#ask me any questions about this entry! again would love to create conversation.

[cowboy]

well hello

i'm going to be doing a public-facing journal just to see if there's any interest in conversation about the things i come across weekly and also i guess to keep myself consistent and thoughtful about what i write about.

8/22/2024

i had work today; i slept extremely early (at like 9pm) so i could wake up extremely early (i awoke before my alarm at like 4:45am?). despite being extremely groggy, it was really nice to be up so early. i got to bike down lake shore bike trail before the sun rose.

right before i arrived at the bike trail, coming from the west side, i saw the dark blue clouds cast by the pink rising sun, and they looked like massive, massive mountains. i kept wanting to take photos of the lake with the new light coming over it, but i was gonna be late to my job if i stopped. :(

at work, one of my coworkers learned that his grandpa was going to be put in hospice care. i wanted to ask how he was, and really listen, but i knew that if i did dig into it, it was going to be quickly interrupted by customers, or management, etc. etc. it reminded me of this book IN (it's a comic, actually) and how it can feel scary to reach further to ask how someone is really doing. it wasn't exactly the same, but the concept was there. i did ask if he was doing alright though and he was. i stayed back so he could leave a little earlier.

i've been dealing with some personal turmoils so i decided to jump into the lake (this is often my solution to feeling intense emotions, for some reason). as i biked up to the lake and climbed down to the edge, i saw someone tear their shirt off and leap into the thrashing waves. i set my stuff down and looked over again. a boy was laying on his back, surrounded by his family. he wasn't moving. i squinted and kept watching. no one looked overly concerned, but it was clear that the boy was not doing too hot. as it turns out, that boy had been near drowning, and the person who leapt into the water had done so to pull him out and save him. the hero was thanked by the family and he biked away past me. i heard one of the boy's family members say "i thought you were a goner, bro!" i think so much of how close people are to true danger every day, and this was a big reminder of that.

after having been privy to such a situation, i did think for a moment if it was appropriate for me to jump into the water that was in fact quite intense. but i know myself, so i tore off my clothes and jumped in very quickly. the water was deep and wavy and brightly teal blue. i had little choice but to let it drag me around for a moment. i climbed up on the wall ladder, looked around for a moment, and fell backwards again into an incoming wave. i let it soak my hair (i love how the lake leaves my hair) and then let another wave crash into me before finally scrambling up to the concrete again. i ate some turkey, then took my leave as a herd of geese came honking close to me.

i dragged my bike up to the grassy area and laid out in my underwear in the sun. the sounds of the wind and cicadas was so beautiful. after maybe 15 minutes, i climbed a nearby tree, made friends with it, and then put on my shorts and sweater, and biked home.

i bought new glasses just now since they mailed me a coupon. they're cute frames, two pairs! my old ones are like 4 years old now...

I've been feeling really useless lately, but not in a self-deprecating way (not too self-deprecating, though, i think?). i just have really been trying to figure out what i'm up to these days and while the answer is "so much", it's also just as much "so little". which is very frustrating.

I'm going to look into setting up an online shop in a moment i think. i tabled at chicago fan expo the other day and i had quite a few people interested in my work, which really surprised me. i'm not sure how to focus my perspective and """talent""" into art that makes me feel like i'm really doing anything worth adding to the world, but if i can manage to do that, it would be cool.

maybe it can also be a side thing.

anyway. now i'm rambling.

i'm going to keep trying to ground myself today with breathing. it's something i picked up from thich nhat han and also my therapist (lmao). i used to hate the idea of "breathing" doing "anything" for me, but something really changed in the past month or so, and it totally makes sense now.

i hope everyone's having a nice day and so on and so forth :)

[semthescientist]

so this is a part two to my lil entry and here i merely wanna talk about what actually clicked for me and how everything has changed since then. part one is right here (:

as i said before, it was until september of 2023 when i was on around the fifth or fourth day of my cruise did things begin to dawn on me. if you're familiar with 4d-barbie, (i believe her name is Ada), she has a google drive filled with book resources and some of them are already annotated (which came in clutch). well, actually before the cruise i had began reading the book One Truth, One Law: I Am, I Create by Erin Werley and i resonated with things so heavily. i kept reading bits and pieces of the book but also was determined to be present and just enjoy my cruise. as i read, i became so interested in the way Erin would have full blown conversations with I AM. especially the part where Erin told her husband and then was afraid if he'd judge her but I AM simply told her to relax and let it do the talking--and that's what happened!

so i'm sitting there and i'm like "yo! how cool is this!" and of course, it's explained how to do this yourself--how to really tune in and trust your own wonderful intuition. i wanted to do it because i didn't want to reread Erin's(I AM) answers to questions to form my own answers. i had my own specific questions and no one else could answer them for me besides me. so i put the book down and i asked my own question and trusted that the answer would come to me whenever; even if he didn't come now, it was bound to.

and i had fear...i feared if it would actually happen or not. sometimes i'd be tempted to look things up or keep rereading every answer given by I AM in Erin's book. i would kind of just do self-talk when that happened, i don't know how i got through that to be honest. i can't seem to remember. but what i do remember is the little deposits that would drop into my head randomly. i was lathering up in the shower and was like, "why would i hate my persona?" [persona, ego, Vanessa--all the same, i just like the word persona better!] and i kept going with that line of thinking, asking myself a series of questions like: wait...why do i think there's something wrong with her?

isn't the persona how i'd experience a multitude of things? things that don't necessarily exist to I AM?

and i realized i was onto something because i felt so expanded. like my heart began filling up...my chest began fluttering. i know you've felt that feeling before and that feeling always comes when you're listening to yourSelf. there wasn't much else i did after i realized this because a new way of thinking just took over me. i had so much love for everything...i mean literally everything. i started to question everything i read from others.

again, something a lot of realized masters would say is "you suffer because you think you are this body" and while that's true...it just didn't feel right in my soul. none of it felt right--at least not something to remember all of the time. i didn't feel like it had any sort of longevity and the only reason i felt that way was because it didn't feel loving enough. i really wanted to know what was so bad about taking this persona into consideration...what was so wrong about loving her and holding her hand? why did i have to become aware of what she was thinking/feeling and suddenly say "oh but that isn't Me! let her cry and whine, she isn't Me."

i go into depth about this here. it's just a diary entry so the beginning i had a different outlook on my persona than i do now, hence the different header titles.

the bottom line is i had no reason nor right to hate my persona. after all, she found Me again--she found her True Self so that has to count for something. i simply started to look at the world differently and realized that it was never about fighting anything. we all know there is no "out there" and all there is is consciousness but how many have you actually put that to the test? have you stopped fighting shadows? fighting the seeming opposite circumstances? if you know there's only the will of God (which is you), why do you keep fighting everything else? have you stopped fighting your persona's fear, Vanessa's doubts--belittling her because she can't believe in herself...not yet at least?

i quickly gathered that if i love Myself, then i would have to trust Myself. i know someone probably has the fear of going "out there" and falling asleep again--losing faith or going back to believing in the world. but that could never happen. why? because of trust. You have to trust yourSelf enough to know only your will is imposed. and what builds trust? action.

personally speaking, there was a circumstance that i'd been ignoring for the longest in the name of manifestation. but lately, i've realized that whatever can happen "out there" and not only do i not have to form an opinion on it but i can watch how it crumbles when i stand ten toes down in trusting myself. i can trust Myself so much to stand tall in what i prefer and watch as Self carries me up and over the seemingly opposed...and then i glance back and they were nothing but cardboard cutouts. like that scene in coraline where she walked away and the world started crumbling--'twas only because it never existed too.

i don't fight anymore because i know My will is only ever imposed. i know that when something dares to throw a punch, it won't connect because it has already disintegrated. and most of all, i know that i can care about whatever the hell i want. hey, if you don't care about being a realized master than cool--find something that makes your heart sing and you can't help but burst from the seams when you think of it. for me, it was shifting. (do not come for me about the terminology, human mode rn so i gotta put a label). i found that shit to be so cool and to be honest, it's helped me discover my sexuality too which is a bonus. but none of this could've ever happened if i didn't start operating out of love for my persona.

just think of it, everything you desperately want you'd need a persona to experience anyway. you can take this and make some shit shake, and really define what you want or no labels at all. you can fully be I AM and have zero needs or you can be I AM with a persona, or you can just be a persona! there's people who look to an outside god but their god is rooted in so much love!

like you know a lot more than you're giving yourself credit for and only if you'd be so determined to listen to yourSelf the way you've listened to others, then shit would really start clicking. everything is perfect in its likeness and it is because I AM is all-encompassing that everything is possible--even the things we think are "bad". i promise, every question you'd ever have there's an answer for it and it's within you. you can find what matters most to you--you'll know. it's a feeling of pure confidence that cannot be described, you'll move without thinking and take chances and do whatever else and it'll feel like you're under a trance. That is You. there is no other...fall in love with Yourself and your human form too because it's nothing but a vehicle to bring you back to Self. your persona's fears and doubts are nothing but an opportunity to rely on Yourself...to trust Yourself and i speak of the infinite You.

lol i'm sorry if this seems all over the place, i was just saying what was heavy on my heart. i've been feeling a lot of love for everything lately and i want somebody else to feel that too. i know this will reach the person who's looking for it. so because of that: hi hi! you've done well, my love.

also, one last thing. there were a couple of people who helped me come to this realization and i wanted to say thank you! heavenlythea here on tumblr, iam_love.co on instagram, and Betinho Massaro for his book Super Accelerated Living (dude's mad funny, like i legit would smile reading it) oh and Ada! she came in clutch with the resources and annotating! and really everyone else for simply existing. know that you are perfect because you exist and the only reason you can't shake Self is because You (the real you) knows you'll be just fine.

love you all!

[inspector-montoya-fox]

let me hop onto this kinda underrated but definitely outdated post for a minute and ask: did Dr Michael PhD know about Clockwerk? it's not like i want the owl to be the ultimate catalyst in Sly's life - he was the end-all be-all for two games, it was time to move on for sure - but at the same time murdering an entire lineage of raccoons isn't um something you stumble upon everyday ?

i know how enticing it can be to want to connect all the dots when writing sequels and i'm so happy SP didn't pull a Roman Bridger told Billy Loomis to become Ghostface with Clockwerk and Dr Michael. actually, when you think about it, Sly 3 resists the urge to bring up Clockwerk in any way, which is very respectable. the way the game connects to the other two is through the aftermath of ClockLa (which is hardly mentioned) and returning villains as new gang members. if we removed those from the equation, Sly 3 could be a standalone entry. it's a very refreshing game after, again, two games that centre around Clockwerk and his subsequent resurrection but it's also a bit jarring to think that he is barely (or not at all?) mentioned during a game that involves two characters who worked for him as well as one who used his own tail feathers. at times it feels like the game is deliberately going out of its way to tiptoe around the subject.

personally, Honour Among Thieves left a lot to be desired, especially as the final episode not only of the game but of the series. more specifically, i love Dr Michael's conversation with Bentley so much but i feel like it was too little too late. i get that it acted as a climax for the 'Bentley wants to step out of Sly's shadow' storyline but the conversation gave birth to so many huge implications that it felt like we were just then getting to the juicy bits. why does Dr Michael have such vitriol for ConnEr Cooper? what happened between the gang members? was ConnEr truly a piece of shit or is it all Dr Michael's perspective? did every Cooper have a Bentley and Murray figure in their life?

whereas the player got to know Neyla through her various appearances throughout Sly 2, Dr Michael's character development is put on pause due to the fact that Sly 3's episodes aren't interconnected via the common thread of "a gang of villains". as a result, many questions arise in the final episode and never get answered. one of them being: what's his connection to Clockwerk? as highlighted in the paragraph above, there are other questions that are easily prioritised over this one because they are pointed at during the conversation with Bentley. that being said, it feels a bit bizarre for Dr Michael to not even bring up Clockwerk once. when he first sees Sly he thinks it's ConnEr, which raises the question 'does he even know about Clockwerk murdering ConnEr in the first place?' that's definitely one possibility. the gang dispersed and when ConnEr settled down as a family man, that's when Clockwerk came into the picture. ok! probable scenario...

... but idk i'm not really buying it. i don't want to be the tin foil hat girlie and i'm truly not, like in terms of narrative logic it makes total sense. but from a consistency standpoint, how can you create a character that is actually portrayed as more of an omnipresent, all-powerful entity, the literal embodiment of evil, to then just have him go *poof* ? Clockwerk is the stain on the Cooper legacy, the Cooper killer and Dr Michael, who prides himself on hating ConnEr so much, has no idea who he is? the evil scientist who is infatuated with the Coopers and creates animal hybrids doesn't know about the owl robot that survives on Cooper hate? mama what are the odds. again, i'm against trying to unnecessarily connect all the dots, but even a mention would suffice. cutscene appearance even. like what if Dr Michael acted as this Judas figure who approached Clockwerk post gang breakup and spilled on how to track down ConnEr or some sort of secret? it would also help flesh out Clockwerk's character posthumously, which i find so clever. this is something discussed on the new episode of Safehouse Chats btw (shameless plug-in sis), where we debate whether or not Clockwerk benefits from being shrouded in total mystery. as for my initial question? i think Dr Michael bottomed for Clockwerk. block me

[tmntxthings]

Oh! Then I'll send it again! So I wanted to request rise!Raph dating a bubbly happy reader. She's really bubbly with people around her but when she started dating Raph she gets nervous and really shy. But when Raph and her are alone, she gets really affectionate and clingy! When they're out, Raph gets flirty with her and is very amused when they're alone. IDK FLIRTY RISE RAPH. thank you if you do this btw! LOVE YOUR WRITING. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. -bubble

Only with You

author’s note: super happy to finally have gotten a good chunk of school work done so I was feeling the fluff, here we go my dear bubble anon

warnings: fluff to the max, cursing

————————————————————————

“Guyyyyys!!” You called out as you popped your head past the entry way. “Guess what??” You asked all smiles, happy to see all the turtles were lounging in the common area. “What?” Donnie asked and you made a face, “uhmmm pizza??” Mikey guessed and you shook your head. “You’re a floating head now?” Leo asked wondering why you were still only showing just your face. “Ha ha,” you narrowed your eyes at the blue clad turtle. “Schools out for the holidays?” Raph said with a knowing smile and you finally came into the lair jumping up and down, “ding ding ding ding! and the winner is Big Raphie!” you shot him a wink.

Leo and Mikey were just as excited at this news. If you were out for the holidays so was April. Though Donnie didn’t understand how one could possibly want to miss school. He thought it was one of the greatest places on earth besides the library! “Yeah April should be heading this way in a couple hours, you know how she is, job hunting and all,” you explained as you made your way to Raph’s side of the couch. “Sooo? Plans?!” You said with round eyes, ready to live it up to the fullest with your besties, anddd boyfriend! “We definitely need to make a snowman this year,” Mikey said in thought. “Lameee let’s go to the Hidden City! I’m sure there’s plenty to do during the holidays,” Leo claimed.

Donnie wasn’t interested in doing much else than getting his projects done, it was a miracle he was out in the common area to begin with. “Why are you in the living room?” You asked curiously, “I took a break plus family time,” he explained not looking up from his phone. Donnie’s idea of family time was more like basking in his brothers presence for however long he could stand it while being on his phone, which had you shaking your head. Raph was quiet to this particular question of plans, which surprised you. The two of you had been texting back and forth about plenty of plans! You wondered why he didn’t share it with his brothers. And you wouldn’t find out about what he was thinking until later that evening. After an hour or so of talking, the boys got hungry and you happily ordered pizza, texting April if she wanted any. She replied with a big yes, and saying she’d pick it up on her way over!

After eating and more good vibes and conversation everyone started to part ways and do their own thing. Donnie headed to his lab, ready and rejuvenated to probably spend hours if not days awake working on whatever science-y thing he was creating. Mikey, Leo, and April all had a running bet for who would win at DDR so they all headed to the arcade. You peered over at Raph as it ended up being just the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna join them in DDR? We all know you’re the dance master!” You smiled, you would definitely place your bet on Raph out of all of them.

“Nahh I was thinking me and you could watch a movie, I got Donnie to set up a mini projector in my room,” he said grinning. Annnd there went your brain, poof, all up in sparks and smoke. You and Raph? Alone? In his room? Watching a movie? Don’t get it wrong, you wanted to, oh you did and you thought the plan was so sweet, he must’ve been thinking about this for a while to get Donnie to help out! And you had no idea! The two of you texted about any and everything. That was how he knew exactly what you wanted everyone to guess earlier that day. “O-oh? Okay!” You nodded, smiling sheepishly as you followed Raph out of the kitchen and to his room.

Oh goodness, you had this feeling in your stomach. Butterflies or maybe even bees! Buzzing around and not giving you a break to calm down. You stayed at the doorway, shifting your weight as you watched Raph become occupied with turning on the projector and making sure it was facing the empty space on his wall. He had plenty posters of Lou Jitsu, Jupiter Jim, and Ghost Bear. “Y/n?” He called you out of your daydreaming, looking over all his posters. “Hmm?” You said meeting his eyes. “You comin’?” He said with amusement dancing across his features. “Right, coming inside your room, me and you, aloneee,” you said taking a few steps in.

Raph chuckled, he knew this shy phase would fade soon. He knew exactly what to expect next, first you would get shy, getting used to just his presence without the buffer of his brothers or April. He patted the bed, signaling you to enter further. “Baby you’re just too cute when you get shy,” Raph snickered, teasing you and your hands went up to your face immediately. “Raphhhh,” you whined, not liking it when your shyness was pointed out. You kept walking forward though, peeking through your fingers to see when to stop just before Raph’s bed. He tugged you down, making you squeal as you landed on the bed next to him. “Alright alright, no more teasing, do you wanna pick the movie?” He asked and that immediately got your attention.

He handed you the remote as your brain momentarily stuttered at the feeling of his hand brushing yours, but you babbled about movie genres. Raph liked everything except horror which was fine with you. Scary movies weren’t really your thing either so you settled on an action movie that had a good amount of romance as well. You and Raph moved to the head of the bed, where a pile of pillows awaited, getting comfortable. As you had something else to focus on you didn’t really feel shy anymore. In fact, you really just wanted to hold Raph’s hand, or even hop over into his lap and cuddle while the movie rolled. “Raph?” You whispered, wondering how much he was paying attention to the movie. “Yeah?” He said giving you a side glance before looking back at the movie, you estimated he was halfway paying attention to the movie. “Can I hold your hand?” You asked sweetly, already reaching out for it. He immediately opened up his palm and you placed your hand inside, his hand closing gently, engulfing yours. You rested your cheek on his arm, snuggling up close so you were pressed against him. He was so warm and you sighed with contentment.

Yes, your next phase was clingy affection. If Raph even dared to move his hand because he thought it was getting a little too sweaty, you’d just ask for his other hand. Or even worse, beg for his hand back until he gave in. But you must’ve been pretty excited all day, after getting comfortable and all snuggled up you fell asleep as the movie started to get good. Raph only noticed when he glanced down, trying to gauge your reaction for a certain scene that had just played when he saw your eyes closed, breathing deepened, your mouth slightly open. His other hand fumbled for his phone wanting to take a picture, he just couldn’t you were so adorable, falling asleep holding his hand!

Raph gushed as he quietly took the picture, double checking to make sure the flash was off before he clicked. “Sweet dreams princess,” Raph murmured kissing the top of your head before turning back to the movie. You’d ask him all about it when you woke up. “Mmmgh Raphie” you muttered half asleep as you turned your head and kicked a leg out to wrap over one of Raph’s. He just knew his arm was going to fall asleep but for you, he’d stay still. He loved how comfortable you were with him, how you trusted him to care for you and protect you while you slept. Or maybe that was just the way his mind worked, because he kept envisioning foot soldiers storming into his room. He’d ninja the hell out of them, silently and swiftly, making sure you wouldn’t even wake up! And he’d be back by your side, holding you close and you’d snuggle your face into his plastron.

Yeah, Raph was totally daydreaming about being a badass and protecting you. Maybe it was because of the action/romance movie. Though honestly he had those kinds of thoughts all the time when it came to you. He couldn’t help it. He used to envision himself saving his brothers, but ever since he met you, you became the star to all his daydreams. Not that you put yourself in dangerous situations or anything. Raph just loved the idea of being your protector. Being someone you could count on, turn to, depend on, he wanted to be it all. So as he blinked out of his own reveries, realizing the credits were now rolling for the movie, he looked around for the remote. Sighing as he noticed it was on the other side of the bed.

The deep breath caused you to slowly wake, and you stretched, groaning to yourself as you asked if the movie was over. “Yeah,” Raph hummed as he took that opportunity to reach across you and grab the remote. Your eyes fluttered open as you felt his arm brush over your stomach. He paused momentarily, his face hovering over yours as blushes overcame the both of you. “Ah, the remote-“ Raph tried to explain, wanting to show you his innocent intentions to pick another movie. But you had other ideas as your eyelashes batted and then closed as you leaned forward silencing his sputtering.

Raph held his breath, as your lips met his. It only took you initiating for him to become confident enough to drop the remote control and kiss you back. His hands going up yours arms, making you shiver. It was slow, sweet kisses, that would break away easily and come back together in a smooth rhythm. His hands were soon cradling your face, angling for more control as he tilted your face ever so slightly upwards. He made a deep rumbling noise in the back of his throat at your compliance. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, wanting not only your lips but your entire mouth. Tongue and all. At his request you parted and he eagerly met your tongue with his own. It was a hot and heavy makeout sesssion from there that left the two of you breathless.

He pulled back, not realizing how much he had leaned forward, his whole upper body practically covering you. He cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to his bandana, “so?” he rumbled, voice still thick from the earlier activities. “movie?” he continued on sheepishly, glancing at the forgotten remote by your hip. You bit down on your already swollen lower lip, how could you possibly watch a movie after that?! You’d need a cold shower or at least a lap around the lair! Raph’s eyes followed the way your teeth nibbled on your lower lip and he felt envious. Even though he had been the one to make it swollen in the first place. But you weren’t stopping and it was driving him crazy! “Ahh fuck it,” he said forgetting about movies as he swooped down to capture your lips again. Chuckling at your surprised squeals, loving how they quickly quieted down in favor of breathless gasping.

