#clarify an incredibly important note

[jewish-microwave-laser]

very important correction: "male medical staff are prohibited from treating women unless accompanied by a male relative" [1]

i also want to note that "In September 2021, a month after they returned to power, the Taliban stopped schooling for girls after grade six. They banned women from university in December 2022. Medical education, like nursing and midwifery, was one of the few ways they could continue their learning in classrooms." [2]

"Afghanistan already suffers from one of the highest maternal mortality rates in the world and there are deep concerns that that the ban would further erode women’s precarious access to healthcare." [1] the effects are expected to be most severely felt in rural areas [2]

"men cannot become midwives in Afghanistan" [3]

"People often say that under the Taliban women are just left to reproduce. Well, now with this new ban, women are left to reproduce and then die on that same table because there will be nobody to help them. That's what it has come to," said "Pashtana Durrani, founder of Learn Afghanistan, an organization operating secret schools in Afghanistan as well as a maternal health clinic that has trained midwives." [3]

1 - https://news.un.org/en/story/2024/12/1157866

2 - https://abcnews.go.com/amp/International/wireStory/eu-condemns-reported-taliban-move-suspend-medical-education-116442492

3 - https://www.npr.org/sections/goats-and-soda/2024/12/04/g-s1-36765/afghanistan-taliban-women-nurses-midwives

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transcription:

Afghan women in medical school are heard sobbing as a man announces a new Taliban edict that bans them from medical training.

The Taliban have also banned women from being treated by male medical professionals.

These two decrees, coupled together, effectively prohibit women from receiving any type of medical care since there will be no female health workers to treat them.

[cinnamonest]

I'm not looking to start shit so I'm not linking it or anything, but you may have seen a recent anti-dark-content post circulating with a lot of notes making rounds in the x reader sphere and while I have nothing against people posting their feelings in their own private spaces, every time I see these kinds of posts there's a lot of misinformation that gets regurgitated in the reblogs/replies and I saw what looked like a battlezone in the replies, so.

I know posts like that can be very jarring and affects people like my readers, so to combat misinformation/shaming for anyone who saw it, I'm going to share some of my information on combatting fandom puritanism/misogyny/kinkshaming in its most common forms.

The most important fact, if you read nothing else, is this:

Most women have rape fantasies.

62% to be exact. I think the most pervasive myth on this content is that consumers are "weird" for it, when the numbers don't indicate that. You're in the majority!

The vast majority of people who have rape fantasies do not put them into practice in real life. A variety of factors can determine whether or not they do, particularly specific psychiatric disorders. (X)

To specifically address common harmful and pervasive myths:

the "go to therapy!" line

Generally any academic or professional resource will immediately tell you that consuming and engaging in "dark" fantasies is accepted and encouraged by mainstream psychiatry and part of the professional education for psychiatrists. (This also used to be pretty well-known until like the last 5 years or so, not sure why that changed.)

Here are some particularly insightful resources:

1) This article by Dr. David Wahl, in my opinion, hands-down does the best job of simply and thoroughly explaining why these fantasies occur and why couples practice CNC, as well as the fact that they are both harmless, psychologically beneficial to those with them, and not at all correlated to real-life rape.

2) Dr. Claudia Six has some of the best and most thorough material out there on the subject, specifically explaining why this is taught in mainstream academia psychology and how it is incredibly helpful to rape victims (X).

3) Lisa Diamond is a professional who focuses on this subject a lot, and was featured in the documentary "The Dilemma of Desire," in which she specifically focuses on how these fantasies are not correlated to real-life desires. (X)

4) Dr. Casey Lyle has specifically talked a lot on his socials about how fantasies, even in men/the perspective of the offender, do not correlate to actual risk of offending.

5) This article is not by a professional, but from the perspective of a survivor discussing how it is beneficial to survivors.

the "why would you want that?" line

The idea that fictional tastes = what you want to happen to you in real life is actually of misogynistic origin. I don't want to seek out or add links on this one, but if you're really curious, you can research about how the idea that "women read rape fiction, that means they secretly want rape!" was originally a classic "red pill"/MGTOW/4chan talking point that made its way into mainstream dialogue and thus the public mind in the last 15 years or so due to the incel epidemic popularizing those communities.

the "it's only valid for survivors then!" line

On one hand, yes it's very important to acknowledge that trauma victims use it to cope, however I feel that over-emphasizing that gives the impression that non-victims should be excluded from consumption of dark content, so to clarify, it's a very valid means for all women. Many women who have not personally experienced rape still fantasize about it, and that's fine.

The full explanation as to why this is true for many of them would be lengthy (and addressed in the aforementioned Dilemma of Desire documentary), but in the simplest terms, nonconsensual sex is the only context in which patriarchal society permits women to have sex at all without feeling guilt. For many women, particularly those in more heavily misogynistic or religious cultures, these fantasies are appealing because the idea of consensual sex may give them feelings of shame, guilt, "sin," etc. These fantasies allow them to experience the feeling of being desired without guilt of participation.

No society on earth is free of the psychological grip that cultural misogyny has on women, and shaming women for adapting to the conditions they are forced to exist under is as harmful as the misogyny that causes it itself.

ALL women experience a form of psychological trauma inherent to female childhood and female adolescence in a patriarchal world, and that is just as valid as coping with individual traumatic events.

Good resources on the subject of why women have these fantasies and how they are helpful in general:

(X) (X)

The "what you consume will make you do it in real life!" myth

Although the resources above already address this, it's important to establish why this myth is so prevalent and what its origins are.

The idea that consuming media with dark themes leads to or indicates desires to replicate those acts is a residual element of two major events:

1) Puritan revival culture, popularized in the US and UK in the 90s and 2000s (also known as "Satanic Panic"). A major facet of this movement was TV megachurch preachers making money off of exploiting well-meaning but paranoid parents into believing that your child playing Dungeons and Dragons or Pokemon would make them future serial killers and lure them into satanic cults. (X)

2) at the tail end of this, it was cemented in the public mind as a cultural ripple aftershock of the Columbine shooting, where this sentiment became popularized as the general public blamed violent video games like Doom and "dark" music like Marilyn Manson (whose life was temporarily completely upended by the events and took him years to recover/be safe from) for the 1999 shooting. This event had MASSIVE permanent and global effects in all sorts of ways that the public often underestimates the sheer scope of, notably that it solidified, prolonged, and, in the minds of many, "proved" the paranoias of the preexisting Satanic Panic. (X) This established a precedent, leading to virtually any major horrible event being blamed on the perpetrator's media consumption, including murder and sex crimes.

What this myth ignores in the cases it references (the slenderman stabbings, columbine, sasebo slashing, batman shooting, etc) is two crucial facts: that hundreds of millions of people consume the same media with no negative effects (helpful effects even), and that in every single case cited as "evidence" to the claim, the perpetrator had a preexisting psychiatric condition correlated to acts of violence (which usually went ignored, downplayed and even accelerated/worsened by those around them rather than the help they needed).

Sorry for the wall of text, but I feel an ethical obligation to combat this kind of misinformation, and I hope these resources are helpful for those who may be negatively affected by common misunderstandings.

You are not abnormal or wrong for the fictional content you consume or the fantasies you have!

[fanfics-for-you]

what's in a name? || Patrick Verona (TTIHAY) x gn!reader (Modern!College!AU)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ✨️Patrick Verona✨️

Summary: Patrick Verona is apparently the most intimidating guy on campus. You just want to get by, pass your classes, and get to your actual dreams. When you casually approach him one day and decidedly are not scared of him, Patrick has some questions.

TWs: light language, use of Y/N (only like twice), second person POV (you, yours).

[[A/N: This is basically under the concept that you approach Patrick first, and aren't really as afraid of him as anybody else. He's intrigued. Also this is a college AU, because I am in college and I think it's weird to write about high school lmao. ALSO,,, I know this is incredibly niche and a dead tag, but... I watched the movie recently and was violently possessed to write this. The parasites in me what to continue this universe, but idk. Anyway. Enjoy :)]]

You were exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted.

You'd stayed up all night for your chem quiz, and still, didn't think you did great on it. Which made your day ever so worse. So, when you went to the library, and someone was sitting in the spot you always sat in, you halfway wanted to cry and halfway wanted to rip your hair out. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be a big deal, but today it was. So, with a certainty that rivaled a lawyer in court, you stomped over to the chair.

