#but i think i am out of conditions. or rather the year is ending

[spicyhamsamson]

I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

[astralis-ortus]

placebo effect

✱ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader

— maybe the actual remedy is his smile.

w.count → 1.2k genre → fluff warnings → reader is sick :(, mild cussing, kissing, cute pet names (baby, love, princess) and generally very much in love it makes me sick >:( heh a.n → based on this request! kinda speeding through this (immediately worked on this after i posted the last fic), but i am in need of just pure fluff so here we are, a few hours later. heh♡ ⋆ see masterlist

being sick felt like shit.

growing up, you’ve always been the kid with perfect attendance. be it in school or throughout uni, you’ve always made the effort to attend every single one of your classes—and one of the reasons was all because you rarely ever got sick. maybe it’s because of your parents’ good genes, or likely due to how your mom made sure you always took your daily vitamins, but you’re always known as one the healthiest kids in the class.

that record, however, ended after you graduated a few years back.

you’d like to blame it the shift of environment—you know, given that you literally flew thousands of miles away to chase your lifelong dream, but considering you also moved states away from home for uni… that likely wasn’t the case.

“hey there, sleepyhead.”

a soft groan rolled off your lips when you felt your bed dip to your boyfriend’s weight, his fingers gently ran through your surely messy hair. your attempt to crack a peek at chris wasn’t quite a success, considering how even the slightest bleeding light from the gap behind your curtain was quick to trigger the soft throb in your head to return, fetching another set of low whimpers out of you.

“it’s okay, baby. i’m here. how’s your headache?” he hummed; pads of his fingers now gently pressed against the base of your head as he attempted to relief any pain that might still linger.

chris, your angel of a boyfriend, had been taking care of you since your condition started to decline the day prior. despite your stubbornness about still going to work (which didn’t end well, considering you were sent home by lunch anyway), chris didn’t even peep a word and readily picked you up from work, all geared up with your favorite porridge and cold medicine he picked up on the way.

“it’s fine as long as i don’t open my eyes,” you meekly answered, voice still noticeably very different from your usual cheery ones. “which reminds me, we do need a black out curtain, hun.”

his chuckle filled the rather quiet bedroom, involuntarily tugging the corner of your pale lips into a smile. “we’ll get them after you’re all better, baby,” he assured, hand that rested on the back of your neck now pressed against your forehead, “fever’s pretty much gone. think you could sit up for a bit? gotta fill your tummy with food before the meds, love.”

you know he’s right—you do need to eat, but with the way you’re currently feeling, protesting at any request to shift your body was the only available option.

“can i just eat later?” you pursed your lips, attempting to appeal your plea with a dash of cuteness you knew chris have a hard time standing his ground against. “maybe sleeping more will help…”

“nuh uh, no can do, princess,” chris gently tapped his finger on the tip of your nose, “you need the meds. the food too, but most importantly your meds. i don’t want your suffering to prolong just because you didn’t get your meds on time,” he reasoned, pads of his fingers now gently massaging the top of your head and in turn made you sigh in relief. chris always knew what to do whenever you complained about a headache, and you’re grateful for that.

“fiiine,” you exaggerated, reaching out your arms as a signal for chris to help you up. even with your eyes closed, you knew he had that proud grin etched on his lips when he gently pulled you to sit straight. you winced at the ache, but voiced no complaint as chris planted a light kiss on your scrunched forehead.

“a sec, okay? i’ll bring the radish soup for you,” chris left another kiss on the top of your head, grinning at how excitedly you reacted to the kind of food he had prepared before you heard his disappearing footsteps.

you forced a peek around the room, noticing the dim lighting as chris kept the curtains closed for your comfort. after a quick scan of your and chris’ bedroom, one you’ve been spending a little too much time in for the past couple of days, your line of sight then rested upon your locked phone. a single tap on the screen, and the action easily made your brows furrow.

“babe—”

“chris, it’s 10am on a thursday,” you pointed out as soon as you heard his voice from just beyond the slightly ajar door, “didn’t you say things has been hectic lately?”

“well, yeah,” he shrugged, careful footsteps finally returned to your side, followed by the dip on your bed, “but you’re sick. getting you back to health is a lot more important to me than anything else.”

“christopher,” you groaned, pursing your lips in protest, “i told you to not do things like this! you’re important, what you do is important. you can’t let me stop you from doing all that!”

“but i’m not letting you,” he replied nonchalantly, blowing on the spoonful of soup and rice before he feeds you. “it is my decision. i want to take care of you, and nothing is more important for me than you. as simple as that.”

“but—”

“no more discussion on that matter, baby,” chris warned you, stern gaze immediately shutting off any complaints about to leave your tongue. “it’s on me. you’re my girlfriend, and to take care of you is what i need to do, because i love you and i want all the best for you. okay?”

maybe it’s the fever returning, but you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“…fine.”

with his lips blooming into a content smile, his hand returned to the steady flow of bowl-cooling off-feeding you. he’s happy, and it’s apparent through the way his gaze lingers on you every time you take another bite, slowly finishing the bowl of food in his hand.

maybe it’s your head fooling you with some kind of placebo effect, but you do feel better—simply by watching the tenderness in his face every time he looks at you.

“all done,” he cheerily announced after you took your last bite, gently wiping the corners of your lips with the pad of his thumb. “be back with the meds, okay? just a sec.”

his movements immediately ceased when he felt a tug on the t-shirt he’s wearing, eyes immediately returning to you in worry. “yes, love?”

you quietly looked at him, suddenly feeling a little shy—but why would you be?

“…you.”

“huh?” chris blinked, head involuntarily tilted to one side in confusion. “what was that, love?”

oh god.

“i really wanna kiss you,” you reiterated, lips slightly pursed in embarrassment, “but i don’t want you to catch the cold. but like—you’re just so adorable. why are you like this? i’m—"

any thoughts you had immediately vaporized as soon as you felt chris’ soft lips on yours—smile apparent against your lips. his warm hand gently cradled your cheek, and despite it being short, chris successfully left you feeling dazed.

“…wait,” you eventually blinked, face burning in embarrassment when you realized the cheeky grin he’s sporting just inches away from your face. “christopher! you’re gonna get sick!”

“well, what do you expect me to do?” chris shrugged as he walked backwards, away from you,

“my girlfriend said she wanted to kiss me—how could i say no to that?”

“gosh��christopher!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[fatuismooches]

No other reason for this other than me being self-indulgent and having some fun. Dottore and Fragile Reader of course.

Prime Dottore - About You:

"If you were expecting me to... gush about them and whatnot, then your expectations are nonsensical. I have nothing to share with you about them. I merely have three things to say. Do not get close to them, do not make them upset, and do not get in my way, regardless of what I have to do to make them better."

Omega - About You:

"...[Name]? Their time is far too valuable to be spent around the likes of you. Speaking of, have you seen them? ...You say they're with another segment now? A pity. It's a shame they're always swept away by the others. I could please them far more than anyone else in any matter. I suppose I will need to think of a way to retrieve them yet again."

Alpha (Akademiya) - About You:

"Do you know how many pens and pencils I've broken due to [Name]? Even centuries later they still find the need to debate me on certain topics, academic or not, challenge my research and thinking, and criticize my handwriting. Truly an annoyance. If only they were able to be with me a bit longer... What? They are annoying, but I still acknowledge that they have the traits of a true scholar. And their voice is still much more agreeable than the others I have to work with..."

Beta (Webttore) - About You:

"Hehe, what a loyal assistant they are. They can pick apart different parts and mechanics with ease. Much more competent than that man I disposed of a while ago, on that expedition... along with all the others. Unfortunately, I only have a limited amount of time with them. Really, is it so difficult to find someone with even a third of their ability? Actually, that is a foolish question. No one could ever hope to compare to them."

Delta - About You:

"They have an exceptional talent for pestering me at any given moment, somehow seeking me out wherever I am easily. If only they could put their mind into something more productive. Why do I not simply ignore them? Because they do not stop until they've gotten their desired results, just like me. I'd rather not prolong their prodding.

Zeta - About You:

"... As long as they are well, I need not know anything else. Their health is of utmost priority."

Zandy - About You:

"[Name]? Oh, they're the best, most nicest and fun grown-up ever! I'm never alone now that they're around! They're always willing to play with me and they always yell at the other segments when they're being mean. They're never scared at all... [Name] could probably beat Prime in a fight if they wanted. Hmm? But they can't even throw a punch? That doesn't matter! They're much stronger than you think - I've witnessed it many times."

Pierro - About You:

"When I first recruited Dottore from the desert and gave him his Harbinger position, one of the first things he did was set up a room to monitor [Name]'s condition. He did so for hundreds of years, creating numerous segments to help, and it ended up paying off. It is not my place to pry into his life, as long as he fulfills his duties as the Tsaritsa requests, but now that they're by his side again, he seems... never mind."

Capitano - About You:

"I once encountered them when they managed to sneak out of the lab. They were... intriguing and talkative. They weren't scared in the slightest and were more interested in how I managed to befriend all the creatures near me. They wanted... tips on how to convince the Doctor to let them have a pet. I don't think I was very helpful."

Columbina - About You:

"The Doctor is engrossed with his research, but the only thing he truly has a soft spot for is his dearest [Name]. He hides his feelings exceptionally well, but anyone who witnesses him around them can tell the difference. Don't tell him I said this though, you know how he'll act.~ But do tell [Name] this, they're sure to get flustered. ♪"

Arlecchino - About You:

"They have made attempts to get closer to me, but I'm afraid I have no interest in building a relationship with them. Still, I've always thought that their character would be similar to that of the Doctor, but from what I've seen of them, that does not seem to be the case. So, I do wonder if those two opposites truly get along."

Pulcinella - About You:

"I have seen many things in this long life of mine, so unlike many others, their relationship with Dottore does not surprise me too much. Still, they have much to learn if they feel the need to come and ask me for relationship advice. If you ask me, I believe that they don't truly know how much the Doctor values them, even if it is as clear as day."

Wanderer - About You:

"The Doctor's little pet? Every time I saw them, they were always scurrying behind one of the segments, as if they were attached by the hip. I don't know what transpired between the two of them for this relationship to happen, but out of all the people who associate with Dottore, they're bound to meet the nastiest end."

Sandrone - About You:

"The Doctor? [Name]? I have no care for either of them. I am much too busy with my own work to think about his worthless love life. However, I do suppose the idea is entertaining - Dottore being capable of love is as laughable as thinking an Automaton can learn to cherish another, and this [Name] person is equally as idiotic for believing so."

La Signora - About You:

"[Name], you say? I can't claim to know much about them. Everything I've heard is through the mouths of others, mostly from agents who talk more than what's good for them, but especially the Balladeer. What are they really like - a harmless and fragile sweetheart? A tool for the Doctor? His equally as heartless accomplice? Or all of the above? All I can say, however, is that it takes one to know one, right?"

Pantalone - About You:

"Ah, the little one. I am more than familiar with them, although Dottore would loathe to hear that. Did you know the Doctor is more prone to jealousy than you think? It is most amusing to see his ever-confident smirk fall once you get a bit too close to [Name]. I vividly remember the time when I said I would accompany [Name] to a ball instead, as he was too busy with his research. He never changed his mind as quickly as he did once I promised to dance with them."

Childe - About You:

“I’ve always thought Dottore was eccentric, and after meeting [Name], I can say they are equally as weird as him, solely for choosing him as their husband. Their personality is nothing like his either - they are bubbly, affectionate, and most of all… extremely weak. Traits that Dottore has no interest in. And yet the segments seem to fawn over them… I just don’t understand them. I just hope they know what they’re getting into.”

Furina - About You:

"Whenever I see them, [Name] always make sure to arrange a tea party with their own homemade Sumerian sweets! It is truly a delight. I admit, I am a bit jealous of their skill. It's as if they have the experience of a hundred years! But of course, that's impossible. Regardless, they are very kind, and they also seem to have a particular liking for romantic films... an odd thing for someone affiliated with the Fatui to like."

Nahida - About You:

"A raven and a sparrow - two beings that are surely bound to be apart from each other, but when it comes to the Doctor and [Name], it seems that even the impossible becomes possible. Though my feelings toward them will not change because of what they've done, I can't help but be interested. What lengths will the Outcast go to cure the one he holds dear, and would [Name] still be able to love him if he becomes more of a monster?"