“Raph how am I supposed to walk out of here with these duck lips?!” You said touching your tender, puffy lips. Sometimes he would bite a little too hard. “Shall I carry you milady?” He waggled his brow bones at you from his laid out position on his bed. The two of you had finally watched a second movie, Raph’s choice, a Jupiter Jim film not so surprising. “Wouldn’t that just be even more obvious??” You sighed trying to come up with some clever plan to not be embarrassed by Raph’s brothers. You’d never live it down if Leo saw the state of your lips. “Hmmm sorry sweets I’m all out of plans,” he admitted.

You ended up deciding being carried was better than nothing. So to Raph’s joy, he carried you close to his plastron, looking down to take quick peeks at how cute you were with your face pressed close to his chest. You were doing that so you couldn’t be seen but still! To your surprise, no one was in the living room so the coast was clear for you to climb up the ladder to the surface. “Another movie night tomorrow?” Raph asked smugly and you smacked his plastron as he placed you on your feet. “No, no, we aren’t ‘watching movies’ every night Raph! We are definitely making a snowman and going to the Hidden City!” You chided, knowing he would certainly try to stay in cuddled with you the entire holiday.

“Fine fine, you got me,” Raph laughed, conceding to do his brothers plans… though he would definitely get you to ‘watch movies’ with him again sometime veryyyy soon. Actually! You had started climbing up the ladders, getting to peg three before Raph spoke up, “what?? No goodbye kiss?” He said in devastation. You turned, smiling knowing he had gotten plentyyyy of kisses earlier but still, you let him close the distance. He kissed you gingerly, “get home safe for me,” Raph said softly, noting how he hadn’t needed to bend down to meet your lips. “Don’t worry I will!” You said beaming at him before turning to climb the rest of the ladder, “bye Raphie!!” You called from the top as you closed the manhole. “Text me when you get home!”

[hqamore]

boreal star ✵ chapter one

people cannot outrun their past, not even the all-powerful darkling. and it so happens that his past just arrived at the palace gates.

series genre: romance & angst

series pairing: [past?] general kirigan (the darkling/aleksander) x reader

word count: 1.6k

non-english words: durak (a stupid man, a fool) & dorogaya (darling, sweetheart)

note: hope all is well! i was surprised to actually see interactions with the preview, so thank you very much. if you enjoy what you read, a comment goes a long way in terms of encouragement! if you have any questions or see any issues, i welcome pms or asks!

here’s the masterlist

when you arrived at the palace gates, a heavy guard presence and a lengthy line came into your sight. various emotions were scattered amongst the people: anticipation, dread, and hope. the line crept forward, guards tossing out several individuals in the process.

“the palace grounds are not open to visitors! if you do not have official business and papers to vet you, get lost!”

there was a pause followed by a number of sulking ravkans excusing themselves, grumbling about the sun summoner. the guards shook their heads as they continued processing each person.

when it was your turn, the guard gave you a dead look as he scanned your frame. “did you not hear what i said, little one? no papers, no entry.”

you offered him a tight smile. “i may not have any papers, but i think you’ll find the alternative plenty sufficient.”

he raised an eyebrow unconvinced. you rolled your eyes before gathering your hands in front of you. suddenly, he began floating in the air. gasps littered around you. the other guards, seeing their comrade in the air, rushed over and pointed their guns at you. as you lifted your arms in surrender, the floating guard found himself quickly acquainted with the ground again.

you hummed. “a six out of ten on the landing. what d’you think, boys?”

“arrest ‘em!” the guard huffed, straightening himself. “then, alert the king. he’ll want to see this grisha for himself.”

you extended your arms and two guards dragged you with them. “alright, alright. no need to be so rough, lads.” they were unrelenting and marched you right onto the palace grounds.

well, there’s no going back now.

✵ ✵ ✵

you stared up at the ceiling in your cell when footsteps grew closer.

“get up,” commanded a guard.

you lifted your head and gave him a once over. “and for what?”

with the jingle of keys, your cell door creaked open. one of the guards stepped in with wooden shackles. “the king will see you now.”

“oh, lovely.”

a guard pulled you up and yanked your arms behind you, securing them in the shackles.

“you guys certainly like to use force. have you tried talking to someone about it? it’s not good form to treat allies like this,” you chattered.

ignoring you, they pushed you towards the stairwell. you lagged behind them as you took in the nostalgic walls of the grand palace. not much had changed since the last time you laid eyes upon them. it was just as boring as you had remembered.

when you entered the throne room, whispers faded. a guard pushed you onto your knees before presenting you to the king. “this is the grisha we spoke of, your highness.”

the king peered down his nose, expression unchanging.

“is it true you’re grisha?” he questioned.

you looked at him with a small smirk. “would you like a demonstration, moi tsar?”

the guards around you trained their guns on you. you glanced at them unimpressed as you continued, “i mean that with all due respect. i spoke the truth when i said i was grisha. i am only here to help ravka.”

the king rubbed his goatee. “i hear you made a man float. what does that make you?”

“an etherealki.”

“a squaller then?” he speculated.

you shook your head as your smile grew. “a gravity summoner.”

hushed conversations erupted at your words, confusion reflecting in everyone’s faces. the tsar leaned forward in his seat with intrigue.

“i have never heard of such a thing,” he said.

“i do pride myself on being one of a kind,” you drawled. “surely, you would like to see a demonstration.”

he waved an attendant over. “call a heartrender.”

then, he nodded to you. “you understand, don’t you? as king, you can never be too cautious.”

you bowed your head slightly, still maintaining your smile. “i’m honored you’d think of me as a threat.”

“i would be a fool not to,” he snorted.

before the attendant could make it out of the throne room, a dulcet tone spoke from behind you.

“there’s no need, your highness,” it called, sending shivers up your spine. “i came as soon as i caught wind of an unknown grisha.”

you feel the mass of two bodies approaching the king. you tensed as a black ketfa swept past you. met with a familiar silhouette, you held your breath and redirected your attention to the ground.

“though, i am confused, moi tsar. if the issue was about grisha, why did you not call for me?”

the king waved his hand and nonchalantly said, “i wanted you to focus on training the sun summoner. this is a minor issue. no more, no less.”

“i see.” the man nodded to the corporalki who fixed his sight on you. “ivan, listen to their heart and make sure—”

you heard his talking cease once his feet faced you. there was a brief pause. you inhaled deeply before lifting your eyes to meet his. in that moment, your mind raced.

he looks the same as the day i left him... except that cockamamie hair is new. hmph, he’s still stupidly handsome but also plain stupid looking. look at him trying to piece it together.

“general?” the corporalki called, pulling you out of your thoughts.

the darkling cleared his throat and ripped his eyes away from you to look at the guards. “unchain them please. we need to see what kind of grisha they are.”

the guards unlocked your shackles, allowing you to rub your chafed wrists. you pushed yourself up and studied him for a moment. “i should get on with, ya?” you asked.

ivan glanced at his general, concern furrowing his brows at his odd behavior. he returned his focus to you and nodded, raising his hands in front of him. “if you get any ideas… well, i’m sure you’re familiar with what a heartrender can do.”

you let out a mocking laugh. “you’d be surprised at what i could do before you could even start.”

instantly, you felt an intense pressure in your chest, making your knees buckle. the corporalki smirked as blood rushed to your temple. in your struggle, you scowled at kirigan before you centered your hands. you shoved your hands down, increasing gravity’s pull on the heartrender. the pain in your heart let up once he fell to the ground. you gasped for air.

releasing him, you shakily regained your footing and breath. “do not forget, durak, i am not the enemy. you would have already perished if i were.”

slow clapping drew your attention away. the king looked overjoyed.

“that was riveting! general, what do you make of her?”

you raised an eyebrow at his statement. “are you sure? i haven’t even done the fun part. i could do more like make everyone in the room float or...” you trailed.

when you peeked at the shadow summoner, you could see his tense jaw and closed fists. his dark eyes met yours before he turned to the king with a false smile. “i’m sure they will be a valuable asset to ravka with the proper training.”

the king let out a hearty laugh, “i’m sure they will! treat them as though you would treat me, general kirigan. i have a feeling they will win me more than just expeditions across the fold.”

both grisha men bowed and pivoted towards you. kirigan clasped his hand around your forearm before pulling you away from the room. your feet stuttered as you tried to match his pace.

“either slow down or let go of me!”

relentless, he continued to stalk across the courtyard towards the little palace. you tugged away from his grasp and planted yourself with your powers. he circled to face you, rage evident in his glare.

“leave us,” he commanded. without another word, ivan left the two of you.

i suppose he wouldn’t want to do this where there are others.

while he was pacing, you stood there silently and waited for his eventual outburst.

his eyes were closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. a heavy sigh left his lips, “where have you been, [y/n]?”

“shu han, actually. it was quite lovely and the weather was just—”

“saints! [y/n], do i look to be in a gaming mood?” he yelled.

you tilted your head and your lips quirked. “no? then, why act as if you had no idea who i was? were we not playing pretend? you seemed so into the game, general kirigan.”

he closed in on you, his gaze burning. he opened his mouth but no words left it. he gritted his teeth and turned away as his hands clenched and unclenched.

“it has been thirty years, [y/n]. why return at all?”

in a moment of confidence, you inched closer to him. your hands slid up his back, onto his shoulders. you leaned into his ear. “for you, my love.”

you let go and created space between you. he spun slowly, his features riddled with disbelief. “you still have feelings for me?”

breathy laughter escaped you. “feelings for you, darling? don’t be ridiculous. as if any of my past affections for you could bring me back to this over-glorified cage you’ve created. no, aleksander, i’m here to ruin you.”

his body tensed before an arrogant smirk set on his lips. he crept nearer. “ruin me? i’d love to see you try. you forget, dorogaya, i have an army. what do you have?”

“you. or, rather, i know how your mind works. i know your tactics, general. let’s see how you fare when i pick you apart from the inside,” you sang as you brushed past him. “now, come show me to my room.”

continue to chapter two? yes

[artbyblastweave]

BLASTWEAVE what does steven universe have in common with watchmen?

Both Steven Universe and Watchmen are groundbreaking entries in their respective genres that demonstrate a deep understanding of the appeal of the genre they’re working in, and engage with their ideas on a previously unheard-of level for the medium. That breaks ground and clears the way for what other works in the genre can get away with. 

Steven Universe showed that, well, first of all that you can make a cartoon that’s fundamentally ideologically queer beyond a few side characters, but also that you can have an emotionally intelligent and mature children's cartoon where the character nuance and depth and development are all taken very seriously. Watchmen showed that you could write serious and interesting narratives about superheroes if you were willing to roll with the crazy. (Neither of them was the first to do the things I’m ascribing to them, but I do think that they’re what made it stick for their respective fields.)

In doing so, though, both works create/created a catch 22 for all future works in their genre. Part of what made both of them so good is that they were willing to critically unpack and air out the ugly implications of their format that usually get chalked up to suspension of disbelief, and now that that’s out in the open it becomes very difficult not to think about how any other given work is or isn’t addressing those issues- even if they aren’t equipped to address those issues in the scope of the story they’re trying to tell. Watchmen asked questions about who sanctions superheroes, what qualifies you to do that work, where the line is between heroism and fascism or if there even is one, whether the agency to act means you have a right or a duty to act, whether anyone who seriously bought into the superhero thing could possibly be doing it for good reasons, and, if they somehow were, how long you can care with the intensity necessary to be an effective hero without suffering burnout (not long.) I literally can’t think of a single superhero thing worth reading that isn’t in some way in conversation with Watchmen - you now kind of have to answer those questions, explicitly or implicitly, even if your books thesis is “Alan Moore sucks eggs and being a superhero is very sustainable and fantastic.” If you just leave the question of whether your superheroes are justified completely unaddressed, there’s an uncomfortable discordance there, because we’ve seen the extreme end of that sliding scale in the form of the Comedian and if the narrative doesn’t engage with what makes the protagonist not Edward Blake, it can feel worrisome. If they try and then botch it it can feel alarming.

Steven Universe has a similar thing going on, at least for me. It’s the only unironic, non-parodic children’s series that’s really, seriously unpacked how fucked up and traumatic it would be to grow up as the archetypical All-loving Spirited Saturday Morning Cartoon Protagonist, how warped and dysfunctional a household that enabled that lifestyle could be at its worst, and what the future looks like when your whole childhood was centered on a now-ended conflict. ( a lot of cartoons flirt with that last one but don’t commit.) I’ve seen jokes and intended-as-cracky fan theories about this for years, surrounding lots of other cartoons (Ben 10, Pokemon, Powerpuff Girls) but almost never with the assumption that the creators are on the same page as them. I’ve seen stories that are post-modern reimaginings using the same general archetypes or whatever (Venture Brothers) but that’s not this! SU told an entertaining story earnestly, and then engaged with the emotional fallout of the story it told, with an unheard-of breadth and depth. A whole season of unpacking! No other show has ever been allowed to sink that much effort into closure. That’s usually what Fanfic is for.

I think it’s great, and that shows like Infinity Train and The Owl House are able to go as hard as they do largely because of Steven Universe’s precedent- but no matter how good a cartoon is, I can’t watch them without having this voice in the back of my head going “Oh, these children are going to grow up to be broken wrecks, bar an extensive and harsh healing process that kinda hurts to watch, huh.”

The issue is that not every cartoon can be Steven Universe, where the project was to thoughtfully and sensitively unpack this stuff. It’s a fair bet that we’ll probably never see a show with that exact project again (not least because of the loss of novelty value.) You’ve got your own stories you wanna tell that’ll run their own course, mostly aimed at children, there objectively isn’t narrative or financial room for most stories to unpack these assumptions if that wasn’t the goal going in. For example, Gravity Falls had pretty tight storytelling and a narrative that absolutely had room for a post-script "where-do-we-go-from-here” plot- it sped-run the “oh no, childhood’s ending” thing- and it’s pretty telling that the aftermath, healing process, interpersonal relationships and so forth are one of the things that that fandom heavily fixates on. The narrative had such a clean ending that it made people go looking for the mess. That’s not bad! It’s how most storytelling works! But now I look at any cartoon with kid heroes that’s meant to be taken even marginally seriously and go, Oh. Win the battle, lose the war. Then I feel sad. The contrast, of course, is that most superhero works actually can be, and in fact benefit from trying to be like Watchmen, because all the questions Watchmen raises about the ethics of power are also just.... like.... the most interesting storytelling hooks if you want to write a cape thing with real themes. They’re the kind of stories we’d have gotten years prior naturally if not for the CCA boondoggle. Admittedly it kinda creates a different problem where most “good” cape media is inescapably self-referential and draws on picking apart the conventions of a 60-70-year old canon that hasn’t been in wide circulation in years. But! I also think there’s a stronger obligation there to keep superhero fans in check- if your superhero thing isn’t making the reader question the ethics of violence and individual heroism in the face of systemic injustice, you wind up with people who unironically think Frank Castle is a role model to be emulated. We all know that guy. Children’s media doesn’t really produce that guy the same way, although it can draw them in from other corners. Superhero media often needs to be self-critical in a way children’s cartoons don’t always have to be.

[holden-caulfield]

Mere Acquaintances

main masterlist

SUMMARY: “Our siblings are in an arranged marriage and so we see each other at awkward social gatherings between our two kingdoms” AU

WARNINGS: there might be a swearword?

WORD COUNT: 1439

A/N: uhmmm this is my entry for @ladyvesuvia 's writing challenge... hope you like it (i suck at writing royal aus because i can't make it 'royal' lmao)

How exciting, you thought to yourself the first time your brother announced his betrothal to the daughter of the adjacent kingdom's king. You knew he was completely enthralled by her and you heard stories from your very own brother about how the two of them got along just perfectly.

You had never been favorable to arranged marriages, but, once you saw that sparkle in your brother's eyes, you couldn't have been happier for him.

How exciting, that was until you had to actually meet the princess. She was lovely, exactly what you wished for your brother, but her brother was a completely different story.

You had met him few times actually, just a few awkward encounters with the young man whenever you were both forced to attend your parents' gatherings.

To get along, they said. You tried your best to appear friendly and open, that much could not be said about Draco Malfoy, the royal pain in the ass.

He never once looked at you unless it was with an air of superiority. You exchanged three words in total since you met him and those three, brief words were "So, how-"

"No."

You decided not to conversate with him anymore, not that you cared; the man was so full of himself he probably did not need you to entertain him since he had his own company.

Royal parties were spent in silence: you made polite conversation whenever required, but didn't despise the quietness that created once you were left alone for it did help you ponder.

In those moments, your favoured object of interest was him. You were not watching him because you liked him, that be clear. You were analyzing him: he was arrogant, yes, but there must have been something more; no one can be that shallow.

He looked just like any prince should have looked like; regal. But with a touch of stiff excellence that made him always stand out. He looked displaced among his peers, almost as if deeply inside he wished not to be a part of it.

He looked just the same that day, blank expression on his elegant features, carried around with such poise you wondered why everyone's eyes weren't directed towards him.

He caught your eye, an action that made heat rise to your cheeks and that made your gaze quickly settle on something else. That something turned out to be the ballroom, full of couples dancing and cheerily talking with one another.

You noticed your brother, waltzing with her betrothed. He looked happy, genuinely happy; that smile was one you had not seen on his face since you were children and-

"Lady y/n." the sudden voice reaching your ears made you jump slightly, you were not expecting such a deep baritone to greet you.

You turned around to find him in front of you. You narrowed your eyes, unsure of the situation you had just witnessed, unsure of the reason why he had approached you.

"Would you join me for a dance?" you couldn't believe your ears, they must have been deceiving you.

His expression was the same as always, you couldn't decipher whether the proposal he had just made was truthful or just pure amusement for him to see the disheveled state his simple question had put you in.

He offered you his hand and your first instinct was obviously to refuse it, what kind of gentleman ignores someone all the time and then asks said them to dance out of the blue?

But there was something inside of you that wanted to dance with him, that wanted to take his sophisticated hand and let it guide you towards the ballroom.

"We shouldn't." you uttered and his hand fell promptly, an emotion unknown to you crossed his face but he quickly shrugged it off. "It's our siblings' ball, we shouldn't steal their spotlight."

"By dancing?" he asked, slightly chuckling.

"Yes, by dancing." you tried to sound convincing, but you could sense he had seen right through you.

You returned your gaze to the ballroom, a feeling of regret harbouring in your mind.

You felt him come closer, his body heat slowly engulfing you, but you refused to turn towards him.

"They won't mind, princess." his voice was low and enchanting as if he was performing some kind of magic spell upon you. And it was working.

"They will."

"They won't." he said offering his hand again, his lips breaths away from the shell of your ear and you felt chills running down your spine at the words spoken so closely in such a public space, under everyone's eyes. "They are too busy contemplating the happy couple to care about anything else."

You gave him a sideways glance; a terrible mistake because his eyes were now piercing yours, making it impossible to refuse the proposal.

You took his hand, entwining your fingers with his, and it felt so natural, so instinctive, as if it were an everyday procedure.

He led you among the other couples, the stares the two of you received were of no importance as he held your hand tightly in his, as if he was scared you could have regretted the action.

"Wait, wait! What are you doing?" you suddenly stopped, common sense finding its way back in your brain but it was not enough for you to leave his hand.

He furrowed his brows, creasing his ethereal face in question.

"Why now? Why are you suddenly so interested in me?" your face earnest, your eyes pleaded for any excuse.

But he remained silent, his icy stare penetrating your orbs with such intensity you felt your legs trembling slightly. His grip threatened to loosen but you held him, refusing to let him leave you alone like he had done countless times before.

"What are you doing?" you asked again.

He opened his mouth to reply, his hard look fell along with his feigned arrogance, letting a new face emerge: it was him but he was so different you could have easily mistaken him for someone else.

"I'm trying to be nice, we are supposed to get along... I didn't think it was this much of a deal, princess." he replied, the insolence rapidly coming back. He tried to let go of your hand but you were adamant; he would have given you a reason whether he wanted to or not.

"That's not it."

"Do you think you know everything, princess?" he kept on adding that last word with such spite, as if it was you who randomly decided to save him from the boredom of the royal ball with the excuse of a dance between mere acquaintances.

"I do think there is something you are not telling me, prince." he visibly stiffened but the corners of his mouth gave you the opposite impression, as if he finally felt at ease for the first time ever with you.

"You are wrong."

"Am i, prince?"

With speed similar to that of light, he took your waist in his grasp, still holding your hand with his own, your faces now embarrassingly close as you swayed on the dance floor.

You felt his chest rise up and down against yours but he refused to fully meet your eyes, instead searching for something in your face that he already deemed impossible to find.

"Am i?" you repeated, tentatively.

"No, no you're not." he spoke slowly but somehow hurriedly, as if he didn't want to let the words escape his mouth because once they were out it meant they would have been real, thus meaning his feelings couldn't be denied any longer.

"Then tell me. What are you doing?" your tone was soft and careful, but a touch of impulsiveness was still audible.

"We're dancing, aren't we?" he said smugly, his gaze focusing on the guests that were now watching the two of you very intently. "Maybe we shouldn't have, we are attracting a lot of attention."

You frantically turned your head to look at all the people watching but his firm grip returned you to his eyes. "Don't look at them, princess, look at me."

You couldn't describe it but all the days he had spent ignoring you vanished as he spoke to you so softly. But you needed an answer.

"Why are you doing this?" sincerity lacing your tone, he couldn't help but smile and sigh.

"I fancied you since the first moment, y/n, but i thought it would have been seen as inappropriate to get closer to my sister's fiancé's sister." you giggled lightly, rolling your eyes.

"It might be, but i'm glad you changed your mind, then."

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[jule1122]

RNM Fic - Little Green Cakes

A small ficlet for @rosaweekend22.  I’ve been wanting to write about Rosa decorating cakes for a while and this was the perfect chance to do that.  I think it works as a belated entry for Day 1: Arts & Crafts.

