#and the one I did start as a proper fic is abandoned because I lost energy

[travalerray]

fanfic writing is always like:

questionable characterisation (not really familiar yet) => oh this is actually good => questionable characterisation (projecting)

[onetoomanyyy]

can you do a deep Namida analysis? you can include personal hcs i need her i need h < wants namida lore so bad orz

Namida. Naminami. Master Namida. Mida-Chan. The Girl From Planet Namik.

I’m much more of a headcanons guy than an analysis guy, so this will probably be more “headcanons slightly based on analysis” than the other way around, sorry 😵‍💫 (however, a little while ago fishhjuice did a compiling of all the canon namida facts)

Namida likes to present herself as the most orderly and put-together member of Squid Squad, but in actuality she’s probably the strangest one. She can be quiet around strangers, but once you get her talking you’ll never get her to stop. She knows all sorts of seemingly useless facts that somehow always manage to come in handy. She has insane spice tolerance and usually finds herself adding copious amounts of hot sauce to foods she thinks are too mellow. She likes photography and art, sometimes doodling her friends in her free time. Her lack of a complete eyemask is a mutation that she used to touch up with makeup, but later abandoned it after it started to become integral to her image. She’s willing to sing but is a bit embarrassed to, as she isn’t sure her singing voice is all that good.

Namida grew up fairly wealthy and her parents fostered her love for music at a young age, sending her to a music school where she learned piano and picked up some jazz theory. Later, she began to grow bored with the prim and proper lifestyle, and was the first member to join Squid Squad after becoming fast friends with Ichiya.

Namida is the emotional core of Squid Squad. Shes the best at talking to people and has a way with words that make it impossible to stay mad at her (even if she just did something that definitely warrants it). She’s also the most affectionate member and is responsible for the most group hugs.

Out of all her bandmates, Namida is closest with Ichiya. She was the first person he met after moving to Inkopolis, and he was pretty much the first really close friend she ever had. However, this closeness meant that during the final weeks of Sqdsqd’s lifespan, she tended to brush off how much of an ass Ichiya was being out of fear of damaging the band further. This did not turn out to be the right decision and she went on to feel a little guilty about it, wishing she could have done more. She puts up with a lot of his shit, but is willing to give him another chance come Front Roe. She’s a little worried about it all, but she has hope that it will work out. (go read my fic for more on that 😋😋😋) (shameless plug)

Namida and Murasaki are partners in crime, two chaotic-good bundles of energy. They’re pretty much the only duo who never had any ill will towards one another. The majority of Namida’s nicknames were coined by Murasaki. They lost contact with each other after the breakup but happily reunited later down the line. In Front Roe, Nami wishes that Murasaki wouldn’t be so dismissive of Ichiya nowadays, because that definitely isn’t going to fix anything. Wow, finally a pair that isn’t that complicated!

Namida always respected Ikkan for his musical prowess and considered him the funniest (even though he cracked jokes the least often). They would end up sharing the quietest moments together, making easy small talk and sometimes exchanging personal musings they wouldn’t share with the others. However, even Namida had concerns that some of his criticisms of the band were a bit too harsh, but they were all in good faith, right? So it wasn’t a big deal, right? She misses having someone to talk to where she didn’t feel a need to be the bigger person.

that’s all I’ve got for Namida! I really don’t draw her enough for how fun she is to draw. Thanks for the ask!!

[saphirered]

Can you write a fic with Fenrys? Maybe Aelin Organizes a winter ball?

A winter's ball of real lovers playing pretend lovers. We love a good cliché in this household. Happy reading! 😘

Summoned before the queen of Terrasen Fenrys wonders which one of his indiscretions she’ll be roasting his ass for now. Will it be the latest tavern brawl in town? Or perhaps the broken heart of yet another courtier having lost his attention? Or maybe it’s his secret stash of chocolate he’s been keeping from her she’s finally discovered. He surely hopes it’s not the latter. He’s not willing to share, let alone part with that one. Then again, his finding place is marvellous. She’ll never find it in the hidden compartment beneath the loose stone in your bedroom. Though you did make him put it in a separate box. He didn’t get anything on your paperwork did he? Oh shit… He might have just exposed- The door to the council chamber opens and he finds it abandoned save for the queen and yourself, talking. As far as he can gleam it’s still about running this nation but then attention turns to him and you’re not dismissed. Aelin looks between him and you, a somewhat mischievous grin hidden beneath her schooled features; one Rowan has told him more than once to be weary off. All his instincts tell him to turn around and leave the room now before he gets caught in whatever the young queen is plotting. 

“Fenrys, thank you for answering summons without much delay.” He has been known to take a detour when he is dreading a potential conversation. He got to his thoughts too late to justify his wandering this time. You manage to school your own features to be the epitome of disinterest. 

“Excuse me, I have some trade agreements to read over.” You make a move to excuse yourself as Aelin seems to have other plans. Fenrys winks at you as you circle around the table and find yourself closer to him. A single intake of breath is enough for him to catch onto that ever present lavender sage scent that just so happens to be enough to cover any underlying remains of another’s previous close proximity to those with fae senses. You’d taken to wearing it, and told him to stay clear of it, lest he ruin your carefully constructed plan. 

“Not yet. This is about you too.” You halt in your step, make eye contact with Fenrys sure Aelin cannot see. You express worry in the way your jaw tenses and your cheek hollows as you bite the inside. Fenrys does not drop that smug arrogance he’s known to be prone too but you see through it; whatever happens happens, that’s what he silently tells you. Your features return to that slight annoyance at his proximity when you fall in line beside him. 

“I’m hosting a ball this weekend.” The queen starts. 

“The list of notable attendees I’ve already handed to Rowan earlier today. I’ve also added a separate list with suggested pairings for the opening dance to best benefit respective families, or causes of import and assist in the diplomatic department.” You claim ever proper. It’s an act that had been grinding on Fenrys for the longest of times until he saw through it. That was the face of a politician, not of the person who got drunk in the stables at the last soiree after getting annoyed with one of the noble’s sons miserably failing to impress you, not of the one who he shares secret glances with when no one is looking, not the one who he enjoys this secret game with where you pretend to hate each other because every since your first meeting you’ve clashed, only in those tender moments to realise you’re not so different after all. He knows this act, for now is a necessary one. It’s one to protect your career and he will do anything to make you happy. 

“I’ll make sure to tell him to cross off whoever you’ve paired yourself with.” Your confusion shows clearly as the queen continues. “I need you to keep an eye on Fenrys, or rather his previous suitors. I’ve had to deal with too many inquiries on why he’s not been responding to their letters as well as the angry families who now seek to defend their honour.” He grins sheepishly and fiddles with his thumbs as you roll your eyes. 

“Excuse my manners but you think I can fight off the teary damsels as they throw themselves at his feet? Or deal with upset parents or siblings? I’m sure Lorcan will do a far better job at that.” You snort. This is preposterous. Or so you would like to let yourself believe. You’re not excited about the notion of dealing with Fenrys’ exes. You’d hate to cause a scene. 

“Well since Fenrys here hasn’t been caught sneaking around with someone else, many of them have gotten their hopes up. Having him seen with someone respectable as an escort might just keep some at bay.” She explains thoughtfully. She’s amused by this and is barely making an attempt to hide it. Everyone knew Fenrys’ previous engagements would come back to haunt him some day. The question had always been when and how. The possible answer is here now. 

“And you think us playing lovely couple will fix that?” Fenrys dares throw an arm over your shoulder and pull you into his side but you gracefully move out of the way with some colourful words and leave him pouting in feigned disappointment. 

“If it’s any consolation, it was my plan to tell you all previous cautions are to be ignored and you’d have my blessing to sleep with half of the kingdom for all I care, Fenrys. But Rowan suggested this the wiser option.” You bite your tongue at the thought, a faint spark of jealousy. Who would have thought you’d be the one feeling jealous when you know you hold this male in your arms at night when the castle goes to sleep. 

“Fine.” You grumble. “But you listen to me, what I say, when I say it.” You point a finger in warning. So close to him, yet so far away. Normally he’d wrap his arms around you, kiss the tip of your finger, then your hand. Perhaps he’d even let his lips trail up your arm, shoulder and neck until his lips would find yours but not now. He’ll show som self restraint this time. You’ve taught him that. Oh gods, you might just have made him docile. He’ll never hear the end of it. 

“Well then, that’s all sorted.” 

“Hold on, I don’t get a say in this?” Fenrys perks up. Not that he’s actually complaining. In your previous plans he’d maybe have had one or two dances with you. Now he gets to spend the whole evening with you where you don’t have to pretend to hate each other for the sake of a public image? This is perfect but he doesn’t want to play too eager in front of Aelin, and neither do you. 

“No.” Both you and Aelin speak in unison and so his hand rise in defence and he gives in. The matter is settled. You’re dismissed and you leave the council chamber as quick as you can. Fenrys leaves too, following being you a few minutes after having some exchange of words with the queen and a witty goodbye before he finds you. You’ve taken to your usual path, the one you know exactly who will be where and when and the right places to have a moment of privacy without being seen and having your secret exposed. By the time he arrives you’re pacing back and forth, waiting for him. 

“You don’t think she knows somehow, do you?” You bite your finger as you go back and forth back and forth. Fenrys comes up to you, removes your hand from your face and kisses your knuckles. 

“Not even Rowan knows what goes in on that head of hers. I don’t think this is a secret she’d keep.” He retorts but that doesn’t exactly ease your concerns. The thing is, Fenrys shares those concerns, especially after his super secret interaction with the young queen after you had disappeared from the room. He doesn’t know what to think but telling you this now will do neither of you good. He’ll speak his thoughts when you’re both able to bear them. Besides, it’s not some dangerous secret. 

“I really do have trade agreements to read over.” You groan when he runs his fingers through your hair, and kisses your forehead. 

“I can help.” And nothing that should have been done was accomplished that day. 

————

The eve of the ball comes around. It’s every bit as wonderful as expected. Where the icicles hang from balconies and roofs, from windowsills and overhangs, inside they take form of crystals, reflecting the light just right. Flowers of white, purple and blue decorate the palace, inner courtyard as well as the gardens. A light snowfall cascades down from the skies in the early stages of painting any surface in a blanket of white. Carriages arrive and the guests file into the inner courtyard to await their formal announcement to the start of the ball. Performers around the neatly gardened paths, and under gazebos bring smiles to people’s faces, bring wonder, take on the next impossible challenge or run simple games of chance for the guests as they mingle. As ambassador he’s supposed to know any notable guests and of course he recognises them. He makes pleasant conversation, never without a wink or flirty smile, the way he is known to do. It’s exactly these charms that made him suitable for this position, or so his friends claimed. You even told him they’re not wrong. You’d yet to make an appearance and he has no doubt you’ll be magnificent but he misses you already. He sees some of the people looking at him and those are gazes he’d much rather avoid so he plays oblivious to them as long as he can. 

You’re running a tad bit late. Fashionable one might say. Such is the price of beauty one could suppose. You’re dressed to the nines according to the theme of the night but care for your outfit is the furthest from your mind when you spot him across the courtyard, as you look over the balcony. In an instant you recognised him. Golden hair braided back loosely, some decorative silver beads spread throughout. It’s a distinct colour you could recognise even in the dark. He wears a jacket of pale grey and silver embroidery that reminds you of the dendritic crystals that stick to him as the snow falls. By some miracle he might have caught a glimpse of you, or perhaps he simply felt your presence because his head turns when he sees you from below. His words fall silent as he stares up at you, lips slightly parted, those dark eyes falling over your form. Fenrys excuses himself from his conversation and moves through the crowd stopping only to exchange quick formal greetings to those he cannot walk by. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d dare say you were temptation crawled from the coldest pits of the underworld.” He offers you his hand like a true gentleman and helps you down the final steps. 

“Says you, snowflake.” You retort letting your fingers brush along the embroidery on his arm when you loop it through his. 

“No need to pretend we dislike each other tonight.” He whispers in your ear, lips so close you can feel his breath. It sends shivers down your spine which lucky for you could be excused as the effects of the winter cold. You know that’s a lie. Fenrys knows too and he will not wipe that pretend innocence from his face. 

“What’s romance without a little teasing now and then? Besides, you started it.” You begin to wander, under the cover of the balcony, as you watch the snow fall beyond that threshold. 

“And here I thought I’d get an evening of bliss.” He mutters under his breath as some guests pass by. You turn to face him, stopping him in his path. One of your hands you place over his heart, the other comes to hold his chin. 

“If you lovesick bliss is what you want…” You lean in, place your lips against his. The kiss is sweet and slow but most of all it’s unrestricted. Fenrys, not one to let this opportunity slide, he will relish in the public display of affection. You’ve only ever had the luxury to share these kind of advances behind closed doors but now, the sky is the limit. But then you pull away, and look at him, eyes shining bright; with love, he notes. He supposes he might look the same. He supposes you might have felt how his heart skipped a beat when he saw that expression. You tuck a loose strand fallen from the braid, behind his ear before you find your place at his side again and you lead him towards the entrance. 

Given both your positions at the queen’s court you do not wait in line and instead have your names announced as you simply walk to the entrance. There’s already plenty of people inside who turn to welcome you. You receive some bows of the head in acknowledgement, and kind greetings as you pass arm in arm. Fenrys will admit it without question; your names being called together in this way, it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, makes him want to make it a habit, or at the very least an undeniable truth. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this. No more hiding. But that is not just his decision to make, nor is it one to be made in the heat of the moment when given your own response to this, might just have you see things differently when off the high and exhilaration of going public with your relationship. 

What Fenrys also notices is the glares you receive from some guests, particularly the ones he has had history with. Some of those individuals might even make him wary to approach but you simply smile through it and while others might not notice there is a sense of smugness. He knows exactly what’s running through your head and it makes him feel proud to call himself yours; no matter who, no matter what, he’s with you and not them. Fenrys will always choose you and you know it. You believe him, and you’re confident. He hangs onto your arm as much as you pretend to hang onto his because you are not some damsel looking for attention or a night of fun, you’re not looking to familiarise yourself with his friends and work your way up. You’re here for him. You can lean on each other when you need to but at the end of the day you are who you are regardless of each other. You are not defined by your relationship. Instead through the love you share, the compassion and support you allow yourselves to grow as people and become better for it, through the experiences you share, through the moments you need to not be alone, or when you simply need someone to listen or hold you and tell you all is well. You are each other’s confidant, guardian. You are each other’s equal, perfectly matched, perfectly balanced. 

“I hope you practiced your steps.” You hum lively as you find your way to the dance floor where the opening couples are to formally open the ball. 

“I did, but you might still want to take the lead.” He retorts half joking. Of course he knows how to dance. He’s not some mannerless dimwit… most of the times. He just wants you to lead the dance. No one has to know. The two of you will. You huff a laugh in reply. 

“Down boy.” You you offer him a wink and soon you find yourselves among the couples, the music begins to signal the first dance is about to start. You get into your places. Force of habit you take a quick glance around from the corners of your eyes before you make a move, but when you’ve decided either no one pays attention or you just have lost the will to care, you kiss him. You pour that love and all those feelings he makes you feel into that kiss. Fenrys responds fast coming to cup your cheeks knowing you don’t have long now, and knowing you most certainly have an audience. He too couldn’t care less right now. And then the music changes, and picks up. You’re forced to break your kiss in favour for each other’s graceful embrace. 

Not that far from the supposed happy couple dance the queen and her consort. Aelin saw that exchange, not just that she heard about the one in the inner courtyard. Leave it to her shapeshifting friend to catch onto things she shouldn’t and spill the beans. Aelin thought her friend gone insane but now after this display right here in the open, she might just begin to change her mind on Lysandra’s findings. 