[shanastoryteller]

happy valentine Shana!!! I can't believe i made it finally jgfcjjcgjgx i would love to see some fma (Sacrifice is free/ed&ling betrothed/What They Expect) or more of Lord Arthur De Bois, or time travel Jiang Cheng/drarry, or Avengers' Three Faced Goddess! (can anyone tell I Cannot choose favourites? They're all so gooood) and if none of those sound appealing, dealer's choice! thank you!!

continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

It's sort of awkward, because Eden insists on thick tights and long sleeves and keeps her gloves on, but Catherine takes it in stride and doesn't react with anything more than a single raised eyebrow. Maybe she thinks she has some sort of terrible skin condition on her limbs, or something, because she's perfectly fine with plunging necklines and the lacy bras Catherine shoves at her.

She hasn't worn anything besides a sports bra since she's had breasts. They're not exactly comfortable, but compared to the constant, background ache of the automail it doesn't even make a blip on her radar.

Besides. They make her look like a girl, shoving her breasts up front and center, and their size had been an annoyance when passing for a boy and a comfort when she looked at herself naked in the mirror, searching for the girl she was rather than the boy everyone saw, but this is different.

"Wow," Catherine blinks, tilting her head to the side.

Eden flushes and wishes that at any point she'd learned how to talk to pretty girls outside of life or death situations. "I hadn't realized they - I'm not used to wearing, um, girly stuff."

"You look good in it," she says, touching Ed's back and shifting her to face the mirror.

She's in black tights and boots with a chunky heel, taller than the ones she normally wears and sleeker, stopping just below her knees. She's wearing a dark green dress with a deep neckline. She's used to be hard lines and sharp edges, but she looks soft here, her hips and breasts curving out from her waist and the dress somehow minimizing the breadth of her shoulders, or maybe it's just that with all the skin on display in the center, her shoulders just don't get as much attention. She'd had to build them up, to make the automail balanced, to make sure her body could support it, and she'd always hated how masculine it made her look. But looking at herself now, she wonders if that just wasn't in her head.

Green's never been a color she gravitated towards, but the dark color makes the gold of her hair shine, brings out the warmth of her eyes and the pink of her lips.

"You're really good at this," she tells Catherine, throat tight.

Catherine grins. "You are a beautiful canvas, Eden. It was not difficult." Ed's face burns. "Do you have plans for dinner? We could have it at my home. I am, honestly, dying to curl your hair."

Ed hesitates, because her shade of blonde is rather distinctive, then takes a second look at herself in the mirror. No one is going to think she's the Fullmetal Alchemist looking like this. "Okay, yeah. Sure. That'd be great."

~

Catherine knows that Eden is military at first glance, seeing her elder sister in the way Eden stands and moves. She looks young, but she can't be that young, not when she has the stance of someone who's been enlisted for years.

She figures that Eden is looking for clothes to wear outside of her uniform for the first time and something in her softens at how insistent Eden is on keeping certain parts of her body covered. Her siblings have scars too.

When they get to their home, Eden seems slightly surprised at the grandness of her home, but gets over it quickly, which Catherine almost expected. She hadn't looked at a single price tag as they'd been shopping and had paid for her bags of purchases with a nonchalance that spoke of a familiarity with money, although that leaves Catherine to wonder how she ended up in the military in the first place. She hadn't gotten a last name out of her, but Catherine is familiar with most military families, and she would have heard if any of their daughters had enlisted.

"Your bedroom is so pretty," Eden says, looking around at her pink, frilly room filled with flowers and clothes and gilded in gold with a soft wistfulness.

Catherine loves her. "Thank you. Here, sit at my vanity, let's play."

Eden laughs and pulls her hair out of the hasty ponytail she'd pulled it into, letting Catherine run her hands through it and carefully brush out every knot. It's gorgeous, thick and silky and the most wonderful shade that Catherine's never seen on anyone else.

People always act so oddly with her because of her family, even those similarly situated looking down at her for her choices, to be neither an officer nor married to one, but that's just not what she wants right now. It's nice to hang out with another girl that just treats her like a friend.

"MY BELOVED SISTER HAS RETURNED!" booms from what sounds like the first floor.

She sighs.

Eden goes rigid in her chair, eyes wide. "What - why-"

"It's just my brother," she says soothingly, concerned with how pale Eden has gotten. "He's harmless, really."

"Brother," Eden repeats. "Fuck. Fuck! I'm so stupid-"

"It's okay," she says in alarm, "Eden, what-"

She gets to her feet, grabbing her hands and looking at her a desperation that Catherine doesn't understand. "He can't know I'm here. Who I am. Do you understand? It's important."

She doesn't understand. "Eden-"

There's the sound of heavy footsteps heading their way and Eden wrenches herself away, bolting for the other side of the room. She claps her hands together, then presses them against the wall, and in flash of light she's disappeared.

Catherine stares. mouth agape.

She's familiar with alchemy. The skill has been passed down her family for generations.

Eden didn't use a circle.

"I HEAR YOU HAVE MADE A FRIEND, DEAR SISTER!" Alex shouts, flinging open her door and flexing in the doorway. "I WISH TO MEET YOUR NEW COMPANION!"

She picks up a pillow from her bed and lobs it at him, hitting him right in his stupid curl. "We're having girl time, go away!"

"Ah, girl time!" he says. "A storied tradition that has been passed down the Armstrong family for many generations!" He looks around, seeing her empty room, and his eyebrows dip together.

She grabs a makeup brush, holding it up threateningly. "You know what else has been passed down our family for generations? The art of knocking! Go bother Momma!"

"Where's," he starts.

Catherine throws the brush, pointy end towards his eyes.

He ducks, retreating to the safety of the hallway and closing the door just in time for the brush to hit it.

She takes a deep breath, calming her racing heart and smoothing her hands down her skirt. She crosses the room, knocking against the wall and whispering, "Eden? He's gone."

There's nothing for a moment and then there's light and heat and she's looking at the the inside of her house, pipes and insulation, and Eden standing there in the center of it, eyes blown wide and lips trembling.

Eden, who won't let her look at her limbs and doesn't know how to wear girly things and uses alchemy without circles and recognizes her brother from his voice alone.

"I'm sorry," Eden whispers, arms wrapped around herself, trying to make herself small. "I just wanted-"

Catherine interrupts her, reaching out to place her hand over the arm Eden had been careful not to let her touch and is unsurprised to feel hard, unyielding metal. "The art of secret keeping had been passed down the Armstrong family for generations."

Eden's eyes snap to hers and Catherine smiles, squeezing her arm and hopes that she can feel it. Slowly, wondrously, Eden returns it.

[thefrogman]

Back in the olden days, if you used the "keep reading" function on a Tumblr-dot-com post, it would

not get very many notes.

At all.

I am not sure exactly why.

I think people hated pressing an extra thing.

But maybe it was also a psychological phenomenon where, given the choice, they were unwilling to trust me with their time.

But if I sucked them in with a good story or a compelling image, they would get serious FOMO.

When I created a super high effort post-of-length I would get comments like, "This was way too long but before I realized it I was reading the last sentence."

That was a really good feeling.

I used to do tests to figure out the best posting strategies and I think I figured out you'd lose about 90% of your notes if you did a "keep reading" post.

So that notion was ingrained in my brain again and again from when I was very note-obsessed and I have since avoided the "keep reading" option almost like a conditioned response.

Just seeing that squiggly line appear still induces a Pavlovian fear.

But that was probably a decade ago and I did a new experiment. My story about replacing my mailbox did reasonably well with a strategically clickbaity "keep reading."

This was a promising result due to the fact that some people like to send me hate for writing a lengthy post.

I recently got a death threat for writing too much, which was a fun reminder of my M&M days (I melted men's rights activists' brains with a poorly worded analogy and they launched a years long harassment campaign).

It seems in present-era-Tumblr-dot-com many more people prefer pressing an extra thing rather than scrolling a bunch on their smartphone. The collective behavior has changed. And maybe I don't need to use tricks and running gags in order to get folks to "keep reading".

Unfortunately I started writing that ring light post a few months ago so I wasn't able to include that in the experiment. But I am going to try using the keep reading function in the future and as long as the average number of folks that usually read my longer posts continue to read my posts, that will be the standard approach.

I also tag these posts with "long post" so you can flag that if you wish.

While I am no longer in the audience-building phase of my Tumblr career, these essays and stories and educational posts take a considerable amount of time and effort to create, so I do want to make sure everyone who wants to read them is able to. But posts without hearts and reblogs can quickly die a gruesome algorithmic death. Even my most ardent followers would tell me things were not showing up on their dash. (I think replies help mitigate that, so if you like a long post, you can help with engagement.)

The collective noun is a "business" of ferrets.

Do you want to see a business of ferrets ready to do some business?

KEEP READING

I love writing and it is a huge catharsis for me. And I love sharing any knowledge I feel like I have the earned expertise to speak on with authority (technology, photography, light, fun ferret facts, etc). I wish I had the energy to be a photography teacher, but long posts on Tumblr are probably the best I can do for now.

I know my posts are super long, but I try to make them as fun and informationally dense as I possibly can. I don't like wasting people's time if I can avoid it. Though maybe I should trust my follower's attention span a bit more. I have this fear that if I am not constantly entertaining, people will click away or unfollow.

I think a good business for a business of ferrets would be selling pool noodles that look like ferrets.

So as long as I get roughly the same amount of notes I will do the keep reading. And then maybe people can lay off on the mean comments and occasional requests to end my own life because I bloviated about soft light.

100% true ferret fact..

If you ask a ferret what their business is, they will crawl on your shoulder and whisper in your ear...

[dejabooooo]

Ok I’m doing it. Idk if anyone will read this but here’s a compilation of all the stancest crumbs from bill’s book along with a stancest endgame theory:

I say theory because I can’t think of a better word atm. I know this is obviously not the intention of the text. I am merely taking the information we were given and twisting it to fit my sick agenda. It’s what bill would have wanted (Well maybe not quite like this but lol fuck him anyway).

So! Obviously billford was the star of the show here, but as I learned a little bit more about the codes I didn’t just learn what they say. I learned that all the stancest ship fuel is contained within them, and even tho it’s not much in comparison, what we did get is pretty profound!

There was a brand new code alphabet introduced in this book that we’ve never seen before. This cute little bros code that Stan and Ford invented when they were kids. Besides this image, this code is used only three times in the entire book.

The first (and insanely subtle) instance is on this page where ford concludes that Stan is the only person he can turn to after bill drives him to his breaking point:

It’s very small and hard to make out. On the window amid the equations.

It says: “miss you”

Pertaining the contents of this page, my first thought was that this is probably meant to be interpreted as a message directed at Fiddleford. But that wouldn’t really make sense given how it’s presented. This wasn’t written in after the fact. It couldn’t be directed at Fiddleford, they’re standing together arm in arm. It’s a code only Ford and Stan know, and this pic wasn’t taken long after they separated. This message must be about Stanley.

Ford uses the code on the next page, the last lost journal page where he’s talking about reaching out to Stan. It translates to: “have I been too harsh all along?”

This is so gut wrenching to me because he’s never written in this code literally anywhere else in the entire journal. And he says this vulnerable little line about Stanley in this code he probably hasn’t used in years but still remembers, in this code that only Stan would be able to understand besides himself.

The last usage is by Stan. Because the rest of the family is watching him write this, to the rest of them it just looks like he’s censoring his cussing for the kids’ sakes. But to ford, stan’s slyly writing him a little message that only he can see…

And what does it say?

“Love ya bro”

Ford’s arc in this book is realizing he should put his attention and concern in the ones that love him rather than fueling his obsessive hatred toward the one who hurt him. He comes to understand that he’ll be happier if he’s open about his past and rely on his family whose affection isn’t conditional like bill’s was. He moves past his shame, and comes out of the paranoid isolation that bill had encouraged him into.

And of course he receives this comfort from his whole family. But I think it’s very interesting how bill is framed as this toxic ex, Fiddleford is framed as the one he should have put his trust in during that pivotal time in 80s where ford ultimately blew his chance, and then there’s Stan.

Stan is hardly brought up at all but his presence lingers in more than few of Ford’s vulnerable journal entries. Stan is the one who put Bill in his place. Stan is the one who made Ford realize where his priorities should be. Stan is the one who’s accepted him all along and is the one remaining by his side in the end.

Bill even blames Stan for stealing ford from him like a jealous ex who can’t stand the fact that ford has moved on with someone else. (This is directed at the reader but it mirrors his frustration with the stans when they worked together to defeat him)

In conclusion: incest somehow ended up being the healthiest partnership option all along. Who knew?

BONUS CODE THAT CAN BE MISCONSTRUED IN A MORALLY REPREHENSIBLE WAY:

At the bottom of the first lost journal page where he’s talking about his loneliness and yearning for human connection, he mentions Stan in a code again. After embarrassing himself in front of the waitress he says: “Stanley could have made her laugh” 💔

[whiskeyghoul]

Hi can you please write a Hotchner x reader

Reader and Hotchner are married and reader is extremely pregnant. It’s kinda like season 1 episode 22 where hotch sends Elle home but instead it's the reader. And similar events take place, except the reader is kidnapped instead of shot. And it’s a quest to find and save her.