This is a gen fic, Rosa focused with no warnings.�� Just a look a possible future.

Little Green Cakes on AO3

It starts like many of her ideas do - with a bout of insomnia.  Rosa’s been restless since she came back from New York.  After being gone for so long, she’s no longer needed in the diner, and that leaves her with too many hours to fill.  She stretches and paints, but it’s not enough.

Tired of staring at the ceiling, Rosa brings up Netflix and asks it to “surprise” her.  Netflix chooses The Great British Baking Show, a real surprise since Rosa’s never watched a baking show before, but she binges half a season before falling asleep.

The next time she can’t sleep, she hits “continue watching” on the Netflix menu, and makes it all the way to the finale.  Rosa learns quickly she doesn’t care about biscuit towers and themed pies, but the elaborate decorated cakes brought out as showstoppers fascinate her.  She starts watching other baking shows, seeking out ones that focus on cakes.  When she sees cakes that are painted like watercolors and airbrushed she goes from thinking “I could do that” to thinking “I want to do that.”

She drives an hour to a specialty baking store and buys piping bags, tips, and premade icing.  She replaces her late night Netflix habit with hours of youtube tutorials.  Rosa pipes onto parchment paper until her hands hurt, until she can create a garden of flowers, intricate lace designs and embroidered scenes.  Her next step is practicing on frozen pound cakes where she also learns about crumb coats and palate knives and icing scrapers.

When she finds out the baking store offers classes, she signs up.  First she learns to make her own icings - buttercreams and royal icing.  She sneaks into the kitchen at night with boxed cake mixes and whips up her own icing while her cakes and cupcakes bake.  She ends her next class with three solid cake recipes and rewards herself with an airbrush machine.  She almost cries the first time she uses it, and she can see her vision on the cake.

There is no way Arturo doesn’t know what Rosa is doing, but he never says anything.  He just orders extra eggs and asks Rosa to look over his supply list, never questioning the vanilla extract and high quality food coloring she adds on.  The first cake Rosa shares with anyone is for Arturo’s birthday.  She makes a Mexican hot chocolate cake with cinnamon cream cheese frosting that she airbrushes and decorates to look like the Crashdown sign against the night sky.

Arturo cries when she brings it out, and everyone fusses about it to the point where Rosa wishes she lied and said she ordered it from a bakery.  But she can’t help feeling a little proud when someone tells her it’s beautiful or it’s the best cake they’ve ever had.

She manages to avoid any serious one-on-one conversations for most of the night, but Arturo pulls her aside as they are cleaning up.

“Rosa, your cake was magnificent,” he tells her with a big smile.

“Thanks,” Rosa looks away.

“Now,” he stops her when she tries to start gathering empty plates.  “I thought there might be a little mouse in my kitchen at night.”

“Papi,” Rosa sighs.  They weren’t talking about this but now they are, and she’s not sure if she should apologize.

“The mouse,” Arturo continues as if Rosa had spoken, “is very sweet.  Always cleans up so no one knows they were there.  But if they wanted to leave something behind, maybe to be enjoyed by their father or even sold to hungry customers, that would be nice.”

“You want to sell my cakes?  You don’t even know if they are any good,” Rosa protests.

“Rosa, you just made me the most delicious cake covered in your artwork.  Who wouldn’t love that?  But only if you want to.  Thank you again, my beautiful daughter, for the best birthday cake ever.”  Arturo kisses her on the cheek and leaves her shaking her head and dreaming.

It’s another week before she’s brave enough to leave two cakes and a dozen cupcakes in the fridge when she goes to bed.  When Rosa peeks into the diner in the afternoon they are gone, and Arturo tells her they sold out before the lunch rush ended.  So she does it again and again, and each time everything she bakes sells out.  

Before Rosa knows it, she has a routine.  She takes over the kitchen once the diner closes and bakes until she’s tired.  The fridge is filled with her creations for Arturo to sell the next day.  One night she forgets to write down what she baked, but Arturo tells her he sold them as surprise cakes and charged an extra dollar.  He swears they sold out the fastest of anything she’s baked.

When Rosa comes back from a three day music festival trip with Maria, half the Crashdown’s counter has been replaced with a bakery case.  “Little green cakes,” the name she came up with on a whim, is burned into the wood trim at the top of the case in a looping script that looks suspiciously like her own handwriting.

“Papi!” Rosa gasps, hands cover her mouth as she stares at it.

“What do you think?”  Arturo beams at her from behind the case.  “Almost pretty enough for your cakes.”

“It’s too much.  You shouldn’t change the diner for me.”

“Who else would I change it for?  Your baking makes it better, I want to show it off.”

“Thank you,” Rosa knows there is no arguing with her father when puts his mind to something.  “I love it,” she adds as Arturo steps out to admire the case with her.  

“I know you would,” Arturo says proudly, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head.

What Rosa loves best about baking is that she gets to do it herself in a quiet kitchen at night.  She doesn’t take orders or special requests, rarely even sees customers since her cakes usually sell out before she gets out of bed.  She bakes what she wants- sometimes filling the case with alien themed cupcakes or airbrushed cakes with desert sunsets and embroidered blooming cactus, in the middle of winter she covers dozens of cupcakes with bright, buttercream bouquets, and hand paints elaborate sugar skulls for weeks before Day of the Dead.

The first time Rosa walks into the kitchen and doesn’t want to bake, she panics.  She sits in the kitchen all night willing herself to just bake something.  Rosa is still sitting there when Arturo comes in, already smiling as he turns on the lights.

“Rosa!” he exclaims, surprised to see her.  “You’re still up?  You must have baked too much.”

“Papi,” Rosa throws herself in front of the fridge before he can open it.  “There’s nothing there.  I didn’t bake last night.”

“Okay,” Arturo shrugs and walks out into the dining room.

Rosa follows him and gestures to the empty bakery case.  “It’s not okay.  I didn’t bake anything and people expect. . .”

“That’s what this is for,” Arturo cuts her off and puts a “Sold Out” sign on the bakery case.  “The Crashdown is a diner. People can expect fries and milkshakes and alien antennas.  You cakes are a bonus.  If I run out of fries, they can complain.  You don’t bake, they can still get a milkshake.”

“Why aren’t you mad?”  Rosa can’t help asking.  “I let you down.”

“Rosa,” Arturo shakes his head.  “I ask you to bake because it makes you smile.  When it doesn’t make you smile, I don’t want you to bake.”

Rosa blinks back tears from her eyes and hugs Arturo tightly.  “I love you, Papi.”

“I love you too,” Arturo squeezes her tightly before shooing her out of the dining room.  “Now go get some sleep.  Maybe you feel like baking tonight, maybe you don’t.”

Rosa bakes more often then she doesn’t.  But she knows if she needs a break or is too caught up in a painting to want to stop, she doesn’t have too.  Most days the Crashdown bakery case is full in the morning and empty long before closing.  Rosa keeps a notebook of things she wants to learn - mirror glazes, tempered chocolate and spun sugar, but she doesn’t rush.  She smiles when she walks into the kitchen and bakes what she wants and sleeps better than she ever has before.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Let Me Get Close To You

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “wrong number” square. I sat down to write this a couple of days ago & just couldn’t stop - I hope you guys enjoy the cute little verse I created (that I’ll more than likely revisit soon!!). Here’s my bingo card  - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!!  Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary: 

Stuck with the worst professor for Nuclear Science, Peter tries to vent his frustrations to Ned - only to send a desperate text message to Tony Stark, instead. When an immediate spark and so many things in common make it easy for Peter to fall further for the elegant genius, what’s the worst that could really happen? 

Or: the one where Peter texts the wrong number & romance ensues.

Read on AO3 here. 

---- 

Fuming from a frustrating Nuclear Science class, Peter maturely stomped his way out of the engineering building. They were only two weeks into the semester and the old man already had Peter on edge. His major revolved around the class and his ability to get the most out of the information. The dinosaur that stood at the front of the lecture hall every day hadn’t had an original thought since the 90s and refused to see when others did. Much like every old white man, Dr. Milner’s ideas were the be all end all of a science that changed by the millisecond.

Still pretty new to campus after a late sophomore year transfer, Peter didn’t have many people to turn to that weren’t his nerdy and standoffish teammates on the Academic Decathlon team – most of those guys lived in a world a couple steps from the norm, happily keeping to themselves. Though Peter existed there eighty percent of the time, his need to be social and fill a space in the real world made it impossible to commit to that sort of isolation fully. Straddling the line made it difficult to exist on either side – Peter’s favorite pieces of himself were what kept people away, no matter the lifestyle.

With his mind so heavy with all sorts of negativity, Peter suddenly found himself homesick; he spent so much of his life trying to escape the streets of New York – so far from home now, Peter missed them desperately. Thinking about his tangible connection to his favorite urban wasteland, Peter pulled his phone out and hastily typed in Ned’s new number.

Peter Parker [1:23PM]: Hi, I hate it here. Peter Parker [1:24PM]: Dr. Milner is out to get free thinkers. I may not survive the next fourteen weeks.

Peter already felt a little better after typing the words – the mere ability to get one of his many worries off his chest did wonders. Until his phone pinged with a new text message notification, of course.

Nimble fingers pulled the phone from his pocket, his eyes carelessly looking over the screen as it unlocked. Expecting to see Ned’s name there, Peter almost threw the phone to the ground when Siri’s suggestion registered.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:26PM]: Hi stranger! I think this was meant for someone else, but I too think Dr. Milner is out to squash any new idea that doesn’t fit the mold. In his forty-year career, he hasn’t changed a bit.

Another text message was below it, but Peter forced himself to stop reading – his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest already, too much excitement at once couldn’t be good. Out of all the numbers he could’ve accidentally typed, Tony Stark, New York’s genius and resident beauty, Peter’s secret (though not so much) crush, ended up on the other side of the line. The unbelievability of the idea made Peter consider a well thought out prank. Then again, how did any of his fellow classmates know Tony Stark’s personal number?

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter made himself look at the second text message waiting unread.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:27PM]: I’m not sure how you got this number, but I sincerely hope you make it out alive. If you’re in Milner’s class, you’re on the Nuclear track, which means you must be smart. Trust me, the world needs your future contributions, whatever they might be.

Peter gripped the phone a little harder after reading through the second message over and over again. He let his eyes take in each of the words, wondering, if it really was Tony Stark, how anyone ever survived talking to him. In so few sentences, Peter already felt discombobulated, both more confident and turned around than just seconds before. Aside from his infatuation with the man, Peter understood Tony Stark’s contributions to the technology community and the world at large more than most.

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to text back – every time he tried to type something, his fingers froze just centimeters above the screen. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask to make sure he wasn’t getting catfished. Instead, Peter took the direct route, his courage obviously all or nothing in the face of something as big as an accidental interaction with Tony Stark.

Peter Parker [1:35PM]: Holy crap – excuse me for the bluntness, but is this really Tony Stark? Siri doesn’t often get things wrong, especially since I souped her up. But I’m sure you can understand the apprehension. Peter Parker [1:37PM]: Would you be up for answering a few questions just to make sure?

The tip of his finger tapped against the screen impatiently after he hit the send button, his nerves and the not-so-subtle excitement were barely contained under the surface of his skin. He couldn’t remember a time where feeling alive was so prominent.

A smile slipped across his lips when, a moment later, three consecutive texts vibrated Peter’s phone in succession.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:40PM]: You souped up Siri? Steve Jobs is probably turning over in his grave right now. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:41PM]: I think I’m the one that should be asking the questions, don’t you think? How did you even get this number, Peter Parker? It’s a private line. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:42PM]: I am, though – Tony Stark, I mean.

Peter Parker [1:45PM]: Reconfiguring tech is kind of my thing. I used to dumpster dive in high school – you’d be surprised by the cool pieces of technology people put in their trash. Peter Parker [1:46PM]: Oh, bringing out the big guns – I’m happy to see Siri without my latest addition works for others, too. Peter Parker [1:47PM]: It was an accident, sending those first texts to you. My friend in New York just started a new job that came with a paid phone. I still haven’t saved the number. You are one off from him. Peter Parker [1:48PM]: Alright, Tony Stark. Tell me what campus I’m on.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:53PM]: I’m not surprised by anything human beings do, especially in New York City. Throwing out a perfectly good iPod is certainly not the weirdest thing I’ve heard of. Did you make anything interesting in your trash conversion adventures? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:54PM]: You talk a big game, Mr. Parker. Can you walk the walk, too? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:55PM]: He must be on my payroll, then. The bank of numbers my employees have come from my personal network. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:57PM]: That’s an easy one. You’re at MIT – Milner was there when I was a student. The only thing that’s probably different between then and now is the amount of hair the old bag has.

Peter Parker [2:01PM]: You’re not wrong, Mr. Stark. I made things that helped me be self-sufficient. I grew up really poor and couldn’t afford the things everyone else had – so I figured out how all the tech worked and made my own. I’ve been using a ten-year-old iPhone for ages. Peter Parker [2:03PM]: You bet. Are you challenging me? Peter Parker [2:04PM]: He is, actually. He started in an entry level position two weeks ago. Peter Parker [2:06PM]: It’s gross, isn’t it? I’m glad we’ve moved past projectors in the classroom – the hair on his hand would make for a distracting shadow. Peter Parker [2:07PM]: Okay, okay. I think I’m convinced. One more test, though – send me a picture.

Maybe – Tony Stark [2:14PM]: Oh boy, none of that Mr. Stark shit. As far as you’re concerned, I’m Tony. Only Tony. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:15PM]: You made your own. That’s – impressive. I’m impressed and more than a little curious. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:17PM]: Challenging you, no. Enticing you, yes. I’m visiting Cambridge to do a guest lecture series next week. Come see what Stark Industries is up to – I’d love to hear what you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:18PM]: It was as bad as you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:20PM]: Okay, Peter Parker. [IMAGE ATTACHED]

A gasp of shock left Peter’s mouth when he opened the last text to find a smirking Tony Stark looking right at him. To prove the time and date, Tony held up the New York Times, his free hand pointing to the headline Peter read on his phone earlier that morning. After the shock of actually talking to Tony Stark wore off, Peter let himself take in the picture and all of its details.

Tony’s desk was largely visible in the shot – pens and stacks of paper littered the surface, a few rogue pieces of tech ready to be fiddled with acted as paper weights and grungy aesthetic. The man himself was breath taking – his glasses were a deep violet, offset beautifully by the crisp white shirt and black waistcoat covering Tony’s upper body. A light purple tie was loosely knotted at his throat, as if he fiddled with it while working just to keep his hands busy.

Without much thought, Peter saved the photo and added Tony to his contacts before replying – there was no reason not to trust the man, the spark in his shiny hazel eyes seemed to genuine and real to even question.

Peter Parker [2:25PM]: Only Tony, got it. Peter Parker [2:26PM]: Curiosity is good – keeps you fresh and on your toes. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: Oh, I see. You want a chance to impress me. I like that. Not sure what my opinion is going to do for you, but I’ll be happy to share it. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: Gross. Peter Parker [2:30PM]: I’m – you’re… Wow. You really are Tony Stark.

Tony Stark [2:37PM]: I think you’ll have no problems keeping me on my toes, Peter. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: I have a feeling your opinion is one that I’ll be very interested in. You’ve been nothing but blunt this entire conversation, I know I’m getting the real deal stuff. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: I am. I really am Tony Stark. Tony Stark [2:41PM]: It’s your turn, Peter Parker. What face belongs to that beautiful brain of yours?

Forcing himself to breath, Peter looked around the room for the best spot to return the favor. The bed was a hard no, he didn’t want to send the wrong vibe to a person who could easily have whomever they wanted. His desk was small, but meticulously organized – his study materials open and ready for a night of reviewing the only thing obscuring the surface. It was obvious Tony appreciated his brain, it seemed pertinent to take advantage.

After a few attempts, Peter found the perfect angle to catch the light in his eyes, making them shine brightly in the camera. He thanked the clothing gods that he chose a well fitted three-button Henley in his haste to get out the door that morning. The feeling of satisfaction was new, but not unwelcome – he wanted to send Tony the photo; for once, he knew it would impress.

Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Keeping implies longevity. Are you planning on sticking around? Peter Parker [2:56PM]: My brain to mouth filter runs at less than 10% at all times. It has brought me more trouble than shutting up ever would. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: You’re gorgeous. Violet is a nice color on you. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: What do you think? [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Tony Stark [ 2:37PM]: Yes. I think that’s the answer to that question. You’ve presented a puzzle I want to solve. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: Shutting up never got anyone anywhere. The noise we create is what shapes us. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: Thank you – I have a lot of it in my wardrobe. Tony Stark [2:44PM]: & you called me gorgeous; Peter Parker, you’re a stunner.

Peter Parker [2:51PM]: You’re a scientist, you do that for a living. What makes me so different? Peter Parker [2:52PM]: That’s a refreshing opinion. I like the way you think, Only Tony. Peter Parker [2:54PM]: That honestly doesn’t surprise me. Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Do you tell the person who made you blush that you’re blushing? I don’t remember that standard operating procedure.

Tony Stark [3:01PM]: My intrigue is of a personal nature only – the puzzle you pose is of a different sort. Usually, I think and think and think until I solve whatever the problem is. With you, I want to gather all the clues and take it apart piece by piece. Tony Stark [3:02PM]: That’s a little heavy for only knowing each other a couple of hours, but when you know, you know. Tony Stark [3:03PM]: Not usually, but I have a feeling you’re an exception to a lot of things, Peter Parker.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Peter continued to exchange flirty text messages back and forth with Tony – the mood stayed open and easy as the time passed. The older man helped Peter get through Nuclear Dynamics and three hours of decathlon practice. For all the brains Tony had, Peter was surprised to find humor and a bit of insecurity, too. Tony let himself go on tangents and make dad jokes that were a step away from being obscene.

That trend continued for the rest of the week and well into the weekend. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Peter knew Tony’s schedule, half the newest late-night discoveries, and the way Mr. Sweet Tooth took his sugary coffee. Though a line of attraction and want existed, Peter was happy to know Tony as a person without the ability to act on the obvious tension between them. And while he appreciated the wholistic way they were coming to know each other, Peter couldn’t wait to see Tony throughout the week, either.

The older man seemed to share his sentiment – the shrill notification of a text message received pulled Peter out of his thoughts.

Tony Stark [7:30PM]: Hey, Pete! I present at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. Want to grab something to eat afterwards? Tony Stark [7:31PM]: I’m impatient to get back to Hogan’s and thought you might appreciate his culinary prowess.

Peter Parker [7:35PM]: Tony – this is the fourth time you’ve reminded me about your presentation. I’ll be there. For dinner, too. Peter Parker [7:36PM]: Culinary prowess; if it merits that title, I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

Tony Stark [7:42PM]: I know – I just get some performance anxiety. It helps to remind myself that you’re going to be there. Tony Stark [7:43PM]: It is. Hap is an old friend of mine. He left MIT to go make his restaurant dreams happen and has been stupidly happy ever since.

Peter Parker [7:47PM]: I get it – I’ll gladly be your security blanket, Tony. Peter Parker [7:48PM]: Something tells me there’s more to that story, but I’m sure you’ll tell me one day. I’m excited to try it. Should I look up the menu beforehand, or let it be a surprise?

Tony Stark [7:55PM]: I like the sound of that. I’ve pictured having you in my arms often. Tony Stark [7:57PM]: There’s always more to the story, Pete. Let it be a surprise! In fact, I’ll order for you to make sure you get the whole newbie experience.

Peter Parker [8:05PM]: I’ll boldly say you can have me in your arms as often as you like. Peter Parker [8:06PM]: The newbie experience – there hasn’t been a time in my life where that’s been a good thing. Peter Parker [8:07PM]: Yet. Surprisingly – I trust you.

The next day went by quickly – Peter took a quiz in Nuclear Science and dug into his other two classes to keep his mind focused on anything other than Tony’s imminent presence. His last class was a core history class, so he gladly tucked into the reading the professor let them loose to do. The chime of his alarm broke through Peter’s fog a couple pages from the end of his assignment. Though he liked to be ahead, Peter gladly took the extra few minutes to get himself together before heading to MIT’s presentation hall.

Decked out in his finest pair of black jeans, a blue denim short-sleeve button down, and solid black high-top Converse on his feet, Peter walked the few minutes it took to get back onto campus from his small apartment. Unsurprisingly, a line was formed out the door of students hoping to get into the presentation last minute. Tony told him earlier in the week that they waited to advertise his appearance until the a few hours before to stop the masses from flocking. To Peter, the time restriction seemed to only make it worse.

In Tony’s excitement to have Peter there, the older man set aside a ticket for him – instead of joining the line like he might’ve without Tony’s insistence, Peter walked straight into the cool auditorium, snagging a seat at the end of a row located dead center in the auditorium. The vantage point was perfect – Peter wouldn’t have any trouble catching Tony’s eye as he spoke. Grinning at his access to such a simple pleasure, Peter relaxed back into the seat, passing the time until Tony took the stage by watching the crowd flood in around him.

It wasn’t long before the lights were dimming and a sweaty, high ranking alumnus gave Tony Stark a mediocre welcome onto the stage. The crowd broke out into a cheer that more than made up for the old man’s subpar words. Tony timed his entrance perfectly; he walked out as the energy rose, the shift in the crowd’s tension working to enhance everyone’s excitement. Peter found himself glued to the man, who until that moment, existed entirely on the other side of the phone – he didn’t want to miss a single second of full-body absorption.

A black suit coat sat snuggly on Tony’s shoulders, a singular button keeping the sides closed. His dark hair was elegantly styled, the bed-head look enhancing the easy-going style Peter knew Tony strived for. The facial hair Peter came to truly appreciate over the last few days of texting drew attention to his sharp cheekbones. Tony seemed genuinely happy to be there if the beaming smile on his face said anything at all. With a few claps and the corniest joke, the older man got the crowd under control, proceeding onto his speech with an effortless transition.