For a moment, the guy didn't even look at you. He kept staring at his friend, a surprisingly 'metal' dressing guy who was talking avidly about something.

You cleared your throat.

That's when they both looked at you.

You were entirely focused on the one in your seat. A taller guy with built shoulders, curly hair and a sharp jaw. In normal circumstances, you'd probably think he was hot. Today was not normal circumstances.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so maybe it was a little normal circumstances, but that wasn't relevant.

"What are you doing?"

The man answered, simply -maybe a little confused, "Sitting?"

"That's my spot," you clarified, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" the man pretended to start getting up before pausing -speaking sarcastically, "-Oh wait, I've just remembered, this is public property."

Mindlessly noting that he had an accent that you couldn't quite place, you rolled your eyes, "I sit there everyday. Just give me the spot."

"You weren't sitting here all day," he pointed out, "-or else I wouldn't be here."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, "I was busy failing a chem test, now get up."

His eyes skimmed over your face, thoughtfully, "Do you know who I am?"

"Why-" you sighed out, frustrated, "-would I know who you are?"

Even despite the comment, he did seem familiar somehow but you weren't going to tell him that.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and didn't say anything. You felt like you were going to explode in fiery flames.

You groaned, "Oh my god. There are thousands of seats on campus, just go sit somewhere else."

"Exactly," the man countered, "-why don't you sit somewhere else?"

"Because-" you huffed out a breath, "-that's my spot."

"And why is this spot so important to you?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hands along the cracks of the seat, "-You got something good stashed in 'ere?"

"Dear god," you huffed out a breath in defeat, "-Whatever. Enjoy your seat, asshole."

And with that, you spun on your heel and pulled yourself deeper into the library. Taking a breath in, you pulled yourself into a seat not too far from the original, but you were around the corner so you wouldn't have to look at his stupid face. You soured just at the thought.

You pulled open your chem book, and read through it -trying to figure out which ones you definitely missed, that way you could get the ballpark for what your grade might be. You really needed to know, to make sure your GPA stayed in the range for your dream university.

But, in the middle of it, you heard someone plop into the chair in front of you (it was a group of chairs, like for a group of people if necessary).

Before looking up, you spoke -sharply, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Your eyes shot up at that familiar accent, and you frowned.

"You got the seat," you pointed out, bitterly, "-What the hell do you want now?"

"Your name," he answered simply.

You blinked, (what?) before settling back into your seat and flipping to the next page, "Yeah, no."

The man seemed to move forward, and unwillingly your eyes flickered to him (his curls moving with the motion), "Why not?"

"I don't give my name out to strangers," you retorted -flicking your eyes down to your book, "-especially not assholes."

"Don't know if I can change who I am," he smirked, "-but, I can work on the stranger part."

You frowned, eyeing him particularly, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I already told you," he replied, fidgeting with something in his hands (you weren't paying attention), "-I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Well," you exhaled, sharply, and ignored his name, "-you're not getting it."

"Well," he repeated with the same sort of grin, "-I'll just have to work on that too, then."

You looked up at him again and squinted at him -trying to read him somehow. All he did was grin at you, a charming kind, of course, that made crinkles on his cheeks. You ignored the flutter in your chest that it gave you and darted your eyes back down to your book.

The next day, you were in better spirits. After studying for an entirely different class, you were pretty sure you aced that test. So, you weren't as pissed, thankfully. Until you went into the library to sit between classes like you always did.

You paused in your step and frowned.

The guy (Patrick, your mind treacherously noted) was sitting by your chair, mindlessly tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair. He wasn't in your chair, thankfully, but still, he was in the one beside it. Pointedly close.

You huffed out a breath, and moved toward the chairs, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he repeated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to take that as a repeat of the question -before saying, confidently (too confidently), "I'm studying for a test."

"You don't seem like the studying type," you retorted, throwing yourself into the chair and pulling out your laptop -realizing it was no use to try and get him to leave.

Patrick pointed out, "You don't even know me."

"And I don't intend to," you replied with ease, flicking your eyes to meet his, "-your point?"

He grinned the same bright one from before, amused maybe. Your heart skipped a beat, so you dropped your eyes back down to your laptop. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to look away.

"What's your major?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"I won't tell you my name," you leveled, scrolling through your online schedule for homework, "-but you think I'll tell you my major?"

"Well," he reasoned, "-a name is much more identifiable, but your major," he shrugged, "-not so much."

You eyed him again for a second, before saying, "What if you just want to look up my classes and hunt me down?"

Patrick smiled again, before asking, "What is your next class?"

"Why?" You ask, pointedly, "-So you can force me into talking to you again?"

"Preferably," he replied, grinning cheekily.

You raised an eyebrow, and bit your lip to pull down a smile that begged to quirk up, "I'm not telling you that either."

"What if I just follow you when you leave?" He questioned, curiously, "-Figure it out myself?"

"And what if I-" you smiled at him -patronizingly, "-call the campus police?"

He raised both eyebrows as if to say 'touché' without saying it out loud. You bit down another smile and moved back to your computer -pulling out your planner and jotting down dates.

"Your pissiness," he suddenly spoke, "-Are you often filled with boiling hatred?"

"No," you sigh out, before shooting him another patronizing smile, "-that's special just for you."

He laughed then, and something warm zinged down to your toes (you ignored it), "Do you seriously not know me?"

"Do you know how many Patricks exist in the world?" you point out, "-No, I don't know you."

"So you do remember my name," he smirked, patting along his lap with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but didn't say a word.

It ended up like that for the rest of the time, Patrick shooting questions now and then, and you shutting them down. His stupid smirk and low, rumbly, accented voice, you hated that he actually seemed kinda nice -all things considered.

But, as you stood up to leave, you decided on something.

"Literature," you said simply, gathering up everything into your bag.

He paused, shooting up his eyebrows, "What?"

"My next class," you answered, nonchalantly pulling your bag onto your shoulder, "-Intro to Literature."

Patrick grinned, bright and shiny, "Gen Ed?"

"Yeah," you answered, moving to put the last few things in your bag.

"Can I walk you?"

Your eyes snapped to him then, curiously -detailing the rather honest look, before answering solidly, "No."

He burst into laughter then, throwing his head back against the chair -you mindlessly watched his curls fall back with the motion and then snapped your eyes away.

"Same time tomorrow then?" He asked, still laughing a little bit (something in you twinkled).

"Nope," you exhale a breath, ignoring the disappointment that swirled into your chest, "-I'm not on campus tomorrow."

He seemed to falter for a second, "Do you live on campus?"

You raised a solid eyebrow, you really think I'd tell you that?

"Right, yeah, okay," Patrick conceded, holding up his hands in faux surrender, "-What days are you on campus?"

You paused, pressing your lips together, but something in you did it, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays."

He grinned a little brighter, "Are you here around the same time on Mondays?"

Something in your chest flipped, but even still, you answered, "That's what you have to figure out. Not me."

And then, you spun on your heel and walked out of the library. His laughter trailed out behind you, and if you had a small little smile on your face at the noise, that was only for you to know.

Monday came, and you woke up early and made your way to campus -the first class of the day was at the crack of dawn. You physically despised it, but so is the schedule of a college student. Plus, you still worked, so the earlier the better for your schedule -didn't mean it didn't suck though.

Sipping on your drink, you wandered back toward the cafeteria -crossing the main connecting area, where everything led to. There was a baseball game going on, not an official one by the looks of it, in the grass. Your eyes hinged on the game for a few seconds, the echoes of laughter shooting toward your ears. It looked fun, but you weren't too invested in being outside for that long. Before you could look away though, your eyes caught on a familiar frame.

Patrick.

His hair was tied back, and he was wearing a pretty bland tank top (just grey), with some typical jeans. With his hair pulled back, you could see his jaw more distinctively -the sharp lines clear from even this far away. (Not that you were looking.) The sun bore down on them but all of the players seemed to be happily distracted. And you kinda were too.

You pursed your lips, for a moment, and looked forward again after a breath, heading toward the cafeteria again confidently.

Before you could get very far, though, you heard a familiar accent.

"Hey!" He yelled, a little distant -footsteps following his voice, "-Hey!"

At first, you weren't sure if he was talking to you, so you kept moving.

"Shit, I don't know what to call you," he called out, breathless and much, much closer.