Stay safe, be smart || [Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant!Reader]

A/N: Thank you for the request! This will be a little break between the new sbmws update, since it is taking a bit longer to flesh out. It sounded super interesting and high stakes to me so I hope you enjoy it. It was interesting to write something a lot more case based than what I am used to writing. So if anyone has any more requests please let me know!

WC: 3.3K

Tags: Angst, violence, pregnancy, aaron x reader, pregnant reader, 18+ case mentions, implied violence, death and murder, fluff at the end I suppose.

Warnings: Case details, violence against pregnant women (no real violence described but implied), death, murder, general criminal minds content.

Aaron’s pov

The sun was beating down on the team as Aaron stepped out of the SUV. It was sweltering in the Phoenix heat. He opened the passenger door, helping you out of the vehicle. Married just a year, you were now pregnant and nearing your maternity leave date. “Thank you.” Your voice was honey sweet to him. Your hand in his before you took it to rest on your belly. He’d felt protective over you for weeks now. Afraid something would happen to you, or the precious little being growing inside of you. He’d asked you every week to take early leave, yet you, stubborn as ever, never agreed. Now he just tried to keep you safe in the field, and when he could put you on office duties.

This case was going to be a hard one.

Greeted by the local police, they led the team to the site where the last body was found. Opening the door of the shed made a wall of smell slam into his face. The crime scene was anything but pretty, with the weather the decomposition had set on quickly, leaving the non air conditioned shed they walked into one of the worst smelling scenes they had been to in a while. He knew it was bad when he had seen the picture, it was even worse in real life. When he heard you enter behind him it was only a moment before you bolted back out the door. “I’ll be right back.” Aaron said to the team before following you outside.

He knew what he would find, but still it pulled at his heart to see you hunched over, emptying your breakfast in a bush just a few feet away from the scene. Your nose had been extremely sensitive the past few weeks, he’d felt bad every time you mentioned just feeling nauseous from the smell of certain things. Jack’s soccer shoes for one, had been banished to the garage. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asked, walking over to gently rub your back as you heaved a sigh. Standing back up to full height once you felt confident enough that there wouldn’t be any more upchucking. “The smell, Aaron, it’s horrible.” You wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “I know.” he offered an apologetic smile as he pulled you into a side hug. Pressing his lips chastely against your temple. “There’s a bottle of water in the SUV, I think you might need to sit this one out.” He tried to make his voice soothing, placating. He didn’t want you to protest against it. 

“I can sit in the SUV, wait until we get back to the precinct and then work from there?” You said it like a question. Though it was clear you would rather be in the field, that was your place. Aaron nodded his head yes, “That sounds like a smart plan. We’ll get back as soon as possible.” He fished the keys to the SUV out of his pocket, handing them to you with a small, comforting smile. You took them, lips pressed in a thin line, nodding your head before taking off. Aaron walked back to the shed, ready to face the crime scene and finish up as quickly as possible.

The body was that of a woman, the third one in three weeks. Exactly a week apart, the unsub was consistent to say the least. The previous bodies had been thoroughly inspected, Aaron had no doubt they would find similar evidence on this woman. The previous bodies had been raped, but there was no semen left behind. The wounds were a near exact match, in the type, deep slashes on the limbs. Worst of all was the deep, surgical cut mirroring that of a C section. Each victim had been pregnant, the infants bodies were found close to the mother. He knew it was a tough case, emotionally it was going to be worse with you close. The idea of sending you home nestling in the back of his mind. Just in case. To be safe. But he also knew you would never agree. Which was still hard to accept. When they got to the precinct Aaron put you on geographical profile duty together with Spencer. There you would be alright.

“Can’t I go help interview the family?” You spoke up, the rest of the team looked at you. Usually you had just accepted the task handed to you. Aaron looked up from the papers he had just gone to reorganize. “Are you not satisfied with your task, Y/N?” he quirked a brow, looking at you he noticed the shift in your body language. Something in you was determined to get out of the precinct and ‘be more useful’ as you would put it. “I just think that Reid does not need my help on the geographical profile. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself. Like he has done the cases before.” You crossed your arms. Resting them on the protruding belly, with an arched brow that conveyed an air of annoyance. Aaron sighed, he didn’t want to let up, but you did have a point. Reid had managed fine on his own for the last few cases. “Fine, you can go with JJ to interview the families. But only for the interviews. Stay safe.” He gave in. His lips pressed into a thin line. He really didn’t want to play favorites. Yet he relented so easily at times like these. Your small triumphant smile was barely there but he got a glimpse of it before you turned to the door, leaving him alone to ponder why he even said yes. 

“I thought I told you only the interviews!” Aaron had to take a deep breath, calm down, but his blood was rushing in his veins. If something happened to you, well, he wouldn’t forgive himself. You sat in the back of an ambulance, getting your wounds tended to. He had gotten to the scene as quickly as possible, racing from the precinct to the home of the family. “Thanks to me we have a suspect in custody.” You retorted, wincing as you moved your arms. There was a deep cut that looked to be made with glass, scrapes on your knees that tore straight through the pants. “You could have ruined the entire case. We don’t know if this is the unsub. We didn’t even have a profile yet.” he continued to scold. When he heard you had attacked a man, who was lingering around the house of the family, he knew he had made the wrong choice in letting you go. “He was stalking them! Clearly a sign of a killer checking up on the devastation he has caused.” you raised your voice. A certain mix of anger and panic mingling in the sound of it. 

Aaron sighed, pinching his furrowed brow, you had gotten hurt. “Go to the hotel. You are off the case.” his voice sounded cold to him. It must have sounded even colder to you. “W-what?” You stumbled over the word. He looked back at you, to see your jaw slack, eyes wide in confusion. “You are off the case. I can’t have an agent running around and attacking anyone with no probable cause. We need evidence, not intuition.” He explained. You closed your mouth. A deep swallow as you nodded your head. He could see your jaw tick, holding back from saying anything. “I’m sorry… I’ll see you for dinner.” He whispered but you looked away, eyes cast to the ground as though looking at him would hurt. He felt a tug at his heart. It was for the best. You would be safe in the hotel. He made a mental note to bring your favorite food to make it up to you.

Your pov.

Aaron was right. You had been reckless, even more so than usual. Now you were just reaping what you sowed. The wound on your arm stung, so did your knees. Everything had been cleaned with alcohol and bandaged up nicely by the medics on scene. JJ had stayed with you and drove you back down to the hotel, but you didn’t feel like going inside just yet. Being stuck in a stuffy room with just your thoughts didn’t sound that appealing. And you probably wouldn’t be able to nap. The little one in your belly was using your lungs as their own personal punching bag.

There was a park nearby the hotel, and a stroll in the slowly cooling late afternoon sounded nice. So you had changed into a flowy skirt, since you wouldn’t be doing any running after unsubs anymore. The pants you were wearing were delegated to the trashcan in your hotel room. The afternoon air was still incredibly hot but more bearable compared to earlier in the day. The park was spacious, you walked towards the playground where laughter sounded out from the multiple young children running around. Soon you’d have one of your own children begging you to play tag, going down the slide with them. You smiled to yourself, placing your hand on your belly again, absentmindedly stroking it in a comforting motion. 

You watched for a while, though an unsettling feeling crept up the back of your spine. The hairs on your neck began to stand on end. Having a look around to see if anything suspicious was happening. Maybe you were over reacting. Overly sensitive due to hormones and the entire proceedings of the day. This is what got you kicked off the case. Scolding yourself internally for letting this feeling take over. You left the park, maybe it would be better to stay at the hotel. At Least you won’t get the impending feeling of dread there.

“‘scuse me miss.” A voice said, you looked up to see a man approaching you. Your guard immediately went up. “Can I help you?” You asked, trying to quell the thoughts of mistrust. “Just wanted to ask if you knew the way to the art museum.” He seemed innocent enough. Dark black hair, a clean shave, nice white blouse with no stains. No clear markers that would need you to be on guard. “I’m sorry, I am just here for the week. I don’t know.” You said honestly, though internally cursing yourself for revealing you were not native to the area. A stupid mistake, though it wouldn’t matter if there was nothing to fear. “Ah alright, thanks anyways.” He flashed a charming smile before taking a few steps to walk past.

You let out a soft sigh. See. No reason to be so nervous. You scolded yourself internally. Taking a few steps back in the direction of the hotel before you felt a pinch in your neck, a hand clasped over your mouth and everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes it was still dark, slowly adjusting to the surroundings. Your hands were tied down to a bed, along with our legs and straps around your torso. Neck incredibly stiff from whatever happened. Lights turned on, blinding you, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden influx of bright, white light. “You’re probably wondering where you are right now.” A voice called out from over speakers. Training kicked in, knowing it wasn’t smart to engage the unsub in any way like this. They want a reaction, something that allows them to relish in the fear they have created. Biting your tongue you stayed quiet. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter where you are. Because you won’t leave.”

Aaron’s pov

When Aaron entered the hotel room the lights were off. He noticed just how silent it was. Usually you would be tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable when taking a nap. But it was still early. He walked in quietly, trying to not disturb you if you had finally managed to get some well deserved rest. He felt horrible for kicking you off the case, but it was the smartest thing for him to do. The bag of take out rustled in his hand when he put it on the small desk pressed against the wall. Turning to look at the bed, it was still pristinely made, no sign of you. The only sign that you had been there was the pair of pants that laid in the garbage can. 

His blood ran cold. There could be a simple explanation. You went out for a walk. Or down to the lobby for some tea. He quickly took his phone out of his pocket. Hoping that you wouldn’t be too angry to pick up. Dialing your contact, it rang once before immediately heading to voicemail. Your chipper voice saying your name on the other end of the line did nothing to calm his increasingly quickly beating heart. He called again. Same thing. His hands began to feel just a little clammy. ‘Where are you?’ ‘Please text me.’ ‘Are you okay?’ All his text messages arrived but weren’t opened.

He dialed JJ’s number. Who picked up almost instantly. “You went to the hotel with y/n, right?” He asked, his voice strained. “Yes, I watched her walk inside.” JJ sounded a little confused, he could almost hear the frown in her voice. “She’s not here. I can’t reach her, and she never turns off her phone.” He sighed. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. I’ll try and call her.” She suggested it before hanging up the phone. Aaron left the room, leaving the take out behind to grow cold in favor of looking for you. 

When he reached the lobby not only was JJ there, she had apparently informed the rest of the team. All sitting in the leather chairs around a short table. “I can’t reach her either.” JJ spoke up as soon as she saw him. “We’ve all been trying.” Spencer chimed in. His eyes held a certain fear. It was the least comforting feeling knowing that no one on the team could reach you. “She is the unsub’s type. We have to assume that they got her, and we need to be quick.” Aaron’s voice didn’t sound like his own to him. Having to take a certain distance away from the personal part of what was happening. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but he knew he had to. They had a profile and a geographical one too, atleast. A male, who likely lost his wife or girlfriend during childbirth, along with the child. Looking for a replacement, and when the baby doesn’t look like the one he lost, he gets rid of it. A harrowing thought.

“Alright, I will call Garcia to trace her phone. Maybe we can see where it last pinged.” Derek voiced. A smart idea. Aaron couldn’t really think, his mind reeling with things that could have happened to you. “Thank you.” He said and nodded his head. “Prentiss, Rossi, could you canvas the area of overlap in the geographical profile? Take Reid if you must. We know they take the victims to a secondary location, look for something isolated, something that won’t be noticed.” He added, looking at the three agents. “JJ, could you talk with the precinct? Get the police out on the street, looking for signs of y/n or foul play.” JJ nodded her head in return. “Alright, any information you call me, let's go.” Aaron nodded his own head, trying to instill some form of confidence in himself. It was hard.

Aaron kept tabs on everything as minutes ticked by, they seemed like hours. Penelope called with the last ping of your phone, apparently when he had first called it still pinged before it was turned off. Perhaps the unsub scrambling after making a mistake. You did keep your phone in an unusual place just in case. He remembered when he first saw you put your phone in the side of your boot, a strange habit he quickly began to find endearing. Derek, JJ, and himself got into one of the SUV’s as they got the information. JJ went to call Emily to meet them at the last ping place. An ambulance was called for backup, along with some of the agents from the precinct. 

