#because you can hardly plan that far ahead

[leandra-kinard]

Okay but, how close were we, really? We all saw the potential and the subtext. That was there, but we also knew that it was no guarantee for it to happen. Studio politics are still a factor. And even on a progressive show, there are limits for actual representation. You cannot make every character queer, because this isn't a show solely for queer audiences. It's a mainstream TV show that, even before bi!Buck, already had above average representation of queer characters.

But the potential was there; the subtext was there. Without knowing for certain because that would be up to Tim to reveal in detail, and he likely never will, I am taking an educated guess here (also based on him once saying they are having the same conversations in the writers' room as we are having in the fandom), that it was always one of the options, in the back of their minds - either Buck is bi, or they're both bi, or maybe Eddie is gay, or it's just Eddie, or none.

The dynamic between Buck and Eddie has always been close, and the great chemistry between Ryan and Oliver contributed to making it even more profound, so of course as a writer who cares about a) potential for good queer rep and b) more importantly authentic characters, you would leave that back door open. You leave some bread crumbs, you include things that would later make it a plausible storyline - IF the overall development of the show makes it feel like it's a good and authentic thing to do, and IF the studio greenlights it.

When you write a show that's ongoing for so many years, you HAVE to follow that multiple possibilities strategy. There are only very few shows that have been mostly planned through from start to finish (and then often kinda failed in that because the story actually wanted to take the writers elsewhere - cough, HIMYM); most procedural shows are written in a "ok, let's see where this goes and plan season by season".

That's as close as we ever were to Buddie. It was ONE of many potential options, highly dependent on studio decisions and the story's and characters' own dynamics.

Now fast forward to 2023/2024, the move to ABC and Tim being back. We know that Tim pitched the story to Oliver early, but we also know (unless that was some kind of misunderstanding/misrepresentation), that it was briefly discussed whether Eddie was going to be the one having some kind of m/m romance arc with Tommy. As we can obviously see, the decision fell on Buck instead because it seemed to make the most sense for the character and probably was more the direction Tim wanted to go into - something light and bright, a romcom, nothing dark and complicated, which it most likely would have been with Eddie; or can you picture an easy-peasy coming out arc for Eddie and find that in character? I can't. So yeah, that's probably why Tim decided against Eddie.

But why not both then? Why should this mean that Buddie as a canon romantic relationship is dead (or at least for the foreseeable future and with the greatest likelihood indefinitely)?

The most obvious reason is what Lori, others and I have mentioned multiple times (and also in this post). Studio decisions.

This is NOT a show for queer audiences. It's a mainstream procedural drama that does have a significant queer demographic among their audience, and good queer representation, but is not solely aimed at and revolving around queer people.

There is a LIMIT of how many characters you can make queer in a show like that.

Had they killed two birds with one stone and gone for a story where Buck and Eddie discover their feelings about each other at roughly the same time or more likely simultaneously, then that might have been something that could have been sold to the general audience. But doing something like that was always risky, always dependent on so many other circumstances. It would have had to be a story where the "shock" of the moment sells it so blatantly that the GA isn't given time to even contemplate how likely they find it that so many members of the 118 are queer. (Which would have been 3/5 main members then).

But such a story would have had to be greenlit, and it also would have needed to feel right, plausible and doable for the authors/Tim.

It obviously wasn't.

And now we have another queer main character, plus another queer recurring character. That is a lot. Meaning, of all the romantic couples involving the mains, we have 3 straight (Bathena, Madney, and I'm counting Marimundo) to 2 queer couples (Henren and Bucktommy). In a general audience, still mostly heteronormative society and studio politics world, that is A LOT of queer characters.

Furthermore, with Buck coming out first, there is an argument against making Eddie interested in men too, that Ryan HAS TALKED ABOUT twice already (and I think Tim once too). It's the implication that a queer man and a straight man cannot have a deep, sort of platonic soulmates level friendship, without it "turning gay" eventually. That is A valid concern that has been brought up. And it's especially valid if Eddie discovered his feelings later rather than that 'two birds one stone' scenario.

Stories like this aren't written and created under a vacuum of what would make sense if these were real people, or what could make for a good story in its own merit, or what would work in fanfiction. Societal context DOES matter. Studio politics DO matter.

All of that put together, I am 99% convinced Buddie is never ever going canon. If we were being realistic, there was a small chance for it to happen before the decision for Buck's arc was made, but it was never as big as many of us deluded themselves to see (myself included), because we saw it in-universe, from a characters' perspective rather than taking those external factors into account.

So, unless studio politics drastically change and decide to make 9-1-1 a show mostly aimed at queer audiences, there's imho no plausible case to be made for Buddie ever happening (anymore).

i had a question, and i'm hoping this comes across as respectful and genuine because i used to love your blog! to preface, i don't need buddie to go canon for me to enjoy it, but i saw your post from a few weeks ago about mourning buddie? and it stuck with me because it made me really sad. i really like bucktommy and i hope buck gets to have a happy ending, i just don't see how bi buck means buddie couldn't happen in the future. esp because so many people are like bi buck has nothing to do with buddie or with eddie. i guess for me, if bi buck has nothing to do with buddie, than why would it mean buddie couldn't happen? does that make sense? like i said, i don't need it to be canon, but i still like that it feels like it could happen, even though on fox it felt like it never could.

It means it couldn't happen (in my opinion - you're free to disagree, plenty of people do) because there is no way in a million years the show is going to make BOTH of them queer. Not gonna happen. I'd be thrilled to be wrong. Buuuut I don't think I am.

Buck being bisexual is NOT about Eddie (in that he is not bisexual because of Eddie or so that he can be with Eddie), but this has nothing to do with the characters. If this were the real world, they could 100% both be queer. Happens all the time. It's not gonna happen on a mainstream procedural that isn't, at the end of the day, about people being queer.

This isn't an in-character, in-universe reason. It's a practical TV production/writing reason.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ SUPER RICH KIDS kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, angst (yn is back home), family dynamics, rich kid things, swearing, chaewon is still chaewon, arguing, weight mentions

finally.

you’d think after everything that someone has gone through in this house, stepping back through those doors would be the last thing she’d want. but she wasn’t going to lie.

yn felt at peace.

because in the moon mansion, she could be who she truly was and not feel bad about it.

a rich girl.

“lunch will be ready soon,” jia’s voice broke through the peaceful quiet as yn lay sprawled on her pink towel by the pool.

yn let out a contented sigh, lifting her sunglasses and pushing her hair back. “thanks, jia. what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

“you already attended the press conference with your father, so that’s off your list. your brothers will be going to the one tomorrow, so all you’ve got left is golfing with your members.”

the happy, serene soundtrack in yn’s head came to a screeching halt as she shot up from her towel.

“what?!”

“your mother didn’t tell you? she thought it’d be a good idea for you to invite them, so she reached out while you were out with your father,” jia said, her expression full of concern. she didn’t understand. shouldn’t yn be excited?

“when does she ever tell me anything?” yn grumbled, flopping back down on her towel childishly “jia, during dinner, add a splash of vodka to my mango juice. maybe the alcohol will keep me from flipping the table.”

jia chuckled softly, fondness in her eyes for the girl she’d watched grow up. “when has that ever helped anything? i’ll check on lunch.”

yn groaned as jia walked away. this was supposed to be her escape. chaewon is going to have a field day with this.

it seems like nothing can ever go yn’s way.

dinner was quiet. but that was hardly unusual. as far back as yn could remember, dinner had never been family bonding time

bonding didn’t even exist in this family.

the unspoken rule was simple: eat in silence, speak only when necessary.

honestly, yn found the quiet pretty peaceful. just eating, no forced conversation.

but it seemed like her mother couldn’t stand seeing her at peace—ever.

maybe that was an exaggeration, but yn firmly believed it.

“you seem tense, yn,” jae said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he took a slow sip from his drink. “something bothering you? got a problem with someone?”

yn gripped her fork tightly, slowly lifting her gaze from her plate. “i do, actually. and for once, it’s not with you, dickhead.”

“language,” their father muttered, eyes never leaving the documents he’d brought to the table.

“oh really, who’s ahead of me?” jae asked clearly liking the banter him and yn are having at the moment.

“I won’t disclose any details just as yet.”

daeun rolled his eyes at his siblings, then, deciding to break the silence since everyone seemed eager to chat, he asked, “so, mom, how was your day?”

their mother beamed at the question, her smile bright and warm. oh, how she adored her son. yn couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“it was amazing, honey. i was just reading an article about your sister’s group.”

“oh, really?” jae responded with mild interest.

“yes! that yunjin member mentioned how she always makes sure the other girls eat and stay healthy. isn’t that wonderful? yn, you have such lovely members.”

as far as yn was concerned, yunjin had never once asked if she was eating properly. but that wasn’t what set her off, she had kazuha who always checked in on her.

it was the nerve her mother had to praise yunjin for something like that—the same person who was the root cause of yn’s so-called “problem.”

“is that why you invited them over tomorrow—without asking me?”

yn hadn’t planned on bringing it up, but her mother’s comment set her off.

her mother furrowed her eyebrows at yn’s tone. “yes, actually. they seem like lovely girls. i was going to suggest you invite those ai girls you’re so fond of, but your judgment isn’t always the best, so i made the decision for you.”

the screech of yn’s chair echoed through the dining room. “i’m not hungry anymore, because clearly no one in this family respects me. may i be excused?”

“sure,” her father said casually, taking a sip of his wine.

“oh, come on, yn! let’s not fall back into those habits,” jae teased.

”fuck you jae!”

“language.”

“you don’t like them, do you?”

yn lifted her head from her pillow, turning slowly to see daeun standing at her door.

“what?”

“the girls in your group. you don’t like them.”

she watched as he stepped forward and sat at the edge of her fluffy bed. “you wouldn’t have reacted that way if it were the girls from sm.”

yn hated how daeun could always read her. they barely talked nowadays, but he still knew his little sister like the back of his hand.

“it’s not that I don’t like them. they don’t like me. no matter how much I lower myself or how nice i act, it’s like they can’t get over the fact that i’m a moon.”

“you lowered yourself for them?”

yn’s eyes flicked up from her lap to see jae standing at the door, disappointment written across his face.

she nodded, feeling a wave of shame. they were raised to believe they were better than everyone else, and here she was, bending over backward for girls who didn’t even like her.

“well, that was your first mistake,” jae said, shaking his head as daeun nodded in agreement.

“you’re dimming who you are to make them feel comfortable, and they’re taking advantage of that,” daeun added, hitting the nail on the head. yn hated how right he was.

“i know you, yn. you’re a bitch—a real one,” jae said with a smirk, earning an eye roll from her. “just be who you are. that’s how you’ll show them. it seems like they can’t stand the fact that you were always going to be successful, idol or not, and they hate that.”

“woah.” yn blinked in disbelief, looking between her brothers. “for once, you two actually make sense.”

“see? a bitch.”

yn adjusted the dior sunglasses perched atop her head, then straightened her pink ralph lauren golf dress before turning to jia.

“why are they taking so long? it’s a gated community,” she complained, tapping her foot as she stood in front of her expansive front lawn.