You spun on your heels with furrowed brows, and met his eyes over a few people's heads. The grin that swallowed his face whole should've been criminal, bright and twinkly and... charming.

Before you could say anything, he was by your side with heavy breaths -assumedly from playing baseball and getting over to you. Leaning over slightly, he leveled out heavy breaths. You were almost concerned enough to offer him water, but he seemed to settle himself before you could.

"Hi," he echoed, "-'Ve been looking for you all morning, what time did you get here?"

You blinked, all morning?

"I get here early, 7, and immediately go to class," you answered, a little blankly (looking for you, looking for you, looking for you).

"Oh," he paused, "-I got here at 8. There's classes at 7?"

"Obviously," you respond, because you did in fact just say it.

"Did you-" Patrick started, before pursing his lips together, "-Are you going to the library now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "No, I'm going to the cafeteria to eat between classes. Why?"

"I'm actually quite hungry myself," he avoided the question, "-Do you mind if I tag along?"

"What about your game?" You furrowed your eyebrows even further -eyeing him curiously.

"'S just to fill time," he explained, "-It's nothing serious. They're sure to find someone to fill in for me."

You flicker your eyes along his face, trying to read him. What's your prerogative?

After a moment, you come up with nothing and instead, just turn on your heel -leading the way to the cafeteria.

"I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Patrick called out from behind you, catching up and matching your stride with ease (despite you making no move to slow down).

You decidedly don't answer him, and say something focused elsewhere -eyeing him as you walk forward, "Do you always stalk people this much?"

Patrick laughed, catching your eye with his warm brown ones (they were almost sparkly under the sun of the day), "Only the ones that blindly hate me."

You pressed your lips together in a flat line (trying not to give anything away), "I didn't say that I hated you."

His face lit up at the words (and you couldn't decide if you regretted it or not), "Well, you could've convinced me."

You roll your eyes, and keep walking forward, "Not telling you my personal information isn't... hating you."

"I'm not sure not introducing yourself is exactly anything but hatred," he argued back, fluidly.

"I just told you that I don't hate you," you point out, "-so it isn't."

"Does that mean you'll eventually tell me your name?" Patrick asked, curiously.

You turned to him, flicked your eyes over him, and then looked forward again, "Maybe on good behavior."

He burst into laughter, brown eyes set on your face, "You're quite an enigma, you know that?"

"And you're not half the mystery you portray," you fire back, naturally, with the flow of the conversation.

He grinned at that, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite label, "You know, I don't think I've met a person like you. You're fearless in like a-" he motioned with his hands, "-casual way."

"I'm not fearless," you argue, approaching the door to the cafeteria, "-I'm just confident."

"Do they not go hand-in-hand?" Patrick offers, getting to the door before you and promptly holding it open for you -unflinchingly.

Something warm stirs in your stomach at the gesture (and his woodsy scent that brushes your nose as you walk past him), but you ignore it, "You can be certain and still be afraid."

"But knowing you're right doesn't necessarily mean-" Patrick followed you in, matching your stride again, as if it's natural, "-that you're confident."

You furrow your eyebrows, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

He paused, maybe a little shocked by your attentiveness, "Plenty of people know they're right and still concede to someone else because they don't want to fight it. You-" he pointed at you, "-will fight it."

"Well," you purse your lips, avoiding his eye contact, "-maybe I'm only like this with you."

"You," Patrick paused, "-You're not this fiery ball of rage with anyone else?"

You eye him for a second, before saying flatly, "Maybe."

"All of this seething hatred and impressive indifference just for me?" He grins, the big teeth-showing kind, "-I'm touched really. Because I am special to you in some weird kinda twisted way-"

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh at his words -just a quick one. Barely there.

But you could still see the delight smooth along his face, and just knew he caught it.

"How much of that have you been holding back?" He tilted his head curiously, before continuing to push it, smirking, "-Oh I bet you think I'm hilarious."

Your heart skipped a beat at the smirk, and you simply pressed your lips together and turned on your heel to the food counter. There wasn't even a second before you heard footsteps following you.

"You're not denying it, you know," he called after you, close on your tail.

You peer over the selection of food, eyeing the different items thoughtfully, "But I didn't confirm it either."

"Still not denying it," Patrick hummed, sing-songy.

"You know," you turn to him (mindlessly noting that he is very close), sharply, "-someone can have one good joke and still be unfunny."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes set on yours -challenging, "Then tell me why it came out like you were holding it back?"

You blinked at him, once and then twice, the sudden closeness sent a shock through your brain and the challenging tone of his voice nearly gave you full-body shivers. You can't find words to say, and you can nearly see it processing on Patrick's face (the way that he had made your mind melt for a moment), so you turn to the counter and point at something random for them to pick out for you.

The woman eyes the two of you suspiciously, but still diligently pulls out a to-go plate and piles the... mashed potatoes onto it.

"Oh my god," he finally says after a moment (you ignore it).

You go through a few other items, and the woman gathers them onto the plate. You pay, grab your plate-

"You like me," Patrick retorts, and you're not even looking at him but you can tell he's got a shit-eating grin.

Your brain malfunctions for a moment, but you step toward the tables and fire back (on autopilot), "I won't even tell you my name."

He's hot on your trail, following you diligently, "You're avoiding the question."

You spin to him, and reply -sharply, "You didn't ask a question."

His eyes flicker along your face, taking you in (you want to squirm but you steel yourself in place -your eyes now challenging), and then he grins so bright that you'd need sunglasses in any other scenario.

"Oh, you're really into me," he continues, low, gravelly, accented voice rumbling through your ears.

You screw up your face into something defiant, roll your eyes, and turn back to slide into a table. Patrick follows you like a lost puppy. Well, an incredibly arrogant lost puppy.

"You're still not denying it," he slides into the chair beside you and you hate the way your brain swims at the woodsy smell that brushes your nose.

"'Thought you were hungry," you say, simply (avoiding the question and decidedly not denying).

"It was very obviously a ploy," Patrick chimed back, with natural ease -tilting his head slightly and looking at you with twinkling eyes, "-They had pizza out there for all the players. I've already eaten."

Your fork froze for a millisecond (even still, you were sure he caught it), and after a moment, you pulled it to your lips. Maybe conquering both of your lack of response and the way your mind lit up at the idea of 'he just wanted to see me'.

His smile and eyes seemed to soften slightly, as he leaned his head down to catch your eye and guide it back up to your natural gaze (your heart skipped a beat). His brown eyes were soft and if you were honest, maybe a little affectionate.

"What's your name?" He finally said after a soft few moments.

And just like that, for you, the moment snapped, and you rolled your eyes -turning back to your food.

"Oh, come on," Patrick tried to catch your gaze again, "-Look, I'll tell you. Patrick Verona. That's my name-"

You bit down a smile, as he motioned to you with his hands.

"-Now, your turn, tell me yours."

You raised an eyebrow.

Patrick let out a half-laugh, before leaning forward slightly on the table -not quite a breath away, but certainly closer.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed, "-I'll beg. You want me to beg?"

You can't help but let the smile slip onto your lips then, "Why would you beg for my name?"

"Because I want it," he pointed out, still grinning "-Because I want to know you, and personally, I think it should start with a name."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you let your fork hang there on the path to your face. You took a moment, scampered your eyes along his face (dark brown eyes so incredibly soft, curls coming down from where he put them up in individual tendrils). Your resolve was weakening, it was really and truly broken under Patrick Verona's hand.

Stupid pretty boys-

"Y/N," you said finally (quieter than intended), immediately pulling a bite to your mouth.

Patrick blinked, "What?"

"'S my name," you explain -shortly, moving a hand in front of your mouth as you chew, "-Y/N."

His eyes lit up at the words, that stupid charming grin smoothing onto his face as he repeated, softer than expected, "Y/N."

You shove down the fluster that begs to climb up your cheeks at his accented voice saying your name. It's something you'd never really thought about but now that it's said, you probably should've thought about it.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyes still set on you. He was still grinning, as he said simply, "Suits you."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing to himself, "Jesus, you're a true ball of rage, you know 'at?"

"I'm not-" you huff out, and take a deep breath in, "-I'm not mad."

"Defensive then," he mends, "-You act as though I'm about to strike any minute."

You pursed your lips, "Whose to say you aren't?"