As they raced down a dusty road out of the city, the fear began to take over again. With what happened with Hailey, he couldn’t lose anyone else. He didn’t think that he would be able to bear that. His mind reeled with the idea of having to tell Jack what happened. Losing another mother figure, he didn’t know what damage that would do to him. And his unborn sibling. It would be his worst nightmare. His jaw set, trying not to think the dark thoughts, wanting to remove them from his mind. You were going to be okay. They were going to find you alive and well.

When they spotted a dilapidated white van in the distance, next to a small barn he knew they were in the right spot. “Stop the car, we can’t let him know we’re here.” Aaron instructed, Derek slowed down, parking the car about 20 feet away, hoping the engines didn’t give them away. The second black SUV pulled up next to them. “First, the van, we need to check that no one is inside, then we go to the barn.” He instructed the agents. All geared up in their vests and checking their sidearms. They moved together to the van, no one seemed to be in the driver's seat. The back doors were unlocked and when they opened them Aaron’s stomach dropped. Screens lined one wall, with a computer set up rivaling that of their tech analyst. 2 screens, still lit up with a live camera feed. Two different angles that showed you, tied to a bed, a gag in your mouth. A figure standing over you, dressed in surgical gowns. This was all being recorded.

He stormed out the van, taking the gun from his holster and getting it ready. He walked over to the barn door, the unsub was stupid enough to not lock anything. Maybe it was arrogance. But it made his work a lot easier. He nodded towards Derek, who kicked the door in. “Hands up, drop the knife.” Aaron called as he raised his gun, walking into the barn. The man looked up from you, having a big knife in hand he froze. Looking down for a quick second in contemplation. “Whatever you are thinking of doing, don’t. You are surrounded, either step away from her and put the knife down or face the consequences.” He could feel the blood rushing through his ears, anger and fear colliding inside of him. What he wanted to do was shoot him, punish him for hurting you. But he knew that wouldn’t be the intelligent thing to do. The man stepped away, reluctantly, and from a few feet away he dropped the knife.

Aaron walked over to you, quick strides as he holstered his gun. His hands were shaking as he reached you. Looking at the small cuts on your arms. The wound from earlier that day reopened. He ungagged you, watching as tears started to spill from your eyes, hearing repeated apologies fall from your lips. “Shh… no, I’m sorry. I was so worried. I’m sorry.” He shushed, petting your hair, letting the soft locks slip between his fingers. He quickly worked to unbuckle your limbs and body from the bed. As soon as he could he picked you up, holding you close. As if he could still lose you if he didn’t. “I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m sorry. I got you now.” He mumbled, his hands holding you tightly as he felt your unregulated breathing against his neck. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should have just thought.” You apologized and he shook his head.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. You’re safe.” He picked you up, taking you to the ambulance and not leaving your side again.

[laura1633]

Oh wow i have a serious problem i just went over what i wrote to you and i probably should have stopped at the first two sentences but it gets me upset the abuse lando faces i dont even like the guy i perfer oscar, max, charles and carlos but even i know that sending death threats to someone is not okay, and it upsets me that people almost always take his words out of context like when did lando say he actually had a chance at winning the wdc this year? I've seen people bash on him for the latest race where max raced incredibly, but what they dont seem to understand is that the race's terrible race conditions could have actually seriously injured him, we all seem to forget that the guy is younger then max, less experienced, and has huge problems with self-worth that actively seem to affect the way he race's. the fact that max won in the rust bucket that barely seemed to work in favor of the guy is incredable, but bashing on another driver for seemingly not wanting to take a chance with the awfull race conditions (*please note that this is what it looked like to me on what lando was doing that race where he did make mistakes but the weather wasnt helping ether* also note that that franco, oliver and others commented ether on the weather being dangerous, their cars 'Presumably the cars not agreeing with the weather ether', or the fact they couldnt see for shit and out right stated that someone should have a talk with the fia *i couldnt watch the whole race but ive seen snippets of driver radio's and the like, so i cant say with 100% certainty that this is correct*)

So yeah i think that, if i as someone who doesnt like lando, its really concerning what some people say about the guy and as a side note none of the other drivers seem to notice the hate from what ive seen but this last part might just be me. What are your thoughts on the hate lando's been getting seeming to increase anytime he seems to actually want to enjoy racing with the other more popular (equally popular?) Drivers?

🍑anon

Hi anon, 

That’s okay, I will respond to this ask rather than the previous one (but just for context for anyone else the previous ask was about fan fiction so wan’t anything mean). This ended up being a really lengthy answer because I have lots of thoughts!!! 

I’ll put the answer under the cut and tag as anti Lando despite this really just being my opinion and I personally don’t think I am being particularly harsh here but maybe people will disagree.

Firstly hopefully to most people it goes without saying that sending death threats is not okay, that goes for any of the drivers (and various other individuals that I have seen targeted over the past few years). I also have never understood people specifically going to an individual’s social media page just to spout negativity or abuse at them, if you don’t like someone you don’t need to follow them. 

However, I am surprised that people seem to be shocked that Lando is receiving hate online as this is absolutely nothing new and, if I am being honest, I have seen worse (not that this is a competition!).

I will speak from the perspective of being a Max supporter and say that the abuse he has received both online and at track has been appalling over the years. After Silverstone 2021 there were plenty of comments from people saying he ‘deserved’ such an awful crash or that they wished it had been worse. Even this year there were memes going around saying that maybe we needed a repeat of Silverstone 21 (a meme liked by Lando’s dad no less, not that I think we should be blaming children for their parent’s actions!). Not only that but there is rarely a week that goes by that I don’t see jokes online about how Jos is the only one that ‘can beat Max’ or people posting memes about Max being left at a gas station when he does badly. Max needed a bodyguard in Mexico last year because there were concerns over death threats, he’s been booed up on the podium, had people chanting cheat at him in the fan zone, every comment section on his social media includes comments telling him he is a cheat or that his achievements mean nothing. The British media are like vultures any time there is even a hint of controversy. I don’t know why everyone is suddenly up in arms about Lando receiving hate, perhaps its a case of only caring when it happens to ‘their’ driver. 

It doesn’t just happen to Max either. I don’t follow Lewis on social media but I still know the type or racist abuse he has faced over the years. Other drivers also receive abuse - Lance for example has vile things said about him, Nicholas Latifi was sent death threats after 2021. I am sure most if not every driver has experienced some level of hate. Social media can be extremely toxic. 

Do I think any of the drivers should have to deal with such toxicity? No, but Lando is nowhere near the only one to receive hate and I don’t think someone like Max who appears ‘strong’ should have to put up with things because people get the impression it doesn’t bother him.

Whether the other drivers notice, well probably they do but its not happening just to Lando. Did Lando realise how much toxicity was being thrown at Max after Austria or Mexico? Did he try and calm things with the media or did he double down and make things worse for Max? 

As for taking Lando’s words out of context. That definitely happens from time to time, the same as with any driver. Media goes for clickbait headlines and run with them. The problem is that Lando has also said things that haven’t been taken out of context and that people still find distasteful. The comments about it not being talent and being luck did not come across well. I was tempted to give him the benefit on that one and assume he was referring to himself and saying it was not him being untalented but unlucky but then he doubled down by saying nobody deserved to win the race more than George - how can I take that any other way other than the fact he was saying Max didn’t ‘deserve’ to win the race. 

As for Lando saying he thought he could win the WDC, if he didn’t think he could win it this year then to me that would be more of a concern. He has a championship winning car and has done for most the season, if he can’t win it now then when?! He should have been confident that he could win or at least put up a good fight. I would have had no problem with him openly saying he is going for the championship. Look at Charles who is not afraid to say that whilst it is still possible he is still fighting. I think part of the problem here lies with Mclaren because they should have been fully backing Lando and hyping him up but seemed to flip flop back and forth about whether they thought he was truly in the fight. It’s hardly going to give Lando confidence when his team don’t seem to be backing him as strongly as they could be. 

As for Brazil, Lando didn’t have a great race. George got past him at the start. He made too many errors. Charles finished in front of him despite starting behind him. Max, Esteban and Pierre took a risk staying out on those worn inters, they gambled on the fact the race would be red flagged but also on their abilities and confidence to keep the car on track under those conditions. They all did extremely well and deserved their podium spots. The most important thing though is that all the drivers came away without serious injuries because over the course of that weekend there were numerous occasions where entertainment was put over safety. If a driver felt they had to pit for safety reasons then I am glad they took that step.

Lando is younger than Max but I don’t think we need to baby him in terms of his racing or in terms of giving him a free pass with what he says in the media. He is 24 years old, the same age Max was when Max won his first championship under very intense pressure. 

I think you are correct about confidence or self worth affecting him. Whilst I wouldn't like to comment to much on his mentality, to me (and I don’t tend to watch too many of his interviews so I could be wrong) he seems to flop back and forth between being overly critical of himself and then also not taking accountability and saying someone else just had the fastest car or were lucky. I think it would be really good for him to be able to look as objectively as possible about where he has actually made mistakes and can improve but also being able to pick out the things he has done well and be proud of those things. 

Overall I don’t think any drivers should have to put up with the amount of hate that they have to put up with but Lando is not the only one to receive hate and, dare I say it, I don’t even think it has been as vicious as some of the things I have seen over the years. Social media is toxic and people should be more mindful and realise these are real people - all of them!! 

Also, once again lets be thankful that nobody was seriously hurt over the weekend and lets hope the Fia take steps to act more swiftly when safety cars and red flags are needed and that they put safety above other concerns.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi there, I had this fun idea - while the tinkerer class isn't playable in BG3, can we pretend for a while that it is? You know, Tav and Astarion both showing middle finger to all the gods... Tav can even help him with his condition. Some gadget blocking the sun, artficial blood, stuff like that. Honestly, the of them being this steampunk couple of a vampire rogue and Tav with enhanced crossbow or a gun has made my day. So - do you have aby headcanons about that?

OR perhaps Astarion and an Alchemist who likes to trick people too if that makes you happier? 😉

You are the first to request Artificer! People forget this class since it's not in the game, though, it's official. But some DM believe the Artificers bring unnecessary steampunk vibes.

There is also some naughty, to say the least, stuff, let me know if you want more of this.

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Artificer!Tav

In the realm of magic, you are that bitch who brings a gun to a knife fight.

You construct machines and mechanisms out of nothing, enchanting them with unique techno-magic,

Armour to withstand necrotic damage? A healing helmet? A prosthetic hand? A full-time "living" creature, a Nimblewright?

There is nothing you can't do with your crafty hands.

Things are complicated in terms of love.

You are more interested in cogs and gears rather than dates and sex.

You've tried once and it was a huge "ugh".

Virginity is wasted for nothing.

So, you've also learned to make sex toys but it's this side job you pray no one will ever know about.

But customers are never unsatisfied though you sometimes get in trouble.

Mostly, the owners of local brothels try to accuse you of lewd misconduct.

You are finally tired of all this shit and decide to move places.

And the mindflayers take you.

You easily escape, making small machines out of debris to help you survive this madness.

You construct armor, and you enhance swords.

Magic sucks, behold the science!

Astarion makes moves to you, successfully seducing you.

And let's say, none of your inventions have ever satisfied you the same way this troubled vampire does.

You think you are in love. And you believe he is, too.

But later he confesses to you that it was a lie.

He used you. And he is sorry.

You are heartbroken, at the very least. You feel used.

You break up with Astarion, leaving him alone in his misery.

But it doesn't mean you want him to suffer - you kill his master, secure his freedom.

When it all ends, he starts burning alive - running to the shadows, like a rat chased by cats.

You feel bad, especially when you hear vicious mockery from your friends.

But you fail, losing his track underground.

That night, you cry.

The thing is, you've never stopped loving him. You were just too stubborn to admit it. Besides, gods, Astarion tried to be honest for the first time in his fucking life.

And you punished him for opening his heart.

What a vile creature you are?

Half a year later, you meet him at the party.

Astarion looks happy - he is an adventurer and a hero, living his life to the fullest.

And he tells you something that makes your heart stop.

"I wonder if we could be together after all, you know. But it seems like you have a new life, and I am happy for you."

You take his hands in yours and ask him to go somewhere private.

Then, you apologize. You say how much you've missed him and that you love him. And you want to be together.

Instead of an answer, he hugs you.

"There is nothing I want more," he whispers.

In the morning, you leave together to find a place that fits both of you.

Living with Astarion is worth of effort, but sometimes it's almost unbearable.

His nightmares, his breakdowns.

You wonder how tf he survived on his own all these lonely months.

You open your artificer shop in Neverwinter, and Astarion becomes a professional monster hunter.

Thanks to you, he doesn't need to hide in the shadows.

You make him a cape that creates a field protecting him from the sun. The eye lenses to make his eyes green.