As expected, Peter found himself interested from the very beginning. Tony’s new work on energy and its uses amongst transportation and city overhaul was ingenious – when things got up and running, New York’s power grid would run completely on sustainable energy. So many thoughts flashed across the front of Peter’s mind – he wondered if Tony would let him take a look at the blueprints. He might not have much to contribute, yet Peter understood the opportunity for learning and development when it presented itself.

By the end of Tony’s presentation, Peter was overjoyed to know that he wouldn’t need to feign interest in the topics Tony brought to the table. For a while, Stark Industries went through a slump of working on weapons and junky tech Peter found in the trash more often than he ever wanted to admit. It felt good to be excited about something new coming from the company – Tony Stark was the smartest person in his field, anything less than almost perfect just didn’t do the man and his ideas justice.

After fielding a lot more questions than Peter expected, Tony headed off the stage with a roar of applause – the genius wasn’t a household name for nothing. Smiling at the thought, Peter pulled his phone out; he got to see behind the curtain more than others – he felt a sudden surge of gratefulness at the fact. Every person around him would do anything for the privilege; taking that for granted just wouldn’t do.

Peter Parker [6:45PM]: You’re an incredible public speaker, Tony. Peter Parker [6:46PM]: Thanks for making me come!

Tony Stark [6:49PM]: How inappropriate of me is it to say that this isn’t the only time I plan to make you come?

Peter Parker [6:55PM]: Very, but it’s appreciated, nonetheless. I’ll meet you over by the Engineering building whenever you’re done trying to outrun your fans.

Tony Stark [7:00PM]: You’re fucking hilarious. I’ll meet you there in five.

True to his word, Tony snuck up behind Peter a few minutes later – soft palms that gave way to well-earned callouses pressed against Peter’s cheeks as Tony covered his eyes. The mere fact that Tony was there at all was surprise enough; the touches and softly whispered “Hello, Pete,” in his ear felt like more than enough to cause a coronary.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peter turned in Tony’s arms, a huge grin playing across his lips. With the way they were standing now, Peter’s chest was pressed delightfully against Tony’s – he felt each and every one of Tony’s inhales of oxygen and exhales of carbon dioxide that brought Peter’s attention to the firm muscles pressing and pulling the man’s abdomen. His breath caught when Tony palmed his cheek, their mouths mere inches apart. Despite not actually knowing each other, Peter felt comfortable in Tony’s embrace.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter finally replied after allowing his breath to mingle with Tony’s. As they stood there pressed together, neither could decipher where one started and the other began. The thought made his grin grow a little wider, the courage inside of him pulsing a little more boldly with life. “You were amazing up there.”

Tony remained perfectly still; his limbs seemingly frozen in a clench to keep Peter close to him. His grip was firm, both the hand on Peter’s hip and his late day stubbled cheek. Like the man himself, Tony’s touch left something behind that kept Peter on the hook, always seeking more. He half expected for Tony to lean in and slot their lips together – his deepest desires and tangible wants were starting to collide in such close proximity.

Instead, Peter’s smile was returned with quirked cheeks and bright hazel eyes. “You weren’t too bored?” Tony asked, his voice soft in the small space between them. His thumb swiped constantly across Peter’s cheek, the obvious need to move apparent, even in such an intimate situation.

Chuckling lightly, Peter shook his head. “So far from bored. My thesis research is all about sustainable energy – you had me interested from the very beginning,” Peter replied almost immediately, not caring that his excitement clearly shone through in the pitch of his voice. The way he was leaning into Tony’s touch, Peter didn’t have much of a chance to disguise his truth, anyway.

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for – I can tell already.” Tony’s words were mumbled almost as if the older man was embarrassed to say them – to hand out such a compliment to someone other than himself. And yet – Tony’s hesitation made the statement mean so much more; the rarity of such kind words (despite being spoken so softly) did nothing but make Peter want to melt into Tony even further.

Before things could get too mushy or physical, Peter took a large step out of Tony’s arms – begrudgingly, the need for space was prominent if they ever wanted the night to continue. Never mind the fact that paparazzi were constantly hounding and following Tony wherever the man went. Though he was deemed an appropriate companion at the time, Peter was more than sure the public would not agree.

With that thought in mind, Peter shot Tony a shy smile – “I’m pretty famished. Want to show me what Hogan’s is all about?”

They spent the ten-minute walk talking about the presentation – Tony grilled Peter about a few of the technical parts, while Peter drooled a little bit over the projected uses of Tony’s new energy storage and production. Like two nerdy peas in a pod, neither could help themselves – geeking out and talking about something they were both interested in made the rest of the world melt away. Peter might’ve kept on his tangent if it weren’t for a tall, thickly built man clearing his throat.

Looking up at the noise, Peter realized they’d walked a few blocks already and were standing in the lobby of a well-maintained hole in the wall that radiated the most delicious smells. Grease and cheese and freshly dropped French fries hit his senses all at once – there was no doubt that whatever they were about to consume would be more than delicious.

Peter was seconds away from wiping drool from his chin when Tony broke out into action. He took the couple of steps between their current position and the hostess stand to wrap who could only be Happy in a firm, breathtaking hug. “Happy, my man. It’s so good to see you,” Tony exclaimed as he stepped away, an adorable look in his eyes. “I’ve been talking this place up to Peter here, thought I’d cash in on your good will.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Peter – Tony looked at him like something he couldn’t wait to deconstruct, while Happy tilted his head curiously, as if the one glance would tell him all he needed to know about Peter Parker. Unwillingly to stand there like an animal on display, Peter broke through the weird with a soft laugh and a light wave.

“Nice to meet you, Happy. Tony’s been selling me on your food for days now. I can’t wait to try it,” Peter said, his shoulders rolling back to help him stand a little taller. Though he had nothing to prove to the total stranger in front of him, Peter couldn’t help but want to make a good impression – Happy obviously meant something to Tony; their comradery and easy affection said that without much effort.

There was a moment where all three guys seemed to look between each other – Peter watched with bated breath as Tony and Happy carried on a silent conversation with just a few blinks and forehead crinkles. By the time Peter understood what was happening, Happy stepped a little closer to him, his big hand reaching out for what could only be a handshake. Without hesitating, Peter took it – for whatever reason, the handshake felt monumental; like with the one touch, he beat the level boss and gained access to the next one.

“Good to meet you, too. Tony’s good about that sort of advertisement – we probably wouldn’t have made it without his ugly mug around at the beginning,” Happy replied. “You guys know what you want? I’ll get it on the grill personally.”

At that point, Tony stepped back into the spotlight and grabbed the reins – he ordered everything at rapid fire speed, like the menu existed as a hard copy in Tony’s mind. Considering the warmth of the older man’s welcome and Happy’s cryptic words, Peter didn’t doubt that Tony was a regular – more than likely a founding customer, even.

It took no time at all for their food to come out to the small table in the corner Tony led him to. The tray was piled with an abundance of food – cheese steaks, fries, burgers, even a couple of desserts littered the table as Tony unpacked their haul. Peter’s eyes were wide, his mouth watering with a want that only Zap’s Bodega could illicit before. “This – it all looks amazing,” Peter babbled, his stomach both hungry and overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Just wait until you taste it. Happy used to crank out these cheesesteaks on the little hot plate we had in our dorm room. They were excellent, but the addition of the flattop has made them unbeatable.��

Unable to decide what smelled the best, Peter grabbed whatever was nearest to him. His fingers wrapped around the greasy paper of the aforementioned cheesesteak, his mouth watering even more. “So, you and Happy were roommates at MIT?” Peter asked around a large bite, the food in his mouth muffling some of the words. It really was good – worth looking like a pig in front of the most beautiful man alive.

“Hap and I go way back. His father worked security at Stark Industries – he was on my dad’s personal protection team for most of my life. When Happy’s mom died and the need for babysitting became a thing, Happy started to spend the evenings with me after school. In a lot of ways, he’s the only family I’ve ever had. When he first opened up this place, I was young and just looking for some investment that would piss my dad off. I knew Happy had talent, but neither of us thought this place would blow up the way it did.” Tony looked up then, a vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve been in business together ever since.”

Smiling encouragingly, Peter nodded in Tony’s direction – their closeness, Tony’s unwavering advertisement and protectiveness, even some of the food names he could see on the menu; it all made sense. After taking another bite of the cheesesteak, Peter chewed slowly before responding. “There’s always more to the story, right?” he questioned cheekily. “It sounds like your gamble worked out for you – I didn’t look at the menu, but I did Google Hogan’s; there’s ten locations within a 300-mile radius.”

A snort had Peter looking up, his eyebrows quirked. “I should’ve known,” Tony said through a laugh. “Your generation is all about instant gratification.”

Their eyes locked then, Tony’s words and their meaning sitting in the space between them. Peter forced himself not to blink – he wanted to memorize the rich hazel color that barely ringed a growing pupil. Hunger and want and something unrecognizable existed in Tony’s glance; when it was all over and Tony moved on, Peter desperately wanted to remember the genuine rawness he drew out of one of the world’s greatest minds.

“Or just impatience,” Peter countered. He drew his eyes away, needing to break the glance to stop himself from propelling himself across the table and tackle Tony to the ground. Though it looked as if Happy kept the place spick and span, Peter didn’t want to think about Tony’s expensive suit on any other floor aside from his own.

They attempted to pull the small talk back to something a little tamer, but the road of the rest of the evening had already been paved. It became harder to focus on anything other than the thick press of Tony’s thigh against his own under the table. As the minutes passed, Peter noticed Tony staring, and after a while, the older man just never stopped. Every time he looked up, Peter caught hazel eyes taking him in – undressing him button by button with the sheer want in his eyes. A red blush took up permanent residence on Peter’s cheeks and neck, the color following him out of the restaurant and out onto the street where Tony took his hand without hesitation.

Before his mom passed away, Peter remembered a softly mumbled conversation laying across both his parents early, early in the morning. His dad’s big fingers were wrapped so neatly around his mother’s, the embrace tight, despite the hour. Peter reached out to touch the unbreakable seam, his eyes wide with wonder. “They fit,” Peter whispered softly, his finger running reverently over their joint fingers.

His mother pulled him close then, her lips finding that special place on his cheek. “One day, Petey, you’ll find that perfect person whose hands will fit yours just the way your father’s fit mine.”

A warmth settled in Peter’s chest as he slid his hand into Tony’s, their fingers interlacing perfectly with ease. The immaculate fit of Tony’s hand pressing against his own made him snuggle in further – whatever happened between them after this, Peter would forever know how easily he and Tony Stark fit together.

Giving Tony’s fingers a squeeze at the thought, Peter looked up, breaking the silence – “Do you want to see my apartment? I’m sure it’s not nearly as fancy as the hotel you’re staying at, but I’ve got Netflix and a really comfortable couch.”

Tony took a few long strides to answer, his face a little pensive. “I’d love to see your apartment, Pete,” Tony replied easily. They came to a stop at the crosswalk – Tony used his momentum to pull Peter close to his chest while they waited out the light. “I don’t care about fancy. You’ll be there.”

While Peter had lots of things to reply, his words were cut off by slightly chapped lips eagerly pressing against his own. It took Peter a second to recognize what in the glorious hell was happening – when the reality of the situation finally registered, Peter surged forward, tilting his head to not only return the kiss, but deepen it.

Both of Peter’s hands found their way around Tony’s neck to keep him close – he felt like he might pass out from the sheer goodness of Tony surrounding him without the grounding touch. He was far from a virgin, but none of his previous encounters knocked him off his feet in such a way that made Peter feel like a fumbling newbie.

Sipping from each other’s mouths, Peter was surprised by a strange and unrecognizable voice coming from behind them – “the light’s changed, fellas.”

It took an obscene amount of effort to pull away – though the stranger’s words made his face burn with embarrassment, Peter was reluctant to step out of Tony’s embrace and the tantalizing press of warm lips against his own. Regardless of his trepidation, Peter reluctantly moved back.

He made sure to slip his hand into Tony’s before they set off again.

“I’m just another couple of blocks away,” Peter reassured, a hungry smirk on his face. Tony returned the look, their stride all of the sudden lengthening. Their walk turned from a leisurely stroll to a brisk half-run. If it weren’t for the want raging through Peter’s veins, he might’ve found the change hilarious. In all of their time together, Tony never expressed impatience – he always seemed calm, cool, and collected. Yet, in the face of heat and need and the promise of bare skin, Tony let that mask drop.

Happy to know a new something about Tony, Peter reveled in the pent-up silence that carried them back to his apartment. Snagging a ground floor unit close to the entrance, they luckily didn’t have to wait for an elevator or awkwardly pretend that they weren’t about to push the other against the wall and start ravaging whatever pieces of skin they could find. Instead, Peter impatiently pulled Tony behind him as they walked between building 1 and 2 with eager steps.

After some fumbling and a set of dropped keys, Peter finally got his door open and Tony through it. Without missing a beat, Tony pushed him back against the newly closed front door, their lips harshly joining. Groaning at the contact and suddenness of it all, Peter pulled Tony in – any space left between them was unacceptable now that they were in a private space where wandering eyes and clicking cameras couldn’t see. Their obvious passion was too much for the public eye; Peter so desperately wanted to keep Tony to himself – devouring him in a safe space was only the first step.

As Tony traced his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Peter fumbled his hands down the older man’s chest until he could pull the crisp button-down from well-tailored pants. The second he was able, Peter shoved his hands under the soft fabric, his palms greedily pressing into Tony’s hairy chest. A groan left his mouth – the chest hair under his fingers was soft and teasing. Peter was caught between the urge to tug at the strands and lay his head gently against them just to feel the texture against his skin.

Tony made the decision for him – large hands were suddenly on Peter’s waist, his feet coming up off the ground with little effort. Unable to keep his hands where they were, Peter broke the kiss with a groan and shifted until he could wrap his legs around Tony’s hips. Peter panted for breath while his lips were still free as Tony navigated through the room blindly. Another soft moan left Peter’s lips when his back hit the pliable leather of his couch.

Where just moments before they were standing chest to chest, Peter now had the full weight of Tony against him. The older man fit seamlessly between his splayed thighs, their hips lining up in a way that made Peter’s cock pulse against the confines of his tight jeans. With a bit of shifting, their groins were matched – Tony’s thick cock felt sinful against Peter’s. If his impending orgasm was already upon him, Peter wondered what it’d be like when their clothes hit the floor and he really got to taste what Tony had to offer.

Like he was reading his mind, Tony made quick work of the buttons on Peter’s shirt. Calloused hands dragged up and down Peter’s bare chest as he pushed the navy fabric to the side – his skin was practically hairless, the only exception being a small trail of it leading down to the v of his jeans. Tony let his fingers play through that small amount of hair, his fingers teasing as they got closer to the one spot that Peter wanted him to be the most.

Deciding to take his mind off of the heat in his belly and the closeness of his orgasm, Peter returned the favor. His hands were shaky as he passed button after button through their holes. With a gasp, Peter spread the sides of Tony’s shirt to get the maximum impact of the older man’s torso. He liked what he felt before, but the view was something else – Tony’s chest was chiseled and cut, his pecs and abs straining with effort. Peter noticed throbbing veins and a few scars in his perusal; the evidence of Tony’s life and the way he lived it made Peter pull the man a little closer. Tony Stark drove him absolutely mad – every new thing he learned contributed to the insanity even more.

Before he could get lost in the thought, Tony’s lips were skating along his cheek, only to stop and caress the outer shell of Peter’s ear. “You feel amazing, Pete,” Tony babbled, his tongue peeking out to join in on the fun. “I want to taste you, feel your cock pulse against my tongue. You’re so fucking hard and I can’t fucking wait. Is that okay?”

Peter pulled back then, a soft grin pulling at his lips. In all of his sexual encounters, Peter couldn’t recall someone caring about him so thoroughly, let alone stopping to ask how he felt. Both hands came up to grip Tony’s cheeks until the older man was looking right at him. Through the haze of arousal, Peter recognized that warm spark in Tony’s eye – it was the look in that first picture that kept Peter coming back for more.

“It’s perfect, Tony. I’ll take anything you want to give me,” Peter said breathlessly. He leaned up for a kiss to drive the words home.

Tony looked genuinely happy when Peter pulled away – his cheeks were flushed with obvious arousal, his lips quirked in a saucy smile. Without saying anything, Tony nodded his head and travelled slowly down the length of Peter’s body. Nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans before Peter could think or even draw his next breath.

Sturdy hands didn’t hesitate to pull at the waistband of Peter’s boxers – his flushed cock was already leaking as it came to rest casually against the firm abs of Peter’s chest. Tony’s calloused fingers immediately wrapped around the length, giving a tight squeeze to the base. The sheer feeling of his crush’s hands on him was almost enough for Peter to jump straight over the edge. Catching Tony’s eyes and biting down on his bottom lip was his only saving grace – the knowing look in beautiful hazel eyes pulled a chuckle from Peter’s chest, the noise distraction enough.

“Okay?” Tony asked again, the words were spoken with his mouth hovering just inches from the pulsing flesh of Peter’s cock. He could feel Tony’s breath against his sensitive skin, everything about the situation making it hard to articulate or think or exist as anything other than a melted puddle of goo against broken-in leather.

Peter took a couple of deep breaths before nodding vigorously. He felt a red flush travel even further down his neck and torso, arousal and embarrassment mixing together to create the ultimate aphrodisiac. He finally found his voice, muttering a choked off “yes” before the motor function of speaking left him once more.

After a heartbeat and then another where neither man moved, Tony gripped the sharp bones of Peter’s hips, pushing his lower body down against the cushions. They shared another look as Tony lowered his head, his pink tongue poking out to lick lightly against the leaky head of Peter’s cock. Hazel eyes stayed on him – Tony continued to lap along his sensitive skin, all while killing Peter slowly with the heat and want reflecting back. By the time Tony had all of Peter in his mouth, Peter was seconds away from being undone.

It’d been so long, and he’d wanted Tony since he understood what attraction was. Being pinned down by the person he desired longer than some of his friendships did nothing but magnify everything that was happening. His skin felt like it was on fire under Tony’s touch – the suction around his cock felt like it was coming from all angles, everywhere, all at once. Unable to stop himself, Peter moaned, panted, and shamelessly shouted Tony’s name as the blissful seconds passed.

The telling zip of a zipper being pushed down, and Tony’s hasty shift told Peter that Tony was similarly affected. He picked up his head to watch Tony suck his cock down while his right hand moved at the same pace – while he took Peter’s cock into his throat, Tony was stroking his own erection with sure strokes. As if the heat around him wasn’t enough, the beautiful visual of Tony taking his own pleasure pushed him those last couple of steps over the edge.

Bubbling heat in his belly boiled over. Peter frantically reached down to grip Tony’s shoulder, his mouth wordlessly shaping around warning words. “I’m – I’m… fuck, Tony. I’m going to cum,” Peter finally managed to gasp out. There was just enough time for Tony to pull away, to let Peter’s pleasure splatter on the blood warm skin of Peter’s stomach. Yet, Tony held fast, instead – he redoubled his efforts, his lips tightening and throat relaxing in invitation.

Unable to stop himself, Peter let go – his hips thrust up into Tony’s enticing heat, the man’s name dripping from his lips as pulse after pulse of cum left his body. Tony moaned around him, swallowing easily without pulling his mouth away or stopping his ministrations. The suction continued until Peter was reaching down halfheartedly to push at Tony’s soft curls.

While he caught his breath, Tony crawled up Peter’s body, a self-satisfied smirk on his red cheeks. Peter grinned at him, happiness and satiation rolling off of him in waves. Without thought, Peter pulled Tony tightly to him, their lips finding each other like opposite poles of magnets drawn together by the sheer force of nature. Tony shared Peter’s taste with him, his talented tongue thrusting into Peter’s mouth with a shared groan between them. It was all so hot; Peter felt his spent cock already starting to come back to life.

With that thought in mind, Peter started to reach down to help Tony finish achieving his own pleasure; yet his hand was batted away with affectionate finesse. Peter shifted until he could meet the honey hazels he was already addicted to, a question in his eye.

“There’s no need,” Tony mumbled, his face tucking into the skin of Peter’s neck. “You’re so sexy, I couldn’t help but touch myself. The way you look in the throes of pleasure – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Holy shit.”

Tony chuckled at the awe in Peter’s voice. “My sentiment exactly.”

For a while, they stayed stretched out on Peter’ couch, exchanging kisses and greedy touches on all the bare skin either could reach. Without so much adrenaline coursing through his system, Peter felt himself melting even further into the comfy cushions below him. After a jaw breaking yawn, Peter reached up to cup Tony’s cheek, pulling the man’s attention towards him.

“Want to stay over?” Peter asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Though they were spent and wrapped up in each other, Peter wasn’t sure where Tony stood. There was a big difference between the type of intimacy physical touch and sleeping next to another human being required. The last few days, Peter fell asleep with Tony’s messages open on the bed next to him – actually sleeping side by side, in person, that was a whole new step for them.

Tilting his head to the side, Tony shot Peter a tender smile before nodding and leaning down to press their lips together.

“Yeah, Pete – I want to stay.”

[camilliar]

recs for someone new to omgcp

[February 2021.]

Reading, or not reading, OMGCP fics has come up in a couple of conversations I’ve had recently with artists newish to the fandom (ie. @jovishark; @decafffff), who are making OMGCP art (!!!) but haven’t started exploring fic -- but maybe want to? Which of course reminded me that I’ve never bothered to make an actual, concrete recs list for this fandom. So, I mean. Here is one.

The approach is, what do I think about when I think about OMGCP fanfic? What comes to mind, what stands out to me? I have excluded some very popular fics. Some of these I just don’t think are very good, and others I do think are good, and/or I enjoy them, but I don’t see why you’d need me, specifically, to recommend them. I am thinking of a story like maybe i’m waking up, which I discuss below because I link to a podfic of it. It has a lot of merits, to be sure, but it’s the second-most-read fic in this fandom by hits, and it’s got thousands of comments, and it’s by an author whose work is relatively widely praised and circulated. I am not sure what telling you more about this fic will add to the conversation; if you want to find and read it, you inevitably will. I’m happy to, say, answer asks about these kinds of fics, or talk more generally about them via DM or whatever. Feel free.