"Me," Patrick laughs, "-This entire conversation. The way I've acted around you since the beginning-"

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your lips, "-you were an asshole once."

He groaned, but something like amusement was twinkling in his eyes, "You are the most stubborn human being on this earth-"

"You took my spot," you interrupt, sturdy.

"-It's public property," Patrick argued back, "-and how was I supposed to know it was yours before I sat in it?"

You paused, for a moment, before saying, "You couldn't. But, you could have given it to me when I asked."

"And then we wouldn't be here," he explained, now fully grinning, "-and wouldn't that just be such a bore."

Your eyes swam over his face a moment, Patrick Verona. And his dumb persistence. And his stupid handsome face-

God.

You let out a long sigh, picking around at your food. Eyes watching the swirl of your fork, you debate a few different things to say. Finally, after a few spare seconds, you made up your mind.

"Yeah," you hum, flickering your eyes up to his, "-it would."

Patrick grinned, big and bright and twinkly (you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest). His eyes, the deep brown that if you weren't careful you could stare at for way too long, were soft but still sort of happy, eager. Definitely eager.

And maybe, just maybe, you could get used to-

"I told you I could work on the 'stranger' thing," he suddenly said, smirking, "-You never should've doubted me."

"What?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You said-" Patrick explained, "-you don't give your name out to strangers. And I said I could work on that part-"

You level a look at him.

"-And look, I did," he continued, before adding with a smirk, "-I have successfully escaped the cavernous barrier, deeper than the ocean I'd say, that walls you off from any poor soul who wishes to know you-"

"You're really pushing it, Verona," you chime back, fiery (but not quite all the way).

"What?" He raised his eyebrows, like he said nothing at all to warrant the reaction, "-You can't tell me that it's not like pulling teeth getting to know you. Or trying to anyway-"

You press your lips onto a flat line, "Wow, you must be a sort of masochist, then?

He faltered for a second, before laughing a little, "Oh absolutely, I chase the high of you ignoring me for 2 hours straight every day."

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile, "I despise you."

"Better that than indifferent," he responded with ease, "-I prefer you feeling something rather than nothing at all."

"Oh my god-"

It continued like that, a back and forth, as you finish eating your mediocre cafeteria lunch. The silence is sparse but not uncomfortable when Patrick isn't running his mouth, that is. It was nice. Insanely nice. You'd probably never had as much fun on this campus as you did with him, just in general, but...

"Same time Wednesday?" He poses with a cheeky grin, leaning onto one hand against the table -closer to you than before.

You felt something warm swirl into your stomach, as your eyes flickered over his face. He was still smiling, like he wasn't able to stop when he was here with you. And something in you never wanted to see it go away anyway.

So, with a slight head tilt and a brighter grin than what you'd let slip past all day, you repeated.

"Same time Wednesday."

[grunckle]

Watcher lore already

“A lonely, lost slugcat scrambles through the ravages of a warped world.

When the dirt beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew...or dive into the unknown?”

I was conflicted when I first saw the modded content, particularly for the lore aspect. But it’s been confirmed not only James is helping with all the lore, (which apparently is taking on the more esoteric sides of Rain World) but the whole Videocult team is getting together!

Heres Cappin, one of the downpour devs, talking about writing the lore for The Watcher.

And Andrew talking about Videocult’s involvement.

But anyway I’ll talk about some things I noticed.

This area looks like some sort of Memory Crypt. You have the large ornate boxes that heavily resemble cabinet beasts.

And, in the sky you can see an Underhang-like structure.

Now as for the ripple effect around The Watcher, I have a few theories. There’s certainly echo-relation, (the golden flakes around them basically confirms that) but I don’t think The Watcher is an echo in a typical sense. Instead they peer into a higher reality, maybe the one echos reside in.

Inside the ripples are gold tendrils, or strings, heavily implying the void relation. Though I’m not sure what they are exactly.

But I think Watcher will experience a, “pulling back of the curtain” in some way. In the warped world, we see glimpses of the true nature of reality. Maybe it’s all just a fleeting ripple across the Void, some big revelation like that.

As for why it’s in a Memory Crypt, I already wrote an extensive post on the importance of memory, more specifically qualia, in Rain World so if you want to check that out here’s the link.

As a side note, if this is the underside of an Iterator, I doubt they’re still alive. We see no other iterators still standing above the clouds in a Steam page screenshot.

Anyway this is really exciting! One of the more disappointing aspects of Downpour for me was that they mostly retread on the same story events and themes without adding too much. So it’s a breath of fresh air to explore different, more esoteric aspects of Rain World lore. And having the whole Videocult team return to Rain World is incredibly exciting. I’ll be tentatively awaiting more news.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter One

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Everyday, you woke up and performed the steps necessary to complete your routine. It was monotonous, like clockwork, as you traveled down the tracks laid out for you since birth. With a mind uncontested, you found yourself graduating college before you were legally an adult, and at the behest of your controlling parents, you continued on to medical school, then further on into a surgical residency at a nearby hospital. You had always wanted to help people and this was the best way to do it.

So, why, with everything you had ever wanted at your fingertips, were you so unhappy?

Maybe that was why when you awoke in the past, surrounded by farmland instead of your blankets that you decided to ‘just roll with it’ rather than scream. That was your motto now as you were unceremoniously dropped from your assigned path onto untrodden ground with no hope of going back. So, even when you saved the life of a soldier and were carted off into the heart of the corrupt Roman Empire to be the twin emperor’s new physician, you barely batted an eye.

After all, you would do anything to save your patients.

Tags: Time travel, transmasc reader, no use of y/n, eventual polyamory, no incest, period-typical attitudes, Caracalla doesn’t have syphilis but he has PTSD, mentions of slavery, both historical accuracy and historical inaccuracy, obsessive behavior, eventual smut in later parts, medical inaccuracies,

Read on AO3

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Part Two

Authors Note: Hiiiiiii, I’m back at it again, starting another fic. Those freaky gingers have bewitched me, let me tell you. Anyway, some important things to note about this little fanfiction that I feel the need to clarify before we get into the real meat and potatoes.

First and foremost, Geta and Caracalla won’t show up until chapter two. Maybe even chapter three, it depends on how much more set up I write, so if you want to wait ‘till then to read this, you’re welcome to :3

Two, and very important, unlike my other fics where the reader is trans, but referred to with they/them pronouns or neutral language, this main character will be referred to with he/him pronouns and masculine language in the text because, as a plot point, they are assumed to be a cis man. Along with this, they have three descriptions in the text. They have dyed green hair — original hair color shan’t be mentioned — they have top surgery scars, and they have a vagina. I miiiiight make an accidental reference to heights (ex. ‘ooked up at him/looked down at him) but I will try my hardest to not.

While their real name will never be mentioned in text for self-insertion purposes, Geta and Caracalla come up with the nickname ‘Alga’ for them due to their green hair. It means ‘seaweed’ in Latin. It also means ‘something of little worth.’ :) So, that is how they’ll be referred to. Generally. It’s either that or ‘medicus’ or ‘physician’ or ‘you there.’

Third and finally, I am a huge nerd and fan when it comes to the Roman Empire. As a society, they have a bunch of hangups, taboos, and beliefs, mostly around sex, that I find incredibly funny and will pepper in here and there. I will try to make this fic as historically accurate as I possibly can using all the resources I have at my disposal (google, a few academic texts, and my best friend whose studying classical history) but there’s no guarantee I get all of it right. Half the reason I’m using a modern character as the main POV is so they have an excuse not to know things 😭 Also when it comes to conjugation of Latin words, please, PLEASE give me leeway, I haven’t taken a Latin class since high school.

All that said, I hope whoever reads this fic enjoys it, because that is my main goal. Writing is seriously a passion of mine and my favorite part about it is sharing it with people. That means YOU person reading this, I think you’re awesome.

Okay I’m done talking, on with the show!!

Chapter One ///

This dream sucked — because that was what this was, a very bad dream — and, if you had to guess, it was the worst dream you had ever had in your life. Which was saying something. As a surgical resident who did most of their studying in a hospital, you were chronically sleep deprived and had a lot of stressful material to work with. Whatever aid you used to help you get some semblance of rest had a tendency to give you weird dreams. Very, very weird dreams. You had a few recurring ones, like being chased by a sentient pool noodle — whatever that meant — and several where the ghosts of your patients blamed you for their deaths — far more self explanatory than the pool noodle — but none quite like this one.