You also learn alchemy - first, to make potions to ease his nightmares and anxieties.

Later, you make them to satiate his hunger.

Your crafty hands also come in use in healing his sexual trauma.

Astarion craves intimacy, he wants to enjoy sex. He just can't make himself undress and make love to you.

Problem solved - he can fuck you with a toy you've constructed while being fully dressed and in control.

You also use some of your inventions on Astarion, helping him to reconnect with his own sexuality.

One day, he pins you to the bed, making love to you without any extra tools.

It's been such a wild night that your neighbors "politely" asked to install soundproof shields.

You keep learning alchemy, making more and more potions, and one day you finally get your answers.

There is a way to make Astarion mortal without interfering with dark magic or soul-retrieving pacts.

Science, bitches.

Astarion is hesitant. He is eager to drink any potion you make, but being transformed back into a mortal is very extreme.

You ask Astarion to bring him test subjects.

He drags you a deranged vampire, one of the most miserable Cazador's victims - completely insane, almost an animal, that was hunting in the dark caves.

And it works.

The deranged vampire turns into a deranged mortal. But mortal.

Astarion takes the potion, but, maybe, it's because of how long he's been a vampire or because he's an elf, he doesn't turn immediately.

He falls to the floor comatose.

He stays like that for a month, a terrible and long month when you think you've lost him.

One evening, you hear a strange sound.

Breathing.

He breathes in his unconsciousness.

You put your hand on Astarion's chest.

Heartbeat.

You did it. You cured him.

He wakes up with you on his chest, dizzy and exhausted with some memory gaps.

Piercing you with his natural green eyes.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[furiousgoldfish]

On effortless recovery (personal)

I've been slowly dealing with cptsd and osdd for the last 8 years, and while I've had to actively work on some stuff, other have just happened without my interference, or at least, without me knowing I did anything about it. I have not been to therapy; or rather, there's been several attempts that were not working, and I had to end them. For instance, I've had therapy with someone who showed next to no interest in my issues and kept minimizing and ignoring whatever I've been saying, and this was the only person who didn't try to institutionalize me.

I've had to actively work on osdd, and it's something I'm learning about, and understand more as I go, but I also get that osdd is making everything else much easier on me. For instance, lots of my memories and thoughts are being blocked from me, and contained in alters who are making sure that I'm not affected by it, that is a huge help. Lots of thoughts that would upset me if I thought about them, are completely out of my reach, and if I do try to think about them, my mind goes blank and I forgot what I was thinking about. That's a great help for issues like anxiety and spiraling; I used to drown in my own fears and worries; now I just can't remember any of it. It is slightly depressing that my own peace of mind requires that big amount of amnesia, but you know, having some peace is so nice I could never be anything less than grateful for it. Being able to maintain some semblance of peace feels like resiliency, it means I have a place of quiet where I can go back to, even when distressing things happen.

I'm having my chronic pain and chronic exhaustion ease away from me very slowly. I still get exhausted easily, and am tired way more often than a regular person, but I now rarely get days when I can't get out of bed, or have to sacrifice a whole week due to a flashback or a nightmare. I no longer get anxious about planning to do something a day or two ahead because I can count on having at least a basic amount of energy. I don't think I've done anything to create this, it was just happening over the years, on its own. It's also happening so slowly that I don't even feel the progress, I have to remember to look 3 or 5 years back and remember just how much time I've been spending in bed then, to realize that it's less now, that I can do multiple activities a day now. I know I'm extremely lucky to be recovering from this, because there are people who have a chronic condition that doesn't allow for recovery, and I am very grateful for every day I can move around.

Another thing that is much better is sleeping! I used to wake up feeling like I'm dying, overheated, stressed, anxious, sometimes even paralyzed in fear, and if not fear, then grief would hold me down and I would be too sad to move. Now I'm finding myself waking up thinking 'Oh I'm so well rested! I have the energy to tackle some chores' like I'm in an actual good mood. And it's like ??? what is going on, since when is this me. I've been dreaming of having mornings like this, and now I have them, and it just happened over time (8 years) I still only think about doing chores when I have energy, because I know it's the only time of day I'll have any energy, so if I wake up restful I will rush to do dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and whatever else, because I know the energy will go away later and I will become a sad slob. But it's much better than waking up and having to take a few hours (or days) just to recover from sleeping. My sleeping schedule has been 8 hours all along, I somehow can't sleep over the 8 hour mark, and can't function if I sleep less than 7.

I will still sometimes have flashbacks and meltdowns if anything bad happens to me, but the recovery time from them has gone way down. It used to be weeks, months even, to recover from a single bad event. Now it's more like hours and days. It's still not very similar to what I think a regular person would have to deal with, but I love the progress very much! One thing that slips my mind is that I regularly forget how much worse things used to be. If I bounce back from something, I forget that in the past, this would ruin me for weeks, and I forget that this is progress and to take a minute to acknowledge that. I just take what I can and go. But it's good to look at it and see that life is a little easier.

Some anxiety has also withered away from me, because so much of my anxiety was due to inexperience. New problems that would appear in my life seemed unsolvable and catastrophic, because I never faced those problems before, didn't know how to solve it, didn't dare to ask for help, didn't have skills or knowledge to tackle any of them myself, and all of it felt like it would lead to my doom. After already having solved some of those problems multiple times, I'm at peace just because I know what to do now. I haven't done much asking for help to be honest, because I hate it, but in struggling to solve the problems myself (sometimes taking months and years to do so), I've gathered knowledge, skills and experience, and I now have a general idea of what to do in situations that reoccur, and also know what to expect, how long something will take, what type of action will resolve it. Just living and tackling things by myself, and succeeding, eases a lot of anxiety. There is a solution to everything, with sufficient knowledge, experience and skills.

A lot of stuff that's previously been bothering me to the level where I couldn't deal with it, can now be dealt with merely distracting myself from it. Which I think is very funny, because I used to consider all my time playing games or looking at funny videos 'procrastination', because I wasn't being productive right, I was just 'procrastinating' and delaying dealing with life. Now I value these activities specifically because they can save me from feeling miserable and sad. There's a warmth to looking at people being goofy, funny, interesting, entertaining, and taking joy in it, and reminding myself there's still a lot of good things in the world, there are good people, there is warmth, there is love, and I feel better after seeing it, regardless of how awful I felt before. Having my own thoughts redirected to something hopeful is making my days better, more stable. I think I'm just stopping myself from spiraling into hopelessness, by looking directly at hope and staying fixated on it for long enough. And it's something I didn't previously value as a real activity, because I didn't believe that making myself feel better while producing nothing, was a worthwhile pursuit.

Being safe from abuse for a long time managed to erode the feelings of guilt and shame I had in my own interests, thoughts and activities, and I've became unafraid of any failures. It is now very clear to me that failing is the only way towards learning and it's incredibly valuable. I'm shameless at starting new hobbies and activities and it does not bother me whatsoever when I do badly. Even failing at big stuff in my life, things that created actual damage to me, supplied me with knowledge I don't think I would otherwise gain, and I treasure it. I don't feel ashamed or like I've done anything wrong. I've been able to engage with my own curiosity about things and I'm now able to ask questions about anything, without feeling bad for 'not knowing already'.

I've also accepted that I'm bad at some stuff, and it doesn't mean anything much about me, we're all bad at something. Sometimes I'm bad at stuff, but enjoy doing them, so I still do them, fun gives it good value! And if I'm both bad at something and don't enjoy it, then I completely drop it, and feel okay knowing this just isn't for me. I remember when I used to believe I'm bad at everything, just because I was getting such horrid feedback on it, now it's almost funny. I like stuff I create even when I do them badly, because I remember how much fun I had doing it. If I want to do them better, I know I just need to keep practicing and it will happen. Nothing a human creates is shameful, especially if it's not causing any harm to anyone. We're made to create and it makes us happy.

I don't think I've done anything specific to create these changes, maybe some critical analysis of the past, and some willingness to consider my own happiness important and worthwhile. I think I spent so much time grieving that I've actually processed the most of it, so I'm no longer as overwhelmed by it as I was before. It's not like I'm no longer sad, I will start sobbing frequently and whenever I'm tired, I am automatically miserable. But it is no longer constant, suffocating feeling that follows me for every second of existence.

I haven't done anything to fix the sleeping or to ease the chronic pain, that was just time and being safe from abuse for a longer period. I wanted to write this specifically because I've been waking up feeling okay the last few days and that was a shock to experience, what a bliss to wake up and think 'I'm well rested'. Incredible life experience.

[dark-raven-666]

Reader tells Baldwin IV that he is beautiful.

Tags: fluff, reader is Baldwin's childhood best friend.

Warnings: mentions of leprosy and death?

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

He turned slowly, the silver of his mask glinting in the light. Behind the mask, a pair of blue eyes: the left as clear as a crystal, the right cloudy and bloodshot framed by a marred, disfigured eyelid.

"You came" he said almost in a whisper.

"I promised didn't I? " she responded, with a smile on her face. She was the kings childhood best friend who he had finally found again. Before she disappeared she swore to always find him when he called.

"I hear you still enjoy chess. " She sayd her voice soft.

All he could do was stand there, still and frozen as if the time had stopped, then he spoke in a whisper "yes".

The two kept staring at each other as she sat across him on the table. She would have spoken, asked him how he had been, yet from the state of his bandaged body and masked face, she knew.

Then she says "I heard you won a great victory at sixteen."

The king’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of surprise passing across his features. “Strategy and tactics are what ultimately won me the day, despite what the odds were.”

She smiled and proceeded to speak "You think you only won because of that? Salahuddin is a smart man, he has conquered many lands. I believe the Lord was in your side".

The king only looked at the lady before him. Waiting for her to continue speaking.

"If it was not God then something was wrong that day. Salahuddin never acts in rage, he thinks and calculates. Something happened that drove him to be careless" the lady spoke as if she truly was curious as to what had been troubling the Muslim warrior that day.

All Baldwin could do was nod and say "Perhaps you are right. His rage may have blinded him, given me the opening I needed.”

They looked at each other for a moment each gazing into the others eyes.

She broke the silence and said "you do not belong in Jerusalem."

The king’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his head cocked to one side. “What makes you say that?” He questioned, his tone curious rather than angry.

"I know you are a religious man but you are also a leper. This hot climate will bring upon your death faster. " She spoke, her words cutting his heart, yet he knew she was right. The holy city, a hot city in Palestine was no place for a leper.

The king stiffened ever so slightly, and he was silent for a moment. “You are correct.” He eventually muttered. “The climate of Jerusalem is not suitable for those with my illness. The warmer the conditions, the more rapidly the leprosy spreads.”

He looked down at the table, avoiding her gaze. “Unfortunately, I know not where to go. "

"Are you not French? Go to France, visit your home land, and if it does not feel right, go else. You will find home eventually" She said her voice growing quieter towards the end.

A pause, as the king considered her suggestion. “France…” He mused quietly. “I have not been there since.... I do not remember.”

A soft exhale, almost like a sigh, escapes his lips. “I suppose going back is a possibility, but… I am too familiar with the land. I cannot be the warrior in which I was, the king that I am. The people will judge me, and… see me as nothing but leper.”

"It is agonizing isn't it? To have your freedom taken from you for title of king? I bet a man like you would rather be something else. " She spoke quietly, imagining him as a common man.

The king lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, his head bowing slightly. “Indeed, it is agonizing.” He mutters, his voice thick with the weariness he is so familiar with.

“A man like me…” He repeated the words softly, his tone contemplative. “Perhaps that is true…”

" Your illness made you who you are now, they say yet all I see is a 13 year old boy wanting to play, hoping to marry, hoping to live to a 100.

Yet they are right... You would not have been as smart if the leprosy had not kept you at home, your only entertainment books. Perhaps days come when your body aches, you look at the roof of the bed and wish that you were stupid and healthy. "

The king is silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the board before him, his mind elsewhere as the woman speaks. He can only see the days in which he spent sitting inside, unable to move about and play and explore as he so desperately longed for as a child. The countless books he’d read, the stories he’d heard and the lessons he’d learned.

The years of sitting in a quiet room in his home, his only company being the books, the teachers, the family. It had been an endless cycle.

"They look at the disease and say you are ugly. I look at your eyes and say you are the most beautiful I have ever seen" Her voice had been now filled with passion and adornment for the man before her.

The king is at a loss for words, left silenced by the woman’s soft, sincere declaration. He stares at her in quiet awe, her statement taking root in his mind and leaving him stunned.

Nobody had ever seen him that way. For years, he’d been shunned and avoided. Called vile and revolting. Hideous, deformed.

He was quiet for several long moments, blinking slowly. “You… think I am beautiful…?”

"The most beautiful." She whispered and laid her hand on his gloved one.

[insomniamamma]

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist! Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! Thank you, Mayor El, for planting this seed. I am currently mulling over a tattoo much like the one described here.

Warnings: Angst. Talk about failed marriage. Reader is an empty nester. Reader has grown children. Mentions of self harm scars. Blood. I have tattoos but it's been decades and I've done a bit of research to figure out the current state of it. Any inaccuracies are on me. And yes, Pedro's red devil Met Gala look was my inspiration for tattoo artist! Ez.

A bit of flirting. It is Ezra after all. But mostly gentle fluff.

 A chain of bells on the door jingles as you push your way through, briefly glare-blind from the sudden dimness, green afterimages from the sizzling sidewalks, air-conditioned cold hits hard, and you stand, blinking and foolish as the girl behind the counter sizes you up, wild mullet of bleach-blonde hair, face set and disproving, black lacquered nails and ears spangled with golden studs and bars.  “I’m sorry— I’m a bit early, I can come back—“ And she smiles, big and open and wide--  “Oh, heck! You’re the tardigrade lady! Ez did a bunch of sketches. Lemme go grab him-“ and she rattles her way through the beaded curtain behind the register and disappears “Ezra! Your three o’clock is here—“    A co-worker had recommended Needles & Pins when you’d admired her ink, a half-sleeve magpie with a skeleton key in its beak and constellations drawn behind it like an old map. It’s in Secret Springs. That’s kind of a haul. Yeah, but Ezra’s one of the best in the business. You’ve got plenty of PTO piled up. You’re just gonna lose it if you don’t use it. You could get out of here for a bit. Yeah, maybe. And Moira gives you a pitying look. You both know the chances of you using any of that PTO are slim. This last year and change has been a rollercoaster ride, your youngest graduating summa cum laude and fucking off halfway across the country, some job at an aerospace start up that you can’t even begin to understand, but she seems happy, and the vice-gripped, duct taped, cobbled together thing that your marriage had become finally shat out. I love you, he’d said, but not the way you need me to. And on that humid night, watching heat-lightning flicker through the clouds, you say nothing, just nod, because he’s not wrong, the two of you have been holding on for a long time, for the kids, for appearances, and it’s like unclenching a fist. Kept it civil, he let you keep the house rather than selling it and splitting the difference, moved back home with his brothers and his dad, still talk about once a week, mostly about Lilly and the boys. Married so young that you never learned to be alone. So you throw yourself into your job, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it’s press your shoulder to the wheel and shove.You and Moira laugh together, but when you get home you start researching Needles and Pins and Secret Springs, tiny state park with campsites and trails, bracketed with BNB’s and small shops, strange gerrymandered artifact, small strip of beach that hasn’t been subsumed by hotel chains and timeshares. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been on vacation, the last time you’ve done anything for you and no one else, and you’ve e-mailed Needles and Pins almost without thinking. Why not? Why the fuck not?

  Appointments only. No walk ins. High end. Serious inquiries only.   And part of you balked, new to this possibility, had your ears pierced at Claire’s when you were twelve or so, and you’d felt stupid when you sent the e-mail off with some images attached. Sorry to bother you.   What a lovely idea. Water bears and fireweed together speak of resilience. The awakening of something new after a time of trial. There are species of pine that require the heat of wildfire to dry out their cones enough to spread their seeds. I would gladly meet with you to discuss this further.   And that’s how you ended up here, in this air-conditioned cave, narrow space full of framed flash art and old maps and framed photos of Ezra and the girl behind the counter, C? Sea? You didn’t quite register her name, flustered by the cool dark in contrast to the blazing heat outside.   “No need to yell, Birdie, I’m comin-“ Ezra rattles through the curtain. Broad is the first thing you notice, loud is the second. He is a confusion of color, heavily inked arms and a Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos in sunglasses, spangled ears and a gold ring through his lip, bright shock of blonde hair amid his unruly curls. Smiling bright and wide,   “Hi there,” he says, purred southern drawl, and offers his hand, “I’m Ezra.”  “I figured,” you say and take his hand, warm fingers around yours and then he folds his other hand over yours, and you see that his right hand is an elaborate prosthetic, his whole arm up to his shoulder,  gold on black, a fearsome dragon framed in blooming orchids. You barely have time to register this and Ezra is ushering you through the curtain.  “I am guessing by your demeanor that this is your first tattoo,” and you smile, but can’t quite meet his eyes, his hand finds yours again and squeezes gently. “I’ve got several sketches based on our initial discussion, but i want you to know up front, if the art is not to your liking or if you change your mind about this entire venture I’ll not judge you for it.  “But the deposit—“  “A formality. Tends to keep people who aren’t sure of themselves away. I will never ink someone who isn’t fully committed, if you decide this isn’t for you i will refund you. No harm no foul. No pressure, clear?”  “Yeah. We’re clear.” Ezra smiles, dimples sinking into his scruffy cheeks, eyes crinkling into crescents.  “Excellent,” he says, “Let me show you what me and Cee came up with.”

 

 “That one.” A tardigrade drawn in the traditional style, brilliantly colored in blues and greens with bold outlines, with two crossed fireweed fronds in watercolor.  “This is an approximation-“ says Ezra, “I will replicate the colors as best I can—“  “That one.” You say, “I like the hard and soft together.”  “I do as well,” says Ezra, “I must admit that I was hoping you’d choose this design. Strength and softness are not mutually exclusive. I should warn you though.  Watercolor tattoos tend to fade a bit faster than the more traditional styles-“  “Sunscreen and plenty of it” you say, and he smiles.  “That’s right, and A&D ointment as you heal. There’s plenty of fancy tattoo healing ointments to be found but A&D has always got me through. Why fix what’s not  broken? We’ll send you home with some instructions.” He takes the sketch you’ve picked out, “Hey, Cee! Can you finagle the scanner-“ Cee pops her head and arm through the beaded curtain. She grins, devilish and sharp like a crescent moon. “Old man, still can’t figure it out, huh?” Takes the sketch from his hand.  “Oi! You are but a humble apprentice,” says Ezra, but he smiles, “An initiate! A novice even!” Cee smiles back. This seems like an exchange that happens at least three times a week, and you feel yourself smiling along with them.  “Get her prepped. I’ll do the hard part.”  “That girl,” he mutters, “You take a seat right there—“ He gestures towards a set up that looks uncomfortably like a dentist’s chair, “Cee has my station set up, I just need to glove up and we’ll talk placement.”  “Left inner arm,” You frown. You’d said so over e-mail. Can’t help but watch the flex and bend of him as he pulls a shoulder length veterinary glove over his prosthetic, and then gloves his left hand, “It’s a bitch to take apart and sanitize. I can if needs be, but best to avoid all of that. I cannot exactly autoclave this thing. And I find the calving glove less unwieldy than Saran Wrap-“  “Wait a sec, Saran Wrap? Like on a plate of leftovers?”  Ezra dimples at you.   “Exactly like that. First time Cee witnessed it, she laughed so hard i thought she might drop dead right there on the spot. Next morning there was a case-pack of calving gloves on our front stoop like some sort of-“  “It’s Amazon, Ez, not witchcraft,” says Cee, popping back through the curtain with a sheaf of papers, shoots you a knowing can you believe this guy look, “You’d be lost without me. Just admit it.” Ezra takes the papers from her.   “Go on now, don’t you have fanfic to read? What’s that Star Wars thing? Reylo?” Cee’s face scrunches in a cartoonish display of disgust.  “Man, I never should’ve told you about AO3.” And with that she’s gone.  “Your daughter’s really something.”  “She ain’t mine,” says Ezra, leafing through the stack of prints Cee handed him, draws a pair of reading glasses from his front pocket and perches them on his nose, “I don’t have that honor. Her parents kicked her from the nest and she found her way here.” He holds two of the prints in front of his face. “Show me your arm.” And you offer him your left arm, hand turned palm up. He cradles your arm, runs his gloved fingers over the thin skin there, noting the network of silvered scars, like contrails in a hazy sky, because how can he not? Old enough to be flattened and flush with the rest of your skin, no one’s noticed in years, but you know he must and you tense, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t, just selects a printed sheet at holds it up to you arm.  “This the orientation you want?”  “Yeah, I want him standing on my hand. Um, Ezra, the scars-“  “won’t be a problem, darlin, they’re old and soft-“  “I’m not gonna screw up your handiwork,” you say, and he folds your hand in both of his, gentle pressure that grounds you and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft.  “I know you won’t,” he says, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.  We can rewrite this part of your story. I trust you.” 

 Ezra preps your skin, alcohol wipes and mild soap and he shaves your inner arm with a disposable razor, rubs some gooey stuff on you that makes you think of putting on aloe after a burn. Gotta let this dry a beat, he says, we want the stencil to come out nice and clean, rests his hand over yours while the transfer solution dries, got to let it get tacky, he says.  Not quite holding your hand but not letting go either.  “I should warn you, the bit over your inner wrist will likely be the most painful,” swipes his hand over your skin, testing the resistance against his glove, “Skin’s thin there. Not a whole lot of meat between the skin and all the veins and little fiddly bits.”  “Fiddly bits,” you echo, and feel yourself smile, “You mean the bones?”  “And tendons,” says Ezra, clips out the stencil.  “That looks like carbon paper,” you say, and Ezra grins, “It’s functionally the same, but Cee insists that the thermographic printer makes cleaner stencils than the old methods, so here we are.” He lays the sheet of paper over your arm, rubs at it with a balled up paper towel, “We want the transfer solution to soak into the paper. It’ll leave the stencil behind on your skin. There’s some tricks involving deodorant, but i find this method works the best-“ you can’t help but notice how pretty he is, face pinched in concentration, pout of his lips, those dark eyes focused on the strip of skin between your wrist and elbow like this bit of you is the only thing in the universe. “—hey! you still with me?”  “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”  “You got a hotel room for tonight? It’s not by business, but i know you’re not local and getting tattooed blows a surprising amount of adrenaline-“  “I’ve got a  room booked,” you say, “Up over Peli’s.”  “Hope you brought earplugs,” says Ezra, “That place can get a bit rowdy on a Friday night.”   “I’m counting on it,” you say, “It’s been forever since I’ve gone to a bar.”  “Hmm,” he rubs at the transfer paper, “Do you feel your skin tightening a bit? We should be just about ready. I’m gonna click the gun on for a beat so you can hear it.”   “I’m not scared.”  “Didn’t say you were.” says Ezra, “I find this tends to go easier if people know what to expect. This buzz and my endless yap are going to be filling your ears for the next few hours-“  “It’s not bad. The tattoo machine, I mean.” And Ezra grins, slow curve that just hints at a dimple.   “My Ma always said my tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. If, at any point in this venture, you need me to shut the fuck up do not be shy in saying so,” his face falls, eyes flick away a little, “There’s one more thing before we peel this stencil and get on to our business. I will need to stretch your skin, to make sure the lines are nice and clean, and for that i must rely on this foolish thing.” Ezra catches you around your wrist with his prosthetic hand and squeezes slightly.   “I do not have the sensitivity nor dexterity that i once had,” he says, “I have some haptic feedback, but it’s not the most reliable. If I grip or pinch too hard, you sing out and I will manually adjust the pressure.”  So focused on your left inner wrist and the tracery of your skin that he startles, flinches when you reach for him and grip his upper arm, brief squeeze and then gone.  “I trust you.” His eyes widen for a second, and flick away from yours.   ‘I suppose you do. Else you wouldn’t be here. Let’s get a good look at these lines before we get to fencin’.” Ezra peels the transfer paper up and you feel the pull of it, dark purple lines printed on your inner arm. And that makes it feel real.

You’re going to walk out of here with something like a story in your skin forever.   “The fireweed—“  “I know. The stencil lines are just there to keep me from going too loosey-goosey,” says Ezra, “That being said, how would you feel about some slight splatters? So the stems do not rise so harshly from the water bear’s back, perhaps a bit darker than the color of the fireweed. Something to really make this little fella pop.”  “Dark. Like a dark purple fading up into the pinks.”  “Yeah? What do you think?”  “I like it,” you say, and you feel yourself grin wide, and Ezra’s smile mirrors your own, “This is gonna be so fucking cool.”  “It will,” he says, those dark eyes bracketed in delighted crinkles, “I’ve got you, darlin. We’re gonna make some magic.”

 It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and you tell Ezra so, and he smiles, bent over your arm.  “Everyone’s pain threshold is a bit different,” he says, “You are squirming very little for your first ink.”’   “I was in labor with my oldest for twenty three hours. This doesn’t even register.”  “The linework is usually worse in terms of sharp pain,” he says, “The color and shading tend to be more persistently annoying. Like a shirt collar rubbing on a sunburn.” He has a light on a swing arm like a dentist uses, framing him in a bright halo as he hunches over your arm, catches his curls in bright filaments, the scruff of his cheeks, slope of his neck, breadth of his shoulders. Sharper pain as he touches the crease between wrist and hand, bracelets of fortune, you think they’re called, draw your breath in a sharp hiss, little hooked curves of the tardigrade’s claws.  “Breathe, sugar, you’re doing just fine. Worst part’s nearly done.” His eyes flick up to catch yours, warm soft and magnified by his glasses. “And I really must know. what’s your favorite dinosaur?”  “Deinonychus,” you answer unthinking, “Dromeosaurs are pretty cool in general, but Deinonychus is my favorite.” And you smile. Knowing exactly what he’s doing and thankful for it. “The raptors in Jurassic Park were actually Deinonychuses. Modeled on them at least. Actual velociraptors are turkey-sized.” Ezra smiles up at you, perfect plump lower lip bisected by a gold ring, damn he’s pretty, and nothing hurts at all.  “Huh,” he says, “And here I was thinkin you were a T-rex girl. S’pose that’s what i get for making assumptions.”  “Well you know what they say about assuming—“  “Indeed I do. My mother was very fond of whipping out that particular turn of phrase.” He stretches your skin so he can get the tardigrade’s odd little mouthparts just so.  “What’s your favorite?”  “Favorite what?” The curved, segmented back takes shape.  “Dinosaur. You can’t just ask someone that question and not answer it yourself.” Ezra stills for a beat, and then the needle starts up again, line sloping down to meet up with a hook-plated foot.  “Ankylosaurus.” he says.  “Really?”  “Sure. Mother Nature took a cow, a snapping turtle and a panzer tank and stuck em in a blender and then tied a cinderblock to the end of it’s tail. What’s not to love? Hmmm,” he swabs at the beaded blood and oozing ink, “Hard part’s done. How about a little breather?” Ezra stands and stretches like a lazy cat, rolls his neck side to side, heads for the refrigerator, tucked in the corner and plastered in stickers, punk bands or microbreweries, you can’t really tell.   “Stretch your legs,” he says, “This next phase will take some time.” You swing your legs over the side of the chair, stand up and then plop back down.  “You okay, darlin?”   “Stood up too fast.”   “Apple or orange?”  “Huh? Orange,” You feel your face going hot, “I followed your instructions—“ Ezra hands you a cold, sweating bottle of orange juice.  “I know you did,” he says, “When you get tattooed, you are signing up for an injury. One that happens over the course of several hours, but an injury all the same.  Everyone reacts a little different. Your sugar just dropped is all. You drink that juice and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.”  “I thought I’d be okay-“  “And you are,” says Ezra, “I’ve had three hundred pound bikers slither out of the chair at the first sight of blood. It happens sometimes. I’ve gotten woozy a time or two myself.”

He shoves up his shirtsleeve and shows you a dog in a space helmet,   “That’s Laika,” you say.  “Patron Saint of one way trips,” says Ezra, “You can see a bit of wobble in the curve of her helmet. It was far from my first ink and it still hurt like a sonofabitch. You didn’t do a thing wrong, okay?” He rests his hand on your shoulder briefly, warm weight of it grounds you, and he hunkers down so his eyes meet yours, no judgement there, just concern, and without thinking, you mirror him, rest a hand on his vibrantly inked bicep, Laika brave and doomed amid a swirl of watercolored nebulae, his skin warm beneath your palm and you feel the breath rush out of you, didn’t know how hard you were clenching your jaw, didn’t know you tight your chest was.  “Thank you.” And for a beat those lovely, dark eyes hold yours, before they slide away, cheek curved up in a half-smile.  “You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?”

 The color inking goes much as he described, more annoying than painful, like a constant pressing of fingernails against your skin, different gun with more needles packed together, ink laid in, blood wiped away, back and forth over the same bits of skin, needles dipped and rinsed, tiny plastic cups of color that make you think of a child’s paint set, and the two of you settle into easy conversation, a flow back and forth like a gentle tide, mostly Ezra explaining all the hidden delights of Secret Springs, you simply must get breakfast at Cisco’s, it don’t look like much but they’ve got the best biscuits and gravy i’ve ever tasted, and Cee swears by their Hangover Helper, it’s like a layer dip of grease. Hash browns and corned beef hash and scrambled eggs with sausage gravy and cheese sprinkled over it. I keep tellin Frankie he should rename it the Heart Attack Platter, but he won’t hear it— Ezra’s voice and the buzz of the tattoo gun and the rhythm of him pressing into your skin and wiping away the blood and excess ink set you drifting, content to listen to him ramble, like the patter of falling rain.  “So what got you here?” asks Ezra.  “Moira. I saw her ink and asked—“  “No, darlin, what got you here?” And you find it hard to speak, to put into words, did everything right, married and had kids and a house and a good job and a husband who loved you until he didn’t, did everything right and still ended up with an empty house and no one to come home to except the cat. Lilly and Liam and Joey off on their own and settled and they all call you on Sunday like clockwork, as if you are an obligation and not someone who held them when they were small, talked them through the fears of monsters in the closet, talked them through the humiliation of first love, you know they love you, they tell you every time, at the end of every visit, hug you so tight and tell you they love you. Love you too, but you still come home to a dark house and an empty bed, you honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve been touched or kissed or held. Been so long since you did things for you without thinking of him and the kids that it feels wrong, shameful.  “I wanted to do something just for me, I guess.” You frown.  “I’m guessing you are not in the habit,” he says, “Of doing things just for the joy of it.” You laugh, a bright and brittle sound that pulls itself from your throat, even as your eyes burn, his eyes flick up from the brilliant pinks and oranges and purples, and you turn your head away.  “I’ve prodded a raw nerve, I’m sorry. Cee rightly says I have no filter-“  “It’s okay. It’s just…you do everything right and you still end up all alone, you know? Lil and the boys are all doing fine. They call me every Sunday, and I know I should be happy, and I am happy. Happy for them-“  “But not for yourself,” says Ezra. And you think of how the intimacy slowly bled out of your marriage, held on so tight for so long, thought you could muscle through it like you do everything else in your life, but love wasn’t enough, determination wasn’t enough, gritted teeth and stubbornness weren’t enough.   “No. Not for myself.” You frown. You haven’t put it in words before, too busy keeping it together, trying to gut through it like you do everything, keep your head down and push through, “You think your life is one thing and then it just isn’t anymore— this probably seems silly to you.”  “Not at all. I often think of cicadas,” he says, and returns his attention to the fireweed blossoms.  “Cicadas?”  “Yes. They live the majority of their lives under the ground, feasting on roots content with living in the dark and then something calls them up above. They split themselves open, crawl out of their old skins and take flight.”  “You’re saying I’m in the process of crawling out of my own skin,” you say.  “I’m saying that your future doesn’t have to look like your past,” says Ezra.

 “The past is another country,” you say, and you can’t remember where you’ve heard the phrase.  “Just so,” says Ezra, “Just so. We’re redrawing the map right here. And it is a joy to redraw it with you.”  “Are you—are you flirting with me?” Ezra scrunches his face in mock disdain, “I would never ever flirt with a client. That would be deeply unethical and Cee would undoubtedly yell at me. However, once I finish inking this last frond and we slather you in ointment and wrap you up you will no longer be my client-“  “And then?” He smiles at you, all dark eyes and dimples.  “Well then we are just two folks enjoying the moonlight and wetting our toes in the surf. If you’d walk with me a spell. If you can further tolerate my rambling,”  “I think I’d like to get my feet wet.”

[eileennatural]

i am once again thinking about killua and nanika

like I can't stop thinking about how much they are the same. Like nanika really kind of mirrors killua's emotional/personal arc throughout the series. thinking about the traits they share like...

pre-canon, both killua and nanika are tools. people (their family) are cruel to them, and they are made to enact cruelty onto others. the only difference is that killua can be controlled while nanika can't be. killua 'earns' his 'freedom' by virtue of him being much easier to manage/manipulate. nanika, on the other hand, cannot be managed so she and alluka are shut away permanently.

killua and nanika are largely beholden to the will of others -- for killua, its through illumi's needle as well as years of isolation, conditioning, and abuse by his family, and for nanika its in her nature.

but when they find someone who treats them like kids, or friends rather than monsters or a means to an end, when they're not being made to hurt others, killua and nanika both give freely and ask for very little in return.

killua, over and over, makes gon's 'wishes' come true, even if its at cost to himself. gon, kurapika, and leorio all pass the hunter exam because killua breaks a rule, ensuring the victory of everyone else there. he takes gon to heavens arena so he can train to beat hisoka, he agrees to help kurapika fight the phantom troupe because gon wants to help kurapika, he helps gon win greed island, and he gives everything to help gon beat the chimera ants. and all killua asks in return is that he be allowed to stay by gon's side. gon very rarely verbally asks or demands anything of killua (which some people portray as a sign of his selfishness, or that he takes for granted that killua will do whatever he wants, but i digress) but killua gives regardless because what gon has given to killua means so much to him --freedom, his friendship, his company, his trust, and his open and verbal affection.

nanika, in turn, fulfills all of killua's wishes and asks only for his love in return -- that he hug her, pat her head, and tell her she's good. She never makes cruel demands after killua's wishes because he never makes self-interested wishes, he never makes her hurt anyone for him. even as a child, he treated nanika like just another little sister, asking her to play with him and to fulfill the kinds of wishes she likes to do, such as healing people/animals.

killua (for most of the series) and nanika don't really have concrete goals or objectives of their own beyond securing love and affection by being useful to their favorite person (codependency twins !)

of course, killua and nanika are both eventually betrayed and incredibly hurt by their person, because that's just how codependent relationships play out, especially among people as young and emotionally immature and traumatized as gon, killua, and nanika are.

all of this culminates in maybe my favorite scene of the series, where killua realizes that he's hurt nanika in a similar way that gon have very recently hurt him, and also that by shutting nanika away, he's really just repeating their parents' abuse of her. so he doesn't just apologize, but he demonstrates that he knows why what he did is wrong, and why he did it, and promises never to do it again.

i only wish we cold have seen gon's apology :/

[lurkingshan]

Hii, hope you're doing well!! I've been meaning to check out more c-dramas. I've never really watched any, but I keep seeing them on my dash and want to start giving some a shot since I watch every other type of drama (BL or otherwise lol). I saw you post often about c-dramas, so I wanted to ask if you had any other recs besides Tender Light (which I'm planning on watching when it's done)? I'm more curious about c-dramas in general rather than any specific genre, since I'm so new to them

Hello, thank you for the ask! I'm glad my obsessive Tender Light posting has got you curious about cdramas. Some of my all time favorite dramas are from Mainland China, and I would be happy to share some recs! Since you are looking for a general sense, I am just going to give you a sampling of some of my personal favs.

Tender Light

Obviously I will be taking this opportunity to talk up this drama some more, which will be ending its run this weekend. This is, hands down, my favorite drama of the year and easily going on my top 10 dramas of all time list. It's one of the most gorgeous and precise and unflinching pieces of media I have ever seen. This is definitely one for people who love smart mystery writing, dark themes (I mean this for real, if you have a lot of triggers ask for CWs), and explorations of the human condition. It will be staying with me for a long time.

Go Ahead

Another of my all time favs (and with cast crossover from Tender Light), this is a family drama that digs deep on the meaning of family, finding your people, and resilience through intergenerational trauma. I love it so so much (I am actually rewatching it right now).

Lighter & Princess

A fantastic romance and owner of a coveted spot on the ride or die drama couples list. In this story you get to watch these two fall in love twice, first in college and then as adults, and both times it's epic.

Reset

How about a time loop thriller? This is one of the best I have ever seen, and its relatively short run keeps it tight and tense all the way through. There's a romance in this one, too, but kissing is definitely secondary to finding their way out of this death trap.

The Rebel Princess

Let's dip our toe into historicals! Granted, I still have plenty of gaps in my historical cdrama watch list (there are just so many and they're so long, I am doing my best people!) but this remains my all time favorite to date. It's epic, it's shockingly well written and paced for its length, the characters are excellent and compelling all around, and it has one of my all time favorite male leads and drama couples (another from the ride or die list!). Don't let the episode number intimidate you, it will fly by much faster than you think.

The Untamed

You watch bl so I am assuming you already know about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, but just in case I will also include this drama as a much watch. It's likely the best live action danmei we will ever get.