Also, I don’t think there’s a point to pretending to be objective about fanfic; this list has a perspective and that perspective is mine. In this fandom I largely read stories that navigate the tension around Jack, Bitty, and Parse, in various permutations. This is not to say that I’ve never read fic about the frogs, or that I have no interest at all in other pairings, but I am by no means an expert on Dex/Nursey and can really only speak to the one fic about them that sticks out to me because it goes beyond being merely Dex/Nursey and does something else. This is just to say that I am sure there are great and interesting fics about other things and ideas--but I’m not the person to hear about those from.

Likewise, I’m not super interested in stories that really reproduce that which is already in OMGCP. I like Zimbits--albeit maybe not in the ways or for the reasons most fans would--but I do not really need to see endless iterations of the same story about them falling in love and being cute together. I don’t think these stories are bad or they shouldn’t exist or that they have no merit by default. Still, I don’t need fanfic to give me more OMGCP. I need fanfic to complicate, to comment on, and to transform OMGCP. Many people don’t work like this! Totally okay! But I can’t rec you fics that do that.

What I have noticed, however, is that over time there appears to have been a shift in how people do write fic for this fandom. (Other than, you know, increases and decreases in activity pending the status of the comic, pairings going in and out of vogue, and so on.) Early on, say during Y1 and Y2, the comic was about the group of friends having a cool time at college together; about whether the burgeoning attraction between Jack and Bitty would manifest and, if so, how; and, especially, Jack’s past coming into fuller view for Bitty and how it would have to be dealt with in order for a relationship between them to work. YMMV on how great the comic executed there, but as Y3 went on these themes increasingly disappeared from the story. I think this means a lot of fic written over 2015-2016 or 2017 has one kind of tone, and was written mostly around these questions; after that, it feels like a new crop of writers and a new crop of ideas started circulating, that is, either embracing Jack and Bitty’s canon relationship and accepting its relative straightforwardness in text--or deconstructing it, imagining what readers aren’t seeing, or how problems not dealt with in the comic would manifest later. People who have read my fic know which of these I’m mainly interested in exploring.

All of which is to say, looking at what I’m reccing here, when the fics were posted or when I first read them probably has a lot to do with why they stick out to me so much. Because there’s no real culture of fanfic criticism--and I mean that in the positivist sense of broad evaluation not explicitly for fault and merit but rather, for context--I think it’s really hard to keep this in mind. But I’m obnoxious and I can’t just be easy about things.

Fic recs

In alphabetical order, somewhat unsorted; if a stand-alone fic has a summary I’ve included it, but in other cases I’ve recced a couple of conceptually related fics or series, which I’ve tried to just describe or explain as opposed to copying the summary off AO3.

There are so many more fanfics I think are great and worth reading! In an ideal world I’d come back and add more later, or create a secondary list that’s more along the lines of “if you like this, read these,” or whatever. But, being realistic, this is a starter kit. I’m open to talking about fanfic.

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7-0-2 by Idday; Friends in Low Places and Sorry for the Blood in Your Mouth; I Wish it was Mine by blue_rocket_frost | I’m not sure it would be correct to say that I don’t like Parse/Tater, or that I’m not interested in Parse/Tater. I’m not interested in Patater a priori; I think it could be interesting, with teeth. These fics stick out to me when I think about this pairing, because they feel different. Accusations of a preference for just linking any two white men who happen to be hanging around have validity, but because of what hockey is and how it works and who’s hanging around it, it’s not exactly a leap to imagine what kind of gritty spark the friction between two closeted NHL players would create. A little violence in your sex? A little sex in your violence.

A Sight Worth Seeing by sadtomato | A four-fic Jack/Bitty/Shitty/Lardo explicit BDSM series. Either you want that or you don’t. It’s nothing hardcore, and not properly a four-way, really; more properly a kind of voyeuristic round-robin. There’s a more open and egalitarian view of sex here than I really get from the characters in the back end of the comic. It’s an expansive, propulsive view of sex and relationships that’s really nice to see. I love Lardo's detached coolness, and Bitty as a smooth operator; if you’re looking for some kind of Dom/sub dynamics world, this really isn’t it, but it’s a lively exploration into the sexual dynamics in a group of friends that’s super close to the good-times vibe you get from Haus scenes in the first couple years of extras.

call me son (one more time) by Summerfrost, Verbyna, and blithelybonny | This is a series, incomplete, and you will love it or be massively put off by it. I mean that as a compliment. I love it. The premise is, Bob Zimmermann and Kent Parson have been having sex since Kent was, like, 19. Everyone in this story has been chewed up: by themselves, by each other, by hockey. Plainly, this is a pretty bleak view of what OMGCP, as a story, is supposedly offering. If you want fic that is dark and glamorous, treading the toxic melange of substance abuse, sex-as-sublimation, and so much money you can’t possibly throw all of it away without trying, this series has that sick-inducing shimmer to it. But, again, its strength is its examination of Kent Parson, textually and meta-textually, as someone to be projected onto. Bob, Alicia, Jack, and Bitty all impute certain feelings of their own onto him, displacing their own issues to a character who’s centralized in every fic but defies neat or total comprehension. Some critiques I’ve read of this series feel it’s too dark, and I’ve also seen it argued on FFA that an overwhelming amount of praise heaped onto these stories has made it tough for other writers to make headway in writing Bob/Kent fic. But I’m also not sure you could engage with Bob/Kent fic without going down this road at some point? I’m sure there are ways to scale it back, but ultimately it’s a story about how hockey’s violent, homophobic, old-guard gatekeeping has continued to set the terms for a younger and ostensibly less toxic culture. I fully embrace PWP fics that tread on the power dynamic without fully excavating it, but buried within any PWP is the fact that a 53-year-old man is ensnaring a 19-year-old, no matter how much the latter is, realistically, into it, and legally empowered to consent. Not to mention the dynamics of it being a 53-year-old man who is the father of the 19-year-old’s ex-boyfriend, and a 53-year-old man who is an eminence grise in the field the 19-year-old is trying to make a career in  The sexual element--the vaguely incestuous nature of it--is making textual the subtext of how hockey works, actually: objectification of teenage bodies as older men’s capital.

Coach Z by thistidalwave | Just before the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, tp prospect Jack Zimmermann overdoses on his anxiety medication and is admitted to rehab. His future turns from a clear-cut road to the top into an uncertain path filled with therapy appointments, ignored text messages, a group of boys who aren't there to teach him a lesson about himself, and, of course, hockey. | I keep reccing this fic because it has 360 comments on AO3 but nobody, as far as I can tell, has ever read it; it never appears on rec lists. This isn’t the kind of fanfic I usually go in for, but I can’t help being charmed by it. This is a character study in the truest sense, a kind of Mighty Ducks-but-better view on what Jack’s time coaching peewee hockey might have been like. I have no interest in kids and my own aesthetic is maybe a little darker than this, but I admire this story because it injects vibrancy into a period of Jack’s life that OMGCP has left largely unexplored, and so has the fandom. We know nothing about what made Jack want to go to college, nothing about how he spent his days in between juniors and Samwell. It posits a very sympathetic and patient Jack/Parse dynamic, showcasing the exact kind of ragged teenage push-and-pull that would have led to the circumstances we see in Parse I-III. The outside perspective Jack needs is largely present in an OFC who’s not a love interest. Super unique, somehow both engrossing and low-key.

#dirtbags by angularmomentum | A series that is a Kent Parson/Claude Giroux fuckfest with feelings. I’ve long suspected that Parse is popular in part because he is the character who most easily elides OMGCP with the actual NHL, or rather, NHL fandom; I think he made it appealing to write OMGCP fics where the NHL is a factor. Case in point, this series, which is basically “what if Kent Parson was a real hockey player and therefore part of NHL RPS”? I have only read some NHL RPS, so I’m not the person to assess accuracy, but what I do know is superstar IRL hockey players take turns here as the caricature fanfic versions of themselves, and since Kent Parson is already that, it’s great how seamlessly he integrates into their social fabric. Rambunctious energy peppered with regret and loss, but ultimately this series is farcical, and it doesn’t take its sentimental ending too seriously--which, good.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible | 5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth. | As a fic format, 5+1 doesn’t usually work for me, but this one isn’t just front-loaded with five too-knowing vignettes; it then wraps up by using its +1 better than you might expect. Sometimes I talk about economy of fic, and this one exemplifies it. A zero-waste fic.

go ahead and move along by originally | "Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again. Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop. | Kent Parson is trapped in a Groundhog Day scenario on the day of Epikegster. I’m sure you can imagine, just from that, what happens. And yet I think this fic is super entertaining, reserving some key surprises. What this story is doing is something a lot, and perhaps even the majority, of great Jack/Parse fic wants to do: digging into the question of just why this can’t work in comic canon. Most often this is approached from the past, by writing teenage Jack/Parse deep-dives that examine their lives mid-juniors, or by writing AUs where enough circumstances are shifted that it does work, or via future fics that posit enough growth has happened, and enough things have changed. But this fic makes Parse live the same bad day again and again, testing multiple theories about just how dependent on circumstance and incident real life actually is. Another day, another tone, 10 minutes sooner, not at all--you just can’t know why it didn’t work until you exhaust every possible variable. I worry that this rec has sucked the life out of the story, though--it’s so fun!

I Saw a Life and Strange Lovers by @bluegrasshole | Most AUs in this fandom seem to retell the story in a new setting or with some big detail change, following OMGCP’s rhythm beat-for-beat. I think of this as, “It’s the plot of Check, Please, but” -- they’re doing high school football? They’re acrobats? They’re a/b/o? They’re in a DIY punk band? And so on. These two stories are not that! They’re both 1950s AUs, each deeply felt, and yet hugely different from each other. I Saw a Life is about displacement and fragmentation, two sides of a similar but incongruent social critique; Strange Lovers is a finely wrought social drama about coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s, centered around historical events. I suppose a theme on this rec list is something like, “I don’t even like this, but” -- yes, okay, I don’t even like Dex/Nursey, but--! This fic is so overwhelmingly complete, the AU laid out so carefully that the story breathes with all the background details informing the writing that aren’t actually, in the story; you just know they’re below the surface. (With the exception of one investigation of Jack’s character in a short, separate fic.) I Saw a Life, meanwhile, really tests the limits of the notion that Jack and Bitty are soulmates--not by calling it into question but by asking, rather innovatively, how the setting and place of the comic itself activates that.

Les Hivers de mon enfance by staranise | What do you do when hockey is the language of prayer for your soul, and also the toxic thing that almost killed you? 2009: Jack Zimmermann takes a mental health year. God knows he needs it. | Here’s a fic by someone who’s no longer around so much, but she felt ubiquitous in 2016-2019 OMGCP fandom. Before any of that, though, she wrote this one lovely fic about Jack’s pre-Samwell recovery. The author is Canadian and really irritated by hockey culture, and I think this fic benefits greatly because she is clear-eyed about Jack’s being caught in an exploitative system; it’s hockey he’s in recovery for, in a way. There’s an epistolary element that works for me, too. I read this early on in my time in OMGCP fandom and it really stuck with me.

Lysistrata? I Hardly Know Her! (by which I mean everything) by @tomatowrites | It feels somehow like cheating to recommend OMGCP fanfics by my OMGCP BFF with whom I make an OMGCP podcast where we talk about OMGCP. You know the fics I really want to rec, like truly the ones that speak to some kind of shared depravity, are the ones where Jack is miserably mpreg for the second time and accidentally lets his kid see Kent Parson’s Long John Silver’s shrimp scampi promo spot, which obviously would get twisted into a self-hating three-way. How many times do I have to rec this fic? As many as I need to, is my feeling. If you don’t know, Long John Silver’s is an American fast-food chain that sells, like, fried pollock sandwiches; it is nautical-themed; I have never eaten there; I don’t know where there is one; I don’t eat fried fish. (Shrimp, on the other hand?) All of which is to say that it takes a real genius to investigate a premise that far out. And while a lot of people almost certainly will start reading this humanity’s depths-themed sex scene and back the fuck out, readers with refined taste will note that Kent, the point-of-view character, is right there with you, despairing that he can’t help himself. And so long as you’re in that story collection, honestly, you’ll love petite gems like Jack is transmasc, Jack and Shitty play hockey in 18th-century England, and oh, right, he’s from Georgia. Tomato holds the distinction of being probably the gamest author I know in this fandom, just really like fearless in her pursuit of any range of concept she’s pushed to. (I can push her to?) See, for example, a sublime bandom AU; Bitty is cancelled for buying a maybe-unethically exported Roman fragment of a youth’s torso; or, god, the masterwork that is this future fic series where Jack keeps relapsing and Bitty exiles him to their guesthouse. Do I think you need to read a fic where Bitty is snide about the teen prostitute whose baby they’re adopting? Yes, I mean, he would be snide, don’t tell me he wouldn’t. I could go on, but my main thing here is, if I have to pick just one, I’m going to pick this Lysistrata fic. The premise, literally, is that Bitty reads the Lysistrata and it gives him ideas. Like most of Tomato’s OMGCP fic, it’s a stripping away of the comic’s polite fiction that Jack and Bitty could possibly attain the ideal it reaches in the comic without some kind of messy, efflusive breakdown. Life is like that, you see! Tricky. Like a lot of people, although it’s tough to say precisely how many, I have always intuited that maybe Bitty is kind of a natural top? But obviously when you meet him, as a literal virgin, it’s hard to see how he’d go from zero to self-actualization so neatly. This fic floats a theory, and it has a fun little side plot for Whiskey, something I never thought about or needed before Tomato built it out herein. In conclusion, BONUS: Dex’s gay lobster novel.

only fools rush in and the light of all lights by decinq | This person wrote of the nature of the wound, one of the early, formative Jack/Bitty fics that was oft-recced when I was getting into the fandom in 2016. It forms part of a larger series that deals deeply with how Jack has been shaped by his struggles (? I hate this word) with homophobia and his own mental health. It’s a picture of the character as you might have imagined him much earlier in the comic’s run. The formatting is atrocious and he author’s flair is what Tomato would call “AO3 house style.” It’s a voice that works great for her writing. I think it’s at its best in these shorter fics; the former is about Parse and Shitty stumbling into a relationship almost accidentally; the latter, an eerie PBJ vampire fic. I had begun writing a fic where Parse is a vampire early on in this fandom, only to read this and immediately quit, because you only need one, and this one’s all I need. The Parse/Shitty rare pair fic shares its exuberance with hockey RPS when it’s good: here’s how fun it can be when you’re young, rich, and jocular. And I don’t even like accidental marriage AUs, they’re usually boring, so that says a lot. By all means, read the wound fic; read the entire series. But these are highly unusual.

OVERDOSE and Oomph and a little spin-o-rama by jedusaur | None of these are long, or plotty, and they’re all a little experimental. OVERDOSE is an AU set in a world where you know how you’ll die, but no details; Oomph, a little fic where Jack hears hockey pucks talking to him. This is the kind of stuff I used to think I’d find in fandom forever, coming out of Lotrips lurking in the 2000s: short, zany bursts of energy that surprise and delight. a little spin-o-rama peers at Kent’s character through the grim reality of being the hypertalented superstar stuck on a dead-last team. All three are sparse and stylish in a way that’s really smart, practically economical.

Sowing Season by @agrossunderstatement | Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. Kent Parson's life, from the Q, through his early years with the Aces, to Jack's senior year. Canon divergent. A story of love, loss, moving on, regressing, hockey, and found families of all kinds. | Effectively a novel, digging into Kent’s personal history, mostly concerning his life in juniors but expanding into his present, overlapping with the plot of OMGCP. I think there is room enough for endless speculations on what went down pre-canon; this one offers a fuller life for Kent than nearly any others, digging into him as a whole person rather than as a satellite to Jack or the plot of the comic. Which isn’t to say that the Kent/Jack stuff isn’t dealt with here; it explicitly is. But the fact of Kent Parson’s life, if we can begin to imagine it beyond mere text, would exist before, after, and alongside Jack; he gets to juniors without Jack, presumably, and he is the captain of a hockey team without Jack, and Pinkerton lays the foundation of Parse’s character within a junior hockey that Jack also inhabits, more so that Parse existing for Jack, so to speak. And I’m not implying this latter tactic is wrong; I have certainly employed it, and others have employed it to great impact and effect. But, still, the title of this series tells you what you ought to know: Kent and his story are the potentiality of OMGCP, up to a point; seeds being planted. Young hockey players, similarly. The question implied there is, what will be reaped? And the answer to the latter, in a sense, that reaping is a sort of violence. Which makes this series sound pretty heavy, but it’s not -- more like, realistic.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife by @queerofcups | The biggest problem with pretending that he doesn’t know that Kent Parson is fucking his husband is that Jack can’t tell Kent how grateful he is. | The ne plus ultra of PBJ triangulation; I’ve been squealing to the writer about how good it is since August, begging for behind-the-scenes insights, and I’d only do that if I really meant it. The precarious social fabric stretched across these three chapters is fraying before the reader’s eyes. The details are delicious, and I don’t want to spoil them, but they sing in chorus with the plot. My favorite OMGCP fics, honestly, remove the romance narrative guardrails that keep things in the comic itself humming along. I think Dann’s take is to ask who in this comic has power and what they would end up doing with it. (Or not doing, from another angle.) At one point, early on in its telling, OMGCP looked like it was going to be a story dealing with the compounded traumas of hockey’s discontents. Then, of course, it wasn’t. This is a fic that steps back and asks what the fallout of that oversight would be. But that’s just the moldering core of this fanfic; it’s actually embroidered, like I said, with glittering detail. The color of the suit Bitty wears to his wedding is burned into my brain. The gray manicure of a woman Jack knows. The ingredients in a cake. This is one of those fics I still haven’t reviewed because the thought of stacking everything I could say about it into mere AO3 comments is inadequate.

when you’re ready by megancrtr | The Aces’ director of communications gets the call at 3:13 a.m. Jack Zimmermann has withdrawn from the draft. | “What happened at the draft” is so mythological it gets asked in the comic proper, and I’ve never counted how many fics attempt to answer this question--from Kent’s point of view, even--but it’s gotta be, oh, hundreds. This story replays the situation from the perspective of an Aces staffer who just wants to do her job, and gets at the jarring discordance between the plot of OMGCP in its quest for social justice and the business of actual hockey. Important context is that this story was written around the time the comic was playing out the end of Y3 and start of Y4, and Bitty pointedly asked Jack the question, “why can’t we?” This story reframes the question as literal, rather than rhetorical. A sterling example of fanfic being a gloss on its source.

BONUS, podfics

hockeyed up | There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey. | A fic read aloud by its French-Canadian author. Also a relatively early OMGCP fanfic; composed while the first semester of Y2 was posting, the story suggests a version of OMGCP that was in some ways more and in other ways less complex than what it would turn into not long after. The real power of this podfic, however, is that it’s read by the writer, so you can hear the intended emphasis in every line. Also, because she’s French-Canadian, Sophie’s intonation is what I picture when I read or write dialogue for Jack.

maybe i’m waking up | It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.) | Don’t get too excited; this isn’t finished. A podfic of probably the best-known, most-recced fic in OMGCP fandom. Striking for its use of metatext woven into the story, this is one of several early longform Jack/Bitty fics that posits that maybe Jack has a lot more development to undergo before he can really, truly, be okay--or be okay enough to be with Bitty? To be honest, this story strikes me now as too long, but the parts in it that work are effective beyond that which fanfic demands. Meanwhile, this audio version only covers six chapters, but it’s so slick, so well-realized, so true to the story. Podfic as art.

my own dear friends | Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) | There’s previous little Jack/Shitty in this fandom and a lot less quality BDSM,

the city’s ours until the fall | Kent has been, historically, good at this—forgetting about things until suddenly he doesn’t, and then it’s like the scar has never been there in the first place, just the wound. (Or: Kent Parson lets himself be happy, after all this time.) | I’ve never read this fic and I never will. I cannot imagine how, no matter how good it is, it could compare to the version that lives in my head, with Kent’s voice so totally realized. Vocal fry and pathos, a languid energy that I still think about when I think about Parse.

the model home | It’s going to be better, and that’s great, but sometimes Jack thinks, why can’t it be good right now? | j/k j/k, this is a self-reminder to finally one day review this.