Out of everything you had ever experienced in your bleak and desolate mindscape, this dream was long and boring. That was its only crime. Along with being terrifyingly vivid, of course, which you didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about. If you were any less logical, you’d almost be convinced this was reality. That you had woken up in a small farming village, close enough to the capital of one of the most infamous ancient empires that you could see it on the horizon. Sometimes, when the sun set, you would stare at the shadow of Rome dancing upon the skyline. It was beautiful, albeit impossible. Sure, the people who surrounded you only spoke Latin, and they didn’t trust you as far as they could throw you, but it wasn’t as if that mattered. Soon, you would awake in your bed, one day closer to your exam and the beginning of the rest of your life.

Why did the thought only fill you with a sinking sense of dread? Being a doctor was everything you had ever worked for. Helping people, saving people, it was your purpose, the very reason you were born with your exceptional mind. It was your destiny, so why did it feel like you were marching to the gallows?

You shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Focus on the present, focus on the dream, it was far easier than the constant ever present march of time. It was why you were so certain that the predicament was a figment of your imagination. Time hated you, constantly pulling on your leash, dragging your forward even as you dug your heels into the muck. It would never, never move backwards. Not for you.

Never for you.

A low groan of despair rumbled in your throat as you tried your best to wash your filthy scrubs in a nearby river. The water wasn’t murky, but it wasn’t clear either. Unsurprising, considering the nearby village used this water for practically everything. They were close enough to the city to have access to aqueducts, carrying waste hopefully further downstream. You were determined not to think about it. Any other denizen of this small settlement would wash their clothes themselves. The village was too small for a fullonica, and you were pretty sure they were mostly meant for the wealthy. That said, you also knew that Romans used urine to wash clothes — thank you to the ancient civilization classes you took for fun — and you’d be damned before you let a random person’s piss touch your scrubs.

Outside of work, at least.

With your pants rolled up to your knees as you waded deeper into the water, you continued to do what you could to clean the few clothes you had on you. Considering you only had a little bottle of soap you stole from a hotel a few months ago, it was easier said than done. You wanted to ration what you had in case this dream went on for much longer. Just because this was a fictional scenario conjured by your stress addled mind didn’t mean you weren't going to go about things logically. You had already been asleep for three days now, who knew how much longer this neverending dream would last? Perhaps forever. The thought of avoiding reality as you waste away in your bed was far more comforting than it should have been.

A loud shout echoed to your right and you fought the urge to shoot a nasty glare at the <i>obviously</i> young soldiers goofing off several yards away. Well, young was a strong word, they were the same age as you. Probably. You couldn’t really tell considering how staunch you were in your decision to not make eye contact. Out of the handful of men playing in the water, they were all naked. It wasn’t that nudity bothered you, you were studying healthcare for Christ’s sake, it was the unfortunate fact that soaking wet, muscular hunks were a particular weakness of yours. You weren’t sure the soldiers would appreciate your ogling, the villagers already avoided you like the plague. Judging by the dirty looks you received from some of the, unfortunately armed and notoriously xenophobic men, they’d heard enough about you to be wary.

You let out another sigh, your scrubbing becoming a tad more vigorous. Soapy bubbles rose to the surface of the water and your face was screwed up in concentration.

This particular Roman century had arrived at the village only a half-day after you did. From what you could pick up from eavesdropping, instead of being sent to North Africa to get a little conquering done, their legion was shipped to Gaul to put an end to some dissent. Once that was over, the officer in charge received orders to head back to Rome so they could be sent to North Africa with the rest of the troops. They had only stopped at the village for a last bit of rest before their next assignment. Or something. You had been noticed, and you had scurried off the second you realized you were caught.

Letting out a small huff, you examined your scrubs and decided that they were as clean as they would get. Once you were back at shore, you wrung out the fabric the best you could before laying them flat on a rock beside the only other outfit you had, aside from the one you were wearing, to dry in the sun. Another bark of laughter drew your eye to the soldiers playing like schoolboys in the river. Weren’t these men hardened warriors of one of the most regimented militaries to exist? Surely, they should be more disciplined. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that caused your lips to twitch upwards. Even thousands of years in the past, and in your dreams, humans were the same as they had always been.

The sun was warm, hanging overhead like an unripe cherry tomato. You closed your eyes to bask in it a bit more than necessary. Your skin prickled, indicating that there were eyes on you, though you didn’t particularly care. No footsteps approached you and the sound of laughter didn’t stop, so you figured you were safe enough to show your belly. You didn’t realize you had laid down until you felt grass tickle the back of your neck. Perhaps a little nap wouldn’t hurt. A dream within a dream would be rather funny, you thought as you fell into a light doze, lulled by the sound of soldiers playing.

You didn’t know how long you slept for. It was the sound of panic that woke you, sending you upright so fast, your head spun. The first thing you noticed was the merriment had stopped and had given way to an oppressive sense of desperation. You looked in the direction you had been avoiding all day to see a gaggle of soldiers, some clothed, some naked, dragging an unconscious body onto shore. One man was running with his tunic halfway over his head in the direction of the village, yelling for the centurion in charge. You were moving before you could stop yourself.

“Make way! Make way!” Your Latin was shaky, but not the worst in the world. While you were sure your accent was strange, you knew you were at least understandable as some of the men turned to block you from getting any closer. They didn’t look particularly pleased at your arrival, eyeing both your hair and your odd attire with an air of skepticism. You didn’t have time for this. “I am a doctor. A physician. I can help him, we must act fast.”

One of the soldiers raised a singular thick eyebrow. “A physician, you say? You look like no medicus I have ever seen.”

“Does that really matter?!” You shouted, your voice a harsh bark. The longer this went on, the less of a chance you had to save this man. While you were nervous to plow through the wall of stout muscle that blocked you from your prospective patient, you realized you might have to.

The soldier looked like he wanted to say something more, when an authoritative voice broke through the ranks. “Let the man through! We have lost too many as is without losing another to a few hours of games.”

Every head snapped in the direction of whoever spoke. All except yours. The second you saw a gap in the crowd, you slid through and fell to your knees beside the drowned man, the one you determined to save.

First thing you did was check for responsiveness. It was out of habit mostly. A tap on the shoulder, a shout, another tap. He didn’t respond, that was unsurprising.

When you checked for a pulse, you found none, so you began chest compressions. Placing your hands together on his chest, arms straight, you began to push. The rhythm came to you naturally — you had made sure to pay attention in class, and this wasn’t the first time you had done this. Despite the fact that you knew no support was coming, that if you couldn’t get this man back by yourself, he would die, your head remained clear.

Do not lose sight of your goal, do not lose hope, go until you can’t anymore.

After thirty compressions, you took a deep breath, pinched his nose shut, and tilted his head back, placing your mouth over his. You heard a few gasps, and even a cry of disgust as you pulled back to push another breath into his lungs. Determined to pay the growing crowd no mind, you placed your hands on his chest and began to pump his heart again.

This went on for… like with your nap, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were drenched in sweat, your arms were sore, and your breath coming out in harsh pants. Thirty more compressions, you inhaled a ragged breath and pushed oxygen into his lungs once more. If this didn’t work, you’d have to call it.

There was a hand on your chest, shoving you away, a watery cough filling your mouth with spittle before the drowned man flailed back to life. You didn’t take offense to the harsh treatment. He had woken up to a kiss. That would startle anyone. You rolled him over on his side and rubbed his back as he hacked up a lungful of murky water and whatever he had eaten for breakfast.

“You’re back,” You muttered softly, as comforting as you could. “Breathe. Slow and steady. It feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

The man met your eyes, his own a startling shade of honey, a confused, but grateful, smile on his lips. “I thought I was gone.”

“Yeah, we all thought that!” A soldier with a shaved head nudged him roughly with his toe. “Medicus here worked a miracle with his lips.”

A hand reached down to clasp your shoulder, shaking you firmly, if not playfully. You looked up to see a man with floppy blond curls grinning down at the man you just saved, his lips pursed. “The kiss of life!”

You let a small, uncomfortable laugh titter from your mouth. Being surrounded by so many people was awkward, and their banter was even more so. You felt entirely out of place. Rather than focus on that, you fixed your attention back on the man you saved.

“What’s your name?”