“patience is key, miss moon. the van is pulling up,” jia replied calmly.

yn felt anxiety creep in but quickly reminded herself of her brother's words. this wasn’t the dorms; this was her turf, the place where yn excelled.

the first person to step out of the van was kazuha, who immediately sprinted toward her.

“zuha!”

“you look so cute! i love your dress,” kazuha gushed, her eyes scanning yn’s outfit she couldn’t help but smile at how relaxed yn looked, she was completely in her element.

“thanks! my dad got it. it’s vintage!” yn beamed.

“of course he did.” yn already knew who that could be.

as she looked past kazuha, she noticed the rest of the girls gazing at her house in awe, it was kinda awkward seeing them, especially after the last time, but yn was just gonna pretend like that day never happened.

yunjin nudged chaewon, nodding toward jia, who narrowed her eyes at chaewon, causing the latter's eyes to widen.

chaewon hadn’t realized someone else was there.

yn couldn’t help but smile at that. “this is jia, the help.”

the girls nodded politely, while kazuha waved, causing yn to furrow her brows. “bow?”

the girls’ eyes widened at the unexpected demand but quickly bowed their heads.

“we treat the help with great respect around here,” yn said sternly . “so take note of that for next time.”

kazuha smiled at yn while the others nodded, a mix of confusion and compliance on their faces.

“so, who’s ready to golf?” yn asked, flashing a sweet smile.

“you guys suck,” yn laughed, watching the girls struggle with their golf swings.

“well, not everyone has been doing this since birth,” chaewon shot back, rolling her eyes.

“you’re so right! it would take a lot to be like me, wouldn’t it?” yn teased, nudging chaewon’s side causing the girl to stumble “your form is horrendous.”

she strolled over to eunchae, adjusting the younger girl’s stance, then moved on to yunjin.

chaewon’s gaze drifted down yn’s body, taking in her outfit of course, she didn’t even know people actually wore dresses like that these days.

she was about to make a snarky comment when a loud shout interrupted her.

“ignore them it’s just the golf boys,” yn said as she corrected sakura’s form.

chaewon rolled her eyes when she heard the boys calling out yn’s name in a flirty tone.

“passed around?”

yn groaned at chaewon’s words. “I’ve only talked to them a handful of times. I barely know them.”

“i talk to the caddy girls a lot, though,” yn added, causing kazuha to laugh while chaewon scrunched her face in distaste.

“do you want my help with your form?” yn asked chaewon, raising an eyebrow.

“definitely not.”

“okay, then continue embarrassing yourself.”

chaewon opened her mouth to argue but was cut off by a woman’s voice.

“yn!”

the girls turned to see yn’s mother approaching, and yn groaned, rolling her eyes. “why is she here?” she mumbled to herself.

the girls recognized the woman—it was yn’s mother.

“hey, ladies! I hope you’re having fun and that yn is being a good host,” she said with a bright smile.

the girls greeted yn’s mom with polite smiles, and she continued, “I just wanted to drop off some cute gifts i got for you all. I completely forgot about them! I had to stop the driver we just left from going to lunch.”

“lunch?” yn asked, the emotion in her voice hard to pinpoint. “you guys went to lunch without me?”

“honey, it’s not a big deal. don’t be dramatic! we were just celebrating your brother’s achievements just an intimate get together that I planned.”

yn couldn’t remember them ever holding something for her achievements, and she had plenty. “right,” yn laughed sarcastically. “i’m always so dramatic, huh?”

the girls exchanged awkward glances; they had never seen yn like this before.

“don’t act like that. god, you’re just like your father,” her mother said, brushing off yn's feelings.

yn clenched her jaw. “is that all? you just came by to drop off gifts?”

“yes, and i wanted to check on you. stop being so moody! just like your dad. my boys are more like me,” her mom said with a smile, prompting awkward laughter from the girls.

“you see how she argues with me, such a daddy’s girl, she looks like a girl version of him as well doesn’t she?.” her mother laughs causing yn to look at chaewon who looks at back at her with a blank face.

“how about you go back to your boys? they’re probably waiting for ‘mommy’,” yn snapped, glaring at her mother.

she had never spoken to her mother this way before, but as she got older, her respect for the woman had diminished. she barely considered her mother a mom anymore.

“yes, i have to go. we’re going shopping to pick out suits for your father and brothers.”

yn felt as if she had been punched in the gut. family shopping—without her? everyone knows yn loves shopping.

“did you plan that too?” she shot back.

her mother ignored yn’s words, stepping back to scan her daughter. “this outfit is cute. it looks good on you. maybe lose a couple more pounds, and it’ll look even better.”

the girls’ eyes widened at her mother’s words, but yn remained unfazed on the outside.

inside, however, yn felt the sting. she tried to pretend she didn’t care about her mom’s opinion, but deep down, she knew she’d spend extra time on her diet after that.

“anyway, I have to go. it was nice seeing you girls! i hope you like the gifts,” her mother said before walking away.

the girls turned to yn, who stared at her mother’s retreating figure before turning back to them.

“I just love my perfect life, don’t ’ I chaewon? now let’s work on your imperfect form.”

[stevesgother]

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!” 

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

 “It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been 4 years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

��

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from your boyfriend’s skin. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

[listentothelittlebird]

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

-

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done. 

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.” 

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.” 

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind. 

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.” 

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain. 

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.” 

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet. 

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react. 

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.” 

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight. 

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.  

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

[genderqueerpond]

You know, I think Clara knew about Amy.

Not at first, of course, but Clara grew up with her --- that is, grew up reading Amelia Williams books. And they were precious to her, books she's read many times over the course of her childhood -- how else does she know exactly which chapter holds what in the book she gave Artie? Perhaps she has always felt connected to her, this moderately obscure children's fantasy author, following in the footsteps of E Nesbit; this contemporary (and sometime friend (oh yes!) ) of Edward Eager's; although not nearly as widely known as either of these. Perhaps because of her choice to publish openly under a "woman's name", thus, in the time in which she lived, relegating her books to the inferior realm of "girls' books", despite the more than equal balance of male viewpoint characters.

But Amelia Williams is different from these authors too -- often fantasy, but sometimes more like early science fiction, a barely- recognized pioneer in both genres. Her views were feminist and daring. In so many ways she was ahead of her time, and the innovations she imagined! almost as if she knew what the future would hold.

And if Clara knows and loves her books so well, she can hardly fail to recognize the most frequently repeated character archetype in them. especially after she rereads a few on a subconscious hunch, during that summer after the Maitlands found a permanent nanny and she insisted that before anything else, she go off and fulfill her original travel plans from 101 Places To See. (The Doctor purported to leave her alone to forge her own way with this, but was in actuality very bad at that, and kept popping up nearly every place she went.) She's Clara, she's clever, how can she fail to look up from her book and notice that the person who's just appeared out of nowhere to stand in front of her with a plate of jammie dodgers and a goofy smile has stepped directly out of the pages?

And then of course, there are the dedications. Sure, there's normal stuff like "to my daughter", "to my loving and patient husband", and "to my parents, who are children now" which is rather weird and whimsical, but fits in with the fantasy author's signature style of dream-like imagination.

But the majority of Amelia Williams' dedication pages say things like "to You", "to My Doctor", "to My Raggedy Doctor" "to my raggedy man" (weird but clearly connected to the other variants), and, cryptically, over and over again: "to you", "to you", "to you", "to you (wherever in time and space you are)".

There's "to my imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and to all children who have an imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and every child in the universe who's ever met him, or ever will". Nerds and English teachers have occasionally debated what, if anything, she meant by all this, and now Clara thinks she knows, but she can never say....

And then there are the nights that the Doctor wakes up crying out for "Amy!" and then refuses to talk about it when Clara asks, refuses to acknowledge ever even knowing an Amy, "well everyone shouts random things when they're asleep, it doesn't mean anything" and "I don't remember." if pressed for details about his dreaming. And later he might go off somewhere and cry quietly, reading a book he never lets Clara see.

And then he regenerates, and calls out for "Amelia!", "the first face this face saw."

There's newborn twelve, with his Scottish accent, letting her name slip. It's the first - and only - time he's spoken of her while awake and not actively dying. And Clara is too busy with the immediate threat to their lives to think about it in the moment, but at this point she at the very least has a hunch about the connection between him and the Scottish-American author with the rather opaque background --- that as far as anyone can trace it (although to be fair, no one really cares enough to try very hard) she and her husband just kind of appeared out of nowhere in pre-WWII New York. It seems kind of obvious, now, that the doctor would have had a hand in that.

And now with all the books everywhere, the library gradually migrating into the console room, what else is obvious is that he owns every single one of her books. multiple copies, first editions, last editions, signed copies, mass paperbacks, everything. There's a TARDIS key hidden in a well-worn, well-loved, tear streaked copy of The Cuckoo And The Doll's House, which Clara finds when she's cataloging all the locations of TARDIS keys, just in case she should ever need that information one day.

This all is enough for Clara to know. There doesn't really need to be any more proof, but there is. What totally and fully clinches it are the pictures. Tucked in the pages of another tearstained book (The Beast Below this time), are photographs of Amelia, looking just as she does in her black and white author photos, but younger, and in 21st century clothes. Elsewhere, later, she finds photo booth polaroids of a still younger Amelia, goofing off and smiling. Some of them feature another young man Clara doesn't recognize, and some of them feature the Doctor. He's wearing a tweed jacket instead of his purple wool, and no vest, but otherwise he is exactly the same as the Doctor she first met. The three of them hang off each other like old friends, like family.

idk how to end this.

[nadvs]

OMG, i’ve never written one of these so im nervous lmao. I wanted to say, I am ABSOLUTELY in love with this basketball!rage stories you have going on right now!

Don’t know if i’m getting to ahead of my self, but I can literally imagine reader and rafe when he gets drafted to the NBA. Or even reader sitting courtside on his NBA games, whether only her or with this kids! Also like imagining rafe winning the NBA finals.