“Rowan?” The warrior quickly casts his eyes over in the direction she nudges him. “Fenrys isn’t that good of an actor, is he?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously when she watches his hand drop just a little lower than the small of your back, and how you’re standing far closer than you usually would have. She half expected you to make some kind of comment towards the male but you don’t. You just smile at him like he’s the sun. 

“Not in a million years.” Rowan answers with a snort.

[number1villainstan]

19, 22, 34

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

My writing journey? I'm not sure if it can be called that, but if it can be then it started young. Very young. I've always been an imaginative child, and I believe the story I have of mine is from third grade. My writing journey is my entire life, really, jumping from fandom to fandom, daydreaming and writing and daydreaming and stopping and starting in fits and bursts in a chaotic waveform with no overarching pattern except for forward and getting better. "When" and "why" I started are useless questions--I've been a writer since I learned enough language to be a writer. There have always been stories living inside my head. I am a writer because I am a writer. I was born that way. It is a core part of me.

That being said, there are certain specific milestones to remark on:

When I was 11 or so, I often had the constant urge to write down the stories that were in my head, but I ignored this urge too often. I don't remember why. ADHD task initiation struggles? Lack of access to a computer? An unclear path to accomplish the task? This isn't to say that I ignored that urge 100% of the time--this was around the age when I started making Google Docs with story names, or perhaps I did that earlier. I can't quite remember. But the fact of the matter is--I ignored that urge too often, and now it's gone and I do not know how to get that fire back. It would help greatly with my own productivity now.

When I was 12, I found FF.net and subsequently made an account. A lot of old, terrible fic is still on that old account.

When I was 14, in August of 2016, I decided to do a little writing challenge for myself--or rather, "so that my readers know I'm not dead" (even if I didn't really have any readers): I wanted to write a short piece every month. And I am still writing a 'short piece' every month. The earliest of those tend to be 300-500 words; nowadays they're upwards of 1000 words, and I believe the longest out of all of them is a solid 3k words. And while I've skipped a few months by accident here and there, I'm proud to say I've been quite consistent with this series.

When I was around 16 or so, two things happened: number 1, I decided to switch from FF.net to Ao3, and number 2, I got a cellphone. When I switched to Ao3 I decided to port only my monthlies, because I had a lot of basically-abandoned multichapter fics on there that I had no idea how to finish, and I made switching to Ao3 a new start--I was a chronic pantser at that point, and still am in many ways, but that was the point when I started actually writing out notes and small outlines and doing prep work for my stories. Getting a phone was also a notable moment because it enabled me to work on my stories away from a computer, and because of a little journal app called Day One, in which I began to do daily writing practice that wasn't working on a specific WIP.

As I started to close out high school, I wrote and published on Ao3 my very first finished (and currently only) multichapter fic: start living when your heart stops, which was originally supposed to be 5 chapters and ended up 9 chapters. It was my first proper exercise in plotting out a story, and it was made possible in large part by an enforced and regular routine that I lost when COVID hit and when I went to college.

(There were probably certain milestones that I hit while in college--such as participating in my first (and currently only) bang/fic-and-art exchange event, or switching from Google Docs to LibreOffice--but none are jumping out at me as important.)

As for where I am now? I'm still working on prep work, and I still don't have a good routine for writing. But the ideas that I have are evolving. I've entered an experimental era of sorts, dipping my toes into things I'm not practiced at writing, even with my extensive history of wild AUs, such as symbolism, real-world critiques, longer narratives and more complex narrative structures. I am also attempting to (at least sometimes) force myself to write more than one draft, because I know full well that my writing improves dramatically with more than one draft, but without a solid routine for writing (and with ADHD on top of that) it's difficult to make myself do so. Still, I'm hopeful.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

Not incredibly. I use mostly my computer and LibreOffice to write my stories, and my usual method of organization is to have an Outline/Notes section at the top of the document (or Brainstorming, if it's an MSP) and an Actual Writing section below that, with subheaders for different chapters or scenes. It allows me to make notes of things that may not be said outright in the story but would still inform character's decisions or plot events and to jump around and write scenes out of order without messing things up or losing track of the story.

I also have Day One, a journal app, which I use for daily writing practice--a lot of random ideas and snippets get written down and stored there, and the consistency of writing in it has (I believe) greatly improved my writing-related microskills, like sentence structure and word choice.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

I love it. Can't get enough of it. It adds so much clarity and conciseness--why isn't it mandatory?

[hunnythebee]

Author Promo Tag Chain!!

Rule: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to Ao3. If you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics. Tag credit: @dangraccoon, @mandos-mind-trick (I got two tags 🥹)

Stow Away Din Djarin x OFC

She had been on this maker-forsaken planet for far too long. Her previous, let’s call them “partner”, had brought her here for a job… that was nearly a year ago. They abandoned her, left her here with a blaster and 50 credits to her name. Luckily, she was resourceful and cunning. She made her credits last long enough to find short-term work in a local ship scrapyard. That’s how she met Peli. Peli came by and saw her about to tear open an antique N-1 Starfighter, just about ripped her a new one over it and offered to buy it off her. She didn’t refuse, in fact she admired her for taking on the project. They became fast friends. Peli let her stay at her ship dock while she looked for proper lodgings, but they grew on each other. Her whole world was shifted when an opportunity presented itself. A man and a child landed in Peli’s hangar. It was a Mandalorian, sporting the shiniest beskar armor she had ever seen, and the kid was a species she did not recognize. The child was small, nearly infant sized, and green with large pointed ears.

Touches Wrecker x Reader

Being on Pabu was like living in a dream. Even after the devastation left in the wake of the tidal wave, it was pure serenity after being on the run for so long. When Hunter had announced that we were staying, even if for a short time, I felt a weight fall from my shoulders. The next day we all started to help with cleaning up around the village. Hunter was working with the Mayor to find people places to shelter while rebuilding. Tech and Phee were helping to assess what materials would be needed to rebuild. Omega was somewhere on the island with Shep’s daughter, which made me feel so happy that she had a friend her own age. As for me, I was on clean up with my favorite person and best friend. Wrecker. He could make any situation fun. In this case, we were competing for largest pile of seaweed. The houses were covered in it, and filling cart after cart had gone from tedious to exhilarating. Announcing over the comms what number we each were at every hour, kept us going all the way till sunset. After the day was done, we were invited to utilize the bathhouses that were located in upper Pabu. Actually it was more like we were begged to use the bathhouses because in truth we stank so bad after handling seaweed and sweating all day.

Trapped Hunter x Reader

The tunnel was so dark I couldn’t see too far past the lamp that I was holding up in front of me. It was cold and damp, and I could hear the faint rumbling of the storm above. Hunter was slightly ahead of me, holding his lamp in his left hand and running his right along the tunnel wall. He was understandably on edge, given the cave-in that had just separated us from the others. Tech had reassured us that there were multiple entrances to this particular tunnel system before we lost contact via comms. This knowledge, coupled with Hunter's keen senses, put my mind at ease.

Questions & Answers Crosshair x Reader

It had been an exhausting mission. The boys came back to me more beaten than usual. Wrecker collapsed the minute he got to one of the med-bay beds, followed closely by Hunter. Tech and Echo had some scrapes from debris but nothing major. Crosshair however, was untouched. A perk of being in the sniper’s position. I tended to those who were afflicted, moving methodically from bedside to bedside. The whole time I worked I could feel Cross’ eyes on me, following my every movement. I did my best to ignore him, but his stare was causing butterflies in my stomach and making my hands shake. I had been harboring a crush for him for the longest time, and him watching me like this wasn’t helping. I finished with Tech’s bandages and discharged him and Echo. I explained that Hunter and Wrecker were fine, aside from some cuts and bruises. The pair were just exhausted. Once they woke up they were free to leave as well. Finally I allowed myself to focus my attention on the brooding white haired man in the corner of the room who, despite his lack of injury, was still here.

Vulnerable Hunter x Reader

Ever since landing in Pabu I’ve had conflicting thoughts and feelings. On one hand, Pabu was paradise. Everyone else seemed so at ease and peaceful. It was small and tranquil with limited resources, definitely not the kind of place the Empire would care about. But then why… Why was I shaking so much? Why was my adrenaline pumping as though I needed to be ready for an attack? It made no sense. Even Hunter looked relaxed. I had excused myself from dinner, needing a quiet moment to collect myself. But that quiet moment had deviated from its intended purpose. Now I was sitting on the floor of the Maurauder, knees tucked to my chest, whilst shaking violently. Tears threatened my eyes but never fell, instead just stinging them as my heart rate rose violently and my chest heaved. I clutched at my sides, feeling as though if I didn’t that I would rip in half. My heart was hammering so loudly in my ears that I didn’t hear the hatch open or hear him come in, but there he was. Knelt in front of me was Hunter, care and concern flooded his beautiful golden eyes as he examined mine.

Jealousy Tech x Reader

I had been cordial, friendly even with Phee. She was decent… for a pirate. Not that we had been much better in recent times, so who was I to judge? But what had me sucking at my teeth while I glared from my seat behind Tech was the way she was touching him . So familiar. And this nickname she had for him always made my stomach twist. ‘ Brown eyes.’ How creative of her. I shouldn’t be so mad at her. She was going to help us afterall. Stars I just… I can’t figure out why she rubs the wrong way so hard. I was silent as the dead the whole trip to wherever she was taking us. I hadn’t realized I was clenching my jaw until it unclenched. My whole mouth fell slack at the sight of this small island civilization. Beautiful blue waters surrounded a mountain dotted with small white huts. It looked so peaceful, so serene. Tech landed the Maurauder at the peak of the mountain, where there stood a tall tree and an even taller temple-like structure. As I stepped out of the ship the warm sun hit my skin and I sighed in relief. My seething anger melted away from me almost instantly.

Forgiveness Crosshair & Howzer

Crosshair woke up back on Tantiss, but he wasn’t in his room. Instead he was in one of the cells in the detention sector of the base. He sat up on the hard bed and hissed at the pounding sensation in his skull.  “Was wondering when you’d wake up,” came a voice from the opposite side. Crosshair pressed a palm to his temple and turned towards the voice. His vision was still blurry from sleep but he knew it was definitely another clone sitting across from him.

Bare Hands Din Djarin x Reader

You were staring at him, and tonight you didn’t look away when he noticed. You held your gaze for as long as you were able, studying every feature. You were mesmerized. He wasn’t in his usual attire. He had purchased formal attire, seeing as they would not let you in otherwise. He wore a yellow deep v-neck tunic and an overcoat of brocade embroidered with a golden floral pattern. His Mythosaur pendant lay prominently on his tan skin. He wore no gloves, just a few golden rings. The ensemble that had been designed for you was in complete contrast. You wore a deep blue backless silk dress with a choker halter neckline and silver chains dangling around your shoulders. The fabric shown like stars in the sky.

Tag you're it!!

@neon-junkie @stankferrik @syndxlla @amiedala @laters-gators @too-many-sabers @echoleo @tecker @sirveltic @somedaylazysomeday

[sagemoderocklee]

song lyrics for the fic title thing

>Hold the line Love isn't always on time (hold the line)

>I'm fearless now But it cost my soul (killer)

>Take my heart, don't lose it or To know you is to love you (cheri cheri lady)

> And thinking of someone for whom he still burns or He's haunted by something he cannot define (the distance)

>I don't care if it hurts me I wanna be worthy or And made sure you never see Any ugly from me (my ugly)

woah anon you really came ready to provide distractions thank you i love you

long so under a cut and boy was this a challenge to come up with ideas for all these! thank you anon! i had so much fun with this and i hope you like the ideas i came up with

hold the line love isn't always on time definitely gettin a late in life romance vibe from this one. gaara is finally set to retire from being Kazekage. he's 40 years old but feels fucking ancient because of all the obvious reasons--living weapon, child soldier, died at 15 and resurrected, host of a tailed beast, Kazekage since 14 and so on. not to mention changing the very foundations of Suna and shinobi life. he's done a lot. he can step down and let his niece take over as the last true Kazekage because with her things are finally truly changing and he knows she'll make him proud...Gaara is definitely ready for a reprieve from it all, but then his niece still needs his support and guidance so okay maybe his retirement doesn't actually start right when he wants it to and maybe he's 45 when he's finally, truly DONE with it all and can fucking breathe and experience things he's otherwise only indulged in in secrecy and in the most fleeting moments... maybe now he's not Kazekage he can finally just live. live for himself for once. and in living for himself he take a vacation and runs into Lee who retired years earlier due to his body just giving out from all those years of using the Gates, and maybe Gaara'd told himself he was too old for love to find him now and maybe he'd lied to himself and said he was okay with never having a proper lover, a proper romance--it was always secret trysts with other closeted diplomats and dignitaries; it was never anything real. but here's Rock Lee, long time friend, one time opponent, and he's looking at Gaara like he's the reason the stars shine so bright and maybe, just maybe he's not too old after all

I'm fearless now But it cost my soul Lee's always wanted to be like everyone else. able to do ninjutsu, able to be a normal shinobi. but everything comes with a price and wishing to be just like everyone else means losing what makes him him... history rewrites itself. Lee and Gai were never close; Lee and Neji never had a feud, and so their friendship was never all that strong; Tenten and Lee are perfectly fine, there's really not much difference there surprisingly... but then it gets to the memories of his match with Gaara and.. he'd lost that, just like he did before only... it had been unimpressive. his loss is instant, he wasn't disabled by it and he didn't prove anything to anyone, least of all gaara... and that had made all the difference. Gaara was less fractured, less volatile without his fight with Lee. And he'd been less open to changing his ways when he and Naruto faced each other. without Lee's influence, Gaara had still been the child-monster and with it comes the death of a loved one, and Lee wants to stop it all. he wants to take back his wish, he wants to go back to being different, to being what he'd been before. but he's 25 years old and he cant rewrite the past a second time, can he? is gaara even the kazekage? is he even still alive--after all, Akatsuki had kidnapped Gaara and killed him--only, Lee doesn't remember that ever happening. In fact, Temari is the Kazekage and Lee has to race to figure out just how different the world is and how he can right what he's wronged. eventually he finds Gaara, who'd abandoned Suna completely and is still just as unstable as before but... there's something there and Lee knows without a shadow of a doubt he can reach Gaara, he just has to be the man he was before his stupid wish. He just has to be the genius of hard work he used to be.

Take my heart, don't lose it or To know you is to love you mhm this one's giving me trouble. these two dont really feel like a connected story, and i think i vibe more with the first one as a title overall.... okay okay going in a completely different direction than what i was expecting. we're gonna go a like dark fairy tale route wit this one and really literalize the title. so like gaara is ya now this royal who's gotta get married to some other royal because politics but he's in love with lee, so he gifts lee his actual heart to keep safe. Lee's probably Gaara's guard so they have their secret lover's meetings and Lee always gives Gaara his heart back for those and then takes it with him when he leaves so gaara can bear being married to someone else. it's awful for lee to watch gaara be married to this other person and to know he's sleeping with her and starting a family and so on, but he still has what matters--Gaara's love. but without his heart Gaara's not the ruler he was before, the ruler he'd promised to be, and there's a plot against Gaara and Lee knows the only way to save him is to return his heart to him permanently but someone has taken Gaara's heart--his wife, because she's jealous and angry that Gaara has never loved her and thinks she can make him love her by holding it. and ultimately Lee has to fight to save Gaara's life, get his heart back, and return it to him so he can lead the kingdom as he wanted, and also be willing to risk their relationship in the process. it'll probably work out in the end but it's me so it'll depend on what makes the most sense but that's my idea for that! and like you could def do a oneshot with the other title. just something sweet and cute with gaara and lee, and falling in love bu i dont feel like i have any real revolutionary ideas for that one

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns or He's haunted by something he cannot define ok first title def feels like a fic about jealousy like gaara being jealous of Lee once having a crush on sakura, maybe he knows they slept together once and has this like horrible, destructive fantasy of how much better off Lee would be with her over him... like Lee and Sakura's hypothetical kids and so on. whereas the second title could be like from Lee's pov and him as an outsider to gaara's internal woes not understanding what it is that's constantly coming between him and Gaara. ultimately feels like two short fics that are left with unresolved tensions between them and a question hanging over them about whether or not they can make this work

I don't care if it hurts me I wanna be worthy or And made sure you never see Any ugly from me this one feels like it could be like a short lil series of snapshots from both lee and gaara's perspective just them like struggling with their respective issues surrounding what it means for them personally to be worthy and ultimately culminating in them being worthy of each others love. simple and straight forward. i def like the first option as a title, a lot but can def see the second one working as like a sequel that's really in conversation with that first fic about worthiness and trying to deny your flaws and keep those parts of you hidden from your partner so like... okay the first fic is like them as individuals trying to be achieve this idea of being worthy and the sequel is like them as a couple trying to be worthy of each other.