“Sextus Aelius,” He answered, voice hoarse.

With a small smile, you gestured to another soldier to hand you a nearby tunic. Sextus — you wouldn’t laugh about his name, you wouldn’t — had begun to shiver, even in the hot sun, and you wanted to keep him warm. Not to mention he was still naked. You tried not to study him too much, focusing on the sharpness of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose rather than his nudity.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sextus, I am—” You were cut off by a cacophony of noise, a few whistles interspersed within. A bit of heat rose to your face when you saw Sextus’ bewildered expression. “I fear I have made a blunder.”

To your relief, he merely laughed. “Aelius. Call me Aelius.”

“Right. I apologize, Aelius. How do you feel?”

Once you had given him the tunic, he slipped it on over his head, covering his modesty — not that anyone but you seemed to care all that much about it. When he stood, two men came to his side to steady him. Despite this, he still offered you his hand. It would be rude to deny him, though you didn’t feel comfortable accepting help from a man who had been, by many’s standards, dead a few minutes before. You gave him a small smile and pushed yourself to stand on your own.

“I could be better.” His grin was lopsided, the boyish kind that showed off his teeth. It was endearing enough for you to be proud of saving a good man, rather than a mere man. When he spoke next, there was no small amount of awe in his voice. “You saved my life, I am not sure if that is something I can repay.”

A snort pulled from your throat as you waved him off. “No repayment necessary, I only did what needed to be done.”

Aelius looked about to argue when he paled, his gaze flickering behind you. There was a creeping sensation of unease crawling up your spine, similar to when you had earned your parents displeasure. Standing behind you was a presence, one with enough authority to cause the men around you to stand at attention.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem directed at you. For now.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? I allow a bit of slacking off and you go and die on me?” It was the voice from before, the one who commanded his men to let you through. Taking a guess, you’d say this man was the centurion leading this particular century back to Rome. You didn’t dare look behind you, you didn’t dare move. Anything to keep his frustration off of you. It didn’t last long. A large hand clasped you on the shoulder, grip firm, but not harsh. “And to be saved by a foreigner! You should be on your knees thanking him for whatever trick on the gods he played at your behest.”

“That is unnecessary,” You tried to argue, only for the centurion to give you another shake.

“A humble medicus at that! Lucky boy! Very, very lucky!” He let go of you and gestured for Aelius to be taken elsewhere. “To the tents with you while I think of a suitable punishment. No man has died and lived to tell the tale on my watch, so I must be creative.”

Aelius, at least, looked ashamed, though the man with the floppy blond hair leaned down to whisper in his ear, a smirk dancing on his lips. Whatever was said earned him an elbow to the ribs. Men never change.

Before they could get too far, you found your voice. “Monitor him through the night! Fetch me if he stops breathing again!”

It was only once you heard the affirmative did you relax. Which lasted a moment before the centurion turned you around so you were facing him. His gaze was hard and his arms were crossed over his chest. Unlike the men before, the centurion was wearing his full armor, save for his helmet, another thing you were thankful for. You were not easily intimidated, but this man? He could crack you like a peanut.

After a moment of sizing you up, his eyes trailing from your clothes, so different from his own, with trousers instead of a tunic and a graphic t-shirt in an alphabet he knew, but words he couldn’t understand, to your green dyed hair. He didn’t seem impressed. In fact, he seemed suspicious.

“Lucius Marianus.” Unfurling one of his hands, he held it for you to shake.

With an awkward smile, you took his hand and introduced yourself. His grip grew a bit tighter at the sound of your obviously foreign name. You fought the urge to run away.

“A pleasure, Marianus.” This time, you called him by his second name, determined not to make the same mistake as earlier with a less forgiving man.

“Where are you from?” Quick and to the point, you could respect that. Logically, you knew that this wasn’t real, that ultimately, this was your dream and you held all the power, but there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you to be careful. “Are you a citizen, a slave, or a free-man?”

Licking your dry lips, you let your hand fall to your side, shoving it in your pocket before Marianus could see that you had begun to shake. “I am from a country far away. Across the western sea, farther than any have ever gone. I am a citizen of my country, but not of Rome, and I am no slave, so I suppose that makes me a free-man.”

“You suppose?” He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I ‘suppose’ I won’t assume you’re a liar and a runaway. If I hadn’t just witnessed that…” Marianus paused, searching for the right word, and you hoped it would be one you recognized. “Technique of yours, I would figure just that. Tell me, medicus, what exactly did you do to one of my men?”

“I, uh…” Your tongue felt too big for your mouth. Whatever answer you gave this man, it better be satisfactory. All you could hope for was that the truth would be enough. “His heart was no longer beating, so I pressed upon his chest as hard as I could in the same rhythm that his heart would take.”

Marianus nodded, his expression contemplative. “And the kiss?”

“It was not a kiss!” The words burst forth before you could stop them, your face flaring even hotter. This entire conversation was reminiscent of one you would have with your father, and Marianus’ disapproval was getting to you more than it should. “I was breathing air into his lungs. I inhale, pinch his nose shut so the air doesn’t escape through his sinuses, and then blow into his mouth. If his chest rises, I am doing the procedure correctly.”

“Still, an intimate gesture to bestow upon a stranger.” His lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. You got the feeling he was teasing you now. “From what I can gather, this technique of yours mimics the functions of life in order to coaxe the spirit back into its vessel.”

You blinked, opening your mouth to argue with scientific facts. A beat passed before you snapped your jaw shut with an audible click. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth. “I, uh, yes. It does. That is exactly it. You are a very intelligent man, Marianus, perhaps a career in medicine is calling your name.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, medicus.”

An awkward grimace pulled at your lips. “Right.”

Marianus was both unmoved and undeterred by your lame response. You expected him to leave you be. After all, despite the fact that you saved one of his men from drowning, you were still an outsider to both the village, the army, and Rome. In your head, he owed you nothing, all you did was your duty and you expected nothing in return. Marianus seemed to think otherwise.

“Where have you been sleeping, medicus?” With a sharp nod of his head, he gestured to your duffel bag and drying clothes. “I assume outside in the heat considering how poorly you are spoken of in town. Looking and speaking as you do, it’s no wonder anyone is hesitant to even allow you to sleep in their barn.” Again, the edges of his mouth curled upwards. “You are far more useful than previously anticipated. For once, I am happy to have my assumptions proven false.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Fetch your belongings, there are more men waiting to be your patients back at camp.”

You blinked, dumbfounded, before a sharp raise of Marianus’ black eyebrows broke you from your spell. If there were more people to be treated, you didn’t have to be told twice. With a bit of pep in your step, excited to have something to do rather than waste away in tedium, you stuffed your, now dry, clothes into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Marianus eyed it with no small amount of reservation.

“Do you carry any weapons?”

You thought about your taser and pepper spray tactically placed in an easy to reach pocket on the side. “No. As a doctor, I consider myself a pacifist.”

Marianus snorted. “A good way to die.”

“Better to die giving life than taking it,” You replied easily. This wasn’t a lie. While you didn’t fault other’s for violence — how could you fault human nature? — you would rather heal before harm. A part of you hoped to balance the scales, do enough good to make the bad seem worth it. It was a lofty goal, one you tried not to dwell on. So long as you managed to help even a single person in your life, you would be happy, though you’d never confine yourself to such a meager goal. “If you don’t mind me asking, do your men not already have a doctor to treat them? Why take on a stranger’s help?”

“We did. He is no longer with us.”

You frowned. “A shame. Lose one soldier, and you only lose one man. Lose a doctor and your losses double. I never met him, but I’ll remember him fondly.”

“You’re soft. It’s a shame.” His words made you raise your eyebrows, and, when you looked at him, there was pity in his dark eyes, though it was only there for a second.

Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you in the direction of the camp. With few trees in sight, only lush farms and tall grass, the countryside was a sight to behold. You glanced over your shoulder to see the river and the village disappearing in the distance. While the road the two of you walked on was dirt, it was well trodden, no stones or holes to trip over. This truly was the Roman Empire. How your mind managed to conjure an image so beautiful and so unmistakably alien was beyond you.

“Has there been anyone caring for the injured?” You asked.

“Our veterinarius has been doing what he can, though I don’t like it. These are men, not animals.” To punctuate his displeasure, Marianus spit on the ground.