I don’t know if you plan on going that far with this series, but just would absolutely love to read about them more!!!! Your writing is so AMAZING!

hi hi aw thank you sm for reading and messaging!! 🥰

based on this fic

AAA I LOVE IT she’d be supporting him as he waits for draft night and he’d be fooling everyone but her that he’s not nervous. in reality, he’s scared as hell that he’s gonna go undrafted.

but then he’s offered a two-year contract for a team states away and that’s when he knows for sure that he loves her because underneath the excitement he feels, he’s scared the distance will ruin things between them.

they do have troubles and they argue a lot when he moves away because their worlds become so different and he gets so busy and wrapped up in his new life. but he doesn’t let it fuck things up. he flies back to see her every single chance he gets. if he’s not playing or training, he’s finding a way to see her. eventually she regains trust in their relationship and uproots her life to move in with him.

the tabloids eat their love story up. she’d be sitting courtside and the camera’s focused on her pre-game while the commentators are talking about how good his season’s been and how interesting it is that he and his girlfriend are college sweethearts from rival schools.

during his first finals season, he injures his shoulder and he goes into a dark place once he gets told he needs to sit out the season. he takes the time off for rest and physical therapy. she’s there for him every day. he’s stronger and better the next time he gets a chance to go to the end with his team. he wins the championship trophy and after celebrating with his teammates into the early hours of the night, he crawls into their bed and he feels like he has to hold her as she sleeps because he cannot believe that this is his life and touching her makes it feel more real.

the next morning, he’s hungover and she tells him he should’ve hydrated (she’s been nagging him about that since their college days).

he has a reputation for being an angry, aggressive player. he becomes a figure people love to hate. he hardly ever agrees to do interviews he doesn’t have to do, but he gets offered to be part of a docu-series on athletes who had almost career-ending injuries but bounced back and he agrees to do the interview with his girl by his side and people all over social media are obsessed with them and how funny their banter is and how obviously in love they are with each other.

it gets to a point where they can’t go anywhere without being recognized and hounded, so he prioritizes booking quiet, private vacations for them every few months so she doesn’t get overwhelmed by it all. she keeps him grounded. she knew him when he was nobody, just a college ball player who bickered with her all the time.

throughout everything, the nature of their relationship never changes. they joke around a lot, but they give it to each other straight when they need to, and it’s what makes them have a strong, happy life together 🥹

[shiiro-arts]

Hi I'm new to your account and I'm very new to fairy tail. I like basically just finished binging the anime and watching what's out of the 100 yr quest anime and reading the released 100 yr quest manga chapters.

So yeah I'm new

And so far something I've seen in the fandom makes me think I have more understanding of the characters than some people lol.

Like I've already seen a bunch of natsu x Lucy vs natsu x Lisanna. But the way I see it is that Lisanna is prob one of the big natsu x Lucy shippers

SPOILERS AHEAD (Nothing big don't worry)

Ship wars are in every fandom, I'm surprised people are surprised that FT has them too, they are bored and want conflict, that's all.

And as you said, yes, Lisanna is a NaLu shipper, AND LET ME TELL YOU WHY

Because Lisanna doesn't feel anything for Natsu, AT ALL

I've said this before, if Lisanna had never died NaLi would have made sense, but she died and Natsu can't date a damn corpse (I know she comes backs later). What I'm surprised of is that people shipped NaLi even before of bringing her back(free my girl). She was "dead", the ship made no sense at all...

Lisanna was never supposed to come back, she was supposed to stay dead, That's one of the reasons NaLi will never happen, mashima never had anything planned for her, so it doesn't make sense if she ends up with Natsu.

Not only do they hardly interact anymore, it just wouldn't work. Imagine if your boyfriend spent all his time (literally ALL HIS TIME) with another girl (Lucy), slept in her house, went on adventures with her and was hyperfixated on her in general, yeah no thanks.

Mashima confirmed in an interview that after bringing her back he thought about making the love triangle, but felt bad about Lisanna because she would NOT win.

This is not me being a hater of Lisanna or NaLi, I love Lisanna and I don't give a single f about NaLi to be honest, people can ship whoever they want as long as it's not problematic and NaLi is one of the most normal ships in the fandom, people just like to hate

You tell'em Lisanna

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: For the past five years, you've been traversing the Highlands in pursuit of ancient magic sites to master the all-consuming power from the repository. In the midst of your travels, you find yourself forced into an uneasy alliance with none other than Sebastian Sallow. He wants your help, but you want absolutely nothing to do with him.

At first, that is.

While the two of you learn to coexist in the same space again, you’re left wondering if you truly will be able to aid one another, or if your past mistakes will finally come to head after all these years and ultimately lead to your long awaited downfall.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+. aged up characters, canon-typical violence, kidnapping

Chapter 1 can also be found here on Ao3

You were getting really tired of running for your life. 

During your fifth-year turning tail and booking it was often heavily warranted, especially because it was usually being done as a result of you waking up hordes of Inferi, or stealing important artifacts from dark wizards that would then be out for blood. You liked to think you had grown out of that habit, but tonight was proving to be something of a trip down memory lane. 

You were being chased. Again. 

Tucking your knees to your chest, you ducked down and rolled through mud at the same time a Bombarda curse blew up a chunk of the tree ahead of you. It was a close call, but you could hardly stop to survey the extent of the damage when you could still hear the thugs behind you giving chase. 

“You daft idiots, grab her!” 

Another spell struck the ground where you’d landed moments before, but you were already on the move– dipping and weaving in a bid to dodge the attacks that were fired blindly at your back. It made no sense; you had never been intercepted at an ancient magic site before, and as far as you were concerned, there was no reason for anyone to take interest in a dilapidated ruin. Aside from using the crumbling fortress as a makeshift base, no Ashwinders or poachers had ever been lying in wait in what was otherwise deemed an unremarkable location. 

They had been this time, though. To make matters worse, they were looking for you specifically. 

Your name had been like a battle cry from their lips as you’d exited the rundown site, and you hadn’t bothered to stick around to find out whatever the hell it was they wanted with you. If you weren’t so tired and weary, you would have apparated yourself to safety in a heartbeat, but splinching yourself as a result of your carelessness wasn’t exactly at the top of your to-do list. So, you had bolted straight for the edge of the forest, doing your best to avoid colliding with the low hanging branches that scratched at your cheeks and ripped at your cloak. 

There was more yelling from behind you, only this time it sounded distinctly farther away. Chancing a look over your shoulder, you discovered that there was now ample distance between you and the goons chasing you, and you pivoted on your heels to head north for the river that separated the Clagmar Coast from Cragcroftshire. If you could reach the water, you would have a better chance of getting away and concealing your tracks in the process. 

At least, you hoped you would.

Lungs aching, you pushed yourself harder, your arms pumping at your sides as you lept over a fallen log in your path, and though you stumbled a bit upon landing, you remained upright and pressed on. Another spell whizzed past your head– the heat from the Confringo curse nearly singing your matted hair– but you ignored it and focused wholly on running. It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally reached the colossal ravine, immediately trying to formulate a plan that would result in you on the other side with your pursuers left behind. There was no bridge to repair, no loose boulders to form into a levitating staircase, nothing. Panic began to fester in your mind for a heartbeat before you steeled your nerves and banished the feeling entirely. Hysteria wouldn’t help you right now– it never had. 

“There– up ahead! Move your asses, dammit,” came the same voice from before. You turned to watch as a handful of masked assailants slid down the muddy embankment roughly fifty feet from you, and that sight alone spurred you into action. 

Your wand was ripped from the holster on your thigh, and you channeled every bit of magic in your body into it as you aimed for the largest tree across the daunting trench in front of you. The Accio charm wrapped around the top of the monstrous trunk, and with every ounce of strength you possessed, you pulled. It seemed impossible at first, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and the foreign power from the repository surged to life to give you the assistance you gravely needed. There was a deafening crack as the wood began to splinter and give way under your ministrations, muting the onslaught of footsteps that grew nearer and nearer. With one final pull your efforts were rewarded, and the massive evergreen tipped towards you slowly before gravity caught up to it, sending it plummeting towards where you stood. 

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It was a philosophical question– one that you had never thought about much before– but you had always assumed that with no one around, there would never be any way to know. Presently there were multiple people around, and as it turned out, a falling tree did make a sound. 

As you dove out of the way, the pine covered top of the tree arched past where you had been standing, stretching over the shrinking space between you and the encroaching strangers behind you. Most of them saw the gargantuan tree heading straight for them and jumped out of the way, their shrill screams echoing throughout the forest and bringing a small smile to your face. A few others weren’t so lucky, and you watched as the peaked top of the tree swallowed them whole and buried them beneath a heavy thicket of pine needles. 

Seizing your opportunity, you ran for the makeshift bridge and hauled yourself on top of the rough trunk, shoving and kicking at the spindly branches that stood in your way as you practically clawed your way through to the other side of the ravine. You didn’t dare look back, keeping your eyes trained ahead as you focused on maintaining your footing and not getting thrown off balance by your satchel. 

It looked like a hurricane had torn through the earth when you finally emerged at the base of the tree. You hopped down and landed in the deep, root-riddled crater that had previously held the evergreen upright before running to the side to gauge where your attackers were. Most were still gathering their bearings while others attempted to drag their comrades out from under the suffocating weight of the branches. You hardly spared their survival a second thought as you pointed your wand at the center of the tree and cast, “Confringo!” 

The flames grew rapidly and without mercy, frantic calls of “hurry” and “get them out of there” reaching your ears as you spun towards the forest and disappeared into the treeline. There was no knowing how much time you had bought yourself, but you weren’t about to squander any of it for a second. 

You ran, and you did not look back. 

***

One would assume that after two years of living in abandoned hovels and scrounging up scraps to eat with your bare hands, you’d be used to being cold, wet, and miserable. Hell, you had learned more about yourself since leaving Hogwarts than you’d ever thought possible, including just how resilient and resourceful you could be. Rain storms, stale bread, and a lack of clean water had never deterred you for long, and through all the trials and tribulations you found yourself facing, you always managed to pull through. 

Tonight, however, you allowed yourself to be sullen. 

The torrential downpour you’d been caught up in somehow managed to slip through the canopy of trees overhead, and as a result, you were encased in a cold, wet, dreary darkness. It had been two hours of trudging through mud and frigid temperatures, and by now you were caked in a thick layer of grime that you desperately wanted to rid yourself of. Charming away the mess was pointless– it wouldn’t be long before you were covered in muck once again– and you’d learned long ago that using magic while in the middle of a void forest was a bad idea, especially when you were trying to remain undetected. 

After the events from earlier in the day, you had decided to head straight for the next site marked on your map to make camp and settle down for the night. However, you were still a day away from reaching the location, no thanks to the dark wizards that had chased you in the opposite direction. Your stubbornness and desire to reach your destination is why you currently found yourself on the outskirts of civilization, trying and failing to fend off the elements to get the journey over with, but the bone-deep chill that wracked your body was beginning to weaken your resolve. 

You were exhausted. 

Thunder rumbled overhead, long and loud amidst the sound of raindrops pelting against the dirt, and with a disappointed sigh, you made up your mind. If memory served you correctly, the town of Bainburgh was roughly a two mile walk west of the forest. Your paranoia told you it was too risky to set foot in a legitimate establishment, but your numb limbs and wet boots squashed your fears before they could come to head. Staying outside for the entire night would likely leave you dead, and there were few other options to choose from. 

So, you marched. It took roughly forty minutes to traverse the jagged, rocky landscape in the dark, slowed down by the stray roots that stuck out of the ground and worked to trip you in your haste. By the time you made it into town, you were soaked to the bone and shivering violently enough that you were certain passersby could hear. The tavern was helpfully the largest building at the end of the road, and you headed straight for it without sparing any of the town’s denizens a second glance. 

The warmth that greeted you as soon as you entered was beyond welcoming, and you tugged the door shut behind you before beelining straight for the firepit in the middle of the room. Your hands were so numb that you practically had to submerge them in the flames to feel any semblance of reprieve, and a few onlookers cast wary glances your way. Between the mud that coated your lower half and the water that dripped from every fiber of your clothing, you realized you had to look like a walking disaster, and that sobering thought had you tucking your hands under your armpits as you hurried to the bar at the back of the room. 