[dropofgoldensun]

omg hiiiii i am here from cat (@luvdsc) wondering if you could offer any advice about college apps 🙏 especially about the uc piqs? thank you so much i hope ur doing well!!!!!!!!

yes yes hello friend !! 💝 miss cat directed you to me because i did my college apps last year !!! (yikes one year passed already?? why does that feel ages ago 🤧)

first of all, congratulations on making the decision to apply to college !! i know it’s been hard for a lot of people our age to figure out the college situation recently, so i’m proud of you for choosing to take the extra step this summer to buckle up and write those essays 💞

i’ve compiled a few tips on answering the PIQs (i was actually in the middle of typing this up when i received your ask haha), but some of them can be applied to other essays, as well !! they’re all under the cut (because, unfortunately, being brief is not my forte) 😊

(and for reference, the prompts i chose were #2 (creativity), #6 (subject), #7 (community), and #8 (anything) !!)

tip #1: understand the prompt.

before you even begin writing, it’s important to understand what the question is really asking. for the UC PIQs, this will look different depending on which four prompts you decide to do.

in question one, for example, they want to know about your skills in leading others, but notice that they’re also curious about your resolution abilities and teamwork experience. or in question two, they don’t want to know that you paint and that you love painting—they could be asking how resourceful you are, how you think outside the box when you have an idea.

once you know the question you’re going to be answering, you can move on to brainstorming!

tip #2: write down three (3) key takeaways.

these are like the most basic, not-even-a-sentence answers you would give to each question. so for me, in response to question eight (“what do you believe makes you stand out as a strong candidate for the UCs?”), my answers were perseverance, courage, and character. i had a story about that, so i wrote about my experience with martial arts.

i recommend you do something similar. decide on three things that you want to communicate to your audience, and write them in the footnote of your document. your goal is to cover all three points so that, if anyone were to read your essay, they would walk away understanding those three things about you.

i found this strategy really helpful for keeping my essay streamlined while writing—if a sentence didn’t relate to any of those main points, i would cut it since those words would take up valuable space in the word count. stay focused on what needs to be in this essay, and if you have extra words left in the word count later, you can add those details back in.

and once you’re done with your essay, make sure to refer back to your takeaways and check that you covered all of them sufficiently!

tip #3: highlight your stories.

i sent cat an ask a couple days ago with a few pictures of my response to an end-of-year college counseling survey that referenced this tip (you can find it here). basically i said that, when choosing what topics to write about, pick things that interest you! if you get excited talking about it, your audience should get excited about reading it, because they’ll pick up on the passions you have and then everyone’s excited !!! :D

i’ll tell you a secret: everyone you meet, everyone you see, has countless unique experiences that few others may have. me? i spend hours making mashups out of kpop songs. i earned my black belt years after a traumatizing experience during training. i get russian harry potter and spanish dr. seuss books from the library. and i created a collaborative online google photos album for my classmates that now has thousands of entries. although these aren’t necessarily unique to only me, they’re still special enough to the point where, when you put them all together, you get a better image of the person i am, and what i value.

so find a story, a habit, a hobby that makes you different, because i believe that everyone has them. give them some food for thought, or that one-liner that sticks in their brain and won’t go away. and remember: these stories don’t all have to be extraordinary—they should be about people or moments of special value to you, because that’s what matters.

personal tip: when i was brainstorming ideas, i decided that the best way to get ideas out there was to go on a rant (because sometimes it helps to just have a conversation with yourself !!) and i recorded myself, so i could replay what i said !! this was so so crucial to me finding my own voice for writing essays. notice the way you word things when you talk—a good line or two may make it into the final draft :)

i found it helpful to read sample essays as well! they give a lot of great ideas on the kinds of topics people write about. (also, it’s kind of fun, because who doesn’t love a good story?)

but the people reading your essay won’t be there to just enjoy your story; what they really want you to do is to tell them what you learned from your experience. they want to know whether you’re teachable and willing to grow both as a student and as a young adult. so make sure to take note of the life lessons you learned, experience you gained, character you built, etc.

minor tip on ending your essay: if you’re telling a story that happened in the past, then close with what you learned and how you can apply that to your life moving forward. if you’re telling a story that has no definite end yet (like a passion or dream you have), you probably don’t have everything figured out (and you can say that in your essay!), so it might be better to close with your hopes for the future.

tip #4: ask your family for help.

peer-editing is one of the most effective ways to detect errors and inconsistencies in your writing, because, after staring at your essay for so long, you might gloss over glaring contradictions. for all of my essays, i printed them out and asked my parents to help me revise them. we’d meet every other night (or every night, depending on how much time was left) to review and discuss improvements.

i actually kept some of those printed drafts (only the first and the final ones for comparison), and let me tell you from experience—you’re probably going to have a lot of drafts (i think the most i did was seven? but you don’t need to go that far!). this part of the process does take some time, so remember to be patient and kind to yourself :) these essays won’t happen overnight!

enlisting the help of others also helps keep you accountable. one of the struggles many seniors face while writing essays is just... setting aside time to do them. and even though the constant reminders from your parents will definitely get repetitive and a bit stress-inducing, i can tell you from personal experience that i’m so glad they did; otherwise, i don’t think i’d have my essays done in time :’)

while writing college essays is challenging, your family will be there supporting you each step of the way. chances are that they’ll have their own pointers to pass on to you, since they probably remember doing this process themselves! and, out of everyone in your life, they probably remember the most about you (because you probably don’t remember much when you were four or five), so they might have a couple starter ideas for topics when brainstorming. you can rely on them for their advice and their experience.

tip #5: self-editing.

here’s the part that takes the longest time.

use action words. this is probably something you’ve heard all throughout elementary school where they didn’t like you to say “said” because it was “boring”… but honestly, the difference between “doing my own version” and “infusing it with my personality” could go a long way. also, use words that you would actually use in an essay—then it’ll have your own special flair, and not sound like it’s taken from some stuffy 80s textbook!

here are some of the words i used (once again, you shouldn’t use these words if they don’t sound like something you’d write/say): potential, overlay, wrestle, launch, analogous, weave, infuse, experiment, outlet, revel, fascinate, satisfaction, pursue, expand, distinction, capture, range, archive, engage, beyond, build, adversity, cultivate, preserve, commit, explore, convey, naturally

also, be on the lookout for repeated words. i once wrote an essay without noticing that i used “hope” three times in the same paragraph. don’t do that! use synonyms :) personally, i tended to run short on synonyms, so i always kept a tab or two open on my computer reserved for searching up new words.

side note: unfortunately, during my search for synonyms, i discovered that thesaurus.com just didn’t give me what i was looking for. i highly recommend using wordhippo instead; it has so many more options and they’re grouped by the different definitions of your word! i found the synonyms i needed really quickly and it was very satisfying!

avoid the passive voice! my teacher gave me this tip for theses or any other college-level writing. here’s an example of the passive voice: “there was a large part of me that wanted to turn back.” that’s twelve words taking up precious space in your word count! instead, say something like, “i considered turning back.” you’ve just freed up eight words :)

tip #6: final revisions.

this is the step where you fine-tune your essays. meet that word count.

read your writing out loud. does it sound like you? it should. every writer has a different voice, and you need to ensure that yours is pervasive throughout your essay. feel free to use contractions—not only do they reduce your word count (this was a good thing for me, since i had a problem with getting under 350 words), but they also give a more casual tone to your essay, as if you’re telling a story to someone in the room.

next, pretend to be an admissions officer and have someone else read your essay to you. do you get excited hearing about this student who shares your name? if you do, there’s a good chance the real admissions officers will love your essays, too. this also gives you a chance to review to your essay as a whole. pay attention to the overall flow. is there a clear beginning and end? do you resolve the issues and overcome the trials you brought up? listen to it as if it’s a story, and take this time to enjoy what you’ve written. you worked hard!

final thoughts / encouragements.

oh my goodness, did we make it to the end? honestly if you did, thank you so much 🥺

okay but despite my relatively optimistic tone throughout this post, i’m still going to be honest with you—the college essay writing process is difficult. it requires you to look inside yourself and analyze the “why” behind some of the things that you love, and that isn’t easy to do at all. it’s intellectually and emotionally challenging, because not only do you need to use so much energy writing, but you also have to dig deeper to understand yourself, and that’s not easy, either.

but i wanted to encourage you, too. no matter what you may think of yourself at 12am, 2am, 4am writing these essays, believe you have a personality that others love and will love when they meet you. you are an interesting person with unique experiences who deserves to share your thoughts with others. you have so many people behind you, supporting you during these next few months. and when you find that you can’t write any more, remember to take time to care for yourself. have a warm shower. go to bed early. i could go on and on about why sleep is good for your brain but i’ll spare you the details in this post 😉

one last thing: keep the bigger picture in focus. remember, by december or january, you will be finished with most of the application process. that’s no small accomplishment. you can do it. 💝

i really hope you found tips that you were looking for, and that they’re applicable to your own PIQs and other essays !! if you have any other questions, feel free to send in another ask (i promise my response won’t be this lengthy LOL) 💘💓

oh, and if you feel comfortable enough reaching out about anything in particular, i’m only a DM away 💕 i wish you the best of luck on writing your essays and i hope you enjoy your final year of high school !! 💗🌸💟💖

[petersasteria]

Reversed Curse - Tom Holland (Royal AU)

Pairing: Tom x Princess!Reader

This is my second entry for @hollandsrecs‘ fic bingo x

6.8k words

* * * *

"Your Highness, we found the culprit!" The Royal Guard announced as he entered the throne room with two other guards and a man with his hands chained. The man was as old as the king and he was dirty because of the grease. He was bravely looking at the King.

The King was very angry. "How dare you stand there with a brave face as you look at me!" The King seethed.

"I stand here with all the dignity I have left, sire." The man said. "For I have done no wrong. I would never lay my hands on any other woman because I have a wife. Nor will I ever lay my hands on someone's daughter for I, too, have one at home."

The King scoffed, "How dare you lie in front of my face. I know that you touched my daughter."

"Are you certain it was me?" The man raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did she say?"

"She said that a man had touched her whilst she was having an afternoon nap under the tree in the garden. She described the man and it matched your description. I, therefore, conclude that you were the bastard that groped her!" The King shouted.

The man said nothing. Just then, the Princess and the Queen entered the throne room. The Princess was shocked to see a dirty man in the throne room.

"Darling." The King said to his loving daughter. "We have found the dirty rascal who touched you. No sin will be forgiven for I have set a punishment already."

She frowned, "Father, that's the wrong man."

"What are you talking about? Yes, he is! The description matched him perfectly!"

"I'm afraid I very well know who the culprit was because I saw him myself!" The Princess argued. "Believe me when I say that he is not the man who groped me."

"You shall be sent to your room without supper as punishment for disrespecting me." The King said with no emotion, no heart. He looked at the man, "And as for you, in the morning bright and early, your punishment will be waiting. Send him to the dungeon."

The Princess was escorted to her room and the man was escorted to the dungeon. She didn't know what to do to help the innocent man. She knew he wasn't guilty, but she also knew that her father wouldn't change his mind.

The very next day, the sun was shining brightly despite the horrific act that will soon follow. Princess Y/N wondered if the sun would still shine as bright after the man's punishment. She wondered if God would forgive her father for being vicious and cruel. She and her family sat in a booth that had the perfect view of the stage where the man will be standing.

"Father." She pleaded. "This is not right. He's innocent, I swear on it."

The King looked at her and said, "I don't care. Whatever happens, happens." He had no remorse in his body. The King proudly looked back at the stage and smirked when he saw the guards escorting the man on stage.

Princess Y/N looked at the audience when she noticed a woman wailing in the front row. She heard the woman shouting as if trying to get the attention of the King. Y/N glanced at her father and became annoyed when he chose to ignore the woman. She looked at the woman again and she saw that she wept harder when it was announced by the guard that the man will be hung to death.

"Father, you can't do this." Y/N shook her head as she cried. "It's not right for an innocent man to die. God won't allow it. That man has an innocent soul!"

"God wouldn't care!" Her father yelled angrily. "He took your brother's innocent soul with no pity and no hesitation. I shall do the same."

"I'm sure God had a reason." She argued. "But this is different. You're not God!"

"I have a reason too! Now, shut your mouth!" The King ended the conversation and focused on the man's hanging. The noose was already around the man's neck and everyone watched as the man stepped on the stool, accepting his fate.

"Any last words?" The Royal Guard asked.

The man nodded and took a deep breath knowing that it would be his last. He looked at his face and offered her a small smile. "I love my wife and I love my daughter. Both of you are the first ones I think about as I wake and before I sleep. Now that my fate has been sealed, I shall think of both of you for the rest of the time that my eyes are closed. I will miss both of you very much and I wish I could hold both of you one last time before I go, but we know that isn't possible. I love you."

The support of the stool was taken away causing the man to dangle and struggle to breathe. After twenty minutes of struggling, he was announced dead.

A few days later, the King sent out invitations for the monthly check on his people. He wanted to know what his people need and want. Obviously, most of them were empty promises but the people would still say what they need and want, anyway.

"I will see what I can do for your crops." The King said with a faux smile plastered on his face. "Next!"

The next was a woman in black colored attire. She was a sinister stranger that nobody knew. She had the aura of death and around her and it didn't feel right. Despite that, the King shrugged it off and asked what she wanted.

"I want justice." The woman said.

"Justice?" The King said. He was confused.

The woman nodded, "I want justice for my husband. You hung him to death a few days ago. He was the love of my life and you killed him with no ounce of pity. He was innocent. I want to avenge him."

The King let out a scoff, "And how could you possibly do that?"

The woman smirked and raised her arms to unleash the cruel aura around her. "My husband's death became the source of my sadness. In order to avenge his death, I shall curse the Queen to die with a terrible illness and for the Princess to never find true love." She put her arms down and vanished in thin air.

The King didn't seem too fazed by it, but the Queen was scared. "We must do something." The Queen said.

"Yes, father. We must." Princess Y/N pleaded. "It was your fault anyway. I warned you! I told you he was innocent!"

"Fine." The King said. "I don't believe a single thing about what that witch said, but we'll do something."

Later that night, the Royal Family took a short carriage ride to another witch whom they knew personally. Queen Y/M/N had fascinations about magic and she befriended the witch. His name was Charles.

The Queen knocked on his door and the door was slowly opened. Charles looked shocked, "Your Highness! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We came to ask for your help, Charles." The Queen said sweetly. Charles nodded and opened the door wide enough for the Royal Family to enter. They all sat down in the small dining area and they began to talk about the curse.

Charles nodded and said, "I can't undo the curse. The only person who can undo the curse is the witch who inflicted it. I can, however, reverse it. I just need a few things."

"Like what?" The King asked.

"Leaves as green as moss, bird as colorful as a flower, dust as fine as powder and a diamond." Charles said.

Y/N looked at her ring and saw a diamond on it, "I have a diamond right here on my ring. Will that work?"

Charles shook his head, "The diamond must be searched for. Speaking of searching, the princess must look for all of these things before the sun sets the day after tomorrow. That potion is for reversing the death of the Queen. She won't die, however, she'll get sick."

"But what about my curse?" The Princess asked. "I want to find my true love."

Charles snorted, "Does true love even exist?" He looked at the Princess who was frowning at his words and he cleared his throat, "Well I do have something in mind."

"What is it?" The Princess desperately asked.

Charles gulped and said, "You must sacrifice the thing you love the most."

"Sacrifice?" She asked. "What? You mean... kill?"

"Precisely." Charles nodded. "Do it after you've found everything needed for the potion."

"How will I know that the curse has been lifted?" She questioned.

"Your heart will ache when your true love gets hurt." Charles said. "If I were you, I'd start now. Time is ticking and the woods can be a dangerous place. Come straight here once you've collected everything and sacrifice the thing here too as I create the potion."

"Thank you, Charles." The Queen smiled. "I shall forever be in debt."

The Royal Family quickly left and went back to the palace. The Princess hastily went to her room and grabbed her satchel. She changed into a simple red corset dress and she neatly tied her hair with a ribbon.

She walked out of her room with the satchel and quickly walked to the palace's door. The Queen, her mother, stopped her.

"Mother, please get out of the way." The Princess said. "You heard what that man said. Time is ticking and-"

"I know. I just want to give you my scarf." Her mother wrapped the scarf around Y/N's neck and said, "I won't be able to protect you out there, but I hope this scarf will make you think of me whenever you're scared or whenever you miss home. Just promise me you'll come back to me in one piece."

"I promise, mother." Princess Y/N smiled. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek before she fled out of the palace and into the stable where she got on her horse.

The Princess rode on her horse into the woods with only the moon's shine as their source of light. The horse, Vixen, decided that she didn't want to run anymore and abruptly came to a halt. The Princess fell forward and into the still river. She thanked God because the river was calm and it wasn't rushing through. She hoisted herself up again coughed up water.

"What a good way to start the trip." She muttered to herself. She squeezed out the water from her hair, her dress, her scarf and she turned her empty satchel upside down so all the water could fall out. She looked at Vixen and sighed, "We'll start tomorrow, okay? Let's get some sleep."

She settled Vixen down and she laid her head on Vixen's body as a pillow. "Good night, Vixen. We shall wake up bright and early for our adventure." After that, Vixen and the Princess fell soundly asleep.

-

The next morning arrived and the village shops were already starting to open. The Holland family had a talent for carpentry and baking. Their home was just the right size with the first floor as the bakery and the backyard as the place for carpentry.

"Thomas!" His mother shouted from downstairs. "Wake up and fetch some water from the river! I'll be washing the clothes today and a lot of people are fetching water from the well now."

Thomas groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slowly sat up. "I won't ask again, Thomas!" His mother shouted again. "You better be awake! Bring the cart with you."

"That cart is bloody heavy." He whispered to himself as he got up and stretched. He walked downstairs and said, "Why can't Sam do it?"

Sam glared at his older brother and grabbed a pinch of flour and threw it at him, "I'm bloody baking, imbecile."

"Sam, don't say that. Tom, get to work." Their mother said. "We have so much to do! Harry is with your father outside. They're making a table for Elizabeth's family." She walked away to gather all the clothes in the house.

"Thomas, is it true?" Sam whispered. Thomas looked at him with a confused look. "Is what true?"

"Word on the street is that you deflowered Elizabeth Carter. Is it true? What you did?" Sam asked as he rolled the dough with a rolling pin.

Thomas couldn't believe his ears. Who on earth made up a rumor about him?

"You know, if she ends up having your child and if you don't marry her, you could be executed and that's stated in the law." Sam said.

"It's not true, Sam. Don't believe what other people say." Thomas said. "I didn't deflower anyone and I don't plan to, not yet. Besides, if she's with child, that's her problem. Not mine. I'm not the father."

He grabbed six big buckets and stacked it all together. Thomas wore his boots and said goodbye to his brother. He put the buckets in the wooden cart and went on his way to the river in the woods as he pushed the cart.

He reached the river and saw the Princess with her horse. Thomas stopped in his tracks and stared at her in shock. The Princess was sound asleep and Thomas drifted his attention towards the sparkly ring on her finger.

He slowly tiptoed to the Princess and sneakily took off her ring so that he could examine it. Just as he was about to put it back, the Princess stirred awake causing him to panic and put the ring in his pocket and backed away.

The Princess adjusted to the light before she sat up. She looked around to see a boy about her age. She looked surprised, "Oh, I'm sorry. Was I in your way?"

Thomas stared at her and shook his head, "N-No. In fact, I'm sorry for bothering you in your sleep."

"Non-sense! This isn't my property." The Princess waved him off and stood up. She looked behind him and saw a cart, "Were you going to fetch water?"

"Yes." Thomas nodded as he grabbed a bucket before scooping water to fill the bucket and going back to the cart to put the bucket there as he repeated the process five more times. The Princess just watched him as she thought of something.

Thomas looked at her and nodded to her, "I have to get going. Have a good day." He slowly pushed the now heavy cart and walked away.

"Wait!" She ran up to him. "You can borrow my horse. Her name is Vixen. In return, I need your help."

"I don't even know who you are." Thomas said. "Besides, I have to go."

"I know, but it's quicker if you borrow my horse. I really need your help." She pleaded. Thomas thought about it and nodded, "Fine."

With that, both of them tied the horse to the cart and both of them made their back to the village. "I never got your name." Thomas said.

"Likewise." The Princess smirked slightly.

"I'm Thomas."

"Y/N." She smiled. She wasn't offended when Thomas didn't know who she was. In fact, she was glad that she wasn't recognized. She didn't want to draw attention. They arrived at Thomas' humble home and he brought the buckets of water in the house and out in the backyard where his mother was waiting.

Y/N entered the lovely home and looked around at the bread and pastries. She loved the aroma wafting through the air and she took notice of an attractive lad making them.

"Excuse me." She said as the boy looked at her. "Did you make all these?"

He smiled and nodded, "Yes. Some of them are my own recipes."

"Oh, how wonderful!" She smiled as she looked around.

After Thomas finished, he looked between his brother and Y/N. "I see you've met. That's my brother Sam and this is Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

"Pleased to meet you too."

Y/N turned to Thomas and said, "I'm reversing a curse inflicted upon my mother and I need your help to find the things I need for the potion."

Thomas stared at her, "Are you mad?"

"Of course not! It's the truth. My mother was cursed and I need to get the things to reverse it. I have until tomorrow's sunset." Y/N explained. Thomas thought about it for a while and shrugged, "Alright, but you'll have to tell my mother."

Just then, Thomas' mother came in. "Sam, where's- Thomas, who's this?"

"This is Y/N. We met at the river." Thomas said as Y/N smiled politely. His mother smiled back, "Oh, my! How gorgeous, you look. To what do we owe the pleasure of having you here, darling?"

"My mother was cursed and I've come to ask for your permission if it's alright with you if I bring Thomas with me for my mission. I don't know the woods very well like he does." Y/N explained.

"Of course, he can help." His mother smiled.

"Wait. You're not surprised that my mother was cursed?"

"No." His mother shook her head. "It's quite normal to get cursed in the village. Anyway, I wish both of you luck on your mission."

"Thank you." Y/N said as she quickly left. She untied Vixen from the cart before getting on it. Thomas followed quickly after saying goodbye. "Hop on, Thomas!"

Thomas sat behind her on the horse and he didn't know where to hold on to.

"Hold my waist. It's alright." Y/N said. Thomas' face flushed red as he held on to her waist. Vixen galloped back to the woods and Y/N looked around for leaves as green as moss; the first on the list.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Thomas asked.

"Leaves as green as moss, bird as colorful as a flower, dust as fine as powder and a diamond." Y/N sighed. "Do you know where to get those?"

"I know where to get the leaves. My mate, Harrison, is a tailor but he takes care of plants. He might have the leaves that you want."

"Great! Where does he live?"

"Back in the village." Thomas said. "We can just put that on the last part of the list. Let's find the bird."

"I don't know where to start, though." She sighed. She assumed she needed a colorful bird with vibrant colors.

"I always find strange things deep into the woods." Thomas shrugged. "If we keep going further, we can find all of those things. It's beautiful there as well, breathtaking!"

The pair went further into the woods and Thomas was right. The scenery was beautiful. There was a small waterfall, a lot of trees that surrounded the area, the sky was blue and the clouds were white and puffy. Y/N smiled. She had never seen anything like it before.

Y/N stopped Vixen as she and Thomas hopped down the horse. Thomas looked around for the bird as Y/N stared at the view in front of her. Thomas smiled when he saw the most colorful bird that was up on the tree.

"Y/N, I think I found the bird." Thomas whispered. He walked towards the tree and slowly climbed it. Y/N didn't turn around to look. Her gaze was kept on the scenery. She knew that she wouldn't see it ever again.