[ramzawrites]

requesting an angsty fic where reader is schlatts kid and they have the same features as him, namely the horns so people avoid them because of what schlatt did, it leads to reader hating their horns and cutting them off/ ripping them out and someone finds them crying, covered in blood with their horns just on the ground or smth, set after schlatts death btw

A Painful Reminder - Dad!Schlatt and Reader - Part 1

Part 2

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Niki, (mentioned) Schlatt, (mentioned) Techno

Warnings: self harm (destroying own horns with a blunt object), mention of blood, abondenment, depression, cursing

Series: an angst request!

Summary: Y/N is the child of Schlatt and after his death tried their best to deal with the grief. Hoping to connect with people only to painfully realize that their horns are a painful reminder to everyone for Schlatt’s rule and therefore try to stay as far as possible from them.

Words count: 2428

Authors Note: I hope this is fine! I struggled a bit with it and I think you can tell, I apologize for that. I’m honestly not that good with angst but if you enjoy it I’m happy!! Please give me feedback on how to get better at angst :o

I love you guys and please take care of yourself 💙

After Schlatt died and Pogtopia effectively won the war against Manberg only for the nation to get blown up by Wilbur, the people tried their best to rebuild with the help of Tubbo as the new president.

There was a new sense of hope that swept through the nation. They all suffered greatly to get to this place but this was a turning point for most. A time for healing. A time for rebuilding what was lost. A time for grief.

While Y/N spent most of their time building up their own home inside L’Manberg, they were struggling a lot with grief.

They mourned for the loss of the only parent they had in their life, Schlatt.

The president of Manburg, the tyrant that died surrounded by his enemies inside a van. The only parent of Y/N.

The relationship between the two was complicated to say the least. Deep inside they still loved their father but he brought so much pain and even bloodshed on people that they couldn’t in good conscience support him.

For the longest time they tried their best trying to persuade him, that he would change his way but he never listened. Either too full with his own ego or too drunk to care. The last straw that broke the camel’s back for Y/N was when Schlatt ordered Tubbo’s execution.

The emotions they felt while they yelled and wailed at Schlatt to stop this madness was still fresh in their mind whenever their thoughts lingered back to that day. Quackity had to  physically restrain and pull them back on Schlatt’s orders.

It was the moment they realized that there was no way for them to reach Schlatt anymore. He was set in his way and nothing could change that.

After their death to Technoblade’s blood lust during the festival, they ran away and spoke with Tommy. Y/N didn’t want to kill Schlatt but they saw in Pogtopia a chance to stop him. Make him see what he has done. Make him responsible for his actions.

Only this never came to pass. Schlatt died inside a dirty van. A heart attack or a stroke. Y/N didn’t know, nor did they care. He was dead either way.

While everyone was rebuilding and trying to fall back into a normal day to day life. Y/N was lost. They didn’t feel particularly close to anyone nor did the other seem to trust them. Their eyes were always drawn towards Y/N’s horns resting on their head.

During Schlatt’s rule they became somewhat of a symbol. A symbol for himself, for pain, for blood, for tyranny. So when Y/N walked around town the others couldn’t help but stare at these oh so similar horns that reminded them of a past best forgotten.

It made Y/N unsure of themself. It was a physical proof of their connection to their father. It was a double edged sword. In the past they loved that they inherited similar Hybrid traits like their father but now it was the reason why everyone seemed to avoid them.

The people wanted to move on but these damn horns pulled them back whenever their eyes fell on them. Y/N wasn’t stupid. They noticed this pretty fast.

Hell, if anything the funeral was the best proof for that. Bad tried his best to keep everyone under control and have a proper funeral but everyone was too busy celebrating. Talking about stealing his bones. Destroying a picture of him.

All while Y/N sat in the back. They had hoped they could use this funeral as a way to finally say goodbye, let go off the pain and regret but all this chaos just made them realize that the people will never properly accept them due to their relation with Schlatt.

Schlatt may have put all of the people through a horrible and unforgivable time but he effectively snuffed out any chance for Y/N to live a normal life between these people. This legacy of his for Y/N stung almost deeper than all the time he insulted them or flat out ignored them. It made them wonder if he ever realized what he did to his own child. Even if he did Y/N wasn’t sure he cared enough to do anything about it.

Y/N wrung their hands as they stood in front of Niki’s and Puffy’s flower shop. The money ready in their hands so this transaction could happen faster but even so they were too nervous to step in.

After some mental pep talk they finally slowly pushed the wooden door open. To their horror it begun creaking which made them wince. There was no way Niki hasn’t noticed them walking in seeing how she stood at the counter but still Y/N didn’t want to put more attention on themself than they absolutely had to.

“Oh.” Was all Niki said. She almost sounded disappointed. Y/N realized that she probably would have happily greeted anyone else coming into the shop but them.

Their eyes were glued to the ground. As they suddenly became overly aware of their horns, it felt like their weight increased immensely. Almost as if they tried to press down on Y/N. It made them feel as small and worthless as possible under the gaze of other people.

Y/N put the money on the counter as soon as they reached it “A full bouquet of purple hyacinth, please.”

“Alright.” Niki immediately moved away in order to make the bouquet ready. Though Y/N didn’t watch, they were now staring at the wood of the counter. Following he natural lines of it with their eyes as they patiently waited.

After a few minutes Niki placed the flowers in front of Y/N which pulled them out of their thoughts and made them look up. Niki forced a smile on but she still looked almost stern. Soft crevices building up as her eyebrows formed a painful frown.

“This is too much.” Niki begun pushing some of the money back towards Y/N but they shook their head.

“It’s a tip.”

Picking the flowers up into their arms they tried to put on a genuine smile before turning around to walk out of the shop.

Before they exited the shop they could hear Niki say a soft “Thanks.”

That was basically how every conversation with anyone went. Only short and the most necessary words. At first Y/N tried to start genuine conversation but they soon noticed how the others wouldn’t react. Just trying to get as fast as possible through this conversation. Their eyes always directed on Y/N’s horns.

After Y/N placed the flowers in front of Schlatt’s grave, like they did every week, they made their way towards the river.

Sometimes they would spend their time there since it’s a bit farther away from the city, so it was rare to see someone else hanging out there. Y/N mostly used this place to fish in peace. If they fished anywhere near the others their stares and frowns weighed too heavy down on them.

As they sat at the bank of the river, preparing their fishing line, their eyes fell unto their own reflection.

Dark circles adorned their eyes from their countless restless nights. Only falling asleep after hours of crying.

They couldn’t help but put the blame on their horns. Their god damn horns. Y/N hated them. Hated them so much. What would their life be like without them? Would the others still eye them so incredibly cautiously? Would they give Y/N a chance? After all Y/N was vocal about the fact that they didn’t support any of Schlatt’s decisions. For the longest time they tried to help the others through the hard times!

Yet, now as he was dead, they only showed Y/N the cold shoulder. If it wasn’t Y/N themself then the reason has to entirely lay on the horns. It was a too strong reminder of Schlatt.

A sob escaped Y/N’s lips. Tears now falling down their cheeks onto the green grass. No one was around so they didn’t mind crying loudly like this.

It was just so unfair. They did everything they could and yet all they reaped was disdain from the people and in a sick twist Y/N couldn’t even fault them for it. Whenever they saw their own reflection, their own eyes would be drawn to their dark horns after all.

Back in the day they were always happy looking at them but now they were the reason for Y/N being abandoned by everyone. They used to be somewhat good friends with Quackity due to his position as Schlatt’s Vice President and even he ignored them as soon as Schlatt was dead.

They had no one and at fault were these stupid, ugly horns.

Y/N let the fishing rod fall to the ground as they continued staring at their reflection. Trembling as they sobbed. Feeling so lonely with no way out.

What could they do? Put on a hat? There is no hat big enough to hide their horns. No, the horns had to go. There was no other way.

Shakily their hand snaked through the grass towards the water. Slowly submerging it into the ice cold liquid as the hand continued searching for something. As their hand landed on a stone that fit perfectly in their palm they held it in front of their face. Inspecting it.

As if to test it they softly tapped the stone against the tip of their horn. Their head moving with it. It felt weird. It didn’t hurt, of course, but it was still a weird feeling as the soft vibration traveled through it.

Letting out a shaky breath they reached back with their arm. The stone in an iron grip.

They hated this.

They hated everything about this but what could they possibly do? What could they do to get a proper chance at a normal conversation with Niki while buying flowers? A proper chance to talk with Quackity again, the man who was right there with them as all the bullshit happened.

All they wanted was a real chance to connect with people.

Y/N let out a sobbing scream as the stone collided with their horn, ripping off a good part of the tip.

It softly splashed into the water. Getting stuck between rocks, slowly rocking with the water stream.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” They stammered between sobs as they once again pulled their arm back in order to strike the horn again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Their arm and hand hurt from constantly colliding with the hard material. A huge headache was now spreading through their head as they were sitting between broken pieces of what used to make up their horn.

But they weren’t done yet. The other side had to go as well.

With every new blow their whimpers would increase as well. At first a result of their hopelessness but it soon turned into an expression of pain. But they couldn’t give up. They had to keep going.

They had to get rid off this legacy Schlatt left them with.

After a particularly harsh blow they suddenly felt something warm slide down the side of their head.

Letting the stone fall down onto the ground they frantically stared at their own reflection in the water. It was blood.

Shocked they let out a shaky laugh. As much as it hurt and was horrible to look at, there weren’t any rest pieces of the horn resting on their head. So they picked the rock back up and with a blood curdling scream they slammed it into the other horn again, trying to get rid of the rest properly.

And it worked.

They were light headed from the pain, bleeding and crying but the horns were gone.

They were finally free of the curse.

“Finally.” They mumbled to themself only to finally take the time to rest and cry. They cried their god damn heart out. It was as if all the stress from the last couple of months finally jumped off their back.

Y/N’s back hit the soft ground as they slammed back, staring at the leaves up above them. Dancing with the wind and only occasionally giving away to the sun that was shining down on them.

Dark red blood staining the green grass. Their eyes growing heavier the more they continued to cry and hyperventilate. This pain is nothing. From this point on everything has to get better. It has to.

There was an audible gasp.

It wasn’t Y/N but they were too tired to look where it came from.

“Y/N? What the hell did you do? What happened? By Ender you are bleeding!” it was a male voice. Quackity? They weren’t too sure. Too delirious to tell.

Strong hands fell on their arms and pushed them up in a sitting position. Their head rolled back and they finally looked into Quackity’s pale face. So, they were right after all.

One of his arms went around their back in order to hold the crying Y/N upright as he took a better look at the wounds.

“I have to get you to someone who knows how to make healing pots. Maybe regeneration? Hell if I know. Did you do this? Your hands are covered in blood.” He was frantic.

Y/N shakily moved their hands up in order to grab Quackity’s hand that was holding their head in place and pushed it away from them, smearing his hand with their own blood “Don’t worry. I freed myself. The horns are gone. Now, you guys don’t have to be reminded of him anymore. We can all finally live in peace. No more reminders to him.”

Quackity’s eyes widened. His mouth opened up in an expression of pure shock. He hated that he could tell immediately what they meant exactly. After the war he did avoid them as much as he could. As Y/N said they, or rather their horns, reminded him too much of Schlatt and he needed time to heal but he never imagined this could lead to this.

He felt incredibly guilty. Realizing that he never really thought about what everyone’s behavior did to Y/N.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll find a way to help you.” His arm went under Y/N’s legs and with some straining he managed to get back up, holding them in his arms. Y/N leaned their head against Quackity’s chest, staining it with their blood in the process.

“See. It’s already working.” They whispered just before passing out.

“Fuck.” Quackity had to find someone who knew how to heal them as soon as possible. Jogging back into the city calling frantically out for help.

[f1-disaster-bi]

Wanna share the trauma with the rest of the class?

@f1-birb wants it to be known that she cackled so hard when I sent her the ask to check if we would unleash this on you guys 😂

So it all started with Birb reading a sad fic and sending it to me, so we were both crying. Then I wrote a possible ending for Party au that is almost 1k of just tear inducing sadness and it sparked Birb into this back story:

Lando and Max are born premature but Lando has complications

Seb and Jense are told Lando has gotten an infection and to prepare for the worst

So when they come in a few days later and it's just Max, a nurse tells them Lando passed that morning and since the adoption wasn't fully legalised yet, the hospital had signed the death cert and arranged for cremation

Seb and Jense are heartbroken that their little boy is gone, but they try focus on Max

What really happened was that nurse had lost her own baby, and see the chance to grab Lando, she did when he started to get better that day

The hospital covers up because the nurse disappears and they don't want to lose Seb, one of their best nurses, and they don't want the bad press

Max at age two comes home from daycare talking about his new friend Lanno who is tiny and when they find out the kids name is Lando, they just think it's heartbreakingly sweet for Max to meet a kid his age with his twins name

Ecept one night Seb covers an ER shift and Lando gets brough in by police who say his neighbours reported Lando being left alone a lot and crying and it turns out he's been abandoned cause he has health issues from being born so small and not getting proper care after being taken

Seb thinks its sad, and also maybe thinks of looking into if they can foster Lando when he is out of the hospital because it feels right, especially after he spends so time calming him

But then Seb gets a call to come to work and bring Jenson

It's there that the legal department with police explain to Seb what had happened two years ago, and how that Lando had no hopsital records so they did a dna test to find kin and Max is the only match on file, and their birthparents who are dead

It's then that Seb and Jenson learn that their little baby that they mourned for two years was alive and being hurt this whole time

[suiseisyojo]

Hi, sorry for the sudden request but can i get a comfort fic with yuta about a fem reader who lost their cat that they raised, i recently had to put my cat down because of feline leukemia. You don't have to do this ask if you don't want to.

〈fem!reader x aoi yuta ★〉

a/n: oh anon, i’m so sorry for your loss. losing a pet is devastating and i hope this can help provide you some comfort——i turned it into a more ‘proper’ fic due to the serious nature.

cw: animal death

When your hands flattened down the creases in your skirt, you found them trembling with a dismal stutter. Specks of cat hair were no longer visible on the darkened fabric and yet you still instinctively reached for the lint roller sat on its shelf by the door to your apartment.

“Ah, right…” you murmured, forcing yourself the inhale deeply through the pang of heartbreak surging through your chest. You couldn’t miss another day of work, you were already falling behind—and maybe throwing yourself with abandon into your work would ameliorate your grief.

Well, the most it would do is distract you. You couldn’t possibly get over the death of your baby by filling out paperwork and matching the schedules of the idols you produce.

Hurriedly, you finished throwing on your shoes and gritted your teeth before dashing out the door.

——First things first; when you arrived at CosPro, where your morning would start off, you rifled through the stack of abundant paper and organized your things in order. 2wink had a special appearance on the new comedy show that begun airing recently (‘Nya-Lots of Laughs’), and then afterwards, you needed to make sure Valkyrie safely gets to the recording studio…

You pinched the bridge of your nose, the weariness rimming your eyes amplifying when you realized where your day truly started. A comedy show centered around the concept of cat jokes, how cruel and ironic and utterly sour on your tongue.

As if sensing your mind spiralling into a crevice of sadness, a familiar set of arms circled around you from behind. “Producer-san~♪” Yuta’s lively voice cocooned around your sensitive ears, evoking a gasp from the depths of your throat. “Sorry, did I surprise you too much?”

Yuta was the only one you had confided in about your abrupt departure from work the past couple of days. You had told your other idols that a family emergency had popped up without divulging any further details. Yuta was someone you could undeniably trust and share your grief with.

“It’s okay, Yuta-kun. Maybe I needed it to shock me back to my senses,” you joked back with him, your voice husky with a light mirth. It’s about all you could manage at the moment, and Yuta understood.

Squeezing you tighter, Yuta kept his mouth near your ear and whispered, “Who needs senses when you got me and Aniki, right?”

Of course that could’ve came off as flirtatious, and maybe in true Aoi Twin fashion, it was, but mostly it was earnest—a roundabout vow to tell you that the two of them would be your support throughout the day.

“Pfft… Thank you,” you breathed out, only a sliver of a smile curving on your lips. “Where’s Hinata-kun?”

“Ah, Aniki’s busy with something I asked him to do. But he’ll be here soon, I promise!” Yuta grinned, finally flipping himself in front of you but still keeping his arms around you. “I actually…”

Yuta’s expression went from exhilarated to serious, his green eyes glowed with a soft solemnity, and you found yourself curious about the sudden switch. His hand travelled down to yours as he made you put it out for him.

Perplexity was evident, even moreso as Yuta fished something out from his pocket and begun entwining it around your wrist. “I made this for you, [Name]-san. It shouldn’t break, but let me know if it does,” Yuta explained, “I’ll fix it right up as soon as it does.”

You peered down at the bracelet now affixed tautly around your wrist, an audible and choked gasp falling from your lips as you examined it. A teal band with a diminutive fish charm. But this fish was——it belonged to your cat. The delicate sewn charm was one of their favorites, you couldn’t count the amount of times you found them cradling it between their paws and rubbing their face against it.

“I-I thought I lost it…” you whimpered, tears congregating on your lashes quicker than you expected. You were breathless, stunned; even if in your chest you felt despair, you still felt warm.

“Remember when you secretly brought them over to my dorm for a playdate? You left it behind and I hadn’t returned it yet before they passed,” Yuta’s calm voice eased some of your anxiety, “I know it’s hard and everything will make you think of them. But I know they were happy with you. With their home. And they’re happy you’ll always take care of them, no matter where they are.”

Hot, briny-tasting tears rolled down your cheeks as you clutched the bracelet into your chest. It didn’t matter anymore you were in the middle of the office, you couldn’t hold back any longer; and that’s precisely what Yuta wanted.

Hinata was holding everyone back to give you two a moment’s respite together. He didn’t know why his younger twin desperately needed this with you, but he wasn’t going to question it when Yuta was so serious and adamant about it.

Yuta understood the importance of pets, of cats, and the effect they can have on their owners. They’re family. Yuta considers Hinata and his two kitties his closest family, and he would never not fully support you at any time.

Yuta pressed chaste kisses onto your damp cheeks before bringing you into his chest. The bracelet wasn’t the only surprise he had planned for you. 2wink was dedicating a whole portion of their appearance today to your cat—a cherished tribute to how loved they are. Because they always will be.

[ladydimitrescuspet]

Tonight's Theme: Being Selfish

AO3 Link! argument fic but it's not my brand so it's a bad argument fic so I am not the least bit happy with how this turned out. and I cannot tell if I've contradicted myself in this story with what I said so I apologise profusely if I did. I also apologise for any grammatical errors. regardless, please enjoy and tell me what you think if you'd like!

***

The minute you stepped into Alcina’s study, the atmosphere changed. She knew why you were there and let out sharp exhale before lighting a cigarette.

Alcina took a drag, blowing the smoke out before she looked at you. “My answer still hasn’t changed, draga mea.”

You frowned as you walked over to her. “Why not?” You asked.

“Because it is far too dangerous for you to do.” Alcina replied.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Why do you even get to make the decision? It’s my body, it should be my choice.” You argued.

“Darling, if I let you make any and every decision you wanted to then you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Alcina said. She had a point. You’d made a pretty reckless decision a few months ago and it’s made her even more protective of you.

“Look, it’s sweet that you’re trying to protect me, Alci, but I really am capable of making my own decisions, reckless or not.” You replied.

Alcina sighed. “Little one, I really don’t have the time to go over this right now. I am swamped with business.” Alcina said as she replaced her quellazaire with her pen.

“That’s always your excuse, that you’re too busy for me.” You were tired of her constantly brushing you off.

“I am never too busy for you. I simply don’t wish to have this argument with you, Y/N.” Alcina responded, rubbing at her temples. “The risks of taking the cadou are high, as I’ve told you. We’ve no idea what it can and will do to you and I’d rather not take the chance to find out.”

“But Mother Mirana clearly stated that it’s the only way she’ll bless our relationship and let us marry.” You replied.

Alcina laughed dryly. “Is that what this is about? You want to seek Miranda’s approval of our relationship?” Alcina asked. “You silly little mouse, Miranda doesn’t care about our relationship. She doesn’t care about you, nor me, nor my daughters, or any of the other Lords. No, Miranda only cares about obtaining a proper vessel for her darling daughter, Eva. I stopped seeking her approval on matters a long time ago so I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”

Your frown deepened at her words. “That’s not what I meant, Al.”

“Then what did you mean, dear one? Hmm?” Alcina asked. “Is that not what you were implying? That you wish to get that thing put into your body so you can marry me? Do you not care about your own well being, that you’d just do without thinking?” Alcina abandoned her pen once again, but this time to pick up her glass of wine. "If you did, you wouldn’t keep hounding me about it. PPlus, your intent for the cadou is purely selfish, and that’s not a good look for anybody.”

You snatched the glass out of her hand before she could take a sip, the look of shock on her face making you regret the decision a bit. After all, the wine did help her calm down so you sat it down on the desk. “I don’t understand.” You said softly. “It may be a selfish reason, but you said I was your one true, the love of your life. And I can’t be that without the cadou, without the ability to be immortal like you and the girls. You say you love me, but you won’t let me do the one thing that’ll keep us together forever. And I don’t understand.” Your voice cracked as your eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, yes, please cry me a river. I know it’s a harsh reality, but I am doing this for your own safety, Y/N.” Alcina replied. “And frankly, I don’t care how my decision makes you feel, the answer is no and that is final. Am I understood?” Alcina asked.

You nodded your head and sniffled. “But I love you and if you loved and cared about me like you always say then you’d let me take it.”

“You say you understand my words, yet you still stand here defying my answer, trying to guilt trip me into changing it.” Alcina stood from her desk and headed towards the door. “Listen to me carefully, you ungrateful little mouse. You can go to Miranda and ask for that damned parasite of hers, but if anything goes wrong, do not come crawling back to me. You can beg, you can cry, you can scream into you’re blue in your little face, you will be dead to me and my daughters, and you will not be welcomed into my home. The decision is yours to make as you wished for it to be and what you do now regarding the cadou is none of my concern.” Alcina said rather calmly albeit the scowl on her face before leaving you alone in her study.

You broke down as soon as she left. Alcina had very good reasons as to why she didn’t want you to take the cadou, why she was being so hostile. But still, her words hurt you. It made her love for you seem inferior, but you refused to believe that that was the case. Alcina said she was doing this for your own safety and you were just going to have to trust her on this.

As you gathered yourself together, you left Alcina’s study. She’d given you an ultimatum, the decision should’ve been easy. You’d simply just have to forget about the cadou and live your life with Alcina until your dying day. Then she’d find someone else to replace you in heart, you grimaced at the thought, blocking it from your mind as you wiped at your eyes.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” A voice asked you. Daniela’s, you assumed.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.” You replied, your voice sounding a little scratchy.

“You don’t sound fine. And Mother looked awfully upset a few moments ago.” Daniela said.

You sighed. “We had a disagreement about something, no big deal.” You shrugged your shoulders as you continued walking down the hall.

“About the cadou, right?” You stopped and turned to look at her. “Mother may have been muttering about it to herself when I saw her.” She admitted. “Bela and Cassandra went to go and try to comfort her so I thought I’d wait for you.”

You gave her a small smile. “That’s sweet of you, thank you. And yes, it was about the cadou.” You replied. “It was a stupid thing to bring up again. I just, I fear for the day that I can no longer be with any of you, that’s all.3”

“Mother fears for it too, if it’s any consolation.” Daniela said. “She cares for you, Y/N, she really does. It’s been so long since Mother’s had someone around that she truly loves and she doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I understand that, Dani, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I took the cadou.” You replied.

“But if Mother lost you, it’d be the end of hers.” Daniela said. “I think Mother is saying no because she doesn’t want to risk losing it before she has to. She’d rather you spent your days with her until you’re old than to lose you before your lives together really started. Mother’s not the one to really wear her heart on her sleeve, but she intends to do well by you, Y/N. Even if it seems a bit selfish.”

You nodded your head. “Being selfish seems to be the theme for tonight.” You murmured to yourself. “Listen, Dani, it’s not that I don’t want to just spend my days with her until I grow old. I want to be with her forever, and I can’t risk losing her just like she can’t risk losing me. Will you take me to her?” You asked.

Daniela nodded her head, leading you to where her Mother was. “Just promise you won’t leave us, no matter what. You’re one of the nicest people here and I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

“I can’t make any promises, Dani, but I’ll try.” You replied. You let out a small exhale before knocking on the door.

Bela opened the door, a little surprised to see you. “Now’s not the best time, Y/N.”

“Please, I just... I need to talk to her for a moment.” You replied.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough talking with Mother for one evening?” Cassandra sneered at you.

Daniela pushed Cassandra out of the way. “Leave it alone, Cass. It’s not really any of your business what goes on between Mother and Y/N in private. Let them talk to her. Now.” Daniela said as she grabbed your hand, guiding you into the room. “Mother, Y/N has something they’d like to talk to you about.”

Alcina hummed before waving her hand in the air signalling for her daughters to leave the both of you. Daniela gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, Bela gave you a sympathetic smile, and Cassandra growled at you. You’re pretty sure Cassandra threatened you under her breath, but you could catch the small snarl she let out when Daniela hit her shoulder.

Alcina waited until the door was closed before addressing. “Come to provoke me even further, Y/N?” Alcina asked.

You’d taken a moment to notice the broken vanity in the corner of the room. Shaking your head, you walked to stand in front of her. “No. I came to... I came to apologise, Alci.” You replied.

Alcina raised her eyebrow, placing her wine glass on the table next to her. “Apologise for what, Y/N?”

“For being selfish.” You said softly. “Not that you aren’t being entirely selfish yourself, but I wanted to apologise for how I reacted. I did mean what I said, I want to be with you until the end of time, Alcina. It hurts me to think that one day I won’t have all of this, that I won’t have you just because I’m not immortal like you and I could die at the drop of a hat.”

Alcina raised her hand to your cheek, cupping it. “You will never have to worry about dying at the drop of a hat nor will you ever not have me. I am yours, as you are mine, draga mea.” Alcina replied. “You must understand that I simply won’t permit you to have the cadou at this time. It’s not safe after what happened with that wretched man-thing, iubirea mea. That’s why I said no.”

You looked at her in confusion. “It’s not safe?” You asked.

“No, my love. After what happened, Miranda’s had a bit of a set back with the parasite and it’s not... she can’t control it like she used to be able to. Her experiments have been complete failures, though she is finding success with it every once in a while. Once it is more stable then we will revisit the topic, but as of right now, I can’t let you take it.”

You hand came to rest on the one Alcina had over your cheek, squeezing it lightly. “I understand, Alci.” You said softly. “Thank you for talking to me. I know you tried to get me to understand back in the study, but I was so clouded by sheer will to spend eternity with you that I just didn’t properly understand what you were trying to tell me.”

“I’m glad you understand now, dear. I should’ve told you sooner about the instability of the parasite at the moment, I’m sorry.” Alcina apologised. “It was, like you said, a bit selfish on my behalf to keep such a thing away from you.”

You shook your head. “No need to apologise, Al, it’s fine. Besides, if you weren’t selfish, you would’ve given me to the girls to be a midnight snack a long time ago.” You said before pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. “Are we okay?”

“Yes, draga mea, we’re fine.” Alcina replied before glancing at the time. “It is getting close to the midnight hour; may I indulge in the idea of you being a midnight snack?” Alcina asked with a smirk on her face.

You laughed as she pulled you onto her lap. “You’re incorrigible, Al.” You rolled your eyes before pulling her mouth down to yours.

Selfish or not, it was your personal goal to spend the rest of your life with Alcina, and you'd wait for however long it takes for Miranda to get the parasite under her control again, but for right now you'd be content with being a midnight snack for her until the time came for you to cross that bridge.

[eldritchqueerture]

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m���I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

[five-rivers]

DP/HP twin fic chapter 1

This would be the first chapter of that DP/HP twin fic...  I need a name for it before I post it elsewhere...  I can’t think of a name... help...  @ladylynse I blame you for this entirely.  It’s 3k and they haven’t even met yet.  What am I doing.

.

Here’s the thing.  Danny had encountered wizards before.  And witches.  Multiple times.  

He was not a fan.  

Burning, or other forms of murder, hadn’t ever crossed his mind as a solution to them, even when Freakshow decided to derail his life yet again.  Still. There were only so many times you could stumble upon members of a certain group zapping people with bargain-bin neuralyzers and leaving hours’ worth of uncertain memories in their wake before you got sort of fed up.  

Memory erasure was great in fiction.  Not so much in real life.  

Danny got it.  He’d erased a couple of memories himself.  Well, a lot of memories, depending on how one took the Reality Gauntlet incident.  But as far as motivations went, ‘trying not to be dissected by the government’ was a lot different from ‘we can’t be bothered to be discreet about our sporting events and we think it’s funny that our venue managed to attract ghost hunters when these magicless fools have never seen a real ghost in their lives so we’re going to mess with them.’  

Yeah.  Danny was still annoyed about that.  Also, about their reactions to him when he crossed an invisible line that was apparently supposed to repulse ‘no-majs.’  

That was before getting into Desiree, one of the few witches to become a proper ghost.  According to her, witches and wizards had a different system, and it was rare for magic users to enter the Infinite Realms.  Dora’s dragon amulet had also been enchanted prior to her death, although that could have been a ghost’s work, and Dora had never shared where it had come from.  

Anyway, the point was that Danny knew about magic as an entity separate from ghost powers and at least a small subset of the living beings that relied upon it.  

So, when the woman who dressed like she was living a century ago and smelled of magic walked up to his house, he’d braced himself for a fight.  He wasn’t going to let his parents be ‘obliviated’ again.  They were oblivious enough as it was!

But.  No. She’d come in, no wand in sight (although Danny still wasn’t entirely sure those were necessary) and sat down on the couch, hands primly folded, ignoring all of the… rather questionable features of the Fenton living room.  