The older gentleman wiping down the counter turned to face you, his aged face showing obvious alarm and concern when he caught sight of you. “Merlin’s beard girl, you look like you’ve been dragged straight through hell.” 

You flashed him a bashful smile, though you were certain it looked like more of a grimace. “You could say that. You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms available for the night, would you?” 

With practiced efficiency, he tossed the rag he’d been holding over his shoulder and shuffled over to the cabinet at the edge of the bar, opening the squeaky glass panel that housed the keys for the rentable rooms. “Ordinarily the answer would be no, but that damned storm blowing through has business movin’ slow. I’ve got two rooms left, one with a bath and the other without.” 

Your heart soared as you hastily replied, “The one with the bath, please.” Without missing a beat, you snatched your weighty coin purse from your belt and dropped it on the wooden surface. The barkeeper raised his white, bushy brows in silent surprise as he tentatively picked up the drawstring sac, plucking ten gold pieces from within before handing it back to you. The bronze key he deposited in front of you had a wooden tag dangling from the end that read ‘13’, and for the first time in nearly two weeks you found yourself genuinely smiling as your fist closed around the cool metal. 

“Up the stairs and on your left,” he instructed you. “Kitchen is open for another hour if you’re tryin’ to grab a bite before bed, but I’d wager you’re more interested in the runnin’ water.” The way his eyes fell to your soiled clothing didn’t escape you. You almost felt bad for tracking all the mud and water through the lobby.

Twenty minutes later, you had a warm loaf of bread and a small wedge of cheese tucked away in your bag as you ascended the rickety staircase. The decor within the aged tavern was modest, save for the silver plaques that adorned each door with their respective room numbers. Finding your own was a non-issue, and as soon as you were inside the sanctity of the rented space, you let loose a breath that you’d seemingly been holding since setting foot into town. Now wasn’t the time to let your guard down, but you weren’t about to turn your nose up at clean linens and running water. 

Moving quietly, you stripped down to your undergarments and tossed your ruined clothing in the corner of the bathroom, then cranked the tub’s faucet to the highest setting and left it to fill. The bread from the kitchen had cooled some, but it hardly made a difference to you as you ripped off a piece and ate it with the cheese you’d purchased. Fresh food was a rarity for you these days, and you savored every bite as you paced the length of the room. With your hunger sated and your looming bath just around the corner, you allowed yourself to think back to the last few weeks, and you pondered just why dark wizards were looking for you.

Understandably, the whole situation reminded you of your fifth-year. Suddenly you were fifteen again, being hounded and hunted by Ranrok and Rookwood alike for simply existing. At that time they had wanted something from you; your abilities, your information, and most prudent of all, your silence. You’d known too much back then, but those times had passed, and both Ranrok and Rookwood were now dead– at your hands, no less. 

So why would anyone be looking for you? Who were they to you? What did they want? 

It wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest to discover that you had more enemies lurking in the shadows. The stunts you’d pulled and the things you’d gotten away with back then were bound to catch up with you, but you hated not knowing. The whole reason you’d left Hogwarts after graduation without so much as a word to anyone was precisely because you didn’t want your whereabouts known. The line between friend and foe had started to blur towards the end, though you acknowledged that it was mostly your fault.

You hadn’t turned Sebastian in, but you also hadn’t moved to stop Ominis from doing so. 

With him imprisoned in Azkaban and Ominis reeling from the decision, it was no wonder the two of you had drifted apart in the years that followed. Anne’s curse worsening had only exacerbated Ominis’ feelings, and you’d graciously stayed out of his way anytime you saw him around school. Natty had never fully recovered from Harlow’s use of the Cruciatus curse on her, and your guilt had in turn driven you further away from her. Poppy was the only person you’d stayed in touch with for the remainder of your academic life, but she was too good a person to drag down with your… issues. You’d ultimately been the one to cut contact with her following your seventh-year, and while you’d felt bad about it at first, you knew it was for the best. 

After tonight, that decision had proven to be the right one. If you really were being tracked, were any of your former friends targets for information? Did this impromptu, wild goose chase have anything to do with your volatile abilities from the repository? Had you unwittingly put them in harm's way simply because they knew you? 

The bread in your mouth had gone soft, and you shook the pointless thoughts from your mind as you finished off your mediocre dinner and made for the bathroom. The warmth from the water was divine and single-handedly chased away any lingering doubts about holing up in a public place for the night. For just this once, you would gladly trade sleeping in the cold, wet dirt for the pending restlessness and paranoia that was bound to greet you, and greet you it did. 

After climbing under the itchy but clean blankets, you stared wide eyed up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Every squeak of a floorboard, every booming laugh that echoed up the stairs, every shadow that darted past your window, all had your heart racing. Even after checking twice that the two points of entry were indeed firmly locked, your nerves wouldn’t steady. Your skin crawled with unease at the prospect of being blindsided in an unfamiliar place, and at one point you even began pacing the length of the tiny room just to tire yourself out. 

Eventually, you came to a grinding halt at the foot of the bed, your hands curling into fists as you sucked down a slow, deep breath. “You’re fine,” you murmured to yourself. “You’re fine. It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re fine.” 

Maybe if you repeated it enough times you would start to believe it. 

The second time you crawled beneath the prickly sheets your brain was still running in overdrive, but you were far less fidgety than before. You had no clue how you managed it, but eventually your eyes drifted shut– and even if it ended up being a fitful bout of sleep, you would be grateful for the few hours of shut eye you managed to acquire. 

Gratitude went right out the window, however, when you were startled awake by a whispered, “Petrificus totalus.” 

Your body locked up– stiff and unable to move an inch below the scratchy covers– and before you even had the chance to glance in the direction of the disembodied voice, they whispered a different sort of charm. 

One that made your world go dark.

[dreamscapesofimagination]

I'll Say I Was Overthinking

A/N: Part 2 of the Alan drabble!

Summary: Being involved with anomalies was not conducive to peaceful dates, a fact that Alan laments when you are injured on his watch.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, cursing, body horror, fluff, Alan beating himself up as usual, kiss to shut someone up.

—------------

It had taken a couple weeks to get the R&R permit approved- and Alan had insisted that your first date not be on campus.

Maybe he was going overboard, but dinner and a movie off campus (and therefore away from a certain meddlesome vice-captain) was a must.

You weren’t complaining.

He had picked you up from your dorm, and you had nearly tripped over your feet at the sight of him in a nice button up and slacks- two things you were not sure he even owned (he didn’t- Tohma had insisted upon providing clothes once Kurosagi has let the date slip.)

He had complimented you, cheeks pink as he scratched the back of his neck.

Your dress was simple, nothing over the top, but you loved its fit and from his expression you could tell Alan had too.

Dinner had gone well, Alan slowly becoming more comfortable as the night went on- and you’d be lying if you said his smile didn’t make your heart flutter.

That's what crossed your mind when you both had rounded a corner, only to be faced with this.

Mottled flesh, an entirely too human face- too many teeth and a too wide smile.

You froze- heart pounding. You had ended up ahead of Alan as you chattered away about your excitement for the movie he had planned.

Far enough ahead that he was helpless as the anomaly smacked you aside.

“No!” his shout was futile as he watched your body hit the alley wall and crumple.

You lay there wheezing, brain slowly processing the scene.

Snippets.

Alan’s pipe appearing in his hand.

The anomaly making its way toward you.

Alan launching in front of you, blocking your body.

A horrible, mocking laugh.

Your vision swam, and as shock wore off you began to feel the deep pain in your body from where you had hit the wall, and you were faintly aware of the taste of blood and bile in your throat.

Alan was fighting it- but seemed to be doing little damage.

Groaning, you staggered to your feet, leaning over as you emptied the contents of your stomach.

Lurching forward, you gripped Alan's arm.

His eyes shot to you, “what are you doing?”

“Your stigma-” you coughed, wincing as a bolt of pain lanced your head, -”use it”

His eyes glanced over you, frowning in concern at your state.

“You can hardly stand!”

“And if I don’t help you we are both going to die! Stop arguing with me and just hit the fucking thing!” you snapped, gripping his arm harder to stabilize yourself.

The laughing anomaly lurched toward you both, interrupting his chance to argue further.

Alan adjusted his grip on the pipe, fixing the anomaly with a harsh glare.

He raised the pipe, bringing it down as the anomaly lunged, and you watched the creature's head give way beneath the iron.

It fell to the ground, and the resulting tremble caused you to stagger.