Love Between Fairy and Devil

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if a show put all your favorite fanfic tropes in a blender, cast beautiful people to act them out, and put them in lavish costumes? Well, here is your answer.

Love and Redemption

This one's for us angst with a happy ending girlies. An epic love story with lots of pining and struggle and strife, and it's so worth it.

Falling Into You

Back to the modern era, this is a classic sports drama with a noona romance. Very unassuming but full of charm and very well executed.

Fake It Till You Make It

An unusually mature take on adult romance from a cdrama, this one is about two career focused permasingle love skeptics who meet, realize they actually like each other, and try to figure out what the hell to do with that. I love it a lot.

That should be enough to get you started! There are many many more recs to be had, so once you give some of these a try and figure out what you like, feel free to hit me up for more!

[inklessletter]

I’m having so much with the fic I’m currently working on, because I’m exploring a headcanon of Steve that’s been living in my mind rent free since forever. And that is, that Steve is so painfully practical that he, to put it simply, does things to get somewhere.

And that’s it. That’s his motivation.

I mean, he hasn’t finished high school yet and it’s already thinking of skipping college because working for his dad (that it’s canon he thinks is an asshole) is the fastest way to get a family. He doesn’t date to meet people, or to have fun; he dates to get married. Come on.

And then you have Eddie. He’s the one to buy a ticket to a concert out of the state and ends up remembering the flight, the people he met, the hours of queue and how fucking good was that burger he ate in the middle of nowhere (and he knows he’s not going to taste ever again), rather than the setlist of the actual concert. 

Eddie is not interested in the finish line of things, he’s interested in the journey.

So you take this Steve, and this Eddie and make them friends. And you have this Steve bitching about not finding the one, and this Eddie rolling his eyes to the back of his skull because why the hell are you looking for the one, Steve, you’re only twenty four. And Steve is like exactly, I am already twenty four, how are you not worried about not ending up alone. And this bickering results in Steve accusing Eddie of being terrified of commitment, and Eddie replying that Steve’s unable to actually find the one because his mind is fifteen years ahead of the present.

So both refuse to share the negativity on each other’s criticism, so Eddie dares Steve to date someone just because he likes them, someone who deliberately doesn’t fill in his long list of mandatory requirements for the one. And Steve agrees, on the condition that Eddie has to actually get in a relationship that lasts more than a month, but not just fucking the same person, no: he’s daring him to emotionally commit to someone.

And after they shake their hands, willing to prove the other one wrong, Robin, who has been hearing this shit for far too long, tells them that the only way they could actually know if the other commits to their agreement (since the nuances of their dares are quite personal and intimate) is that they actually date each other.

So, it’s 3 AM and they’re both still looking at their ceiling when they realize that god fucking damnit, Robin is right.

So you see, this story is writing itself.

[imagines--galore]

Hi! I saw you were doing Jim Hawkins requests so here I am!

Can we have Jim x gn!reader who is a musician and frequently performs at the Inn? and so as reader spends more time there Jim ends up crushing on them?

(Bonus points if reader ends up writing a song abt Jim agsgsgaga)

Summary: Music was a language understood throughout the entire galaxy. Hopefully the cute boy working at the Inn you performed at finally gets the message you were trying to send him through your song. Pairing: Jim Hawkins x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A/N: Tooth-rotting aching fluff. Thats what I wrote here. Not that I'm complaining. :P And yes I did write the poem or song or bunch of words that I thought would make a good song? I dunno. Hope you enjoy!

"Alright then Mrs Hawkins! Everything is set up and ready to go for tonight's grand re-opening." You called out, jumping down from the ladder where you were hanging another streamer from the ceiling. Sarah Hawkins glanced up from where she had been finalizing the menu. "It looks amazing y/n, though honestly I would prefer if you call me Sarah instead, you've been working at the Inn for so long now." She said with that soft maternal smile you always wore.

You shrugged, pushing your hands in your pockets. "I could, but I've been calling you Mrs Hawkins, or Mrs H for so long now it would seem weird." You admitted, a sheepish smile pulling at your lips. Sarah stood from her seat and approached you with her arms out. You eagerly accepted the hug. "Oh I can't believe its been so long. Nearly seven years and here you still are. My best musician." The praise had you rolling your eyes a little, though it didn't stop the blush to form on your cheeks.

"I'm your only musician Mrs H." You reminded her, to which the older woman simply laughed and tapped your nose playfully. "Because you're the best. So why would I need anyone else?"

With that Sarah walked towards the kitchen, hoping to wrap up the last of the food items to be cooked for that night's party.

The re-opening of the Benbow Inn.

You had been just as devastated as Sarah when it had burned down. The Inn had become something of a sanctuary for you. A place where you could come and just be yourself, and not have to put up a strong front given your lack of family.

Oh you had a family. A father who preferred to work before drowning away whatever sorrows he had in alcohol. Leaving you to fend for yourself from a rather young age.

You had begun to do little odd jobs to try and earn some money. School was free, as was the lunch that they served, and you bought clothes from the cheapest shop possible.

But what you really wanted the money for, was to get a new piano. Or really any musical instrument.

Music was everything for you. It was your way to express all that you felt. Not to mention it was the only connection you had to your mother.

She had taught you everything you knew when she had been alive. Every note, every song, ever key, every symphony, it was all her.

You had her old piano at home. And when your father wasn't home you would try your best to coax a tune out of the instrument. It was old and needed quite a few repairs and tuning, but that cost a lot of money.

So, you did odd jobs to try and come up with that.

But it wasn't until you had seen an ad in the newspaper, inquiring after a musician who could play at an Inn, did you ever think of working while playing music.

You had rushed to the address, and after a short meeting with the owner, and a few demos of you playing on the piano there, which was in much better condition then your own, you were hired.

And you loved every moment of it.

Not just because you got to play for hours on end, but also because Sarah Hawkins, was an amazing boss. She had taken one look at your pinched face and skinny body, and had thrown in a free hot meal during your work hours. You had tried to tell her no, but the woman had insisted. So, you opted to help out in the kitchen whenever things would get too busy at the Inn.

But, primarily, you played the piano, contributing to the light and fun atmosphere of the Inn, and generally pleasing the patrons. You played tunes from all over the galaxy, and everyone had requests.

The best part about working at the Inn though?

You met Jim Hawkins.

You had seen him around school before, and you were a little embarrassed to admit, but you did have a crush on him. He was cute, not to mention cool and smart.

Working at the Inn, which you had no idea his mother owned, gave you the chance to get to know him better. Talk to him, and just be around him.

And though you had been a little nervous at first, slowly that had all changed, and the both of you became friends.

Well he was your friend whom you had a crush on.

Little did you know, you were also the friend he had a crush on.

Not that either of you would come out and say it out loud. Besides you barely had time to do anything other then work at the Inn, school and take care of things at home. You didn't have time for boys.

But then Jim found a strange round map and pirates burned the Inn down in search of it.

You were made aware of it all the next morning when you arrived for work and was met with the charred skeletal remains of the place you thought of as your second home. Devastation snaked under your skin and settled into your heart. A gasp of horror fell from your lips as you thought of Mrs Hawkins and Jim.

Had they made it out?

Luckily one of the fire squad patrons were nearby and informed you that they were safe were staying with a friend. With the address memorized you raced towards your destination on the scooter you and Jim had scraped from the junkyard and fixed.

Or rather you had stood to the side while he fixed it.

Though you'd been told they were alive, you didn't believe it.

And wouldn't believe it until you saw them both for yourself.

You banged on the door of the rather large estate, pushing past Dr. Doppler as soon as he opened the door. Voices from down the corridor had you racing down the polished floors with the good Doctor at your heels.

The moment you burst through the doors and saw both Jim and his Mother sitting around a small table, a strange sound escaped you. One that was a combination of several emotions, but the only one you were able to properly comprehend was the relief that coursed through your veins.

Though it was nothing compared to the elation you felt once you had calmed down and had engulfed both of them in a hug that remade your heart.

It didn't take too long for everything to be explained, and though you were a little unsure of the expedition, you didn't voice it. Not when Jim got so excited talking about it. You could see that Sarah shared your uncertainty as well, but then she didn't say anything either. Once the older woman had excused herself to get to bed, and Dr. Doppler had wandered off to gather more books and such for the journey ahead, you turned your attention to Jim.

"You sure this is a good idea Jim? I mean chasing a story never ends well." But Jim only held up the round orb which you had learned was the map to Treasure Planet. "Y/n, this thing is proof that its more then just stories. And like I told Mom, with that treasure we can build a new Inn. We can even fit it with the piano you've always wanted."

A little taken aback that he would want to share the treasure with you and actually buy something you would love surprised you. You blinked but pushed that feeling aside in favor of continuing the conversation. "Treasure and truth aside, Jim are you sure? I mean your mom will be all alone." You said, glancing in the direction of the door where Sarah had walked out of an hour or so ago.

Had it really been that long since they'd been talking?

Jim frowned. "What do you mean she'll be alone? Won't you come and visit her?" He asked, the confusion clear on his face. You blinked, mouth falling open in surprise. "Wa-wait, of course I'll come visit her-" You began, only to be cut off by him. "Then she won't be alone. I know you'll take care of her while I'm gone."

You stared.

How was it possible that one boy could cause your heart to stop and then restart again?!

And with the way he was looking at you with those wide eyes!

You groaned. "You're doing it again." You grumbled, shoving him back by his face. Jim laughed, knowing exactly what you meant, having used the tactic before. "I know, but I also know I don't have to convince you because you'll come anyway."

Rolling your eyes you kicked at his legs from under the table. "Yeah, yeah. Just-" You trailed off, biting your lower lip and glancing at the table before looking back up at him.

"Just be careful. I don't want to loose you too."

The light of the fire hid the blush that blazed across your cheeks, though it didn't diminish the worry in your eyes. Jim, now wearing a serious expression, reached out to take your hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

"You won't. I promise."

You lived with that promise through the months he was gone.

And when he returned, triumphant and the hero he was always meant to be, you had hugged him as tightly as you could. To your delight, where he had always held back a little when it came to hugs, this one was unrestrained and just as eagerly given as it was received.

Now here you were, settling onto the bench as the party-goers quietened down so that you would begin to play. Sarah had spared no expense, and had even bought you a new dress for the occasion. You'd been reluctant at first, but a nudge from Jim had you accepting the dress.

What you had truly been eager for, was to play on the piano once again.

True to his word, Jim had bought the piano you had wanted for so long. You'd very nearly kissed the boy right then and there, but had settled for a hug that toppled him over.

Though you did sneak in a peck to the cheek before you continued to coo over the instrument.

And now you would get to play a rather special song on it.

One that you had written yourself during the months Jim had been away. This song was your love letter to the boy you had fallen in love with.

What they said was true.

Absence made the heart grow fonder.

And it hadn't taken you long to realize that your feelings for your friend went beyond that of simple friendship.

As you played a few experimental keys, your eyes drifted to where Jim stood in his brand new Academy uniform next to his Mother. His encouraging smile was all you needed.

You began to play.

And then you began to sing.

A big surprise since you hardly ever sang in public.

Let me keep you where my belief lies For if I do not become yours I shall never belong to anyone

The words had come to you, late at night when you had been in bed, your heart aching with how much you missed him.

Wherever should the wind take you I wish to be by your side

You had always known Jim would soar higher then anyone you could ever to know. You just hoped that he would allow you to remain by his side when he did.

These winds may be fleeting Carry us to places never before explored But I do not care so long as you are with me And I with you

Anything to be with him. To be beside him and share in his next adventure. Even if it meant staying behind and waiting for him to come back to you.

Whatever memories that we create They shall remain with us forevermore For in them my true strength lies That helps me get through the day and the nights

And those memories of you both, going about your lives, getting in trouble, digging through the junkyard with him, him sitting to listen to you practice for hours on end? They had been what had helped you get through the days and nights.

The very essence of my thoughts Exist because of you and for you With every caress of the wind I can hear your name echoing all around me

Where your gaze had been trained on the ivory keys as your finger danced along them, now they raised up. Only to find Jim standing next to your beside the piano. Watching you with a strange look in his eyes. One that you had never seen in them before Why does your face resemble my dreams? Perhaps you weren't mine yesterday Nor will you be mine tomorrow But you are mine today

The final keys of the song died as your fingers stilled. But you weren't done.

Not yet.

"For all my love is yours." You barely sang the final lyric as you stood up, whispering the words instead as Jim reached out and gently took your hand.

He smiled at you.

And you smiled at him.

The assembled guests burst into applause. But neither of you truly noticed. He leaned in, and you closed your eyes as he drew closer.

His lips found yours, and you knew.

Your fears were unfounded.

For you would never loose him.