"Oh, Vixen. Isn't marvelous?" She whispered to her beloved friend. "I will definitely miss this place."

She was too busy to notice Thomas stand next to her with the most colorful bird on his shoulder. Thomas carefully tapped her shoulder and she turned to him and her eyes widened with a big smile on her face.

"Is this the bird you need?" Thomas asked. "I think this is it."

"Same here. We already have one and we need three more!" She cheered.

"What's the next one?" Thomas asked.

"Dust as fine as powder." She said. "I don't even know anymore."

"I saw some of those." Thomas said. "I go out a lot with my mate and we see things out here in the woods. We found dust like that near a mountain. It's a bit far, though."

She nodded, "Okay. We might find a diamond along the way."

"I think Harrison saw a cave there once. I'm not sure if there are treasures in there like gems." Thomas said. "We have to go while the sun's still out. How long do you have again?"

"Tomorrow before the sunset." She answered.

"Let's go, then."

They hopped on the horse again and they went to the place where Thomas found the special dust that Y/N needed. She knew it was a great choice to bring Thomas with her.

"I'm quite fond of your company, Thomas." She confessed. It was true. She's never met anyone as adventurous as Thomas. "How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen." Thomas answered. "You?"

"I'm eighteen too." She said. "How long until we reach our destination?"

"Not too long. I know the path very well. As long as we don't stray, we'll be fine." Thomas reassured. They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Thomas saw the cave from afar. "Look! There's the cave!"

Y/N looked at the direction he was looking at and she grinned. She has never seen a cave before. It would be her first time. "It looks lovely, Thomas."

"We need to be careful, though. Some people who go in there, never get back out." Thomas said. "My cousin never got back out."

"I'm so sorry." She frowned. "What will we do, then?"

"I'll go in and-"

"No, I will. You already got the bird and you knew where to get the leaves. The least I could do is get the diamond and the dust."

Thomas didn't want the girl to go, but he nodded, "Alright. I'll tie a rope around your waist."

"We don't have a rope."

"Then we'll have a makeshift rope. I know there's a strong vine around here." Thomas said as he hopped off the horse. He immediately looked for a vine and Y/N hopped off the horse too and left Vixen by a tree. She stood in front of the cave and she felt shivers down her spine.

Thomas quickly found a vine and tied it around the girl's waist. He was admittedly nervous for her seeing as he would be responsible for her life if she never came back out. He didn't want that and he didn't need that on his conscience.

"Good luck and stay safe, alright? Just look for the diamond and get the first diamond you ever see and come back out. Come back out for your mother. You're doing this for her." Thomas told her. She nodded and walked in. Thomas was holding on to the vine outside the cave and he watched as the darkness of the cave engulfed her. He couldn't see her anymore and it worried him.

"Y/N! Are you alright in there?" He shouted. He stayed quiet and he grew anxious when he didn't hear an answer. "Tug on this rope if you're still there!" He shouted once more. His anxiety grew when he didn't feel a tug on the vine. He wanted to go after her so bad, but he knew one of them had to stay in case anything would happen.

Just as he was about to get help, he heard footsteps coming out of the cave. Y/N came out and she said, "Let's go!"

Thomas nodded as he got Vixen ready. He hopped on and so did she. "The diamond is in my satchel. Let's go." She said. "Where's the dust?"

"Just near here." Thomas replied. "We'll get there as soon as possible and in the morning, we'll go back to the village and straight to Harrison's home. You'll be able to go back before sunset. I swear on it."

Vixen walked along the path of the woods with Thomas' guidance this time and Y/N sat behind him as she pet the bird resting on his shoulder. "I'll name you 'Iris' because it means 'rainbow'." Y/N said softly as she smiled fondly at the colorful bird.

She couldn't see it due to their seating arrangement on the horse, but Thomas smiled to himself when he heard her name the bird. He didn't know what it was. Perhaps it was her soft voice lingering in his ears or the feeling of being calm or relaxed, but he felt contentment and genuine happiness.

It was the main reason he escaped to the woods in the first place. He didn't go there to hunt or hide. He was there to escape. Sometimes with Harrison, most of the time just on his own. After all, there was no nagging in the woods. There were no annoying brothers or bossy fathers. Just him and nature and the peaceful ambiance that surrounded him. He would be there often and just unwind before going back to the village to another chore that his mother told him to do.

Thomas stopped Vixen and broke the silence. "I'll let you get down now. You'll find the dust here." He said. Y/N went down her horse and she looked on the ground. "Get as much as you can." He added.

She grabbed a handful of dust and put it in her satchel. To make sure, she grabbed one more handful. She turned to Thomas and grinned, "I got it." Before she got on the horse, she looked out into the horizon and saw that the sun was setting.

"One sunset down." Thomas muttered. "One more to go."

"Indeed." She said before getting on the horse. "We better get out of here now. We need to rest at the part of the woods where the village is near."

Thomas nodded, "I know exactly where."

They moved to the place where Thomas would often rest. In fact, he already had a blanket way up high on the tree where no one would find it. They both got down from the horse and Thomas quickly climbed up the tree to retrieve his blanket. Y/N, on the other hand, settled Vixen down. Thomas got down from the tree and set his blanket on the ground.

"I only have one blanket. You can stay there." Thomas said.

"Oh, thank you. I was actually planning on sleeping the same way I slept when you found me this morning." Y/N said.

"You mean... on your horse?" He asked.

"Yes." She nodded. "Besides, it's your blanket. Good night, Thomas." She smiled and positioned herself next to Vixen and rested her head on Vixen's body. Iris, the bird, settled on Vixen's body too.

Thomas laid down on his blanket and yawned, "Good night, Y/N."

The next day, the pair woke up with sun shining way up high and directly on them which meant that it was already afternoon. Thomas hurriedly folded his blanket and climbed up the tree to hide it. Y/N helped Vixen stand up as she waited for Thomas to come down. Iris flew on Tom's shoulder and stayed there again.

Together, they got on the horse and went to Harrison's home. The Osterfields were a family of tailors. They were the best in the village. Not much were said during the whole trip. Vixen was rapidly galloping in the woods to go back into the village.

Thankfully, they did. They stopped in front of Harrison's home and the two got down from the horse. They knocked on the door and Harrison's mother opened it and smiled. "Thomas! I didn't know you were visiting. Please, come in."

Thomas and Y/N entered the home and Thomas asked, "Is Harrison here? We need something."

"He went to the market a while ago. I'm sure he's on his way back." Harrison's mother smiled at him. She turned to Y/N and said, "You look like the Princess, but dirty."

Y/N wanted to be offended, but she found it hilarious. "Oh, thanks I guess." She giggled.

"I've only met the Royal Family once. I made the Queen's gown when her son was born. It's tragic, really. I can't imagine losing any of my children." Harrison's mother frowned before going back to sewing. Y/N frowned. She missed her brother. He was only older than her by two years.

A few minutes later, Harrison arrived. Harrison smiled at Thomas as soon as he saw him. Harrison pulled Thomas in for a hug and both of them were happy. "Thomas! I haven't seen you for awhile." Harrison grinned as he pulled away. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Thomas smiled, "Y/N over here needs leaves as green as moss. Do you have them?"

Harrison thought about it and nodded, "I do! They're outside. Follow me." He led the way and Thomas and Y/N followed behind him. They arrived at the backyard and Harrison smiled. He looked at his plants with a proud look. He turned to face Thomas and Y/N, "My plants' leaves are all as green as moss. Take your pick, miss Y/N."

Y/N thanked him and looked at his plants.

Harrison looked at his best mate and a puzzled look appeared on his face when he saw a colorful bird on his shoulder, "Whose bird is that?"

"Oh, it's hers. She needs it to reverse a curse or something." Thomas shrugged.

Harrison nodded, "Another witch victim, I see."

"Yeah, it's her mother."

"Oh, bless her."

"Bless her, indeed."

She found the one with the perfect shade and took three leaves. After that, she turned to the two males, "Thomas, we should go. It'll be sunset soon." She put the leaves in her satchel.

"Of course." Thomas said. "It was lovely to see you again, mate. I'll come back soon. Hopefully we'll have time to fish again."

"I shall be waiting for that." Harrison said before turning to Y/N. "It was a pleasure to help you."

"Thank you again. I'll come back soon for dresses, this time." She grinned. Harrison chuckled and led the way back to the front door. They said their goodbyes and they went straight to Charles' home. When they arrived, Y/N quickly knocked on his door.

Charles opened and smiled, "Have you got the ingredients?" She only nodded. "Alright." Charles said. "What about the thing you love most? Also here?"

She nodded again.

"Okay. To be quick, give me the ingredients and I'll make the potion while you kill the thing you love most. It'll be worth it in the end." Charles said. Y/N didn't hesitate to hand him the satchel. Thomas quickly walked up to her to give Iris, the bird.

"Go to the backyard and perform the killing there. What will you sacrifice?" Charles asked.

Y/N frowned and painfully said, "My horse, Vixen. She's the one I love most."

"Okay, Princess. Start sacrificing. Sunset will be sooner than you think." Charles said as he directed where the door to his backyard was and closed the front door.

Y/N quickly went to the backyard with Vixen and Thomas trailed behind them. Thomas was shocked that after all this time, he's been adventuring with the actual Princess.

"Why didn't you tell me you were the Princess?" Thomas asked with hurt in his voice.

"I didn't want you to know. Besides, it wasn't important." She shrugged as they arrived at the backyard.

"It was to me." Thomas said. "I should go now."

Y/N sighed, "Thomas, wait." But it was too late. He already ran out. She shook her head and focused. It broke her heart to let go of Vixen, but she had to do what she had to do.

She had no idea how to sacrifice her horse. So, she borrowed poison from Charles. She didn't know why Charles had it nor did she ask. She added the poison in Vixen's food and fed it to the horse.

Her heart broke at the sight of her beloved horse hurting and dying. She had to look away. It was only a matter of time when Vixen dropped dead. She went inside and told Charles what happened.

"Just in time. The potion is ready. Tell the Queen to drink the potion and to eat the bird. I also made a necklace for the diamond. Tell her to wear it immediately and never take it off." Charles said as he put the things in Y/N's satchel. She only nodded. everything was happening too fast.

She put on her satchel, thanked Charles, and ran back to the palace. The guards recognized her and immediately let her in. The Queen wasn't in the throne room, so she went to her parents' chamber. There, she found her mother laying down. The Queen caught a fever.

"Mother!" She ran up to her and immediately put the necklace on her mother. The Queen was surprised by her movements.

"Drink this." Y/N said. "It would help." The Queen did what she was told and drank the whole thing. It didn't taste very nice but what surprised the Queen even more was the food Y/N took out of her satchel.

"Is that the bird?!" The Queen shrieked.

"Yes, mother. I'm afraid you have no choice, but to eat it." Y/N frowned. She handed the small bag, with the bird in it, to her mother. She watched as her mother unwillingly ate it.

The Queen had no choice. She was already starting to get sick and she didn't want the witch's curse to push through.

"What did you sacrifice, my darling?" The Queen asked after she ate the whole thing. Y/N looked at her and smiled sadly, "Vixen."

The Queen frowned and puller her in for an embrace. She knew that her daughter loved that horse very much. Vixen was her only friend and losing an only friend was heartbreaking.

A few days later, Y/N's heart started hurting. She immediately felt a lot of emotions. She was happy that the curse was reversed. She was sad that her true love was getting hurt. She was mad at the person hurting her true love.... whoever her true love was.

She was walking in the halls when she overheard two maids talking.

"I saw them bringing a young lad to the dungeon. He was shouting for the princess' name." One maid said.

"I heard them beating him. I think he wanted to give something to the princess." The other said.

Upon hearing this, Y/N immediately ran to the dungeons where she saw a guard by the door. "Princess! You're not allowed here. Your father, the King, said so." The guard said.

"Let me through. I believe I have something there for me." She said.

"Y-You know the lad?" The guard asked.

She wasn't really sure who it was. It could be any of the three lads she met: Thomas, Sam or Harrison. It could be any of them or some random lad she's never seen before.

"Yes, I do. I've been expecting him actually and I was wondering where he was. Until I heard that you brought a lad here that had something for me. I want to see him." She said firmly. The guard shook his head. She scoffed, "I won't tell my father that you allowed me in. In fact, this can be our secret. Just let me in and let the lad go right after."

Satisfied with what she said, the guard lets her in. She walked through the dark dungeon with only torches as her source of light. She looked left and right until she found the only occupied cell. She stopped in front of it and looked closer only to see Thomas in the far corner of the cell. He was whimpering.

"Thomas!" She whisper-yelled. Thomas shot his head up and saw her. He smiled for a second and said, "I'm sorry you have to see me this way."

"What happened?" She asked.

"They caught me sneaking in and they dragged me down here. I tried to escape, but I got punched in the face and I accidentally slipped and fell on my bum." Thomas explained sheepishly.

Y/N giggled, "What are you doing here? And please, come closer. You're so far back."

Thomas shook his head. She frowned, "Why not? I don't have the plague, Thomas."

"It's nothing personal. It's just that I'm terribly scared of spiders and there's one right there." Thomas pointed. She looked at where he was pointing and chuckled. She called the guard over to get rid of the spider without hurting it and to release Thomas right after. The guard did just that and she and Thomas walked around the palace.

"This is my first time here and I have to say... I love it!" Thomas said excitedly as he gazed at the fantastic columns and intricate designs of every corner and the wonderful paintings. Thomas smiled at the small painting.

"Hey, I know that painting!" Thomas pointed. He proudly smiled, "Did you get it from my brother, Harry?"

"I don't know who he is." She chuckled. "But mother bought it somewhere when she went out in disguise. Maybe she bought it from your brother, but I'm really not sure. My apologies."

"It's alright." He shrugged.

"So, um, what brings you here? Why were you looking for me?" She asked. He stopped walking and turned to face her. He looked extremely guilty. She looked worried.

Thomas looked down in shame and said, "Please don't execute me, Your Highness, but I found your ring in my pocket. It was then that I remembered I took it from you when I saw you asleep by the river. I was meant to return it, but I forgot it was in my pocket the whole time and I panicked when you woke up and saw me. I'm so sorry. I came here to return it."

He fished out the ring in his pocket and gave it to her. "I am deeply sorry and I will forever be sorry. If you'll execute me for my wrong doing, I would like to say goodbye to my family and Harrison first."

She took the ring from him and put it on her ring finger. She smiled at him, "All is forgiven, Thomas. There'll be no execution."

He slowly looked at her, "Really?"

"Really. After all, I can't execute my true love." She grinned cheekily.

"True love?" He chuckled. "Me? Your true love? Non-sense, Your Highness."

"Call me Y/N." She frowned slightly. "I'm the same person you met at the river and I'm still the same person now. So please, call me Y/N like what I told you to."

"How in the world am I your true love?" Thomas asked. "Answer me that, Y/N."

She sighed, "I was cursed to never find true love. To reverse that, I have to kill the thing I love most. I killed Vixen. In order to know that the reverse worked, Charles said that my heart will hurt when my true love gets hurt. My heart hurt when you got punched and I went out to investigate. I overheard two maids of mine talking about a lad in the dungeon. So, I went there and you were there. You're my true love, Thomas."

He looked at her for a long time, "I'm a peasant, Y/N. We can't be together even if what you say is true."

"Then I'll ask my father to change the rules. We could be together, Thomas." She cried.

"I'm sorry." Thomas frowned. "I'll leave now. I told my mother I'll be gone for a while. She's probably looking for me."

"Thomas, please. I know you're the one I want to spend the rest of my waking days with. Please stay." She wiped her tears.

He smiled sadly and shook his head, "As much as I love to, you know the rules. I could be executed just by being here with you right now. Your father's brutal. He has no remorse and he will have no remorse executing me even if you claim me as your one true love."

"When can I see you again, then?" She asked.

"I'm not quite sure." He shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, I'll write you letters."

"That makes me feel so much better." She smiled and embraced him. "Thank you for everything and I thank God that I had the pleasure of knowing you, your family, and your best mate."

"I thank God too." He smiled and pulled away.

"I love you." She said.

"And I, you." Thomas said as he kissed her hand before walking away. She watched as the love of her life walked away taking her heart with him. She didn't know when she'll see Thomas again, but she knew she didn't want to marry anyone unless it were him she was marrying.

* * * *

it was supposed to be a happy ending I swear but I changed it last minute lmao sorry

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland @poguesholland @superheroesaremytea @marshxx @buckys-little-hoe @harryismysunflower @itstaskeen @hollandsrecs @ilarbu @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @lil-mellow-bunbun @turtoix @badreputationlove @swiftmind @sovereignparker @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @pearce14 @xfirstfemale-marauderx

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @petersholland @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @perspectiveparker @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @chloecreatesfictions @holland-styles @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual

[lovelyasfcuk]

Voyager

A Mandalorian Story | Din Djarin x F!Reader

IV: The Lawless

Summary: With a simple plan gone awry, Din must get himself and the child to safety, forced off planet. He must come to terms with a new reality, as his perspectives continue to be challenged and walls being broken down.

Warnings: Violence. Anxiety. Injury. Mentions of blood. Pining.

A/N: This chapter is a little longer, because I am so very much in love with the reader and where we are going!

From behind the stall, you carefully lifted the canvas flap, peering side to side for any threat. Creeping along the back wall and turning the sharp corner, you found a black speeder bike, carrying a sleek black helmet at its handlebar. An outdated commission, by the look of it, and displaying loyalties to the old empire. Readjusting the knapsack around your chest, you mounted the bike, hastily firing the ignition.

Din realized your disappearance from the stall and quickly searched through the scope, checking every face in the commotion below. Suddenly, a blaster fire shot passed him from where he was now crouched.

Din zeroed in on the individuals with their blasters aimed, and squeezing the trigger, their forms vaporized in a flash. One after the other, but even with him having the high ground, many others were joining the action.

A small group of mercenaries had started ascending the hill on its flank, during the battle that had ensued. Taking cover from behind the stalking trees, they took aim at the Mandalorian and opened fire. In a swift move, Din grabbed the child, tucking him protectively against his body and rolled behind a rock face nearby.

Bolts framed the boulder, as he waited for an opportunity to take his own shot. Hunters and any criminal who had heard the rumors in the port, willing to take a chance for their own gain, were called to attention by the scuffle. More and more began making their way out of the port, toward the gunfire echoing against the ancient ruins.

Din soon confirmed in his mind that you had fled the scene, along with any chance of supplies and the credits. Anger and frustration flared in his chest at the thought, instead he tried to refocus his efforts on escaping to the Crest.

With the growing number approaching, returning on foot was not an option. Their only hope would be the jetpack, but he would have to minimize gunfire to protect the child.

Pinned behind the boulder, he took the first opportunity he could, quickly aiming the blaster and firing, taking out a Trandoshan. He took cover again, safely tucking the child behind his body.

Again, he primed himself to take another opportunity and as he tried to take aim, a bolt hit Din causing him to fall back to the damp soil. A strangled cry cracked through the modulator as he rolled behind the boulder, breathing heavy against the rock.

A deafening roar grabbed the duo’s attention, as a speeder bike sped up the hill, lifting higher than its natural hover as it made the top. Din quickly aimed his blaster at the rider, watching it skid to a halt - an imperial scout, he thought. The rider quickly pressed a button on the side of their helmet, visor snapping up.

“Get on!” you called out; your voice altered by the helmet’s speaker. You quickly pulled your dual blasters, opening fire on the mercenaries to cover the Mandalorian as he mounted the bike behind you.

Din sheltered the child between your bodies, wrapping one arm around you and clutching the bike with the other. Once secured, you peeled the bike out of the hilltop and down into the forest out of the line of fire.

You rode at top speed, masterfully banking rock formations, keeping away from any carved path and out of sight within the darkness. You both knew you would be followed, many catching up sooner than you would hope. Din scanned through the blur, blaster in hand and finger hovering over the trigger.

The journey back to the Razor Crest would be quicker and you silently prayed you had put enough distance between you three and the assailants. Just then, three speeder bikes sped forward, flanking on each side. You pulled the bike, weaving swiftly between the towering trees, trying to keep eyes on the approaching bikes.

Din took aim and shot, knocking a rider off his bike, before it collided into a trunk and erupting in a plume of fire and smoke. You caught sight of a part of the forest, too dense for this chase. 

“Hold on!” you yelled, as Din quickly locked his grip on your body and the child, bracing himself. 

Hitting the breaks, the bike skid to a halt, throwing it in the opposite direction and gained as much speed as you could. Both riders slid to a halt, avoiding the trees and after a moment, continued in the same path.

Panting as the panic grew, you saw the clearing up ahead, the sun’s rays glowing through the leaves. Your muscles tensed as you approached, slowing the bike as you entered, until it glided up to the Crest. Din hit the button on his gauntlet, activating the loading ramp and threw his leg off the bike, lifting the child with him.

You scanned the clearing; it was empty. Your heads both snapped up at the distant sound of humming, growing louder by the second. You pulled Din’s knapsack from around your body and handed it to him in haste,

“This is just about everything. It should get you to your next few destinations. I’m sorry, I wish I could have done more.”

Din took the bag in his fist only to be interrupted by entry of the speeder bikes. You pulled your blasters from your holster and took aim, opening fire. A land speeder arrived, five passengers disembarking and joining the gun fight, advancing on foot.

“What are you doing? Get out of here!” you yelled as the Mandalorian slung the knapsack around his chest and drew a blaster.

“There are too many. You won’t make it out of here alive.” He replied, the fire growing louder. 

More bolts began darting into the clearing from different sides of the forest – you were surrounded. Din began retreating toward the Crest’s ramp, shooting down as many as he could within range.

“Let’s go!” He called out to you.

Knowing the fight was already lost, panic began building in your chest, tightening with every shallow breath you took. The roaring blaster fire and shouts from the attackers, blended with the louder thoughts within your mind.