Alan caught you, shouting your name as your vision faded.

~~~•••~~~•••~~~

Quiet voices were the first thing you registered- along with the sterile smell.

Mortkranken’s infirmary.

“Like I said, you need to let someone examine you. She is stable- the last thing she needs right now is you collapsing because you had an injury and didn’t let us treat you. Taking more attention off of her than is necessary would be foolish, Mido.”

“I’m fine, regardless, I’m a ghoul. If something was wrong it’d be pretty damn clear.”

You cracked your eyes, wincing at the glare.

Alan swam into focus, glaring at Jiro, whose face was impassive.

Jiro’s arms were crossed, and the bags under his eyes were more defined than normal.

“Ghouls can still die, Mido.” Jiro left with that scathing retort before his eyes landed on you.

“You’re awake.” Alan’s head snapped around, and he quickly rushed forward.

“You okay?” his eyes were wild with concern.

You cracked a small smile, “I’ve been better.”

“Ah-hem.” You looked past Alan, and met Jiro’s gaze.

“Please let Jiro look you over?” you asked, bringing a hand up to grasp Alan’s for a moment.

His cheeks flushed at the contact.

“Can I do my job?” You giggled at Jiro’s mildly irritated tone.

“Go. I’ll be okay.”

Alan hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Jiro led him out from the curtained off “room” you were in.

You laid there, taking in the sounds of machines and the smell of alcohol.

You shifted, sitting up with a groan as you searched for water, throat scratchy.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Alan sounded panicked when he came back in to see you moving.

“I need some water.” you said, voice hoarse.

“I brought some,” Jiro entered behind Alan, carrying a cup.

He handed it to you, all but rolling his eyes at the Vagastrom captain.

“Your boyfriend is fine, from what the very limited exam he let me do showed.”

You could practically hear the eye roll in his voice.

“Is she going to be fine?” Alan snapped.

You sipped your water, relishing how soothing it was.

Jiro fixed Alan with a tired glare before directing his statement toward you, “You have a broken rib, concussion, and some nasty contusions, and hitting the wall dislocated your shoulder. I got the shoulder back in place, and your chest is wrapped to prevent your rib from moving too much. It will be awhile before you can function at your full capacity- even with the anomalous medicine we have.”

He cracked a small smile, “if you need anything, just call. You can go back to your dorm as long as you have someone who can keep an eye on you. And I will be coming by in the mornings to check on you.”

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Alan said quickly, carefully grasping your hand.

Jiro looked at him for a moment before nodding.

Fifteen minutes later, you were slowly staggering back to your dorm.

Alan’s arm was wrapped around you, and a bag of medical supplies was on his shoulder.

Silence passed between you- and you weren’t too disappointed due to the dull throb with every step and breath. You didn’t think you could manage words very well.

At your door, Alan froze.

You looked up at him, seeing the set of his jaw.

“Alan, what’s wrong?”

You watched a muscle feather.

“I shouldn’t be the one doing this.”

You frowned, turning to fully face him.

“What do you mean? If you don’t want to, that's fine, I can call Jiro and go back to the infirmary.”

Shaking his head, Alan said, “it’s my fault you got hurt. If I had been faster, more aware, then you would be okay. I’ll just make things worse.”

He avoided your eyes.

“This was a bad idea, it would be best for you to go to the infirmary so I don’t get you ki-”

A surprised grunt left him as you yanked him down by the collar and pressed your lips to his.

After a moment, the stiffness left Alan’s body, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you like you were porcelain as he finally reciprocated the kiss.

They broke away, and she was sure the flush on Alan’s face matched her own as he blinked owlishly at her.

“What- what was that for?” he stammered.

You giggled at his shell-shocked expression.

“Alan, I kissed you because I like you,” you cradled his cheek with your good hand, “I would not kiss you if I thought you got me hurt. Now will you please accept that it's not your fault so we can go inside and shower?”

His eyes widened even farther, “Like?”

You tilted your head before realizing what he meant.

“No! Not together- as incredibly attractive as I find you I think sex would kill me right now,” Alan stood straight, face and neck bright red.

Laughing, you said, “I will probably need your help though- if that’s okay?”

Alan cleared his throat, “I said I would take care of you, and I will.”

You blinked at the seriousness in his voice.

Alan was nothing if not committed, and you knew that if he was around you would be taken care of.

[blixabargelds]

PLS do more cnc, nobody ever writes it :( you are a fantastic writer

thank youu 🥺 cnc my beloved ugh especially when it’s ill advised and under negotiated and ends in tears <3 but also also~

modern clegan au,. gale meets this real attractive guy at a bar, a little older, rough around the edges but he seems nice enough. and gale’s nervous because he’s never touched a drop of alcohol in his life but he’s had a rough fucking week, wants to see what the fuss is all about, take the edge off the noise in his head. and this guy sits down next to him, and gale’s playing nervously with the straw in his vodka lime soda staring into it, and this guy says ‘hey, doll, you gonna drink that?’

so gale does. he takes a sip, and it sort of stings on the way down, but this cute guy, says his name is john, smiles at him so wide like he’s pleased with him and that smile is like a shot in itself, so gale finishes the drink. and john, he can see this quiet kid is relaxing a bit, so he gets him another. and john’s hardly touching his but gale’s halfway through this second one, and christ he’s a lightweight, so he barely notices he’s the only one getting wasted.

and gale gets a little bold with it, he’s flirting with this guy now, and when john offers to drive him home he accepts because the world is tilting a bit, and he seems so nice.

and when gale kisses his cheek as a thank you as they get back to gale’s, this guy- he won’t leave. he sticks a foot in gale’s door and won’t let him shut it. and this big smile john had, it won’t leave his face as he looks at gale and says ‘you do this a lot?’

gale doesn’t know what he means, goes to say no and sorry, but john’s bullying his way into gale’s apartment and saying ‘you like to lead guys on? you do this a lot, leave good men high and dry? nobody ever told you that’s pretty fuckin rude?’

and gale’s gut twists and he goes to say something else, but john’s switched. he ain’t so friendly anymore. he’s grabbing gale by the hair and throwing him down onto his bed. he’s bigger and stronger, and gale’s head is swimming, and he can’t breathe as john’s tugging his pants down, shoving his face into the pillow so when gale shouts for him to get the hell off him nobody’s gonna hear. and gale’s maybe starting to cry as john fingers him once, twice, then fucks into him with spit and the sheer force of a violent stranger, and gale thinks he might pass out.

and he’s never done this before, either, and he tells this guy as much, begging him not to, he doesn’t understand his body’s reaction when this guy fucks him so deep he’s hitting something gale’s only found with his own shy fingers before, and gale wants to die because he’s getting hard, he’s gonna come from this man roughly taking something gale didn’t want to give. and when he does, just from his cock against the sheets and john splitting him apart, he sobs into the pillow, begs john to get off him bc he’s ruining him, and when john pulls out and flips gale over and puts his hand on his neck he tells him ‘you never saw my face, nobody’s going to believe you’.

and he’s choking gale so tight his eyes are rolling back, and the vodka and the terror and the lack of oxygen make him slip, and he thinks he can hear the ocean rushing in his ears and as john’s grip finally loosens he’s gone.

and when john touches his face, brings him back around, everything’s fuzzy. and gale looks up at him, and he smiles so hard john drags in this breath like he was the one getting throttled.

and gale says, ‘you never asked my name’

and john says ‘shit, buck, where d’you learn to act like that,’ and ‘did you tell the bartender beforehand to just give you soda?’ because of course gale would plan that far ahead, and ‘where did the fucking virgin thing come from?’

and gale says, ‘you told me i could improvise,’ and ‘did you lock the door? never know what kinds of people there are out there these days.’

[hoeforalbedo]

Void

——————————————————

Summary: It’s not right person wrong time. It’s wrong person wrong time but for some reason, they find themselves craving each other even when they know they shouldn’t.

TW: Smut, Fem reader, alcohol, weed, mentions of other drugs but nobody actually uses it, depression, self sabotage, self destructive thoughts and actions, ANGST

——————————————————

It started on your birthday, buzzed out from the the alcohol but not enough to be drunk. Just tipsy. Maybe the alcohol was enough to mess with your mind but when you look at your ex/best friend, Seonghwa, many dirty thoughts swirl around your head.

Just sex. That’s all you want. You don’t do relationships. Commitment had always been scary. It makes you feel insecure, wondering if you’re worth loving. There’s also this sense that you’re tied down, you’ve always been free-spirited and you didn’t like the idea of having someone else influence your decisions.

Seonghwa stood from his spot after many moments of catching your glances. “Long time no see, happy birthday.”

A smile smile forms at the corners of your lips. “Thanks. I heard you moved into the city, lately.”

He chuckles, “Yeah. You know, I’m not really one for the chaotic city but plans change.”

You hum in acknowledgment. That was one of the reasons for why you two broke up. You knew where you wanted to be. You wanted the city, loud, chaotic, unpredictable.

Routine feels repetitive but with the city, you never know what’s happening. You find yourself roaming different parts of the city, hardly ever coming home. The walls just feel suffocating. Routine is suffocating. Commitment is suffocating. But when you walk the streets, high out of your mind from weed, and there’s constant lights blaring into your eyes, you feel free, the air feels fresh somehow. Nobody gives a fuck about you. You could do whatever you want and nobody would care.

Your life has become work, get off and go to wherever your feet leads you, then come home late at night, or maybe find yourself at some hotel with however you found for the night. For someone who hates routine, you’ve committed to this lifestyle.

Seonghwa isn’t like that. He likes his routine. He likes predictability. He doesn’t like stepping out of his comfort zone. Each day for him is the same, and a slight mishap that is not part of his schedule throws him off badly.

That’s where the two of you clash. You love those mishaps. It makes your day exciting. A relationship with you is pure chaos. There’s no structure, you’re unpredictable. In some ways Seonghwa loves that it’s never dull, other times he hates how carefree you are. You swerve through the roadblocks of love with ease while he’s still stuck far behind you.

“You always knew what you wanted. You weren’t going to let anything hold you back,” Seonghwa reminisces. A sad smile finds you.

“Yeah. I got it alright. I started travel work so I can actually travel while making money. I start next month.” It was always the plan. Move to the city and once you can you’d travel to as many places as you can.

You’ve had it all planned even before dating Seonghwa and you weren’t going to compromise. This is what you wanted and you’re content. As flexible as you are, your dreams and goals are something you can’t afford to fail. It had always been what you wanted since you were 15 and you are willing to sacrifice everything else. It doesn’t matter how many plans change, that is where you want to be. You knew your ideal lifestyle didn’t fit a relationship. You were prepared for that. You weighed the options and romance is something you decided you don’t need. It’s great to have but you could go on without it.

Just because you didn’t need it doesn’t mean you crave it. Many of your friends are deciding on settling down. You were invited to two weddings. They are far ahead in their love life. Many other people your age have children. Children have always been out of the question. You don’t really like them. You want to be reckless, and how can you do that with a child?

Seonghwa wants kids. He often gets baby fever. He’s fine just watching other people with their kids. Anything for you, but you knew that you’re only holding him back from his dreams. He wants a domestic life in a nice suburban house. You don’t want that. You never wanted that, and you are content with the knowledge that you’d die without children to uphold your legacy, but you never believed in that crap anyways. The only legacy you have is family trauma and you don’t plan on spreading generational trauma to your hypothetical kids.

“It’s like the moment I have you, you’re already gone,” He looks at you with a sad look, and even then he still has that spark in his eyes. It breaks your heart. He really wanted to make the relationship work, he really wants you, but you’ve already given up on the idea.

“I’m sorry. . .” You tore your vision away from him. You watch your friends on the dance floor as you take a sip of your drink.

Seonghwa reminisces, “It’s been what, two, three years since I’ve seen you. I thought I could move on but I still love you.”

You bit your lip. You want him but you know that what you feel isn’t love. You love the idea of love. You love the idea of Seonghwa. You know yourself. You love people you can’t have.

Sure in some way you love him still, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t want to tie him down to someone who does whatever they want, because even when you planned your life ahead with goals and expectations, you don’t know what you want with your life. The unpredictability is the only thing that sends you a feeling of thrill. The plan was always the city because of the chaos. As for traveling, it’s the unfamiliarity. You’re not a stranger to imposter syndrome, in fact you have come to enjoy it. You never belong anywhere so it doesn’t matter where you go. You no longer want the high from weed, you never wanted it in the first place. What you truly wanted to feel is the high of life everyone talks about. You want to feel free despite your head trying to constantly lock you in.

There’s more to it. You easily get bored and you’re afraid that one day you’d get bored of him. It’s not easy to get bored of him but with the way he’s always repetitive, he’s already predictable and that’s enough reason for you to avoid him than hurt him one day.

“You know we can only be friends,” You turn to look at him. He’s looking down at his drink set on his lap, held fragile by his fingers. Those fingers poked you, making you giggle. Those fingers that are far bigger than yours, and when you held his hand, they just enveloped yours. Those fingers that traced your body so that he could etch you into his mind. Those fingers that knew how to make you scream when he fucked your needy cunt. You miss his touch.

Fuck, you still need him. Why is he so easy?

“I know. . .” He looks up to look at you. You could easily get lost in his eyes. He’s got so much light in them, while you’re trying to do everything to at least make yours shine for just a moment. He always has something to look forward to, but you’re always looking for something to fulfill that boredom in you.

Why do you love him? Why does he love you? You’re not a good person. You date people only to leave them when you’ve had enough. Even if you aren’t bored of him now it’s still bound to happen. You’re in love with someone you can’t have. But then again that happens all the time. He’s not special.

So many “what ifs.” So many “coulds.” It’s hard to make up your mind.

Still, you find him inching closer to your face, and you couldn’t back away. Your mind is telling you no, but your heart is screaming at you. Your body isn’t even responding to you. You still want him and when he presses his lips against your lips, you’re reminded of why you’re so in love with him. His kisses are always gentle, as if you’re fragile and would break easily.

Seonghwa missed your lips. During those two to three years, he tried to move on, find other people but they weren’t the same. They weren’t you. You kiss as if you’re distant, as if you’ve already left. You would try to hold yourself back and he wants to tell you it’s okay to enjoy the moment, but you’re so far away. Always ready to move forward. Even when you’re right here, you feel so distant. He’s so fucked. Two people who are in love with someone they can’t have is a love that’s doomed from the start.

You finally pull away from him, “We can’t.”

“Please just give me this one chance. Just give me tonight. Please,” He begs, voice coming as a whisper from how desperate he is.

“Don’t say that,” You plead.

“Why?” He asks.

You inhale sharply, “Because I won’t be able to stop myself from saying yes.”

“Just give me one night.”

Fuck. “Just tonight.”

It’s your birthday party but you left your friends on their own. You take a hit of your cart knowing that you can’t do this sober. The alcohol in your system does nothing but give you a euphoric buzz. What you need is for your mind to shut up. It never allows you to enjoy anything.

You’re already clawing at each other’s clothes the moment the hotel door closes. You miss this. You forgot just how addicting he is. His touch is better than alcohol or weed. Maybe even cocaine or acid but you wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t go that far.

“Jump,” He tells you. Your body automatically moves on its own before your mind can process what he said. You wrap your legs around his waist as he held you up. He kisses your swollen lips fervently while your fingers comb through his hair. Back then he used to have a sexy undercut. His hair has grown much longer. It suits him. Hopefully he doesn’t cut it anytime soon.

He easily navigated the two of you to the bed and lays you down gently. He takes his shirt off before dipping into your neck.

“Don’t leave any marks.” It’s the a rule that goes for all of your one night stands. Maybe your high ass thought you said it out loud because he’s leaving marks everywhere. Nah, if that were the case, you’d be puking your guts out by now. Greening out is the worst type of cockblock. Maybe you just didn’t say it, and maybe it wasn’t an accident either.

When all clothes are discarded, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do. He wants to do everything to you, knowing that this is the only chance he has. “I want to taste you,” he mumbles. He kisses down the valley of your breast, to your stomach, until he finds himself between your thighs.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your body burning to his touch. It hurts more than usual. Even when you’re high, some other guys couldn’t make you feel this way.

You’re practically soaked, body so sensitive to everything. It makes Seonghwa question if it’s the weed or him. Perhaps both. When have you started smoking anyways? You used to say you’d never do those stuff.

“Seonghwa, stop teasing me,” You breathe heavily. Usually, you don’t get impatient when it comes to sex. You never felt the need to when your partners don’t feel as good compared to Seonghwa. Sure, there are people that do feel amazing, but you have weed to actually make it bearable. You can’t recall how sex feels sober, but what you know is that you can never feel good sober anyways. Your thoughts are too loud, the loudest during sex but Seonghwa always knew how to shut them up. His words would make you feel like putty and his touch made everything quiet. No substances needed.

And his tongue.

Fuck, his tongue knows how to make you scream. It’s embarrassing how easily he can make you cum so quickly. He eats you up like it’s his last meal, and probably because it is. Your taste is so addicting and your moans are like heaven to his ears. He could stay between your legs, eating your pussy for hours, but he desperately needs to feel his dick inside you.

Each moment has him getting impatient, knowing his time is limited and so he fucks you. His dick has your mind going blank with the way he fills you up. Your pussy fits perfectly around his cock like a puzzle piece. So warm, wet. . . comfortable. You bring him comfort.

Seonghwa doesn’t make sense. He kisses so softly but fucks so hard. “Hwa, you’re so good,” You whimper into his ear.

“Say that again, Darling. Let me hear you say that again,” His voice is deep, practically begging you as the tip of his cock perfectly nudges your cervix.

“Please Hwa. Need you to make me cum,” You cry as you squirm under his touch. It’s too much. It’s too good. You stare at the ceiling with tears of pleasure.

God, it feels so good.

Maybe God has finally given you a chance to finally feel happiness even if it’s brief. Why now? He should have done it a long time ago.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa moans, eyes practically rolling back as he listens to your cries and moans. He takes your leg, putting them over his shoulder, as he fucks you even deeper. He hits parts of you that no one else can. It’s not fair the way he knows your body more than you. He rubs against the most sensitive parts of you with ease while he rolls your clit against his thumb.

“I’m gonna cum,” You gasp, head rolling back against the pillow, eyes closed shut.

“No baby, look at me. I want you to look at me while you cum,” He stops, forcing your slightly red glazed-over eyes to open and look at him with a pout. “Good girl,” He hums as he slams his hips against you once more.

“Seonghwa!” You squeal as your sensitive cunt clenches down on him. “Fuck! Fuck! It’s too much! Too good! ‘M gonna cum so hard!” You sob.

“Cum for me baby. Let me feel you,” He groans as he feels himself closer to his orgasm.

“Hwa!” You whine as you cum, pussy convulsing around his cock, while looking directly into his eyes.

“Shit baby, where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside. Fill me up,” You beg. Even on birth control, you never let other people cum inside you. Only Seonghwa. It just feels so good the way he fills you up with his warm cum, thrusting it deeper into you, before he pulls out.

Many tend to fall asleep easy with weed. That’s why some people take it. However, you can never fall asleep while high. Even with the embrace of a nightly partner, when you close your eyes, it’s just you and a dark infinite void. In that void, you get lost in thoughts. It can range from wanting food, to be lazy to stand, to why do you exist. Those types of thoughts are the worse. You start questioning yourself and your reality and you start depersonalizing. Once you get to that point, nothing you do can ground you. That’s why you don’t sleep when high. Instead you go on your phone.

Many texts fill up your Lock Screen and you quickly reply to your friends telling them that you weren’t kidnapped. You talk with them for a while, then scroll through social media, and once you feel like your high is wearing out to a buzz, you get up slowly to not wake Seonghwa. You get dressed and slip out the hotel room. You go home and clean yourself up so that you’re ready to repeat the process all over again. Life is made up of routines no matter how crazy or chaotic you make it. There will always be a structure.

The next morning, Seonghwa wakes up to a cold bed. He never even got to get your new phone number, and even then, he doesn’t know if you’ll ever respond to him. Knowing that you’re leaving once again, he prays for some miracle that the world brings you back once more, even if it’s for a short moment.

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 11: Oh, What A Night

Prompt: "Well, that turned out great"

Mulder and Scully are forced to attend the annual FBI charity ball. Chaos ensues. Rating T, wc: 2,006

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

A huge thank you to @xxsksxxx for helping me come up with this fic. And all the help and support in general ❤️

The FBI’s annual charity party is a gossip-infested, deadly boring event where agents wear glittery clothes that don’t fit them and get drunk with people they’ll pretend not to know the next day – and before now, Mulder has always managed to escape this circus. That was before A.D. Kersh became their new boss and made it mandatory.

Unless Mulder was dead in a morgue or emergency surgery, his presence was required. And since he neither died nor injured himself – not for lack of trying either – he’s here, standing in the corner with a flute full of sparkling water. He’s saving the champagne for when Scully gets here.

They had planned to arrive together, but when she said she’d be late, she insisted he go ahead to avoid Kersh thinking they’d bailed on the party. So he’s standing here on his own, in an itchy tuxedo, grimacing.

So far no one has even attempted to rope him into a conversation. He nods at Kersh and his assistant, briefly wondering if he can ditch the party now that their boss has seen him. But he couldn’t do that to Scully. He checks his phone to see if she’s called or texted. Nothing. He’s beginning to worry and decides to call her himself. Phone at his ear, he lets his eyes roam the room. So many people he has no desire to see at the office, let alone at a ball.

All he can hope is that no one will ask him to dance. Oh fuck, what if Scully doesn’t show up and Elaine from accounting gets his hands on him? She’s been trying. Much like Diana. She���s across the room, obviously looking for someone – and he fears it might just be him.

“Come on, Scully, answer,” he whispers to himself, the phone still pressed against his ears. There’s a loud, collective gasp – or maybe it’s just him – when the door opens and someone steps inside. Not just someone, no. Mulder relaxes in an instant, his feet starting before he knows what’s happening. A smile blooms on his face and he doesn’t care who sees his goofy grin.

Scully is here.

He stops a few feet away from her, in absolute awe. He’s never seen her like this. At work, she’s the consummate professional in her suits. Every once in a while, he’s been lucky enough to catch her in tight jeans and a t-shirt. Once or twice, he’s got a glimpse of her satin pajamas. He has seen her in her whole glory, not a stitch of clothing on her body. Not that he looked, not really. One time was a matter of life and death. The second time a cruel joke from Diana. He shakes his head softly, hardly believing what he’s seeing now. It’s Scully – his Scully, his friend and partner – in a very flattering, deep black cocktail dress.

“Wow, you look…,” he says, his hand reaching out, unsure if it’s to touch her or the dress. The dress is hugging her in all the right places, leaving just enough for the imagination. He takes her in, feeling like he might need a cold shower if he keeps this up.

“I didn’t know what to wear and found this in the back of my closet. That’s why I’m late,” she says. “Mulder, why are people staring at us?” she asks in a low voice, reaching for his champagne flute. She grimaces when she tastes the water. “This is water.”

“I didn’t want to get drunk before you got here.” He grins. “Scully, I- you look amazing.”

“Thank you, Mulder,” she says with a smile and just the hint of a blush. “We need to mingle. Just so that Kersh can’t claim we weren’t here.”

His Scully, is always on his side.

He considers taking her hand but doesn’t dare. The night is still young. People are glaring at them openly as if they were the greatest spectacle they’ve ever seen. It’s all because of Scully, he’s sure of it. He’s heard about the ice queen rumor long before they were even partnered. He’s never given a damn about rumors and after meeting her, he knew that all these people didn’t know Dana Scully at all. Her rationality is only one side of her; the one she presents at work and in professional settings. He knows a different Scully. One who is passionate about everything – and everyone – she loves.

“You’re starting again,” she says, but she sounds amused.

“I can’t help it.” He decides to be honest with her. “That dress- you in it.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She smooths an invisible wrinkle and Mulder’s pants feel a whole lot tighter all of a sudden. As much as he likes the dress, and her in it, he wouldn’t mind seeing it on the floor. Or – what he suspects she prefers: draped carefully over a chair. But the night has just begun and just in case he’s misinterpreting the last few weeks, he’s going to take his time, admire her in the dress, and cherish the fact that she wants him right here next to her.

“How long do you think we have to stay?” They’re at the buffet now, loading their plates with fancy finger food. Scully gets a white wine spritzer, sighing in contentment when she takes a sip.

“An hour at least. There’s Kersh.” They both wave at their boss who just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I thought he wanted us here.”

“He did,” Mulder says, eyeing their boss from across the room. He’s never seen the man smile in what Mulder assumes is genuine joy.

“Don’t stare at him,” Scully says, elbowing him.

“Did you know he could smile?” Now Scully looks over too. She has to get on tiptoes to see anything and uses Mulder to steady herself.

“Well,” is all she says. She keeps her hand on his arm, watching the room. “Oh no. Diana is here.” No one could blame Mulder for forgetting Diana once he laid eyes on Scully.

“Is it too late to hide?” he asks and Scully doesn’t need to answer cause his ex has seen them and is making her way over.

When Mulder saw Scully, he was blown away. Now seeing Diana, all he wants is to get away. Scully must sense his desire to flee and squeezes his arm.

“Agents Mulder and Scully,” Diana says with fake enthusiasm. “I was hoping to see you here.”

“Were you,” Mulder mumbles, wishing he’d opted for alcohol after all and not plain water.

“This is Jeremy, by the way.” She points at the man next to her and Mulder swallows hard. It’s almost like looking into a mirror. Except the mirror is smudged and distorted. But he sees the resemblance. That man – Jeremy – could be his brother. Or cousin, at least.

“Hello Jeremy,” Scully says, shaking his doppelgänger’s hand. If she sees it, too, she’s much better at concealing it. “Have you known Diana long?”

“Literally met her today,” he says with a grin. “Making good money here tonight.”

“That’s enough of you,” Diana says, pushing him away. “Go and… just go.” With a shrug, he winks at Scully and points finger guns at Mulder, before he grabs a champagne flute and is off to mingle.

“Where did you find that delightful young man?” He can’t stop himself from asking. Diana makes a wild hand gesture.

“Oh, you know.” Scully is nice enough to nod, though he doubts either of them knows what Diana is talking about. “I came over here, Fox, to whisk you away.”

“Whisk me away?”

“Excuse me?” He and Scully speak at the same time, their words overlapping.

“To, you know.” Again, he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows her well enough to see panic rise in her demeanor.

“I don’t know,” he says, a softness in his voice that’s full of faded memories of a past shared with this woman.

“You at least have to dance with me.” Diana grabs his free arm and starts tugging. Only Scully is not letting go of him either.

“Um, I don’t want to dance,” he says. Only a few couples are dancing and Mulder isn’t even sure their movements are deserving of that description.

“Fox, come on. I want to show you something.” Needy. He remembers that, too. Things have to go her way – always. But he’s no longer that young, naive man. More than that, he’s no longer the man who thought he was in love.

“He said he doesn’t want to dance.” Scully has been quiet up to this point. He knows that low voice that’s close to a growl. People underestimate Scully all the time; it’s her gender and her height. Diana, unfortunately, makes that same mistake.

“I think I know him a bit better than you do, Agent Scully.”

“Please-,” Mulder tries to say, but the women are ignoring him.

“I think it’s better if you leave now.”

“You don’t make the choices here, Agent Scully.”

“No,” she says evenly. “Mulder does and he said no. We’re in a room full of people. Do you really want to do this?” He holds his breath, waiting. It could go either way. The two women are in a staring contest and his own eyes move between their faces like a ping pong.

“Fine,” Diana hisses. “You can have him tonight.” She starts walking off, but turns around again, waving her glass about. “I knew him first, you know.” Her voice breaks and Mulder almost feels sorry for her. She’s walking backward now, unable to turn her back on them. She’s always hated losing. “I get him,” she says with emphasis.

“Diana.” There’s panic in Scully’s voice. She takes a few steps forward and Mulder sees what has her so concerned. Diana. Walking backwards. Right into a table full of candles. Lit candles.

“You cannot- what the fuck!” Someone screams and Diana is flapping her arms like a bird trying to take off, while her dark brown hair is blazing with red hot flames. Scully is the first to react, pouring what’s left of her white wine spritzer over Diana’s head. The screaming gets louder and just to be safe, just in case, Mulder pours his sparkling water over Diana’s hair, too. She’s sputtering and yelling. Her voice is so high-pitched that Mulder doesn’t catch a single thing she’s saying, but the smell of burnt hair makes him gag.

“Let me help you,” Scully says.

“I think you’ve helped enough.” Diana’s make-up is smeared all over her face. She touches her hair and her bottom lip quivers. “I think I’ll – excuse me.” She storms off and Mulder just watches her, wondering if he should follow. Two waiters come to clean up and relight the candles. Chatter commences and a moment later, it’s as if nothing has happened at all.

“Well, that turned out great.” Mulder stares at their empty glasses.

“We need to make sure she’s okay,” Scully says, tugging at his hand. That’s not at all how he imagined this evening to go. He didn’t have high hopes, but this is even worse.

“Scully, she doesn’t want our help.”

“I don’t care,” she says earnestly. “This could have ended badly. We need to make sure she’s all right. We should take her to a hospital.” He loves this woman. Here she is, defending Diana, despite wanting to rip the woman’s hair out herself half the time.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes.” Scully takes his hand into hers. “She’s hurt, Mulder.” She’s not just talking about the physical pain she’s just endured. “Let’s go help her. I’m used to dealing with difficult people.” She pokes his chest with her finger a few times.

“This is not how I wanted tonight to be.”

“Once we’ve taken care of Diana,” Scully says, slipping her hand into his in front of Kersh and every other agent present, “we’re going home.”

“Together?” he asks, daring to dream.

“Together,” she confirms.

[grandlinedreams]

It is a gosh darn blessing to read your Law content. Like wowe. He really does live rent free in your brain and we stan for it. Mihawk lives rent free in my brain T_T

Maybe we'll trade little writing pieces one day! Also I'd love a little tidbit of Law x Reader working together in a fight, because I'm a sucker for team-ups like that.

VALID Mihawk is also so very blorbo and brain occupying so I don't blame you at all ㅡ and I would love to do a little trade someday, that sounds like a lot of fun!

[Heads up!: canon-typical violence, brief mention of blood]

In his defense, Law really does try to avoid confrontation if he can. He prefers to do what he has to, fly under the radar while he does it, and disappear without many knowing he was ever there.

Most of the time if all goes according to plan, it works. But when others are involved, it rarely goes exactly to plan.

The repeated clash of metal is what gets his attention, the clear sound of a fight ㅡ and he tenses when he spots you, your back to him as you block another blow.

You're more than capable of defending yourself, he knows that ㅡ as proven for the fact that as far as he can see, nobody's landed a blow on you. And he wants to keep it that way.

"Room."

You watch the blue aura extend overhead, the brief rush of air that signals your captain's presence beside you. His sudden appearance makes the few enemies left jolt, as well as the gleam of his eyes, narrowed into a sharp glare.

It doesn't take long to dispatch the rest of them and you huff as you crouch to clean blood from your daggers with the fabric of an unconscious man's shirt.

"I had it handled," you tell Law, who watches you before turning to leave when you rejoin him.

"I know," he answers, "but we're on a schedule. We don't have time to draw things out."

"I wasn't," you protest. You peer at him, studying his expression before you look ahead, lips curving. "You were worried about me."

Law scoffs. "Hardly."

"We left early on purpose," you say, hurrying a few steps ahead and spinning to face him. "So I still had time to take care of those idiots on my own. Just admit you were worried about me."

Law stares at you and then away, and you grin. "Quit being a bother and walk properly."

You huff a soft laugh before you do as you're told and then glance back at him. "We work well in a fight though, don't you think?"

Law sighs, but you catch the faint smirk on his face. "Yeah," he answers, "we do."

[stealingyourbones]

It's not much but I have five dice made from the knuckle bones of sheep for you. Be careful not to loose one, as while five is a very lucky number, I find four to be very, very unlucky. If one day you should find there are six, don't panic. Simply choose one and bury it under a bush.

Tim had plenty of contingencies for just about anything that could happen, and he knew this would happen eventually. Both of them did. In fact, they had gone over possible plans together and chosen a cover story ahead of time. But now that it was time to use it? Tim felt internally nervous. It was never a good thing to have to explain to your family full of detectives that you have a secret boyfriend.

The story they settled on was one that was easy for them to maintain due to not being able to see eachother much because of both of their rouges galleries. They decided to go with a classic "star crossed lovers who could never be together for they are of two different worlds", which narrowly beat out "Romeo and Juliet".

When asked about his boyfriend, Tim will gladly tell his family about how his boyfriend is beautiful and strong and smart, but also dumb and silly and sweet. He will tell them stories about the time Danny got ice cream on his nose and insisted he could reach it for three full minutes while going cross eyed trying to reach it with his tongue, followed by the time Danny single handedly knocked Mister Freeze out for interrupting their date. The family remembers the time Freeze just showed up in Arkham after spraying ice for two minutes, knocked out and tied up, ready to be put in a cell but they could never figure out what happened.

However, no one gets to meet Tim's mystery boyfriend until a night when Tim was supposed to be off. It's the March Equinox so of course a villian decided to attack. Tim and Danny help Dick, Jason, and Damian with the fight, grinning internally when they notice the time. After the villian is all wrapped up and their plot to end the city at midnight is done with, Tim's own alarm goes off and he immediately hugs Danny saying in the softest voice he can manage, "please don't go."

Danny has a sad look on his face as he hugs Tim, using his powers to slowly turn himself invisible as he replies, "I'm sorry my dear but I have to. The veil is thinning again." Danny nuzzles the top of Tim's head, voice getting more distant with each word, "but I'll be back in a few months. The Solstice isn't that far away. I'll see you then, I promise."

Danny almost isn't visible as Tim holds him as tight as he can, like if he clings tight enough his boyfriend won't slip through his fingers. Tim gives Danny a kiss before he says, "I will await your return with baited breath as always. Perhaps some day we'll find a way to anchor you to this world." Danny almost isn't visible and his voice is hardly a whisper as he replies, "if only it were that easy my dear." With the final word, Danny vanishes fully and goes intangible so Tim's arms slip through where he was. Tim stares at the place he knows his boyfriend is for a few moments, trying to think of sad things so his heart broken voice sounds convincing as he says to his family, "I'm going home."

Tim has to grapple to his boat house as fast as he can so that his family won't see him break out into laughter over how well he tricked them. Dick looked like he was going to cry! Danny shows up and says, "guess who got Kitty to record their faces while invisible." This only makes Tim laugh harder. Truly this was the best idea.

You scheming fuck /lh. I was so so enraptured and then I remembered that these two gremlins are mischevious little bastards.

Oh I adore this so much. How long do they play this up for? I know that the bats are now both EXTREMELY wary and also want to help Tim find a way to be with his boyfriend. They start trying to experiment and figure out ways for Tim to let his boyfriend through the veil. Issue: that’s not at all a problem.

[chosoniisan]

A risk worth messy reward ↠ kamo choso

↠alternative title: swapping spit with choso, literally

↠pairing: kamo choso | sorceress!reader

↠setting: post canon, not at all compliant

↠genre: nasty, nasty fluff

↠caution: suggestive; height/size difference ("my" choso is over 6ft); unhealthy-ish/complicated relationship; kinda owner/pet dynamics; coercion (?); lots of tongue

↠summary: after yet another rural-steeped mission, your first priority is finding the nearest bed to fall into; conversely, choso has other things on his mind

↠authoress' notes: my initial plan had been to write a hc about the oddities of choso, how he has some bizarre and inexplicable habits, but writing hcs (without plot) isn't my strength, so I opted for what could be considered "snapshots" instead :')

also, the context, setting-wise, for this is that once the dusts settles post canon, the high-ups (the smattering of them still kicking), let choso live conditioned on you acting as his controller at all times, lest you risk ending up on the execution chopping block, too. . .

A ripely full moon, and the air’s refreshed with a slight chill:

by all means the sort of mid-autumn night you’d want to bottle up and take with you.

You might just have to overlook the chunks of entrails sticking to your soles, though. And maybe you can pretend that it’s the crickets droning in the grass and not the crisping of bone dissolving into nothingness. As if on cue, you resist the urge to sigh to keep the tang of death, thoroughly worn over, from invading your lungs any more than it already has.

It’s not quite how you’d envision your evening—but beggars can’t be choosers. And on the bright side, at least you’re fully intact, all your limbs present and accounted for despite enough close calls to last you a lifetime. Sure, you might have said the very same thing last time (i.e. a handful of days ago), and you’ll no doubt mirror that sentiment next time too (i.e. in another day or so), though you take your blessings when you can get them.

Granted, your good luck quickly runs its course since there’s hardly anything fortunate about the strain of curses the far-flung reaches of the countryside seem to breed to no end. Who would have thought that the higher you climbed the rankings the more acquainted you’d become with woodland critters the size of your hand (excluding cursed spirits, mind you). Then there’s the persistent feeling of otherness crawling over you like a second skin the longer those prying eyes rake and rove over you. (If only they knew that a city girl and her dutiful charge were the last bit out of place in these parts.)

“I mean it when I say that you’re a lifesaver, Choso.” Your poignant ring is all the encouragement he needs to scrap making sure that dead is actually dead this time around and squeeze himself back into your sphere again. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the tall grass giving way to your missing piece because obviously solace by another name is your side. Leave it to him to be over 190 centimeters of delicately endearing. “I wasn’t expecting that other special-grade, but, of course, you’re always covering for me in a pinch—I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In that moment, you’re the stargazer of him; a face lighting up the pearly night beyond measure. “I’m always following your lead, though. You’re a lot more experienced than me, too, so the best I can do is try to keep up. Because I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” A dash of sheepishness colors the downward wisp of lashes brushing against his cheeks, but that isn’t enough to distract him from the sway of you in his shadow (even if he has to really drop his head to horde that eyeful for himself). “I’m glad we make a good team,” his brief lull is beseeching, the tilted head even more so, “at least I think so.”

For the sake of his tenderly bleeding heart, your nodding doesn’t miss a beat. “Yep, we sure do. . .! And every good team needs some rest, so I should go ahead and text our supervisor and let him know we’re finished up here.” Another thwarted attempt at a sigh, so you settle for a mild quirk of your lips amidst reaching into your pocket for your phone spared from the fray. “We’ll have to stay the night in town, which isn’t ideal, but we can take the first train back home in the morning.”

The faster you can confirm the rendezvous spot, the faster you can sink into a warm bath and then beneath a cozy comforter, so you’re already a few rapid-fire texts deep when Choso pulls on your sleeve.

“Wait. Before that. . .” he begins, slow, measured as if he’s taking the time to taste every word before it leaves his lips. Like that’s not enough to prod at your attention, you’re especially perceptive to rose stain swashed across the expanse of his face, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think him too innocent to sell his soul to the devil for a life of strife alongside you. Though perhaps innocence in its purest state is wetting his hands in blood, bearing your burden of nocturnal calamity with the occasional slip of diffidence. “Can I. . .” Gulping down that lump in his throat. “Can I have my reward now?”

It's your turn to sound things out for good measure.

“Your. . .reward?” (Emphasis on the furrowed brows there.)

He bobs his head once, meanwhile you’re rifling through the pages of your mental archives in search of this reward, whatever it is. A contemplative hum sifts through you at the recollection of saying something in the realm of treating him once this mission wrapped up; admittedly, it was the sort of remark made in passing, but if it’s Choso, you don’t mind staying true to your word. Besides, you have an inkling of what he might have in mind (or you hope you know him well enough to make that guess. . .there’s only one way to find out).

“You’re talking about the souvenirs near the station; I think you were looking at the sweet dumplings, yeah? I don’t know if that shop is open this late, but we can go over and check—”

“No, not that.” Vehemence strums in his tone, so much so that you start a bit, setting off the ripple effect of him offering you a repentant look in return, one that’s still very clearly brimming with fervor. “I did a good job, right? And you promised I could have a reward if I was really good.” As a matter of fact, he’s not wrong, but his moonstruck gaze, expanding, plants an unnamed sensation between the open spaces in your chest. (You’re not daunted by him, it’s just that unpredictability has never been your forte.) “. . .So I was thinking that I wanted you.”

Doesn’t have a chance to click together in your brain until the warmed heart of his palm envelops your entire cheek, and even then you’re still too many steps behind by the time he’s level with you: face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lips. . .dangerously close. Inhaling a mingling of dried copper and powdery musk doesn’t help you figure out what he means by wanting you, having you; rather, with each fanning of his breath over you in crests, you’re gradually unraveling into something entirely unlike you. Something a lot more nerve-ridden.

If you had intended to chime in after scrambling to make sense of the situation (or not), the reality is that you’re simply opening the door for him to carve a place inside you. Literally. Considering it’s not the sound of a mildly articulated concern that echoes in the air, but a muffled squeak when he catches his lips on yours, inviting himself into the niche of your mouth before you can try to recoil. Even when you do think to reel away, his arm is already circled around your waist, seizing you into the bulk of him to the point that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other ends.

You’ve long given consideration to the fact that Choso’s spent more time sealed than unsealed, that to this very day he’s still working out the kinks of what it means to be mostly human—but this. This goes beyond his idiosyncrasies of not knowing the particulars of kissing. No, this is nothing of a kiss and everything of devouring you whole.

As susceptible as you are, he has no trouble crowding his tongue against yours, which is the difference between tasting him and choking on him. Testing the waters is the last thing on his mind (you suspect it had never been there in the first place) when he’s using the anchor of his hand to steer you right where he wants you, because how else could he map the ridges of your palate without you shrinking like the violet you’re steadily flowering into. Intrusive is him eating away at your lips like a man starved, but it’s also the blooming of heat curled through your insides with a particular penchant for the midst of your tummy.

The compulsion to stagger back is second nature to you, except he’s unnaturally folded into you, so there’s really nowhere for you to skitter off to, especially not with the fixation given to a mesh of sticky pink. And it feels foreign, sinfully so, as he overwhelms you with broad, saliva-rife sweeps of his tongue, undeterred by your stagnate self, too paralyzed by the knotting in your core, the blistering up of sweat at your temples, and the uncut wildness—or is that obsession?—of him before your very eyes. Either way, it’s just the push needed to send you over the edge of quiet bleating. . .that finds its premature end swallowed into him for safekeeping at the bottom of his stomach, just like every other morsel of you.

Heady appreciation is quick to follow on your heels by way of a long-winded moan from him, to you by virtue of his snare. The stammering in your chest is the clear mark of being caught off guard, and Choso in all his fevered glory capitalizes on your lapse of self to plunge his tongue as deeply as it’ll reach. Nevermind the fact that there’s no stifling the stuttered heave around him or the full-bodied quaking against him, either, he’s still singularly focused on partaking in the mess of you. Willingly or not, you can’t help but indulge him when you’re varying shades of fluster, and it’s the gilt reflection of your disarray that has you clamping your eyes shut. Too bad for you, darkness doesn’t temper the dizzying sensation clambering through your veins that’s becoming more, and more, and more intertwined with him.

(You don’t know how much longer you can weather the storm of him, or if you’ll even be able to mend what he’s already bitten through, and maybe it would have been preferrable if he had taken your skin & tissue with him. He took something far more softly perverse.)  

Though in the end, it’s of his accord, only, that he spares you of the kind of smothering that’ll have you icesheet cold against him in no time flat. And you use spare loosely because he simply moves to sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip as if parting from you means imminent death. If he’d give you a chance, you could assure him that his fears of relenting are unwarranted, but in the thick of hungry fascination, he’d rather stripe his tongue along the corner of your mouth to gather up a stray bead of slick. Whether yours or his, you don’t know—you do know that when he’s done, it’s every bit of his tacky memento etched on your skin.

His gift to you for letting him have one of your deepest intimacies.

As expected, he doesn’t keen over from unlacing himself from you—truthfully, his hand is still palming at your cheek, so it’s not a full untethering—though you’re certainly not boasting a modicum of stability yourself. If that unyielding hold around your middle is anything to go on, you suspect that he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; you might even say that he’s savoring in the ruby-rich reliance of his handler.

“Uhm,” Reticence returns with a vengeance despite having just rooted through you mere moments ago; the moonlight glancing off traces smeared across his lips a testament to that. “. . .Do you we could see about those dumplings now?”

And of course you’ll oblige him—even knowing you’re complicit in preserving his devotion.

[my-deer-friend]

In the midst of his feverish diplomacy [at the court of Versailles], Laurens found time for personal matters. During his year in London, he had married "Patty" Manning, the daughter of his father's English partner, and she had delivered their daughter after he sailed to join Washington's army; although Mrs. Laurens had made plans to join her husband in America, her delicate health made the journey impossible. Hearing that Laurens was coming to France, she and her daughter smuggled themselves across the English Channel and joined the young colonel in Paris. It was a long, difficult journey, made at considerable risk. [...] Young Laurens himself was engaged in fundamental sabotage of His Majesty's hopes of victory; yet in the finest traditions of romance, Patty Laurens ignored the English spies and informers swarming in Paris and in the channel ports and rushed to her soldier.

Thomas Fleming, Beat the Last Drum (2016)

Truly amazing how you can just Say Things in a published history book. 🥲

There's a lot that's factually wrong here, but perhaps the most frustrating is the fanciful narrative that Martha Manning Laurens went off on a daring, romantic jaunt to see her husband. The reality was far from that, even from what little remains of her historic footprint, so it's a weird angle to spin.

Martha had spent over four years in London caring for their daughter on her own and making repeated pleas to travel to America. John found a reason to rebuff all of these, not because of her "delicate health" but rather on account of the risk of the voyage (which, admittedly, was not trivial). Most likely, his underlying reasoning was more selfish – having his family close by would require him to divide his time and attention, an inconvenince he was not willing to take on when there were more glorious things to do.

Left behind, ignored and dismissed, it is reasonable to conclude that Martha dared the journey to France in a last-ditch attempt to meet up with John and to travel back to America in his company (a plan he could hardly refuse). However, according to Massey, the reunion probably never happened, in part because Martha only learned of John's presence in Paris when he was already wrapping up his mission. He doesn't seem to have bothered to inform her ahead of time, and it certainly didn't occur to him that this would have been a convenient and expedient way to bring his wife and daughter home with him. (This man spent a month on a boat. It's not like he didn't have time to think about this.)

We don't need to – and shouldn't – exonerate John's poor treatment of Martha and Frances by plastering over it with this kind of romantic revisionism.