To add to the weirdness, his parents had been expecting her.  They knew her by name.  They wanted Danny to be in the room to meet her.  

“Edna,” Jack said, with a strained smile.  “How have you been?”

“Well enough,” said Edna, her eyes flicking to where Danny stood in the kitchen door, watching. “And this must be young Deneb Alased, correct?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, frowning.  There weren’t a whole lot of people who knew his legal name, let alone his middle name.  So, who was this?  “I am.” He looked at his parents, willing them to clear up whatever this was.  

Both of their faces were sour, but they were trying to hide it.  Maddie was doing better than Jack.  

“This is Edna,” said Maddie.  “Why don’t you come and sit down, Danny?”  She patted the back of Jack’s favorite recliner.

Danny noticed how Edna’s mouth twitched down at his nickname. His fingers curled, ghost energy buzzing under his skin just barely kept from his eyes.  He didn’t like this.  

“It’s alright,” said Edna, smiling kindly.  “This must be very confusing for you.  I would be concerned myself, under these circumstances. What I’m about to tell you may be difficult to process, however.”

“We’d like to start it off, actually,” said Maddie. “When you called this morning—” She broke off, making a face.  “We were told this wouldn’t happen.”

“Yes, well,” said Edna.  She shrugged.  “Purebloods. What can you do?  Evidently—Well.  You should have your say, first.”

Danny gave Edna another suspicious glance.  Maybe all wizards weren’t bad.  Maybe Freakshow was an outlier and sports fans just sucked in general.

Yeah, honestly, that tracked.  (Cough, Vlad, cough, Dash, cough.)

He sat down.  “Okay,” he said.  “Way to be ominous.  What’s going on?”

“Well, Danno,” said Jack.  He laughed nervously.

“You’re adopted,” said Maddie, bluntly.

Danny blinked.  “Wait, what?” he said.  “Adopted?  But I look just like you guys!”

Jack’s nervous chuckles continued.  “We are related to your birth parents…  not closely, but…  Yes.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny, feeling several layers of personal identity float away from him.  He’d always blamed his weirdness on genetics and family history.  Especially the ghost stuff.  Then again, his name, which definitely did not match with his parents’ or sister’s, probably should have tipped him off.  “You’re serious?”

“I’m afraid so, Danny,” said Jack, kneeling by the chair and patting his knee.  “But don’t worry!  You’ll always be a Fenton, no matter what!”

Danny nodded, swallowing back emotion.  “And Jazz?  Is she…?”

“She’s adopted, too.  At about the same time as you, in fact,” said Maddie.  “So am I and Alicia.  It’s a long story.”

“Okay,” said Danny, determined to get that story at some point.  “Why is she here, then?”

“I was involved in your adoption,” she explained, “and certain members of your birth family want to get back in contact with you.”  

Ancients, that was sure a thing to hit a guy with right after the ‘you’re adopted’ revelation.  

Hold up.  He was forgetting something.  This was a witch.  How did that play into this?  Because it had to.  Witches and wizards, as far as Danny could tell, tended to isolate themselves from the rest of humanity.  

He decided he did not like the probable trajectory of this conversation.  

“Why?” he asked, because he wasn’t going to say he knew about magic until and unless someone else cracked first.  

“Yes,” said Maddie.  “Why?  Why now? We were under the impression that they would never contact us.”

“Evidently,” said Edna, “Deneb’s birth mother was not properly informed of the decision to put him up for adoption.”

Okay.  Yeah. That was a lead-in to his biological parents being magical because he couldn’t think of a single modern western country where that would fly.  

“So, what?  I was kidnapped at birth or something?” asked Danny.

“Not exactly,” said Edna, wincing.  “It was your birth father who filed the paperwork.”

“And she’s only now wondering where Danny is?” asked Maddie, a little shrilly.  Her stress from before was now spilling over into anger so sharp Danny could taste it like a knife on his tongue.  “Did she somehow manage to forget giving birth?”

“No,” said Edna.  “Which brings us to the other matter.  One of the other matters.  The one who first sent the request for your adoption information was actually your twin brother.”

A third monumental revelation.  Wonderful.  What next?

“We, of course, contacted his parents, and discovered the irregularity regarding your birth mother’s consent.  Hence my presence here today.”  She opened her bag and removed a small glass tube, about twice the length of Danny’s palm and the same diameter as a quarter.   “There was also the issue regarding how young you were when you were put up for adoption.  Generally, our agency deals with the placement of children aged from five to eleven.”  She held the tube out to Danny.  “Could you hold this, please?”

“Do you really need to do this?” asked Jack.  

“Due to all the irregularities involved, yes,” said Edna. “Our organization charter unfortunately requires it.  If the mother was not consulted, as is required, the reasoning is that other required things are not as certain.”

“Hold up,” said Danny, hands tightening around the ends of the armrests.  “These people—” Who were most probably wizards, and wasn’t that a thing to get his head around, “—they’re not trying to get custody of me again, are they? After giving me away?”

“No,” said Maddie.  “We won’t let that happen.”

“We’re not going to give him back to people who were going to abandon him just because—!”  Dad broke off.  “Uh. Because.”

Smooth.  

“You know,” said Danny, deciding to cut off… whatever this was. “Even if this ‘test’ is, like…” He trailed off.  “Whatever result you want it to be.  I don’t know.  I’m still going to find out whatever it is you’re dancing around anyway.  Because I’m not going to forget this conversation.”

Silence.  

The witch twitched slightly towards where Danny knew her wand was hidden.  

Screw it.  “And I’m not going to let you erase my memory.  You people do get how messed up that is, right?”

Danny was treated to the sound and sight of three jaws dropping open.  

“How do you-?” started Maddie.  

“You remember when we went to that camp because people thought it was haunted?  But you didn’t find anything?  Well, they managed to get both of you that time, but not me.  And I know you’re one of them, so I’m betting that whatever this is, it has to do with magic.”  He paused. “It was some weird magic sporting event, apparently.”

“The-?  You went to the Quidditch World Cup?” asked Edna.

“What?  No!” protested Maddie.  “That was in Britain, wasn’t it?  We were just in the next state.”  She scowled. “I’m going to write a letter of complaint.  Even if we’re living without magic, we’re not no-majs.  We’re squibs.  They had no right to obliviate us.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Yeah.  You’ve lost me.  Squibs?”

No one seemed willing to answer the question.  

“If you’d just take this,” said Edna, holding out the tube a little desperately.  “It will be much easier to explain all at once.”

Danny looked up at his parents.  Jack looked at Maddie.  Maddie drummed her fingers on the back of his chair.  

“It’ll be fine,” said Maddie, “probably.”

“Fine,” said Danny.  He took the tube.  Almost at once, it started glowing green.  

“Oh,” said Edna, frowning and leaning closer.  “It usually isn’t—”

The tube exploded, embedding several small glass shards in Danny’s hands.  

“Ow,” said Danny.  

“Oh,” said Edna again, evidently not registering the small splinter of glass in her cheek.  “Well. Whoever your birth father hired to test your magic as an infant obviously got it wrong.  Congratulations, Mr. Fenton.  You’re a wizard.”

“My hand is bleeding.”

“Yes,” agreed Edna.  “It isn’t supposed to explode, you see.”

.

Once Danny got cleaned up, which involved a lot of glaring at Edna from Maddie and Jack, they adjourned to the kitchen, which was free of random glass shards.  

“The adoption organization I work for,” said Edna, “places squibs—people born to magical parents who do not have magic themselves—with families of squibs.  Assuming the child’s birth parents do want to give up their child over something like not having magic.”  Her nose wrinkled.  “The common wisdom is that it is easier for such children to grow up in an environment that is not explicitly magical.  In any case, it is my personal belief that anyone who would give up a child over something like that isn’t going to be the best of parents.”

“Alright,” said Danny, “so… all of us are squibs.”

“Except you, apparently,” said Edna.  “It’s hard to tell whether or not someone as young as you were when you were given up will be magical or not.  Which is why we usually only deal with older children.  I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anything odd happening around yourself?  Or unusual abilities?”

Danny stared at her flatly for several long moments.  His entire life could be classified as ‘odd,’ and most of it he wasn’t about to share with Edna.  Or his parents, as much as he loved them.

But, on the other hand, he now had a great excuse for at least some of his weirdness.  His parents wouldn’t think ghost if they could think wizard first.

“Like, define ‘odd,’” said Danny.  Despite his earlier encounters with wizards, he had no idea what was normal for them.  Other than memory wiping.  Which he could not do and wouldn’t have demonstrated anyway.  

Okay.  If was actually a wizard, and Edna’s doohickey wasn’t just reacting to his ghostliness, he probably could learn how to do the memory thing, but he didn’t know now, so the distinction was meaningless.  

(Maybe being a wizard or a squib or whatever was why he wasn’t just.  Dead.)

(Yeah, he didn’t want to think about that.)

“Just…  Being in one place, and then a different place.  Surviving something you shouldn’t have been able to unscathed.  Things moving by themselves or changing color or size. Temperature changes.  Something you want very badly happening, even if it is impossible or extremely unlikely.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Yeah.”

“To which one?” asked Jack, concerned.  “I haven’t noticed anything like that except what the ghosts do.”

“Um,” said Danny.  “This?”  He put his hand down on the table, intending to leave an icy handprint.  That should be acceptable, right?  If temperature changes were normal…

His nerves got the best of him.  He knew he was nervous showing even one of his powers around his parents.  He overcompensated.  

The table was covered with frost.  

“Oops?” said Danny.  

All the blood had left Edna’s face.  Jack and Maddie didn’t look much better.  

“Dear lord,” said Edna.  “You can do that at will?”

“Yes,” said Danny, holding his hand close to his chest. “More or less.”

“Danny,” said Jack, “why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you’d think it was a ghost thing.  You kind of shoot first and ask questions later about ghost things.”

“Oh my god,” said Edna.  “Never mind that.  You can do wandless magic and you’re fourteen?”

“Fifteen,” said Danny, “but, yeah.  I guess.”

Evidently, this wasn’t normal.  

Also, his comment about shooting first hurt his parents’ feelings.  Go figure. Not like they weren’t keeping a massive secret.  

.

“So,” said Danny, once the other discussions had been shelved for the time being, “I have a brother?  I think a brother was, at some point, mentioned.”

“Yes,” said Edna.  “A twin brother.  He wants to meet you.  Along with your biological mother.”

“And if I don’t want to?” asked Danny.  “If I don’t want to have anything to do with them?”

“I don’t even know,” said Edna.  “I can’t believe you slipped under the national detection spell. There’s going to be so much paperwork involved in this.  International paperwork.”

“Huh?”

“You were born in Britain,” said Edna, as if this were a minor detail.  

Yeah.  Like his sense of self needed any further pummeling.  

“But it isn’t our fault everything is so messed up,” said Danny.  He maybe had some curiosity about his twin brother, but if there was any risk he’d be taken away…

“I understand,” said Edna, “but nothing like this has come up before, as far as we know.”  She sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I will use any influence I have in the matter to recommend that you retain custody of Deneb.  In the meantime…  Do you want to, uh, open communications with any members of your biological family?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “Can I think about it?”

.

Relations in the Malfoy household had been strained ever since Draco’s investigation of his family tree (unrelated to the return of the Dark Lord and how blood purity was now much, much more important) had revealed that his twin brother had not, in fact, died at birth.  

And by strained, Draco meant that his parents had taken to living on opposite sides of the manor, interacting only when there were visitors.  Visitors such as his father’s Death Eater friends, members of society, and various government officials.  All of whom were more alike, and had greater overlap, than even Draco had initially suspected.  

This left Draco walking on eggshells between the two of them and wishing for Hogwarts to start again.  Anything he did to please one had to be entirely out of sight of the other, or else they began to fight again.  Truthfully, Draco was more on his mother’s side, all things considered, but his father was the one with the friends, and Draco couldn’t stay home under his mother’s wings for all his life.  Like his dragon namesake, he had to fly.  

Which he would most certainly do.  Soon.  No, he wasn’t hiding from his parents in his room.  That would be ridiculous.  They knew where his room was.  They could find him if they wanted to, and neither of them was anywhere near him.  He knew.  He’d checked.

This made the inarticulate shriek of rage he overheard from his mother all the more concerning.  

It was enough to make him emerge – cautiously! – from his self-imposed exile.  

He was curious.  And stupid.  It got him into enough trouble at school, why not at home?

Also, he really needed to know.  For his own safety.  Tiptoeing around whatever disaster just happened would be impossible if he didn’t know what it was.  

Instead, he tiptoed after his mother.  

His mother, who was angry enough that sparks were coming off the end of her tightly gripped wand.  Green sparks.  

Draco had never actually seen the killing curse in action, but his mother’s face screamed murder all on its own, no magic required, despite the fact that Draco was only catching glimpses of it as she strode towards his father’s half of the house.  

This was going to be bad.  Terrible.  Possibly the kind of event that saw one of his parents in Azkaban and the other in little, tiny pieces all around the smoking room.  

Lucius, for his part, looked paralyzed where he stood, and Draco briefly entertained the notion that Narcissa had managed to cast petrificus totalis on him without moving her wand or speaking the words.

Narcissa planted herself firmly in front of Lucius and glared up at him, seething, her breath making sucking noises as it passed through her teeth.  

She punched Lucius in the face.  The man toppled, clutching his nose.  Narcissa kicked him.

It was a good thing that the Malfoys had no neighbors, because what Narcissa screamed next likely could have been heard for at least a mile.

“He wasn’t even a squib, you lying bastard!”

[keeper0fthestars]

Tumblr Writers Q&A

Thank you lovely @fromthedeskoftheraven and @songsformonkeys for the tag, your answers are fascinating, i really enjoyed reading them! 💕

1) How many complete fics/one shots do you have that you have not published (yet)? None.

2) How many WIPS do you have right now? ooof *hides head in hands* 27 (not counting my notes app)

3) Do you take writing requests or write original ideas, or both? Both!! I have taken requests, I’ve even managed to finish a few!! Altho i am the slowest writer ever and there are requests sitting in my inbox that are a year old. I would love to be able to thrive on requests or prompts but here’s the thing: I write for myself, I write to cope with my own circumstance and I don’t know how to trick my brain into writing for someone else 😅

4) If you do take requests, how many do you currently have? Currently I have 5 requests in my inbox. (My most sincere apologies to dia and flora 😭)

5) How many fandoms do you write for? The Mandalorian - Triple Frontier - Narcos

6) Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you no longer write for? lotr, the hobbit, marvel, plus others that we won’t discuss ok 😂

7) Do you write for ships, reader inserts or other? Writing reader inserts from second person was new to me when i joined this fandom. I don't use y/n though.

8) Niche fandoms/characters you write for? None, really!

9) Do you read fics as well as write them? Heck yes. More importantly tho, I leave comments on everything i read. Writing is hard and supporting other writers is how I show my appreciation for what they do.

10) What is your favorite genre to write for? Fluff. Romance. Soft smut. Domesticity.

11) What is your favorite trope (to read/write)? Fave trope to write: I can’t write without a healthy dose of feelings/comfort/safety. There’s a reason all my fics feature Established Relationships. Throw in a Gruff competent badass who is only soft for their s/o??? I froth. That’s my ultimate jam …but I’m always hungry to read mutual pining, slow burn, mild hurt/comfort, only one bed, idiots to lovers, fake dating, huddling for warmth. Also I love a good italicized oh moment.

12) What do you do to get motivated to write? I’ve been known to write fics based off a single inspo photo/gif.. so to some extent I’m visually motivated, seeing as I have a sideblog dedicated to visual inspiration. Having said that, once I have an idea in place, nothing motivates me more than making a playlist/moodboard - or finding a perfect poem or line of lyrics. Flailing with others in the chat sometimes helps get the words flowing.

13) Is there a trope/genre you like to read, but not write? So many. Sci-fi, Historical romance, time travel, oooh also poetry, stuff that I find too intimidating to attempt myself.

14) Any characters/fandoms you want to write for that are never requested? I’ve never really thought in those terms before tbh.

15) How long have you been writing fanfiction? since highschool

16) Did you read fan fiction before you started writing? Not at all, actually. Like @songsformonkeys also mentioned, it wasn't until after i had years and years of notebooks filled with fics, that I discovered other people did that too.

17) Do you only post on Tumblr, or any other sites as well? I also use AO3.

18) What do you personally consider the word counts of “Drabble”, “One shots” and “fics”? You can call it whatever you want, I'll still read it.

19) Which do you prefer to write more? HC, drabbles, oneshots/fics, multi chapter stories, other? i've only ever been able to publish one-shots, although i have multi-chap ideas and one day I’d love to be able to tackle a proper fic.

20) Are there any stories you have discontinued? If so, why? I have sequels and/or prequels planned for a few of my one shots, and I hope to finish writing them. But if we’re talking incomplete wips, yeah, several been abandoned because i got stuck midway through and lost motivation.

21) What is one of your main “pet-peeves” as a writer on Tumblr? Sadly, some of the best fics I’ve had the pleasure of reading on here get little to no recognition. Idk if this is a pet peeve and idk if anyone else relates but I will say it is daunting to post your writing on a platform like this. For an introvert like me, it’s a very ‘nose pressed into the glass’ type of thing - like you’re crashing a party where everyone there is already friends, and I don’t know if that feeing ever goes away, at least for me.

22) Do you write at a particular time of day? I write whenever free time and inspiration collide, which is not as often as i'd like.

23) Do you listen to music, ambiance/noise, etc to write or do you need silence? I'm stealing Raven's answer because same: Definitely silence, I need to hear my thoughts.

24) Do you outline your fics at all before writing? if I do outline, it's done in my head. Sometimes a single line of conversation spills out first, and I write the whole thing in bits and pieces around that. If I’m very lucky I can stitch it all together into a complete fic.

25) Do you post your writing as soon as you finish it, or do you schedule it to come out at a specific time/day? Listen. I am a chronic editor, and I always let it sit for a few days and then come back to it with fresh eyes before i post it. But yes, once I'm happy with it, I almost always upload and post on the spot.

I don’t know who would like a tag or who has not done this yet so feel free to ignore🌸: @mourningbirds1 @hiscyarika @thirstworldproblemss @magpie-to-the-morning @floraandfrost @thosewickedlovelies @qveenbvtch @starlight-starwrites @miraclesabound @lareinadehades

[plus-ultra-oof]

Pretty | SakuAtsu | Haikyuu!! | Tickle Fic

A/N: Ok hi so I wrote this a little while ago bc my SakuAtsu brainrot never stops and I figured I might as well share it. This is my first time posting a T-fic so please be kind lol. Also, sorry if the formatting is a mess I am on my phone.

Disclaimer: This takes place post timeskip so minor spoilers for Haikyuu! It’s nothing to major other than some vague things mentioned in passing. Also includes swearing and centers around tickling within a romantic setting (all sfw).

Summary: Sakusa’s stubborn as hell, but Atsumu is more than willing to get his boyfriend to go to sleep by whatever means necessary. Especially if that means he gets to see that pretty smile of his.

——————————————————

“Ya know, yer hair is really soft Omi,” Atsumu said, breaking the calm silence that had settled over the room. It was actually Kiyoomi’s room in his apartment this time. Atsumu was lying on his bed, running his hands through Kiyoomi’s dark curls as the other man laid across the bed, head placed conveniently in the setter’s lap as he attempted to read a book. He was far too tired to do so, in Atsumu’s professional opinion. The way his eyes kept falling shut for longer between blinks and how his grip on the hardcover kept shifting until he was barely holding it open where it lay against his propped up legs supported it too.

“You already- said that,” he replied, trying for flat and uninterested but the cute yawn that interrupted his sentence completely contradicted his unbothered persona.

It’d been a long practice for everyone, but especially the spikers. Both Bokuto and Sakusa had to run an insane amount of cut shot drills on top of their usual work. Just watching it had made Atsumu tired, so he could only imagine how Omi was feeling. The man had been practically dead on his feet when they’d gotten back to their complex, so the way he had melted into their bed upon finally brushing his teeth was unsurprising. His attempts at staying up were though. Atsumu blamed that on his insistence on keeping his routine no matter what.

The stubborn bastard could barely keep his eyes open, but sure, making it through a whole chapter of that thick ass book was totally plausible.

“It’s true though,” Atsumu was quiet for a moment and then, when he got no response he added on, “and it’s so pretty too,” For that he received a half hearted glare that was dampened by the way he could feel the man leaning into his touch as his fingertips scratched lightly again his scalp. The twin smiled, his boyfriend really lost his filter when he was this tired.

Gone were the biting remarks and cold expressions, leaving him far more pliant than he would ever admit to. Hell, here he was, letting Atsumu play with his hair and letting out little sighs of contentment. His eyes were even gradually falling closed as he relaxed into his boyfriend’s touch.

The harsh lines of his face were softened by the low light in the bed room, and with his brows uncreased by any worries and his hair pooled around his head like a dark halo, he looked almost angelic. Like something out of one of those fancy paintings.

“Yer so pretty Omi,” Atsumu murmured absently, the words falling from his lips easily. It was a statement to him. A simple truth of life.

The sky was blue, volleyball was the best, and Atsumu’s boyfriend was a damn masterpiece.

This was only proved further when his cheeks began to warm, the pink flush only complimenting smooth skin and pouty lips, twitching down into a petulant frown despite his flustered state.

“Shut it,” he mumbled in reply, unable to come up with a proper comeback in his half asleep state. Atsumu smirked. Another thing he loved about sleepy Omi was his inability to disguise any of his reactions. It always made messing him even more fun.

“Omiiii, Yer so cute m’gonna dieeeeee,” he teased, leaning down to admire his expression more closely. The new angle let him see the minuscule twitch of the corner of his lips, a sign that his adorable boyfriend wasn’t really as grumpy as he was trying to appear, “Aw is that a smile I see?” Said boyfriend had abandoned all hopes of reading his book in favor of moving off of Atsumu’s lap and onto his side of the bed, laying back and closing his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Atsumu,” he stated, his voice still managing to stay level and unaffected, a true testament to Sakusa’s insane amount of self control, “Now its late, let’s go to sleep,” Too bad Atsumu was too much of an asshole to let him be. And, he knew him well enough to chip away at that carefully crafted mask until his boyfriend was puddy in his hands.

Miya pouted and moved closer, letting his right hand come back up to rest in his curls again and the other land at his back, rubbing slow circles into it the way he knew Sakusa liked.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that, I just want ta see that gorgeous smile of yers,” he let his chin rest on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pressing close to his back as his arm trailed down to wrap around his waist. He placed a light kiss against his boyfriend’s temple. The first in a trail that led down his cheek to his jaw and then took a detour down and up his neck to reach his ear again, earning soft sighs and hums as he went. Atsumu smiled, his Omi really was sweet like this: All peaceful and relaxed and unassuming, “Do me a favor and lemme see it?”

He shifted from kissing at his neck to mouthing lightly and letting his lips graze the expanse of soft pale skin at his disposal and the reaction was immediate, even if Sakusa tried to hide it. Sure, he stayed quiet, but Atsumu could feel the shivers that ran through him when he started and how his shoulders began to shake the longer he went on. He felt him jump when he let the fingers at his waist trace lazy shape into his toned stomach.

“Atsumu-“ His name was rushed out in a breathy way that only Atsumu got to hear.

“Yes Omi?” He purred, directly into his boyfriends ear, savoring the little squeak that came from the man shaking in his arms.

“N-no,” he whined, actually whined, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the tingly sensations that were quickly perforating his sleep addled mind and making him want to give into the bouncy feeling rising in his chest.

“Why not Omi? M’just tryin ta kiss ya?” He followed his movements easily, continuing the playful torment of his boyfriend.

“You- you know exActly whehy not!” The squeak was louder this time and Kiyoomi even let a few titters loose as Atsumu started using his other hand to lightly scribble at the other side of his neck while simultaneously blowing into his ear.

“Ooh was that a giggle there Omi? What’s happenin’ baby? Somethin’ funny?” Atsumu knew that if he could, Sakusa would be griping about the teasing and how this whole thing was immature and unfair. For now though, he was too busy trying (and failing) not to devolve into a ticklish mess, so Miya was content.

“Nahaha stahahap yohuhu bahahastard!” He forced out through his giggles. The sound was light and filled with gasping breathes and squeals. Kiyoomi hated it, but it was one of Atsumu’s favorite sounds. Especially when he knew he was the cause of it.

Whether it came from unraveling him like this or timing a sarcastic joke just right, he savored it each time he got to hear it, so he didn’t appreciate it when both ungloved hands flew up to muffle it.

“Hey what’dya do that for?” He asked, his own pout forming on his lips as he leaned up to see his boyfriend’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut again and the flush was even brighter now. What was really captivating though, was the way his whole face seemed to brighten, even with his open mouth smile covered up.

Atsumu couldn’t help but stop and stare for a few seconds before remembering the task at hand. To see that pretty smile for real.

“C’mon Omi, just pull yer hands away or m’gonna haveta resort to extreme measures,” Atsumu increased his effort at leaving barely there kisses along Kiyoomi’s neck, feeling his heart race against his lips when he reached the pulse point. This got a cacophony of muffled squeaks and giggles before he finally gave into instinct and moved one of his hands away to push at his face.

As soon as it came up, Atsumu saw his chance and took it.

The hand that was drawing shivery patterns over sharp hip bones immediately skittered up Sakusa’s side to find its mark just above his ribs, sending the arm crashing right back down with a muffled shriek.

“Pffft phmp uff,” Came the dampened response as the other hand stayed stubborn in its quest to deprive Atsumu of his happiness. He decided to take it up another notch, because despite his tiredness, his Omi-Omi was still able to put up a good fight. He wouldn’t have him any other way: As headstrong as he was talented.

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Atsumu leaned back just enough to leave some space between himself and Kiyoomi’s back. For insurance and safety purposes, he threw a leg over his waist to make sure he would fall off the bed.

Then all bets were off.

He started actually scratching at his armpits in tandem with leaving sloppy kisses along his spine and shoulder blades and any other part of his back he could reach at the moment, and the reaction was instantaneous and oh so satisfying.

“Mmmmphhhuhuhuck AtsuhuHU! NaHAHA STAHAP!”

“What babe? Somethin’ wrong?” He made sure to speak against the skin of his back, his words sending ticklish tremors through Kiyoomi as his worst spot was attacked.

“NOHOHOT THEHERE AHATSUHU!” Something seemed to switch off in his brain as his arms finally fell limp at his sides and he threw his head back against the pillows, laughing fully now. When they did, Atsumu immediately toned it down, abandoning his underarm in favor of leaving feather light scratches down the sides of his boyfriend’s back, making him shiver and keeping him caught up in his giggles without torturing him too bad.

Omi could never say that he was anything but nice about this....Well at least at this particular moment. Sakusa definitely kept a dated list of the times that his boyfriend had ruthlessly abused this specific weakness, but that was besides the point.

“Ahatsuhuhu,” Atsumu looked up at the sound of his name falling from upturned lips and found himself mesmerized by the sight.

Now that Kiyoomi had given up on stopping him he’d shifted to flop down on his stomach, bracing his head on his arms as he tried to contain the shaky laughter still spilling easily from his mouth. His hair was tousled from the struggle and his eyes were teary from laughing so hard and he was in an eternal state of flushed and fuck he was beautiful.

Too pretty for his own good. And Atsumu’s. At this rate, he was gonna die before he got to the Olympics.

He could just see it now: Miya Atsumu, beloved son, brother, boyfriend, and teammate. Cause of death: Seeing his godlike boyfriend laugh his heart out.

Shit, ‘Samu was right, he was whipped.

“Tsuhuhuhumuuu, m’tired,” Whiny giggles followed by a familiar yawn brought him out of his thoughts and he let his fingers slow to a stop, moving up in the bed to be beside his still giggling boyfriend. He turned him over onto his back before placing his book onto the nights stand and turning out the light.

“A-asshole,” Sakusa groaned, through breathy pants, giving him a half-hearted shove as he turned to face the blonde.

“But ya love me,” he teased moving in closer to lay his head on the dark haired man’s chest, listening patiently as his heartbeat finally started to slow down.

“You suck,” he murmured in response, his tone empty of any real malice. Plus, the way he was snuggling closer and lacing their hands together across Atsumu’s waist contradicted his words anyway.

Atsumu smiled and took a final look at his boyfriend before closing his eyes to follow him into sleep. And as a man of a limited vocabulary when it came to most things other than volleyball, his last thoughts prior to drifting off were as simple as they were true: Omi’s so pretty.

[novamirmirsblog]

Now my clothes smell of you but you’re not here

Word count: 965

Request: I mean no but I was encouraged to do it

Warnings: death, sadness, overall depression

A/n: guys I don’t know why I couldn’t just leave Natasha and Y/n happy and in love and I may have cried while writing this. Was it because of how my phone formats this or because it’s just such a sad fic?? We will never know. I’ll write and post the one where y/n dies when I’ve written some more fluff/smut 👀 because ya girl needs a break from the sadness 😂

Part 1 is here

We had won. Humanity vs Thanos and we had won. It's what you kept telling yourself. It's what you had told yourself when Clint came back alone. It's what you told yourself when you comforted the pain Peter felt at the loss of another father figure. It's what you said to comfort little Morgan when she asked where her daddy was.

"See you in a minute." That's what she had said, so hopeful for the first time in a long time. But it wasn't a minute. She had lied. That minute stretched and continued stretching until it was all you could feel.

You had started wearing each other's clothes long before the first snap. They didn't even call it the snap - those who returned - they called it the blip. Just another thing that had gone along with Natasha. Natasha had insisted that she only made you wear her clothes to warm them up but on the few occasions you had managed to sneak up on the spy, she always had her face buried in the fabric. You had no idea what you smelled of but Natasha once described it 'as that feeling you get when you get a notification on your phone, or when you beat a really hard level of a video game.' So you guessed if dopamine and relief smelt of anything, that was your smell. You didn't mind wearing her clothes - although you teased her mercilessly for it - because she always looked so content when she got something of hers back that smelt of you.

How you wished you could go back to having to wear jumpers a little too small just so Natasha could have your smell. Eventually your clothes migrated to our clothes which then turned into Natasha's clothes. By that point she suggested you should just move in. You basically lived at the compound anyway so there was no harm in sharing her room.

"We won" you whispered to yourself as you watched them take an empty coffin to bury.

It was an annoyingly sunny day when that empty box was buried. The movies lied, the clouds didn't cover the sun and pour with rain that mixed with tears rolling down faces. Birds chirrped and white fluffy clouds rolled over the sky. The sounds of children laughing filled the air.

For a while you were angry. The kind of anger that claws its way from your chest into your throat. First it was directed at Clint. How dare he not fight harder to die. He should have shot her in the leg, tied her up, anything. When you screamed all this at him when he came back alone, all he said was "I know".

Then your anger turned on Bruce. It was him who snapped that second time to bring everyone back. Him who truly failed you. How could he. He was supposed to love her too and yet not only did he abandon her to go fly about space with Thor, but he failed to bring her back.

Anger turned to pain when you saw all the happily reunited families. The whole world was celebrating and yet those who made it happen were dead. At least Stark got a proper funeral. It was broadcasted all over the world, as it should be. His sacrifice was possibly the hardest of them all. He didn't even want to be involved. He had made a life for himself and it was snatched away because heroes have to make the world a 'better place' but was the world really a better place without them in it?

The avengers broke up pretty soon after the funerals. Steve went off to give back the infinity stones, Bucky moved out, Sam went back to his sister and those who came from around the galaxy all went back to where they came from. It was lonely. Sometimes it felt as if you were the only one who remembered.

It was a complete accident when you found a chest Natasha had hidden. You were looking for a pair of shoes that had suddenly gone missing. Pepper said you were more than welcome to stay in Natasha’s room for as long as you wanted but it was just too painful to be there but it was also too painful to be anywhere else. The chest contained all your clothes you thought you had lost over the years. There was so many of them, ranging from beanies, to skirts, to dresses, to comfort clothes and even a pair of pyjamas. You sat on the floor and cried. The tears just kept coming and then you saw the note.

‘Darling y/n,

you have no idea how much I’ve loved you. I know if you’re reading this it means I’m gone and I’m so so sorry for the pain it may cause. In the chest are clothes that now smell of me. I know you may not have been as obsessed with my smell as I was with yours but I hope these can provide the hugs I wish I could give you. There are also videos and a hologram Stark made. I have no idea if you will need all this but I hope that if you do, this is enough.

All my love, Natalia’

Emptying out the clothes carefully, you saw hundreds of usb sticks and tears came flooding back. You sat and watched the videos, trying to figure out how to turn on the small black disk that was the hologram when it suddenly popped on.

“Hello detka”

You threw it across the room, hearing it thud on the other side. Because no matter how hard you try, not everything can be stitched back together. We had won, but maybe this time the price too high.

[fabulouspotatosister]

is it still you?

summary: getting left behind is never easy. being found is even harder.

word count:  6,127

gif(s) by: @gabrielokun, @elenaglbert​

a/n: hello there, everyone! welcome to my first proper fic since the school year started! you might have seen this on that wip title game i did a little while back, and here it is! thank you to @penguinwithitsarseonfire​ for reminding me that this idea even existed and inspiring me to write it :0 hope you’re all doing well lovelies!

~ o ~

“Amy, I’ll be fine.”

Amy rested against the console, one delicate eyebrow raised as she watched you hover by the Doctor’s side. You were watching him tinker with something on the console, but you could still feel Amy boring holes into you. “Right, just in case we forget the last time you said you were gonna be fine - remind me again why you’re the one doing this?”

“Because I’ve done it a bunch of times!” You glanced up at Amy, then shrunk back at her piercing gaze. You were definitely being judged. You swallowed the urge to say “sorry, mom”. “Reconnaissance. Right, Doctor?”

“Right,” the Doctor replied, sounding slightly distracted. He was peering at what looked like an earbud through a magnifying glass. His coat lay abandoned, flung carelessly over one of the chairs in the console room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of large circular goggles rested over his face as he worked. He was cute, but you’d never say that to his face. “I’ve tracked the weapon to this planet, but they’re a hivemind - if they see me, they’ll raise an alarm. I need you to be my eyes and ears.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said cheerfully, raising a hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Racked up your fair share of enemies, huh?”

“Oh, you know me.” The Doctor poked at the earbud-thingie with a sparking device. “I’m like James Bond.”

“You wish you were like James Bond,” Amy piped up. 

“Oi!” The Doctor looked up, indignation written over his face even through the huge goggles. “I’d make a great spy.”

Amy grinned at you. Something dangerous glittered in her eyes. “You’d trip over those laser things and set off a bomb with those limbs of yours.” 

The Doctor made a frustrated noise, and buried his nose in the magnifying glass again. 

“Okay, maybe not James Bond,” you said. You let your hand rest on his shoulder, trying not to jostle him as he started connecting some very thin wires. “I think you’ve got the gadgets down, though. You’d be the Quartermaster.”

“The man in the chair,” the Doctor muttered. 

“Yeah, the man in the chair,” you repeated. Absentmindedly, you let your hand wander, travelling down his back slightly. The Doctor went still. “You’ve got a very important job.”

“...Yep.” The Doctor’s voice was strained. 

“Okay, enough, lovebirds,” Amy said. She raised a finger before the Doctor could protest against the “lovebirds” comment. “Is she gonna be gone long?”

“Hopefully not,” the Doctor answered. “Just long enough for me to find out where they’ve landed so I can shut off their queen. It shouldn’t be too far. Twenty minutes, tops. And - aha!”

The Doctor grinned widely at you, pushing the goggles off his face. “That should do it. Look -” He plucked the earbud from the console and beamed at it. “Your very own communicator. Brand new! You don’t even need your phone.” It gleamed silver as he turned it over in his hands. “It links up directly to the TARDIS so we can hear you twenty-four-seven. Or seventy-two seven here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, and if it was possible, the Doctor beamed brighter. You reached out to take it, but the Doctor moved forward before you could snatch it from his hand.

“Hang on, let me,” the Doctor said softly. He leaned down, brushing his hand against your hair, and you shuddered. Some kind of heavy silence fell over the two of you as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and gently pushed the communicator in - it fit snugly, almost like it was made for you. Which it was. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “There we go.”

Amy met your gaze. Lovebirds, she mouthed.

Shut up, you mouthed back. 

The Doctor ran to the other side of the console, picking up the telephone and quickly punching in some numbers. There was the whining sound of feedback in your ear. He tapped the receiver, and the soft tap tap tap felt like someone tapping directly on your brain. “Can you hear this?”

“Loud and clear.” He tapped again, and you winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” the Doctor said. He raised the phone to his lips and spoke again, but quieter. The sound sent shivers down your spine, and you tried not to visibly tremble. “It doubles as a tracker, so I’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Useful,” you squeaked out. Amy waggled her eyebrows at you, and you didn’t have the strength to tell her to stop. “Anything else?”

“Nope!” the Doctor said, setting down the phone with a thunk. “Alright! I think you’re all set, mission control.”

You frowned. “I thought you were mission control.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, as if to say something, but caught himself. He settled on smiling instead, the corners of his lips turning up meekly. “My mistake. You’ve been mission control before, I just…”

“Yeah, when you lost the TARDIS with me in it,” you said, giving him the gentlest smile you could muster. “Remember that? Good times.”

The Doctor hummed in reply. He shifted in place, staring at you, his hands hanging limply by his sides. In the dim, yellowish light of the TARDIS interior, you couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not. He stood there for a moment, his lips slightly parted, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,” you ventured. The Doctor jumped at the sound of your voice, his gaze darting up to meet yours. “You okay?”

“Always,” he said quickly. “I’m just seeing you off. That’s what I’m doing.”

He was not, in fact, just seeing you off. This was typical Doctor behavior - he was dodging the question. It was almost frustrating, but the way he looked like he was pouting took the edge off the frustration a little bit. But only a little bit. “Are you worried?”

“Me?” The Doctor pulled a confident face, the one he put on when he wasn’t. “Never.”

If you weren’t looking at the Doctor, really looking at him, you would have believed him. But then there was rule one - after some time, the Doctor had turned into an open book for you. The way he stood, very still when he was usually bouncing off the walls, told a different story.

You met his eyes, and something shifted. His face morphed, from confident to bittersweet, to an expression that looked almost mournful. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, bugger it,” the Doctor muttered under his breath. 

“Doctor - oh!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, pulling you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed. He dipped his head down onto your shoulders, his face disappearing into your neck. Amy whistled, but you didn’t hear her - you were too busy focusing on feeling the Doctor’s lips on your skin, and his breath, warm against it, and - well -

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you gasped out.

The Doctor didn’t reply - just squeezed tighter. This face was most definitely a hugger, but they were mostly short and sweet. Little celebratory hugs. These hugs were reserved for certain moments, and certain people. 

“I’m the man in the chair, of course I’m worried,” he finally muttered. “It’s sort of my job.”

“You’ll keep me safe,” you said. You leaned back, and the Doctor lifted his head to look at you. “Mission control, remember? You’ll be there to guide me.”

The Doctor peered at you. “You trust me,” he said quietly, like he couldn’t believe it.

“After all this time, how could I not?” You gave him another soft smile. “You’re trusting me to do this, I’m trusting you to keep me safe.”

“Just -” The Doctor sighed, ragged, and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened, they were filled with a familiar concern. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”

The last part was nearly a whisper. The sound of his voice tugged at your heart. 

“You won’t,” you said, pulling away from his embrace. Disappointment flickered in the Doctor’s eyes as you stepped backwards towards the doors. “Ever.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. He looked you over, his expression turning serious. “Ready?”

You nodded. “On your signal, captain.”

A grin slowly spread across the Doctor’s face, childlike. “Captain. I like the sound of that.”

Amy ran up to you, pulling you into another quick hug. She looked just as concerned as the Doctor when she pulled away, holding your face protectively. “Seriously, be safe, alright? I don’t want to be stuck with him without you.”

“Noted,” you replied, and Amy brightened.

“My company isn’t that bad, is it?” the Doctor asked. 

“It’s unbearable,” you joked, and the Doctor pouted. Amy laughed, you laughed, and eventually the Doctor joined in too, chuckling quietly under his breath.

The TARDIS doors swung open slowly, and a gust of cold air burst through them. You walked backwards, waving your fingers at the two in a two-fingered salute, and creeped quietly through the doors.

The first thing that startled you was the smell. The familiar smell of wet grass. A light drizzle fell on your skin, and you looked up. The sky was dark and full of stars - in the distance, you could see the faint lights of flickering street lamps and lit up windows. You could hear the faint sounds of people chattering and cars passing through the night. All of these things were things you knew -

“Doctor, we’re not in the right place,” you said, tapping your earpiece. 

A feedback whine, then the Doctor’s voice, loud and clear as if he was beside you. “What? No, the coordinates were right, I checked -”

“Check again.” Something felt off. You took a hesitant step backward, your back resting against the TARDIS doors. “This is Earth.”

“No, it can’t be,” the Doctor said, incredulous.

“I can see houses in the distance,” you said, “human houses. Unless this is a really convincing simulation, I’m really sure we’ve just landed back on my home planet.”

“Why’d you send us here, old girl?” he asked quietly, probably to the TARDIS. You could faintly hear the TARDIS hum and beep in reply. Then, sharply: “What?” 

"Doctor?” you asked. You tried to keep the fear from creeping into your voice.

“Come back inside, quickly,” the Doctor snapped. 

The urgency in his voice scared the hell out of you, and you straightened, whirling around to face the doors. The handles rattled, but the doors didn’t budge. “I can’t,” you gasped. 

“They’re not locked.” The Doctor’s voice sounded strange through the earpiece. It was getting fuzzier, the ends of his sentences tapering off into silence. “I’ve unlocked them, you should be able to get inside -”

You moved to try again… and your hand passed right through the door handle. You stumbled forward, shocked, and stared at your hand like it was the one that had turned transparent. Then the air started shimmering, and you heard the beautiful wheezing and singing of the TARDIS’s engines -

It was leaving you behind.

“No, no -” Your voice was like molasses in your mouth. You pressed yourself against the doors. They were still solid, still there. The door handles were impossible to grab now, just a faint image in the air, and a sob crawled up your throat. “Doctor, don’t leave!”

A yell ripped through the earpiece, and you winced - the Doctor only ever raised his voice when he was furious. You curled your fists and pressed them against the doors. 

“This can’t be happening, this -” Another strangled noise. It sounded like a sob, and your eyes blurred with tears. “Stay put,” the Doctor said, his voice trembling with emotion. 

If you imagined hard enough you could feel him on the other side of the door. “Okay,” you replied shakily, and sniffed. 

“I’ll come find you.” The Doctor sounded like a broken man. Your name falling from his lips sounded like a promise. “I -”

His voice cut off, and the TARDIS was gone.

You pitched forward and didn’t even bother to put up a fight - your knees buckled underneath you, and you fell onto your knees in the wet grass. Sharp rocks dug into your skin. You could barely feel their jagged edges. You looked up at the night sky as the drizzle slowly eased into a rainstorm, and suddenly your home planet had never felt so alien before. 

“Doctor?” you whimpered, your voice impossibly small. It was foolish, thinking the Doctor could hear you, but you didn’t care - “Doctor, can you hear me?”

Nothing. You were soaked now, raindrops running down your face and blurring with your tears. Biting back another sob, you tried again. “Please - come back, okay?”

The silence was deafening. 

You didn’t know how long you had spent in the rain. Long enough for the lights in the windows to shut off, one by one; long enough for chattering and the sounds of passing cars to quiet down; long enough for the rain to fall even harder than before. Long enough for you to stop shivering from the cold, and long enough -

Long enough for something to block the onslaught of the rain. Blearily, you looked up at the face of a young woman in a police uniform, holding an umbrella over the both of you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” she asked softly. The tone of her voice was enough to make you start bawling again, as if you hadn't spent the last hour just crying your eyes out. “You shouldn’t be out here in the rain.”

“I know, I just -” How could you explain this to her? “I’m lost,” was what you settled on. 

The woman’s face brightened in a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, I'm here to help."

You nodded, bringing yourself to your feet. The policewoman held out her hand for support, and you wrapped your hands around her arm. You didn’t trust your legs to keep you upright right now. “Sorry, weird question, but - where am I?”

She probably thought you were drunk. That was a better alternative than the truth. “Sheffield,” the policewoman replied.

You hoped she was ready for an even weirder question - “What year is it?”

 A year passed. Settling in was easy enough - thankfully, you had your wallet and phone on you when you arrived back on Earth. All it took was a quick call back home, some trips back and forth to move your things, some paperwork, and you were officially a Sheffield citizen. 

You kept the earpiece. Found a way to wear it around your neck like some kind of ornament. It looked pretty enough, but it was hard to move on when you had a reminder of him resting like a weight on your heart everyday. 

You had tried talking into it on some days, on rainy days that reminded you of the day you were left behind. Sometimes, if you listened hard enough, you could hear faint conversation, sometimes laughter.

Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d found another companion. Maybe he had gone off to find that Clara girl. It was none of your business now, and yet -

You could’ve gone back to your actual home. But it was so hard to leave - it was hard to leave when the Doctor’s last words had been stay put. Your rational brain tried to convince you that he could find you wherever you were, but there was just something that was keeping you from leaving. 

Yasmin Khan was the policewoman’s name, and she was your very first friend in Sheffield. She’d been the one to help you adjust, and had been the one to help you find a job - as a receptionist in a hospital. 

It was a little funny, working with doctors when none of them were him.

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky. You turned to look out your window - there was no rain, and yet the rumbling sound of thunder echoed across the land. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers against the earpiece. It was worn now, from all the constant sentimental holding. 

Your phone chimed. A weather forecast - scattered thunderstorms, it read. And your lock screen - a still image of you and the Doctor that Amy had taken, once upon a time. You were on your tippy toes, adjusting the Doctor’s bow tie with an exaggerated focused look on your face, while the Doctor just stood there, flustered.

They say take a picture, it lasts longer. You still had pictures of all your travels. They felt like tourist pictures, posing in front of alien architecture and making silly faces at otherworldly flora and fauna. They lay buried under pictures of paperwork and cute kids that came into the office, but they were still there.

A year. It would be seconds to him, but an eternity for you - and you couldn’t live an eternity hanging on to just memories of him. Your finger hovered above the delete button.

Sorry, Doctor, you thought. The mere idea of just deleting pictures made you feel sad, then you sniffed indignantly. You had to move on some time, and if it could be now, then -

Knock knock knock!

“Who is it?” you called. There was shuffling behind the door, and a hushed argument. “Hello?”

“Hello!” That voice sounded familiar - it was Grace, Grace Sinclaire, who used to be a nurse and someone that you worked with and who was notoriously really nice - “It’s me! Could you open up, love?”

“Coming!” you called back. You ran a hand through your hair and rubbed your face, wondering why she would be at your door at this hour when she should have been heading home with Graham -

You swung the door open and very nearly dropped your phone.

It was Grace, alright - Grace and her grandson Ryan, who was carrying an unconscious woman in his arms.

“Grace, what the -” you floundered. “What’s going on?”

“We need your help,” she said, and gestured to the woman in Ryan’s arms. “Can we come in?”

You were gaping now, craning your neck to try and get a good look at this woman’s face. “You need to take her to A and E, not to my house! I can drive you there, if that’s what you need -”

“I said that too,” Grace said slowly, like she was bracing to drop a bomb on you. “But right before she fell, she said -”

“Said she didn’t trust anywhere that was just initials,” Ryan finished, glancing down at the woman and then back to Grace, who gave you a sympathetic look. “She said your name.”

You swallowed. How -

“No.” An incredulous smile spread across your face, and you shook your head. “No, you’re kidding.”

“It’s true,” Ryan said. 

“...I don’t know this woman,” you said nervously.

“She knows you,” Grace said, almost pleading. “Please, love.”

There was no reason for them to be lying - the shell shocked expression on Ryan’s face was enough to tell you that he was absolutely telling the truth, whether you liked it or not.

And something that the Doctor had taught you - never refuse a call for help - echoed in your brain.

“Put her on the sofa,” you said quickly. “I’ll go get blankets.”

A few minutes later, you had a stranger lying limply on your sofa. 

She didn’t even make a noise when she was laid down. You laid a floral blanket over her middle, and it settled over her clothes - clothes that were obviously too big for her. The sight rang a bell in the back of your mind, of a night where a man climbed out of his broken ship in a past life’s clothes, clumsy and new -

There was a pull to her that you couldn’t resist. You sat down near her, gently taking her head in your hands and guiding it onto your lap like it was second nature to you. Her skin was warm, almost flushed, blonde hair falling over a surprisingly beautiful face.

Grace crouched down near the woman. “Do you know her?”

You stared at the woman’s face. Your answer would have been no, but now you weren’t so sure. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her even if you tried - and you were trying. Very hard.

Your hands found their way into her hair, and soon you were running your fingers through it like it was the most natural thing to do. “I don’t know.”

“You look like you do,” Grace’s voice was soft. “You look at her like you’ve known her all your life.”

Your head shot up, and Grace just shrugged. She had a small smile on her lips as she reached for the woman’s arm.

“How do you know that?” 

“I can tell,” Grace said simply. “That’s how Graham looks at me, sometimes.”

There was a beat of silence as she took the woman’s pulse, then she gasped - “Ryan - look.”

The woman’s skin was glowing gold. 

“Whoah,” Ryan said. The woman’s eyebrows were pinched together, a small crease forming between the two of them. Gold patterns swirled under her skin, pulsing like starlight, and you jerked your hands away from her like she would burn you. 

Grace looked up at you, her eyes wide. “She’s got two separate pulses.”

The woman’s arm fell limply at her side as she exhaled - golden dust fell from her lips, floating around like a miniature star in the room. You followed it with your eyes, your mouth hanging open for what must have been the third time that hour.

“Oh my God, what is that?” Ryan asked, moving out of the way.

Grace stared. “I have no idea.”

But you had an idea. You knew. Only one person did that. Only one alien did that. If this was who you thought she was, then -

Suddenly, the woman shot up, sitting bolt upright, breaking you out of your racing thoughts - she clutched her collarbone, gasping, eyes wild and searching. “Who woke me up? I’m not ready - still healing, still -”

Still healing. Your mind was still reeling, still trying to pick up the pieces - her voice was so painfully familiar, and now you knew why. You reached out, placing your hands on your shoulders to soothe her. She startled under your touch.

“You’re alright, you’re fine,” you soothed. A part of you was saying that to yourself. “You’re safe, yeah? Look at me.”

The woman whirled to face you, and you shrunk back. Her eyes were striking, green flecked with yellow and brown. It looked like a galaxy.

“Safe - you…” The woman breathed, staring into your eyes. She stared for what seemed like forever, her gaze locked onto yours, searching your face for something. Then something shifted - her eyebrows quirked up, then pulled down, her face morphing from shocked to confused to mournful. 

“Oh,” the woman said. “Oh no, I’m too late, am I?”

Too late for what? you wanted to ask, but the woman had shot up again, crouching like a bird on the sofa.

"Can you smell that?” she asked, then stopped, one hand coming to press against her collarbone. “No, not smell. Not hear. Feel. Can you feel…” She trailed off, her expression serious. “Stay still, Ryan.”

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. The woman leapt forward to pull down Ryan’s shirt slightly. She exhaled, a worried noise, and spun to face the others.

“Show me your collarbones,” she said, a touch of authority in her voice. Everyone else in the room pulled down their shirts slightly, and you gasped. Small glowing dots, pulsing with a magenta light. You’d only ever heard of those kinds of devices, whispered in the dark alleyways of alien cities, hidden under layers of conspiracy.

“Oh, you’ve all got them,” the woman breathed out, eyes wide.

“So have you,” Ryan pointed out, and the woman looked down. Another blinking light on her collarbone. She made a face.

“Yeah, I have. Okay.” The woman inhaled sharply, straightening her posture, preparing to give bad news. You knew that posture. “Really sorry. Not good news. DNA bombs.”

You rose slowly from your chair. “What?”

The woman cocked her head towards you as she walked in a circle around everyone else, her hands behind her back. “Microimplants which code to your DNA. On detonation, they disrupt the foundation of your genetic code, melting your DNA.”

“But -” you spoke, and everyone’s eyes were on you. “But those are illegal in almost every galaxy, right?”

An unspoken how did you know that hung in the air, but the woman just nodded, her lips pressed together grimly. She reached out to press against Ryan’s glowing dot. “Right.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “How did we get them?” 

“Nevermind that, are they gonna go off?” Graham asked. 

The woman grimaced. “Quiet. I’m trying to think, it’s difficult -” Her expression changed, her eyes big and searching and so very new. “Brain and body still rebooting, reformatting… oh, reformatting! Can I borrow that?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but what for?”

The woman had reached over and grabbed Ryan’s phone. She was tinkering with it, her brows knit as she focused. “That creature. On the train. When you two came onboard, it zapped us all with these. Simple plan to take out witnesses. Very clever.”

“Merciless,” you piped up.

“But clever,” the woman continued. The phone beeped a few times, and the woman gasped, then held it up proudly. “I reformatted your phone!”

“No! All my stuff’s on there,” Ryan groaned, but the woman just grinned. 

“Not anymore!” She said cheerfully. 

She held the phone to her collarbone - there was a loud zap, then she was knocked back against the wall like she had been thrown. She looked up at everyone, gasping. 

“That nap did me the world of good. Very comfy sofa,” she said, breathless. She glanced down at the phone, gasped again, and then scrambled to her feet. She yanked her coat from one of your chairs, and headed for the door - “Come on, keep up!” 

Everyone stopped to stare at each other, then quickly turned to follow. You took a few steps forward, the woman still drawing you towards her - “Wait, let me come with you -”

The woman turned to face you, already halfway out of your door. She shook her head. “No.”

You frowned. “No?”

She stared for another moment, and you saw it - the familiar gleam of concern, of protectiveness that you had seen at least a billion times in another face. The way her mouth dragged downward and her eyebrows knitted together, an expression somewhere between angry and worried. Your breath caught in your throat, your outstretched hand frozen in place. 

“I’m not putting you in danger again,” the woman said, determined. “I don’t know why. Think I’ll find out later. But you -” Her gaze burned you, with eyes that seemed so old and so new at the same time. “You have to be safe,” she continued. “Please. Stay put.”

It sounded like a promise. The woman glanced down at your hand while you lowered it, drawing it close to your chest.

“Okay,” you said. “Go. I won’t keep you.”

The woman nodded. “Thank you.”

And then she was gone, driving off into the night with everyone else. 

You didn’t rest easy that night. Lightning flashed and crackled across the sky without any rain. You jumped every time the sky lit up - too on edge to be calm at all, too confused to try and get some rest - your hand thumbing the silver earpiece that still hung around your neck, strangely warm to the touch.

“This can’t be happening, this - stay put -”

“Please. Stay put.”

“Doctor,” you whispered. 

 Grace’s funeral was a few days after that.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like a funeral. The place was covered in balloons. There wasn’t a hint of melancholy in the air - the sun was shining bright through the windows of the church, not a single cloud in sight. No sign of the lightning from the days before. It was almost like the world had moved on.

You decided not to sit in the front. Tried not to think about the Grace that had brought the Doctor to your doorstep. Tried not to think about you had never thanked her for bringing her back to you. Instead you thought about happy, knowing Grace, and hoped that she could hear you, wherever she was now.

You found Ryan standing near the doors of the church. He was waiting - your heart clenched at the sight. Steeling yourself, you moved to comfort him -

And you stopped in your tracks. The Doctor walked up to him slowly, her hands in her pockets. Ryan glanced at her in acknowledgement. 

“What time did your dad say he’d get here?” the Doctor asked softly. 

Ryan kept on looking out, searching. “Two hours ago.”

“If he said he’ll come -” That was the Doctor, always trying to comfort -

“He says a lot of things,” Ryan said, gruffly. “He’s never been the best at being reliable. I mean how can he not be here? She’s his mum. She would have wanted him here.”

The Doctor nodded, pursing her lips. She kept that empathetic look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, not knowing what to say. That was another familiar thing that hurt. She still was so kind, still out to help others in need.

“I want him here,” Ryan finished. 

That was you, once upon a time. But things had changed, and you weren’t the one that left.

The Doctor’s gaze flickered to where you were, standing just a few feet away. Your eyes met for a second, and something passed over the Doctor’s face. Recognition. Her mouth opened like she wanted to call out for you, her mouth forming over the syllables of your name - 

You turned on your heel and walked away before she could see the tears forming in your eyes.

The door shuddered in its frame as you slammed it behind you. Stupid, getting emotional over her when you were supposed to be moving on like she had - your hands clamped onto the earpiece, gripping onto the small device like it was a lifeline. You hadn’t noticed that you were shaking, or that you had fallen on your knees onto the floor. You took in quick, shallow breaths, blinking the tears away like your life depended on it.

The earpiece was cold in your palms. You tried to let the feeling ground you, but even just remembering what it was made you nearly tip over the edge -

Knock knock knock.

“Yes?” Your voice was rough, and you coughed. “So - sorry, who is it?”

There were some hushed voices. 

“Isn’t it so weird how they know each other?”

“Not the strangest thing anymore, after what’s happened.”

“Hush, both of you.”

Then - a soft call of your name, warm and everything you’d ever needed. 

“It’s me," the Doctor said. “Could you open the door?”

You stilled, not trusting your ears. This wasn’t the triumphant reunion that you had wanted for the past year. That fantasy had faded over time. And yet there was a spark of hope in your chest, threatening to set everything alight.

The Doctor spoke again, her voice impossibly gentle and impossibly the same. “Listen -” Her voice cracked, and you bit back a sob - “I know it’s been some time, but I am so so sorry -”

That was it. You rose to your feet, red eyes and runny nose be damned, and flung the door open.

“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “No, don’t start.”

The Doctor’s beautiful new eyes widened a fraction. 

“Hello to you too,” she said quietly. She wasn’t as tall as she used to be - in fact, she was much shorter, so you didn’t have to crane your neck as much to take a good look at her face. She was dressed differently too, finally out of her raggedy clothes and into a new outfit that you’d say was cute, but never to her face. 

You blinked up at her, sniffed, and crossed your arms over your chest. “Don’t apologize.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “I have to, I left you behind for - oh!”

You grabbed the Doctor by her new suspenders and pulled her against you so she was flush against your chest. You buried your face in the crook of her shoulder, throwing your arms around her neck. Someone - you weren’t sure who - maybe it was Ryan - whistled, but you didn’t hear him.

It took a moment for the Doctor to let her hands rest against your back. Maybe this face wasn’t much of a hugger. But she didn’t let go, and leaned in closer so her chin rested on your shoulder.

“Let me say sorry,” she whispered. “I promised I would keep you safe, promised I’d come back for you. You trusted me, and I let you down.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna come back,” you mumbled. You shifted, letting your cheek rest against her skin. “I thought you’d left me forever and I thought - I thought -”

“Hey,” the Doctor soothed, pulling away. She brought one hand up to rest on your cheek, her thumb delicately brushing tears away, and you sniffed again. You probably looked ridiculous. “I’m here. I’m sorry I took so long.”

You nodded. “Is it still you?”

The Doctor grinned, and the way it lit up the world around her made your heart do flips. “‘Course it’s still me.” She looked down at the earpiece resting against your chest and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You kept the communicator.”

“I - I couldn’t throw it away,” you stammered, shrugging, “sentimental value. Or I just missed you. Maybe both.”

“Oh, you,” the Doctor said, her eyes glimmering. “You won’t need it anymore.”

Your hands shot up to grab it. You raised an eyebrow at the Doctor, whose grin was just growing wider and wider. You couldn’t help it - you let a smile slip onto your face. “Why is that?”

“Because I want you to come with me. Again.” The Doctor leaned backwards on the balls of her feet, and tucked her hands firmly back into her pockets. 

You felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest - all the air was suddenly gone from your lungs. Every last bit of eloquence that you’d had disappeared in an instant, and all you could manage was, “Uh.”

The Doctor smiled, a kind of nervous, polite smile. “What do you say?”

You could - take her hand and fly away with her again, like nothing had ever happened. Your gaze moved to behind her, where Graham, Ryan, and Yaz stood. They had seen this face before you did, and maybe - just maybe - 

“I can’t. Besides,” you gestured to the three of them, “you don’t need me anymore.”

The Doctor turned to face the three of them, and when she turned back to face you there was an intensity in her eyes that you weren’t a stranger to. The Doctor’s brows furrowed, and you curled in on yourself - that was something the Doctor never liked, when people put themselves down - but you thought it was the truth. 

The Doctor shook her head.

“Yes, I do,” she said simply. She leaned forward to press her lips against your forehead. It still felt magical. “I always have. Always will.”

She peered down at you, looking you right in the eyes, and you tried to find any sign that she was lying. Any sign that this was some kind of trick, some kind of fluke. 

But there she was, her voice gentle and earnest, one hand outstretched to take you back.

You took her hand and her lips quirked up just slightly. That same spark of hope instantly blossomed into a fire, comforting like a hearth on a cold winter evening. 

She led you outside, let you cross the hidden gap between a normal life and a life with her, again. Ryan, Graham and Yaz smiled as you stepped through, your hands intertwined with the Doctor’s.

“No ship, but at least I’ve got you,” the Doctor said cheerfully. Your head shot up to meet her sheepish expression, and you breathed out a laugh.

“The TARDIS? Really? Again?”

“Yep,” she replied, popping the “p” sound. You sighed deeply, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. 

“Oh, you definitely know each other,” Yaz said, her eyes wide with amazement.

“Well? Just like old times,” the Doctor said. “Ready?”

“Aye-aye, captain,” you chirped, and the Doctor laughed.

And when all of you got spat out in the middle of space, in the split second between life and death, you met the Doctor’s gaze and grinned. Perhaps nothing had really changed at all. Perhaps this was just a new chapter.

Geronimo.