You narrowed your eyes and squared your jaw, as you returned your blasters to her holster. Without another thought, you held your arms out; hands outstretched with tension. Eyes snapping shut, you took a deep breath and cried out.

Din stilled at the rumble around them and the abrupt end of gunfire. An unseen blast had thrust the mob from the clearing, the trees and ferns blown back by the force. He looked to you – your outstretched arms becoming limp and your chest heaving, gasping for air - you met his stare with caution.

“Go. Go now.” you barked, throwing your leg off the bike and marched to his still form, still clutching his blaster in hand.

The Mandalorian paused, trying registering what he had witnessed. Your helmet’s visor still retracted; he searched your eyes. They gave you away almost instantly, where your body created a more convincing disguise.

He knew the feeling well, as he saw it for most of his life in those around him – fear.

“You can’t stay here. You have been marked. More will come and you know it.” He told you confidently.

Your jaw still set, you focused up at him from under furrowed brows.

“Leaving now is your only hope for escaping with your life.” He concluded, quickly scanning the clearing’s edge, knowing there was only borrowed time.

You both turned at a sudden grumbling off in the distance. Your sight met once more in silent agreement and you hurriedly stalked past Din toward the Crest.

-------

The navigation screen sputtered as Din tried to key in the next destination. He tapped the dashboard above it twice with this gloved finger, attempting to clear the screen. A faulty command flashed in error. He sighed, taking control of the steering, redirecting the Crest in the flight path he used for their arrival and set autopilot.

In the cargo hold, you sat against the ship’s wall, thoughtfully gazing at the trooper’s helmet in your hands. Din snapped you out of your contemplation as he made his way down the deck ladder with the child tucked between his arm and chest.

You met the gaze of Din’s helmet and looked back at the stolen one, “You can drop me at your next destination.”

Din cocked his head at the chill in your tone. “I’m…sorry…about having to leave.” He finally spoke, unsure of what to say.

“It was likely for the best.” you replied in a sigh, “Nothing is ever permanent.”

Din paused, watching you trace your fingertips across the sleek lines of the helmet, knowing your thoughts were far beyond the conversation. He approached and sat on the cargo next to you, setting the child down at his hip. You stilled momentarily, not used to the proximity.

“What happened in the clearing…” He began.

Your body tensed at the question, bracing for an invisible impact.

“He can do that as well,” Din continued, tipping his head down at the child. Your wide eyes lifted off the helmet in your hands and met the large brown eyes watching you, gazing at each other for a moment.

“You told me he belongs with his kind, which is the reason for what happened on Nevarro. I was told of a people called Jedi…” He confessed.

Your eyes shifted to Din; his gaze fixed on you. With a sigh, you set the helmet down between you, “I am not a Jedi, if that is your question.” you returned your attention to the child and slowly reached your palm to his tiny claw.

The ever-present electricity was something familiar now, but when your hands touched, it seemed to pulse. The child cooed in contentment and reached out to you.

“The force is strong with you, little one.” you spoke softly, enjoying the calm that fell upon the hold.

“The force?” Din asked incredulously.

“Do you not believe in the force?”

“There isn’t much truth in myth.” He continued with the same skepticism.

“Just because you can’t see something doesn’t make it myth. The great Mandalorians? The Mandalorian creed? Are they not truth?” you asked.

The Mandalorian fell silent and looked down at the child as he held onto your hands. You watched his visor for a sign of opposition - a slight move, a tilt. All you found was stillness, and in his silence, you sensed forlorn.

“You have witnessed his strength. You have been told the Jedi are his people and made it your life’s mission to reunite him. It is the very reason your heart beats after every battle. It is what brought you to him. How is it that you still do not believe in the force?”

There was no defense for your words, penetrating his beskar without hesitation. Din remained still, but his mind hummed with revelation.

The child had climbed into your lap and began idly toying with the pocket flaps on your belt. You watched the steel form next to you unmoving, watching the child, seemingly processing your words. You paused and bit your lip slightly, finding your strength.

“I have searched…most of my life…for answers. This mission you are on - it is a difficult undertaking. You will need all the luck you can get.” you said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Not luck. A partner. You have knowledge in what he can do and where to continue. With your help, Ic can reunite him with his kind, and maybe, you will find your answers along the way.”

You listened to the confidence in his voice and how intently his gaze was fixed on yours.

You chuckled in response. “What is your name?”

“Din. Din Djarin.”

A delicate smile played on your lips and your eyes softened, as you extended your right hand toward him. Din placed his hand in yours and grasped your fingers, feeling so fragile and small in his. The warmth of your touch seeped through his gloved hand. The feeling, he could only compare to the distant memories of comfort in his childhood.

“Din.” you repeated his name, sending a jolt through his body and feeling his heart stutter. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your eyes drifted from his visor to your joined hands, his orange tipped gloves encasing yours, when your eye caught a dark shadow.

“You’re hit!” you exclaimed, unable to mask your shock. Beneath his right pauldron, a charred rip was torn within the canvas that covered his bicep, seeped dark with blood.

“A graze.” He returned, dismissing any fuss.

Immediately, you stood and marched across the hold to retrieve the med kit that hung on the wall with the Crest’s supplies. Returning, you set the kit down in your place.

“Allow me?” you asked hesitantly, reaching out your palm.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Please? It’s the very least I could do after saving my life.”

Din hesitated for a moment, but quickly nodded and stretched out his arm toward you. You lifted the stolen helmet, set it down on the grated floor and sat in its place.

Din felt himself tense and tried to focus on anything but the present moment, so he watched you -

You seemed to relax under pressure or in concentration. You absentmindedly tucked your hair behind her ear and squinted. Your hands were steady, sure of yourself. Your movements were fluid, fingers dancing as you worked.

Your features were delicate, yet somehow strong – your cheekbones, the line of your jaw, your chin. A tiny wrinkle sat between your brows. Your eyes were bright and alert, a full fringe of lashes fell upon the light shadow tinged skin under them. He had the feeling you did not have opportunity to smile often. Your lips were full, slightly pursed as you focused, glowing a soft hued pink.

“It looks like they just missed the beskar by a few centimeters.” you commented, breaking the silence. Feeling his glare, you glanced over at his visor. “What?”

“You seem to know what you’re doing.” He spoke in almost a whisper.

“I have been on my own for a while. I have seen a thing or two, in many different systems. Most times bacta was a luxury.” you smirked, reaching for a bacta patch from the med kit. You slid it beneath the open canvas, positioning it over his wound, before gently pressing.

“There. Good as new.” you smiled at him.

At that moment, a rustling filled the serenity, as the child had found his way into the knapsack resting at Din’s feet. He reached down and pulled him out of the bag, only to find him grasping to one of your texts.

“I’ll be taking that, you little sneak.” you chided, gently pulling the text from his claws.

“I guess leaving wasn’t a huge loss.”

“I’ve learned to carry only things invaluable to me. Not every moment is promised.” you said as you gently caressed the cover. “I believe there is a thing or two in these that might give us a clue.”

“First, I need to see about repairs to the Crest. We won’t make it far with the nav out.”

“I might know someone who can remedy that. However, we’ll need to head to Black Spire.”

“That will take some time without hyper speed.” Din replied with a sigh. “I will set the course. In the meantime, you should get some rest. Uh…Thank you.” He said motioning to his arm, then gathered the child into his arms as he made his way to the cockpit, clicking switches disabling the overhead lights within the hold.

The gentle glow of the ambient lighting filled the space. He hesitated at the ladder and turned, “Make yourself…comfortable. Anything you need…”

You raised your hand gently, shaking your head.  “I’ll be just fine. Thank you, Din.” you smiled.

“Sleep well.” The modulated voice gently murmured.

......

Tags: @babybelou @pascalsky

[awhilde]

heyy idk if u do requests but can you make more kaeya headcanons? i really loved urs!! it can be angst or fluff idrc <34

fighting alongside kaeya -- a drabble

help sorry for the wait! i've been really busy lately with school but i hope this is okay nonetheless <3 i'm posting on my phone rn and the format is probably going to look really bad but :D i'll change that later. sorry abt it not being a hc, i felt like that kind of format would have been a little icky with this content but i’ll be sure to post more genshin hcs in the future! thank you for requesting!!!

neways,,, here is : the drabble

as a fatui, your interests settled not within the complex arrangements of snippy political meetings nor the sense of superiority that came with the job, but stemmed instead from the thrill of battle.

as a polearms user, you were usually fighting front lines, head and center, wherein your body was subjected to the constant risk of death. it is inherently clear that any misshap on the battlefield was sure to cause the loss of a limb, sure to render you useless in the field. perhaps, though, this was the element that had hooked you into such an establishment, where the line drawn between right and wrong were blurred.

every arrow that whisks past every vulnerable patch of skin, millimetres too close, every claymore that shook the ground by your feet and every wound from an elemental attack left your blood buzzing in your veins and a grin etched on your face.

the truth of the matter was, regardless of whatever the fatui delved themselves into, you stuck with then despite knowing the consequences. this statement held true especially during this era whereupon you were sure the fatui had stumbled upon something outworldly this time around though, what other organization could possibly satisfy your need for danger? the knights of favonius? don't kid yourself, there was no way such a stiff and boring group could offer you such joys in life.

so you had declared to yourself. but the moment you stepped foot into the bustling city of music and freedom, your perspective wavered.

"first time here?" the man with the blue hair asked.

your eyes examined him over your glass of wine (the bartender saying something about dandelion wine?), before nodding. "yeah, what's it to you?"

the man twirled his drink and laughed. "no need to be so hostile, we're just exchanging greetings. what kind of citizen would i be if i didn't greet a visitor to my homeland?"

your eyes traced the short distance between your chairs before sending him a narrowed glare. "awfully close to a stranger, aren't you? where's your sense of danger?"

"you could say i'm quite confident in my abilities. if you need a bodyguard for when you walk around town, i'm always available." the wink he sent you made you snort.

"as thankful as i am, i'd have to pass." you stood fro your chair, intending to settle your bill and leave.

"are you sure? they say the city gets dangerous when it gets darker."

you headed towards the door, aware when you feel a presence follow you from your seat. "surely you have something more fulfilling to do than bother random people?"

"ah, i'm simply worried about a friend exploring an unknown city. where's your sense of danger?"

you laugh and turn to him, a weary smile on your face. "you could say i'm quite confident in my abilities." and with that, you left the noisy tavern behind you, letting the jingle of the bells signal your departure. despite how comfortable you had felt around the blue haired man, you knew connections with other people never lasted, especially because of the person you were.

"now," you muttered to yourself, the city of freedom welcoming your stay. "where do i go from here?"

the blue haired man never appeared in your mind again, the short conversation dissipating as quick as it had occurred. instead, you were fairly occupied with some dragon business you had been sent to settle, and a certain green haired god you had been sent to dispose of. fatui lacked the skill of anemo and it was an understatement to say you were excited to meet in combat with the bard.

he certainly proved difficult to catch, escaping time and time again through the help of a mysterious blonde individual and their floating companion.

strange.

excitment was quick in morphing into surprise however, when your eyes fell on the man in front of you in the present time, deep, deep into a dungeon. his own widened as they rested on yours, an easy grin sliding onto his face.

"have we met?" he said.

you brandished your weapon in front of you, defensive in your stance. "can't really say. you don't seem particularly memorable."

the girl beside him, adorned in red, nudged his side. "do you know them, kaeya?"

kaeya shrugged. "you heard them. apparently not."

you gesture dismissively off to the side. "step aside if you don't want to be killed. i only came for the bard."

the odd outsider stepped in front of venti, your target, and shook their heads. their hands crept to the hilt of their blade with a gleam in their eyes. neither kaeya or the girl made any decision to move.

"nope! paimon says you have to go through us first!" the floating creature taunted.

you smirked, pulling out your polearm. "i was hoping you'd say that!"

not letting the group of four utter another word, you leapt into the air, twirling your weapon above you. the surprise in their eyes as they followed your body sent adrenaline pumping. upon impact, you swiped at their feet causing them to jump back.

"oi, that's not fair!" paimon complained and you made a jab at her, purely to shut her up. your polearm clanged against the metal of a sword as you did so, knock in your aim off course. frost covered your fingers as you withdrew and you shook them off with a smile.

"cyro?" you asked.

kaeya grinned back. instead of replying however, he darted forward, causing you to raise your weapon in defense. his eyes caught the movement and hit your blade front on. the blow was strong enough to send you a step back, and you gritted your teeth against the pressure.

you eyes wondered to seek out a weak spot when you noticed one if his hands had left the hilt of his blade.

with one swift movement, his hand pressed against the side of your stomach, freezing the fabric of your shirt. you hissed at the sudden pain, and pushed your strength into one singular blow, knocking him out.

you cradled your side with a crooked smile. your target switched from venti to kaeya in that moment, channelling your elemental power a tad bit earlier than you had expected.

but, well, the fatui would just have to deal with it.

electrical powered fuelled your polearm, the rush of sheer energy tingling your skin. sending a series of attacks at the approaching kaeya, you allowed the super conduct to double the damage done to his health. similarly, your health dropped with every injury, a byproduct from your own attacks.

eyes identifying an entry, you ducked under an incoming attack and thrusted your weapon into his stomach, halting just before the metal touched his skin. your breath condensed in the close proximity, panting from the combat.

kaeya looked down at you with interest. "was there something else you needed?"

you frowned. "i have you trapped and the first thing you do is joke? what's wrong with you?"

he jokingly raised his hands in the air, you drawing slight satisfaction in the way he hesitated while doing the action. "i would be more concerned but you seem to have no real interest in killing me. this i understand, i am rather beautiful."

your blade poked his skin in warning. before you could snap back with your own retort, and the fiery words at the back if your throat would have been enough to do so, the earth beneath your feet trembled. your head whipped up to check your surroundings, settling on the door that had now opened. the other members sheepishly stood beside the key to the door.

"oh."

the time it took for your limbs to move was not enough, for it had only taken you a moment to blink before the tables turned and you found yourself under the man you once held captive.

he had dismissed your polearm in your moment of surprise and fallen into you, using his hands to push your shoulders to the ground.

your breath left your lungs at the impact and your weapon flew from your hand, clattering as it met the floor.

kaeya looked down at you with the ease of a predator. "hey. funny how the tables turn, huh?" despite being defenseless, he remained above you, even when the rest of his group joined him by his side. it is only when paimon questioned his motives does he stand, making sure his hands never left a part of your body, something he deemed necessary so as to not let you escape.

paimon cocked her head at the sight, at the smug kaeya and at you who looked furious at the treatment. "well, looks like the fatui will be joining us."

you snorted. "what makes you think i'll be helping you?"

paimon looked down at your hand which laid limp in kaeya's grasp. "paimon thinks it doesn't look like you have a choice. looks like kaeya's taken an interest in you."

kaeya sent you a wide smirk.

you huff, turning away from his blue eyes that saught to gauge your expression. but your hands never left his, your eyes never looking for an exit, not even when the group began to move into the next section of the dungeon. something about the warm atmosphere of a carefree group whose only worries were that of becoming emergency food settled the roar for bloodlust. you found yourself cozy, an experience you hadn't felt since your childhood. you no longer held onto your polearm as if it was a lifeline, no longer enhanced your senses as you walked, no longer stood firm and upright.

it felt like it suited you, you who had only just escaped the age of 19.

and when the battle against stormterror fell upon you and the group, you found yourself fighting not for the thrill of spraying blood into the atmosphere, but for the synced dance you and kaeya created as you fought back to back.

[ofstarsandfireflies]

I’ve had this half complete for many, many months now, stuck in writer’s block hell, much like the fic I’m working on at this moment.

These movie nights have been a great way to just write whatever comes to mind and brute force my way out of writer’s block 😊

Stephen had realised that Tony was always in danger with him long before he’d decided to do this.

He always gets hurt and one day he's going to get killed all because he was too stubborn to stay behind when Stephen told him to.

So he does the only thing he can do.

He wipes Tony's memory and lets him start anew.

And then, some years later, their eyes meet.

Stephen stared at those brown eyes he had loved waking up to every morning.

What was he doing here?

They didn't recognise him, which he was grateful for, but they were staring at him.

And he was staring back.

The man they belonged to walked up to him and Stephen contemplated making a portal and getting out of there.

He had cast that spell for a reason.

It had been about 3 years since he’d erased Tony Stark's memories of him from that brilliant mind.

Three years of making sure he was wherever Tony Stark, or his Iron Man suit or his Avengers group, wasn't.

Three years of keeping all that wanted to hurt Tony at bay so the man could live a normal life.

And now here he was after Stephen had just destroyed the entity which had escaped its own dimension, in his Ironman suit, so close Stephen could make the slightest movement and be touching him.

Those eyes were narrowed now, and Stephen could see the questions swimming in their depths.

And then Tony introduced himself and Stephen felt like he was about to burst into flames.

How he had missed that voice.

Something shifted in Tony's features when Stephen told him his name.

As if he recognised his name.

But that couldn’t be right.

Tony shouldn’t recognise anything associated with him at all.

His heart was in his throat as Tony tried to place him.

It was no use, Stephen knew that, but…

Had Tony blinked yet?

Had he blinked yet?

Tony's mouth opened again and Stephen quickly turned away and began conjuring a portal.

The faster he got out of here the better.

He shouldn't have allowed that entity to escape in the first place.

He walked through the portal just as Tony flew through it after him, grabbing his shoulder.

And just like that, Stephen was reliving all the fights they'd previously had about Tony's recklessness to dive head first into portals and danger.

Stephen could not believe it.

3 years and nothing had changed between them.

But those 3 years were worth it.

Tony had lived for an extra 3 years.

Saying a short dismissive goodbye, Stephen created another portal and threw it at Tony, watching him disappear.

He couldn't drag Tony back into this life again.

He couldn't fight beside him again, patch him up again, make a portal to the hospital while he bled to death in his arms again.

He loved him too much to be the cause of his pain again.

Stephen rubbed his eyes as they prickled with tears.

He had to let him go. It was the best for Tony.

He took a deep breath and had just started climbing the stairs when the door banged open and Tony Stark walked in without his Iron Man armour and looking pissed.

Stephen stared at him.

How on earth had he found him again so quickly?

Tony stepped closer to him and Stephen felt his entire body break out in a cold sweat, every hair standing on end.

Tony opened his mouth and asked him a single question.

How had Stephen known to send him to his bedroom in the Avengers Compound, when Stpehen had never been there?

Stephen did what?

They stared at one another, Tony repeatedly asking him who he was.

Stephen wanted to tell him.

God he wanted to do a lot of things with Tony standing here before him looking so lost and hurt and kissable.

But how could he?

Stephen closed his eyes and shook his head,Tony's voice breaking as he demanded answers, Stephen's arms shaking with the want to hold the man who belonged in them.

He had to rewind time.

Rewind back to before Tony came in or hell even to before their eyes found each other!

He opens the eye of Agamoto and Tony's hand suddenly clamps down on his wrist.

Tony looks just as shocked as he does.

"You were...you were gonna...you..." Tony was confused. What exactly was it he was going to do? And why had he stopped him?

The hand gripping his wrist was shaking.

Stephen knew he shouldn't tell him, knew he should push Tony away, make him never want to see him again.

He knew he should.

But he couldn't.

Tony was looking at him, pleading him for answers, and Stephen found himself drowning in those eyes.

His free hand took Tony's and pulled him in closer, and Tony allowed him to.

Stephen brought his hand up to Tony's face, running his thumb over his cheek.

He was inching closer to Tony's lips, licking his own.

The last time he had kissed them was goodbye before he'd ripped himself from Tony's life.

He could feel Tony's shuddering breath against his lips as Tony closed his eyes and Strange leant in the rest of the way and kissed him.

Tony suddenly grabbed his robes and held him, Stephen feeling the mouth against his own lift into a smile as he held Tony closer, his tongue licking those lips for entry.

Tony opened his mouth and Stephen groaned, shoving Tony against the wall, pressing his leg between Tony's as his fingers pushed under the shirt to touch at the skin they knew so well.

Tony moaned again as Stephen moved his lips to his neck, nipping and kissing the skin, feeling Tony's chest shudder with each breath he took.

His hands skimmed down the firm chest, touching scars both new and old, his name a single breath between them.

God, Stephen wasn’t going to be able to hold on to the little self control he had when it came to Tony for much longer if he kept saying his name like that.

So, he stopped, and leant his forehead against Tony's, wondering whether now would be a good time to apologise, wondering what he did to deserve Tony's love, even without his memories.

He should pull away.

He should stop this.

He had stopped this three years ago, and this wasn’t good for either of them.

But Tony was clinging to him so tightly, as if making sure he couldn’t leave.

And he was warm.

So warm he didn’t want to leave.

Quotes -

“Random thoughts on Valentine’s Day, 2004. Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.”

Tony’s inner monologue

“Do I know you? Do you ever shop at Barnes and Noble?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“That’s it! I’ve seen you, man!”

Tony trying to place Stephen.

“It’s a pretty name though, really is nice. It’s uh, it means merciful, right? Uh, clemency.”

“Although it hardly fits. I’m a vindictive little bitch truth be told.”

“See, I wouldn’t think that about you.”

“Why wouldn’t you think that about me?”

“I don’t know I just…I-I don’t know I just uh…you see nice so…”

“Oh, now I’m nice? God, don’t you know any other adjectives? I don��t need nice. I don’t need myself to be it and I don’t need anyone else to be it at me.”

A conversation shortly after their meeting.

“You’re not a stalker or anything, right?”

“I’m not a stalker. You’re the one that talked to me, remember?”

“That is the oldest trick in the stalker book.”

Tony wondering about Stephen.

A Time for Us

No matter how hard you try, you can’t completely erase someone you love from your heart.

January, February

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10

Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15

Day 16 Day 17 Day 18 Day 19 Day 20

Day 21 Day 22 Day 23 Day 24 Day 25

Day 26

[sxvxrxssnape]

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two. 

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 

All of them had candy canes peeking out. 

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 

He scowled at the thought. 

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 

Thursday morning he slept in. 

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?” 

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned. 

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked. 

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that. 

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin