as a whole.

So I'm turning the negative into a positive.

As someone whose dream and passion it is to create these shows, to write these movies, to tell these stories, I've now made a promise to myself to be better. In fact, I am determined to be better, and there is no one but myself standing in the way of doing that.

To those of you who hated the ending, I'm sorry it didn't give you the closure you wanted. I'm sorry that the show didn't live up to your expectations, but just remember, that it's never going to be fully over, that world, those people will always stay with you in one way or another. If you can, turn the negative into a positive, do something that helps you remember the good times of the show, or create your own versions if thats your thing.

To those of you who loved the ending, I'm happy for you, I'm happy that you got the closure you wanted. I'm happy that you can still look back on all those adventures and smile at the wild ride that it was. Most of you are probably still grieving too, and that's okay. When you're ready, turn it into something new and brilliant and keep looking forward.

I get that this has probably been a rather long post, but if you've read all the way through, I just want to thank you. Thank you for being part of a fandom that has become a family. It's far from perfect, but in our times of need, it's there, as all family should be.

When you're ready, we can all smile again, and while we may move onto other things, we all know that this is something that will always be here if you need it.

[imagine-loki]

Greatest Fears

TITLE: Greatest Fears CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 2 of 3 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s wife suffering a terrible nightmare and him soothing her after it. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: This is an older fic. I meant to post it here when this imagine popped up, and then completely forgot to because I am great at planning. Since I’m going through my files trying to rekindle the muse, I figured I might as well post it now, y'know? XD

Bit of violence, but well, that’s bound to happen when you piss Loki off, y'know?

________________________

    Loki was on a mission. That much was plain to see both by his expression and the clear purpose in his steps. He barely even noticed as servants and nobles alike hastened to get out of his way, so focused was he; everyone knew that when the God of Mischief was angry, it was best not to find oneself in his path.

      As he rounded a corner he nearly collided with Lorelei; he began to move around her before changing his mind, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him, asking with deceptive calmness, “Have you any idea where I can find your dear sister?”

    The redhead looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What did she do this time?”

      “Too much,” Loki replied with an edge to his voice, making Lorelei’s brow rise further.

      “In that case; last I heard, she was looking for your brother, who I think is in the training grounds,” Lorelei replied with a smile.

      It was no secret the temptress couldn’t stand her older sister, Amora; the two had been at odds as far back as anyone could remember, so she was more than happy to point the younger prince’s wrath in the right direction.

      With vague thanks, Loki left, changing course for the training grounds and hoping Lorelei’s information was correct. He had long been at war with the Enchantress, and they had both employed highly questionable strategies against the other, but this went too far; this time she had touched upon the one thing he could not forgive or forget: His wife.

      He knew it had to have been Amora who invaded Samantha’s dreams the previous night, intending to plant the seeds of distrust and fear of him in her mind. There was no-one else it could be; none of his other enemies both knew that his wife was his greatest weakness and had the means and ability to influence her slumber that way. And it would take someone blinded by unfavourable opinions of him to assume that they could harm - let alone break - the bond between them; his queen was as devoted to him as he was to her and nothing short of a personal betrayal would change that.

      Finally he reached the training grounds, where he could hear the sounds of practise battles as well as the loud voices of his brother and other warriors. His eyes searched the room and found his intended target then he narrowed his eyes in hatred and began to make his way to her. The moment he was close enough, he threw a burst of energy at Amora that slammed her against the far wall strongly enough to make her cough up blood as she crumpled on her hands and knees to the floor. Sparring matches ceased as all present looked between the Enchantress and the clearly livid prince in shock.

      “Loki; what is the meaning of this?” Thor asked; he was well aware of his brother’s feelings towards Amora, but he had never known him to attack her so openly and with such ferocity.

      Loki ignored his brother completely, advancing on Amora and snarling, “Did you think I would not know it was you? Or were you simply foolish enough to think I would not retaliate?”

      “It was not all my doing; I simply worked with what was there,” Amora spat, attempting to get to her feet.

      Before she could, Loki rushed over to her, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall harshly. “Liar!” 

      He conjured his dagger and went to plunge it into her stomach, as Samantha had told him happened in her nightmare, but was stopped by Thor, who rushed to his brother and pried him off the Enchantress with difficulty.

      “Let me go!” Loki growled, fighting against Thor’s hold with all his strength.

      “Not until you tell me what is going on,” Thor said sternly.

      “She attacked my wife,” Loki replied enraged.

      “She what?!” Thor asked, turning to glare at Amora, who seemed to finally realise she’d made a big mistake.

      When Loki had brought Samantha to Asgard, Thor had taken an instant liking to her; not only for the kind and quick-witted person that she was, but it was clear to see her presence had a calming effect on his brother’s much-troubled mind. It was well known that he was almost as protective of his sister-in-law as her husband was.

      “Thor; let. Me. Go,” Loki seethed, eyeing Amora with murder in his eyes.

      Thor was actually more than a bit tempted, but in the end held back, albeit reluctantly. “No, brother.”

      “Why not?” Loki spat, turning to glare at the Thunderer.

      “Because Samantha would disapprove of cold-blooded murder, and you well know it,” Thor replied, trying to reason with him.

      Loki bristled slightly at the mention of his wife then huffed angrily and put his dagger away, knowing that Thor was right. If he just killed Amora, Samantha would (probably) forgive him eventually, but she would certainly be upset with him for some time before that. And while they had argued in the past over mistakes either of them made, he did try to avoid giving her reason to be angry.

      When Thor was sure that Loki wouldn’t try to kill Amora anymore, he let him go and the Trickster turned to him. “What do you suggest I do? Because I am not letting this go.”

      “Nor would I expect you to,” Thor assured, “But this is a matter to take up with father.”

      At the mention of Odin, Amora’s eyes widened; she knew the king wasn’t overly fond of her, given all the trouble she’d caused over the centuries, and he was one of the few people she genuinely feared.

      Loki gave it some thought then huffed. “Fine; if we must.”

  ***

      When Amora was brought before him flanked by a displeased Thor and a fuming Loki, Odin suppressed a sigh; wondering what discontent the Enchantress had wrought this time. As the situation was explained, the Allfather instead began to wonder how his eldest had managed to keep his brother from killing Amora at all; he knew how protective Loki was of his wife. He himself was rather fond of the young woman, even if she was at least mostly human; in many ways she reminded him of Frigga, and Loki had benefited greatly from having her in his life.

      “You and Loki have been in conflict since you were barely out of childhood, but to employ such insidious spells against innocents…” Odin began, his voice carrying throughout the throne room easily, “Personal feelings for Samantha aside, she is part of the royal family; bringing harm to her in any way is a serious offence.” He let his words sink in for a moment. “Since there was no injury caused, I will be lenient: You will be bound in service to those you have wronged.”

      Amora’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious!” Odin raised an eyebrow and the Enchantress paled. “For how long?”

      Odin looked thoughtful for a moment then replied, “I think a month should do.”

      The look on Amora’s face alone as she was practically dragged out of the throne room made Loki think sparing her life had been the best call after all. And the knowledge that she was his to command for a month… Loki still had plenty of issue with his father, but he was no fool; he knew perfectly well that lenience was the farthest thing on Odin’s mind with that sentencing. Thor left the room next; feeling somewhat sorry for the Enchantress, knowing that his brother would see to it that she never even thought about so much as offending Samantha again, but of the opinion that she had very much brought this on herself.

      Loki went to leave the room, intending to find his wife and share the wonderful news, when Odin called him back. Loki turned around and faced his father somewhat apprehensively, figuring he was about to be scolded for his attempted murder; instead he was surprised by what the king actually had to say.

      “Whether you tell your wife the full details of what occurred is your choice, but this cannot happen again,” Odin said firmly.

      “It will not, as long as Amora learns her lesson,” Loki replied simply.

      “That is not what I meant.”

      “Oh?” Loki responded, now curious.

      “I understand that you love her, but do not let that devotion turn to obsession,” Odin warned, “You cannot respond to every threat towards her with murderous intent.”

      Loki blinked in surprise. “Would you expect any less of me?”

      “There was a time I would not have,” Odin admitted, “But that was before. I know that you are capable of more, of better; do not lose that over the actions of those who are not.”

      To say that Loki was stunned would have been an understatement. Unless his mind was playing tricks on him; that was as close to praise as he had received from the Allfather in… well, most of his life. Unable to find words, he simply nodded then turned and left; wanting to find Samantha and confirm whether or not he was finally going mad.

[nomadicbeard]

Hi! I saw on one of your posts you said that you used to be a stucky shipper. I actually started off as a stony shipper but then absolutely fell in love with stucky but I like both . I was just wondering what made you "jump ship" on stucky lol. Sorry if this comes across as annoying or anything im just curious!

Hey! As you can see a couple of people have asked me this over the last couple of weeks and I’m really lazy and haven’t got around to responding yet, but the people deserve an answer so here we go. Before we start a quick disclaimer: I’ll only be talking about the ships themselves, not the communities or any of the discourse surrounding them. This is not a ship-bashing of any kind and please do not take it as such, it’s just my own personal experience surrounding these characters and these relationships. 

 Buckle your seatbelts kids, this is a long one.

I first got into Marvel c. 2015. I’m European so I’d never really watched any marvel movies before that, I watched Age of Ultron on a plane and remember being vaguely aware the Steve/Tony was a thing (what is pretty interesting is that to this day I have no clue where that knowledge came from) but was mostly just excited by the superhero stuff. I then got home and watched The Winter Soldier and fell in love. I love the Winter Soldier, it’s probably still one of my favourite marvel movies (it got kicked out of its top spot by Black Panther last year unfortunately) and to me no other marvel movie could hold a torch to it at the time. So I came onto tumblr, searched up The Winter Soldier and was just inundated with Stucky stuff, as expected. I rolled with it, got invested just from constant exposure (it was also around the height of the Stucky ship) and as far as I was concerned, that was that. I was super into Stucky for almost six months and was pretty much your average shipper, I didn’t understand stevetony, loved Steve Rogers, was close to creating a Stucky sideblog wit some ridiculous pun as my username, I was gone over this ship.

Then one day, I sat down and read the man on the bridge by boopboop on ao3. You’ve almost definitely heard of it, but it was the most popular fic in the Steve/Bucky tag on ao3 at the time (for some reason I had just never got around to reading it until then, it was long and I didn’t have the stamina I have now). It was your pretty standard Stucky fic, Steve gets Bucky back, they have to deal with his trauma which results in Steve and Bucky declaring their long lost love for each other etc. etc. What was different about this fic, was that it was all told from Tony’s point of view, and since Steve and Tony were on the same team at that point, their dynamic was a huge part of the fic. And I found myself falling completely in love with Steve and Tony’s dynamic. I went back to the fic for this post (and god it is a good fic) and pulled up the first couple of chapters and instantly just found so many instances of that dynamic

(grade A stevetony arguing over each other’s safety with a side of flirting from Tony)

(Idk why but the image of Steve and Tony not going to sleep, but rather staying up and brewing coffee together was such a vivid one when I first read this fic, I still remember it to this day. )

(Tony picking Steve flowers while trying to desperately play off that he didn’t aka. Tony caring while trying desperately not to care)

(Everyone knowing that Steve would definitely come to Tony, apart from Tony himself.)

Now obviously, this is a stucky fic and I went into it knowing this, but I found when Steve and Bucky finally got together I felt honestly a bit bored, a bit cheated. I had no idea why at the time. I remember very clearly x-ing out of the fic at the end and feeling really uneasy, I came onto tumblr, went straight back into the Stucky tag and all was well.

When I next went back onto ao3, I started out with a couple of oneshots in the Stucky tag, but for some reason it wasn’t working for me anymore. I remember sitting there, a little bored, not at all invested in this relationship and just missing something. I figured I was probably missing Tony’s presence in the fic and so filtered in Tony Stark’s character tag. I read a few of those and all was well but I realised the same thing was happening as had happened in man on the bridge, the moment that Steve and Bucky got together, the fic lost something for me. Desperate at this point, and a little annoyed at myself I conducted an experiment and went into the Steve/Tony tag on Ao3 and as they say, the rest is history. If you go onto older posts on my main blog there’s a pretty drastic, almost overnight shift c. January 2016. I have to admit, I expected Civil War to be a conversion so I enjoyed stevetony without consequence for five months, while still labelling myself as a Stucky shipper because I expected to be pulled back to Stucky after civil war, the reality was that somehow I came out of civil war shipping stevetony harder than ever before. From there, I spent two years reading my way through the stevetony tag on ao3 and finally set up this blog in 2018, with a really obscure reference as my username and it’s been stevetony til I die ever since.

I just couldn’t read Stucky anymore. That’s what I mean when I say on this blog that stevetony has ruined me for every other ship, because it has. Steve and Tony’s firecracker dynamic pulled me away from what was fast on its way to becoming my favourite ship in 2015, all because they had a bit of banter on the side in a fic. It’s kind of depressing really, the sort of hold that Steve and Tony’s dynamic has over me, 

It’s strange you say you fell in love with Stucky, I fell absolutely out of love with it. I have thought a lot about how I ended up falling into stevetony and why I was so drawn to them instead of Stucky in the first place and I think it all comes down the the story itself. To me, Steve and Bucky’s relationship carries much more weight as a friendship, I still have no doubt that Bucky is one of if not the most important person in Steve’s life, but having that be a lifelong friendship is way more powerful and impactful to me, (especially since what I know I misconstrued to be Steve’s obsession with Bucky is actually Steve’s obsession over the past. I’m not saying Bucky isn’t dear to Steve and he does want to obviously rescue him, but looking back on it there’s more to Steve’s obsession with Bucky than just love, it’s a fear of change and it’s him desperately trying to hold onto a past that’s gone.)

Conversely, I feel like adding a romantic element to Steve and Tony’s relationship enriches the story being told, if you look at something like civil war (either MCU or 616 tbh) in the context of Tony being desperately in love with Steve, it makes a lot more sense, especially with things like The Confession in 616 or the stuff brought up in that strange conversation in the conference room in the MCU. There’s lines from Steve like “I’m home/you gave me a home” or even straight up “he loved you” and his tormented behaviour throughout infinity war and endgame that just really makes you wonder, not to mention lines from others like “you two still gazing into each other’s eyes/sounds like both of you got into bed with the wrong people” and they did have to share a bed at Clint’s farm after all lol. The tragedy of their story is heightened if you look at it through the context of them being absolutely in love with each other, just never having actually got around to telling it to each other’s faces. This tragedy is heavily implied in The Oath/The Confession in 616 when they confess their deepest darkest secrets to the other’s comatose/dead bodies, and apparently it’s always been that they love the other person. Actually you could easily introduce a romantic element by making relatively few changes to the MCU, but that’s a post for another time (I have a long and comprehensive list in my notes app on how little you actually need to change to make that happen, it’s literally the matter of a few lines of dialogue and one major story change at the end of IM3, an interesting thought exercise to say the least).

Finally, there’s a quote that came up on my dash the day I made that fateful venture into the ao3 stevetony tag, “your soulmate isn’t someone who comes peacefully into your life. It is someone who makes you question things, changed your reality, somebody that marks a before and after in your life. It is not the human being everyone idealized, but an ordinary person, who managed to revolutionize your world in a second” to this day, it resonates so strongly with me about stevetony. It’s everything I love about this ship just compressed into a quote. 

So yeah it was basically a bunch of happy coincidences, but thank god it happened. As a writer, stevetony has taught me so much about character and dynamic, stuff that is honestly invaluable. When you have long fics that basically detail the day by day life of Steve and Tony post-civil war in rural Italy and consists of them sleeping, crying and working through their repressed feelings (looking at you @silkspectred ), it is the characters and their unique dynamic that drive the entirety of the story. Steve and Tony, in the hands of a compelling writer, can keep me hooked over a frankly embarrassing number of words. I still have a bit of a special place for Stucky in my heart really, it did start me out in marvel after all and it was one of my first ever ships, but your first love is only so good until you meet your true love, not to get all sappy but stevetony has completely destroyed my ability to ship anything else. I might get a bit flirtatious with some other ships, like sambucky (I still love Bucky, and I love Sam!), or the riverdale ships (beronica and jarchie or bust), or even the game of thrones crack ships (daensa til the day we die), but I’ll always come back to stevetony.

So yeah this escalated into a far longer post than I intended to make but I’ve never really spelled out on this blog how or why I ended up jumping Stucky to Stony when I know it’s usually the other way around. I guess it just comes down to stevetony catching me out when I least expected it, and never having let go of me since.