You nodded placatingly as you approached the first cluster of tents. Some of the soldiers recognized you, though you didn’t recognize them in return. Word traveled fast when you save someone’s life, you supposed. “I’m sure he’s doing his best.”

“His best is not enough,” Marianus grumbled.

Before you could respond, the stench of infection and sick filled your senses. If you hadn’t done clinicals or worked in healthcare while you completed your studies, it would have caught you off guard. Instead of blanching, you took your last deep breath of clean air, and braced yourself as much as you could. Marianus almost seemed impressed by the determination on your face as you pulled back the flap of the tent, joining a frazzled looking man — the veterinarius, you assumed — in his rounds.

All you could do was your best, and you intended for that to be enough.

Even as a student, you had steeled your heart to the worst suffering had to offer. Growing up as you did, with parents more interested in results than feelings, it became all too easy to turn off your bleeding heart and do what was necessary. By now, it was as simple as breathing.

Your bedside manner was gentle as you helped a few men, too injured to move, drink water from a ladle. If you were any less busy, you would have insisted it be boiled. Marianus would likely scold you, it was unrealistic for an entire century to boil water for every sick man, let alone every soldier, no matter how sound your advice was. Posca would do for now, as it always had.

For hours, you worked tirelessly, cleaning wounds and calming fevers. You were lucky modern medicine wasn’t all that you studied. In order to help as many people as you could, you focused on ancient and holistic practices as well, though you had an easy preference for the tried and true methods. There was no denying that you were a medical prodigy, a genius for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t that you had an ego — well, maybe you did — it was the fact that it was the truth. You had graduated college before you had turned eighteen and gone through medical school soon after. Right now, you were the youngest student going through their surgical residency in your state, perhaps even the country if you dared to let your pride swell. All of this, your parents would call their doing, that you would be nothing without their guidance.

You grimaced in the middle of setting a skinny man’s broken arm. Better not think about them now, it would only serve to stress you out even further. For all your skill, you caught yourself floundering inside the medical tent, Marianus watching from the entrance as you flitted from patient to patient, and the veterinarius sitting back to take a much needed break. While you had some supplies on you — a stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer, a Taylor hammer, none of which you’d utilized yet, a bottle of antiseptic, some ibuprofen, and three clean syringes — it wasn’t enough for you to feel comfortable. Which was ridiculous, this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted.

Then again, if that was true, then why were you fumbling through even simple procedures? You didn’t feel comfortable using more invasive methods, not unless you had no other choice. The likelihood of survival was low, even with your steady hands. Perhaps this was a nightmare, a look into what life will be like once you were done with your schooling. Your slumbering mind was preparing you to be the failure you were always meant to be.

Shaking your head, you focused your attention back on your patient. No one seemed to notice your lapse, not even you. You were quite good at multitasking, mixing self-deprecation with stringent work ethic like a talented seamster. The skinny man was lucky it was a clean break, and even luckier, it wasn’t his humerus, which would have been more complicated given your lack of equipment. A bit of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood, surveying the men around you. You had done well given the circumstances, but you still couldn’t help but feel as though it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

Even dreaming, you felt tired.

Three men had infected wounds. One was oozing pus, which apparently was a good thing according to the veterinarius and Marianus, though you still took care to clean the wound thoroughly. Another man had a fever due to the infection, and, after washing your hands, you took care to clean it as the other. After much reassurance that it wasn’t poison to Marianus — consisting of taking one yourself — you also gave him an ibuprofen for his fever, though you decided you were going to ration them unless it was an emergency. The third man was a bit harder, enough necrotic tissue forming around the infection that you considered surgery. For now, you introduced maggots to the area, a treatment Marianus seemed to approve of, if not with some disgust. In the morning, you would check the wound, and then surgically remove the decayed flesh if the maggots didn’t do enough.

Four men had broken bones, one, his arm, another, his finger, and two, their leg. That was simple enough, if not time consuming getting all the bone fragments to set properly. While you would have much preferred a cast to a splint, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

That wasn’t even to mention the handful of other men with various ailments that filled the tent. Apparently there was someone quarantined elsewhere, suffering from dysentery. According to the veterinarius, the treatment for that particular disease was rest, fasting, and dehydration, which you were in the middle of giving him strict instructions to keep the man as hydrated as possible, it didn’t matter how quickly he discharged it, he needed to be drinking as much water as he could. You didn’t hold out much hope he’d make it, though you’d be damned before you gave up on someone who needed you.

It wasn’t until Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you towards the tent’s exit did you realize how exhausted you were. Your eyes burned and your head throbbed. If you were any less of a man, you would have taken one of your ibuprofen to ease the dull ache in your temples. Ultimately, you decided against it. If there came a time when they were necessary and you had run out because of your own weakness, you would never forgive yourself.

“You did well, medicus. Better than I expected, you are very skilled at what you do,” Marianus said as he led you deeper into camp. By now, it was dark, well into the night too judging from the full moon directly overhead.

How long had you been working?

“Thank you. I am usually better than that. I fear my nerves of being in such an unfamiliar country are getting to me.” With the heel of your palm, you scrubbed at your face.

Marianus frowned down at you. “Keep your foreignness to yourself, medicus and you will go far. Though, that will be hard to do with hair like yours.” He looked you up and down, hesitant curiosity creeping into his features. “That strange color… it is not natural, is it?”

A laugh bubbled from your throat. “No, I dyed it. Green is a color I am rather fond of.”

“I am fond of red, but you do not see me painting my hair that color,” He grumbled under his breath, and it reminded you so much of the comments some of your superiors made, that you giggled.

Before you could respond, he gestured to a tent with an outstretched arm. A lantern was on inside, casting the shadow of the single occupant, who was busy sitting cross-legged and writing what seemed to be a letter. While you had reservations of interrupting, Marianus did not.

“Out here, now, boy!” The shadow visibly jumped before pulling back the flap to reveal Aelius. He looked as tired as you did, and truthfully, he stank to high heaven. You struggled not to wrinkle your nose so as not to offend him. Aelius seemed like a nice man.

“Sir?” Was all he managed before Marianus continued to bark his next set of orders.

“Since the two of you were acquainted earlier, and the fact that you were supposed to be monitored, you’ll be bunking together. In the morning, we set a course for Rome.”

You blinked. Did that include you? While you wouldn’t mind getting out of the village and seeing more of what this dream had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of uncertainty. There was no telling how long this dream would go on, nor how vast it was. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you strolled ‘out of bounds,’ so to speak. Would you be trapped in an infinite void until you awoke? The thought was enough to send a chill down your spine.

“And I will remain here,” You finally said.

Marianus barked out a laugh. “No. You will join us. I still have a use for you.”

As much as you didn’t want to abandon your current patients, you would rather not push your luck any further than you already had. Crossing your arms, you met Marianus’ furrowed brows with your own. “And that use would be?”

To your right, Aelius made a little noise. Your gaze flickered over to him, catching his motion for you to cease, before you ignored it and fixated back on Marianus. He was looking at you like you’d lost your mind. At least enough to question him. A bit of discomfort made your skin itch, you always hated earning the negative attention of a superior.

For a moment, you feared that Marianus would yell at you until the sun rose. He puffed up, shoulders squaring and his lower jaw jutting out before he deflated with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his angular nose. “You are too soft for the army, medicus, and you are too foreign to hope to set up your own clinic, especially without citizenship. There is very little hope for you in the Empire.”

You looked away, feeling cold even as a summer’s breeze blew against your skin. An argument began to boil in the back of your throat, an insistence that this was a dream, so none of that mattered, but you managed to swallow that poison before it could spew out of you.

Marianus paused, waiting for you to respond. When all he received was a defeated look, he continued, “There is, however, hope for both me and you. The emperors require a new physician and I believe they would be taken by your skill and your…” He looked at your hair again. “Novelty. In return for discovering you, if they choose to take you on, me and my men will be rewarded.”

“I see,” You muttered. Perhaps this was the route your dream wanted you to take. At the end of it all, there was sure to be a lesson or even a vision of sorts that could help you in reality. All you had to do to get it was allow the plot to pull you forward. “And Rome is not far?”

Marianus’ features softened, bordering on fondness, guilt, and pity. “Barely a day’s march, medicus.”

“I will go, then. To Rome with me, I suppose.” Though you smiled, when you turned to Aelius, he stared at you as if you’d been sentenced to death.

—————————————-

Tag list: @snazzynacho

[myeyesarebiggerthanmybladder]

Introducing myself to the many people of Tumblr!

Hello! Depending on the time zone of whoever is reading this, it could be morning, afternoon, evening or night, so I thought a simple greeting would suffice -- otherwise I would of course have said "good evening". I should also note to myself that not everybody will read this at the same time, so even if time zones were not a problem it could still cause issues to mention a particular time in my introduction. I will try to keep this as concise as possible so as to account for the fact that blocks of text are difficult to read on a screen as well as the unfortunate fact that people's attention spans are decreasing almost by the day. I myself struggle to pay attention to something for a long period of time unless that thing is of particular interest to me, so I understand how necessary it is to keep my words to a minimum. I suppose I should tell you my name here, which as you can see from the title of my blog is Akechi Touma. I won't tell you my age or the name of my school -- disclosing my full name is already a risky decision and revealing anything more would be incredibly careless thing to do! While lurking here I've noticed that many of my real-life acquaintances have chosen to share their location as part of their introduction and I must say that I shake my head whenever I see it. Internet safety is no joke, and revealing too much of your personal information online could have serious consequences! Fortunately I am someone who likes to keep things close to my chest, so I am fairly confident that I will be safe from stalkers or predators or anyone else who may wish to do me harm. Speaking of predators, if you do plan on saying anything lewd or "Not Safe For Work" in my inbox then I must ask that you refrain from interacting. I won't hesitate to block those who break this rule as it is one I take very seriously and I simply do not wish to deal with people like that. I sometimes wonder why these people don't have anything better to do, and how sad their life must be if their primary source of entertainment is making strangers uncomfortable over the internet. It's important to remember that those behind a screen are still real people, and your perverted or unkind words can affect them a great deal. That brings me to my second rule, which is that I kindly ask you to refrain from rude or bullying messages in my inbox. That sort of thing is incredibly unkind and can really bring a person's mood down -- although I do try not to let strangers' words affect me too much and have had plenty of experience with rather unpleasant people which has led me to develop a relatively thick skin. This, like the first rule, will result in an instant block if broken -- though I will devise a personal point system for how rude a message must be before I block the person sending it. Sometimes a person can be rude without intending to -- unfortunately people have told me that I tend to fall into this habit myself -- so I will endeavour to be as tolerant as possible. I don't think there are any more rules I need to mention, though if I think of any more I will be sure to add them!

TL;DR: no nsfw and no bullying! Otherwise, ask whatever you like.

OOC:

Hi it's @billiuspendragon again, this time with the Blorbo himself <3<3<3

To clarify on the rules -- I won't allow anything NSFW beyond the kinds of jokes that are in the canon of Saiki K. Akechi sometimes rambles about inappropriate things himself but I'll use my own common sense to figure out whether asks cross the line or not -- I'm not a minor but many people in this RP community are and I don't want to make them feel unsafe or uncomfortable.

I have quite a lot of RP blogs now so we'll see if I can keep this up lmao. I just really wanted to try roleplaying as my guy!

[thequietkid-moonie]

Would it be alright if you did a Violet Evergarden prompt with her finding her readers suicide letter that they wrote before they met her and forgot about?

Finding S/O's old suicide note

[ SCENARIO ] [ Violet Evergarden ]

I like a lot this prompt! It is incredibly comforting for me! It has being a while since last time i seriously thought about all this stuff but it is still comforting

Violet is really caring, she has problems dealing with her own feelings and expressing them but one thing is for sure, she want to spend her life with you!

Violet isn't really someone who likes to pry in your privacy, she decided to put her trust on you and want to believe that you will tell her the important things even if it takes you time, so for her to actually find the letter it has to be because she has a good motive to look throught your belongings and has your explicit permision otherwise she wouldn't even think on doing such thing

She didn't think much of it when she first saw the letter, even if the paper was folded she would hesitant for a moment before undoing it to see the content, besides if the paper was hide between some of your belongings she may asume thats is something private and she would almost simply let it where she found it or even directly ask you if it is anything important

The only reason why she end up reading it was because with a quick glance she noticed that it was a letter, by being a automemory doll she can understand the importance a letter can hold and she felt some sense of responsability, maybe it was a letter you didn't finished or you forgot to send and if that is the case she would like to help you finish the job, thats the only reason why she end up reading it

Violet end up reading the whole note at least twice because she simply cant understand it, she quickly get what the message means but she doesn't fully process the real meaning of it, or at least she doesn't want to fully understand it, it is clear that the note express despair and even a goodbye but still Violet has a hard time trying to understand, it is that someone else send it to you? Where you trying to say a farewell to someone? Why did you even wrote something like this?

Violet is so confused and even scare of what the note could truly mean that it would be stuck in her mind for a while, she isn't foreign to death but she is to the wish of a self inflicted dead, still her mind refuse to connect the dots for being so scare of losing you. This situation feels like it is eating her alive, she doesn't know how to react wich lead her to don't even know how to aproach the topic to you, but as time pass it would be more obvious how there is something bothering her

It is probably that she won't be able to express her worries until you decide to ask her about it because she doesn't even know how to ask about it, but once you do it becomes easier, still she will start by apologizing for reading a letter you wrote

As Violet start to express what have being troubling her it become more obvious how scare and confused she is, Violet is unable to fully understand the wish to die and is even asking you to please explain it to her because now she is scare of losing you

She tries her best to understand the feeling but that doesn't make her feel any more better, even when you clarify that that letter is something you wrote long ago and you have even forget about it she will not be able to calm down yet, she is way too scare of losing you to calm down, she wants to ask for more information to not only fully comprehend but also help you but at the same time is scare of triggering you by accident while asking

It will take Violet a while to finally accept the idea that those feelings are now just part of the past, even if you destroy the note she will need some reasurance and time, and even after that she will try to make sure you don't have those feelings again, she doesn't want you to wish to be dead, she loves you too much to see you suffer like that and she doesn't know what will happen to her if she lose you too

[schizononagesimus]

Dare I ask, what's omegaverse?

oh my god i feel like my kid just came home from school and asked me what sex was.

i ain't a "give you a book and figure it out yourself" kinda mom, so we're doin this. here we go.

omegaverse is a kind of slash fic that imagines a hierarchy similar to what wolves have in which you have the dominant alphas, the neutral betas, and the submissive omegas. the universe imagines that these are biological genders in addition to male and female--known as secondary gender--and thus create a different set of social norms/hierarchy. these additional genders are referred to as "maturation," and become evident ("presentation") around the age of thirteen after having already presented as their primary gender (male or female).

omegaverse is formerly known as a/b/o, which we stopped using because it's too similar to a slur for aboriginal australians, but i thought it was important to note 'cause you'll see it around sometimes.

let me clarify before i continue that they're not werewolves. however, historically, the omegaverse originates from a Supernatural fic in which werewolf dynamics were combined with mpreg. however (and confusing that a bit), in the omegaverse there are packs as family (though this depends on the fic). and on the mpreg note, most omegaverse fic is m/m.

let's get into it with more definitions!

alphas - usually larger physically, aggressive demeanor. dominant. have ruts, in which they are periodically affected by the urge to breed--sometimes this can happen as a response to omegas having being in heat (aka estrus)--more on that later. ruts last (in my experience) 3-7 days, and the alpha cannot control or ignore their rut; the rut additionally makes them even more aggressive than usual. alphas can furthermore command and basically everyone follows the command--though nonverbal commands can sometimes be resisted (more on how they might non-verbally command later). we also uhh... gotta talk about alpha dicks later (see: knotting).

betas - literally just normal fucking people. this is also most people.

omegas - smaller physically, gentle demeanor. submissive and breedable. have heats, in which there is a crazy high chance of pregnancy, and all they want is to be bred and they act kinda stupid (literally like they can't cook or clean or NOTHING). the decisions an omega in heat makes are entirely out of desperation and not to be acted on. at the beginning of a heat, the vaginal walls ache and their body temperature goes up. but first? pre-heat! also about a week long, an omega prepares a nest where they'll feel safe; usually blankets, things that smell like loved ones, clothes, food and water. during pre-heat, omegas are totally cognizant, and may invite an alpha or beta to share their nest for their heat. after a heat, an omega is usually pretty wiped and will eat a lot--this shit expends mad energy.

gamma - pretty rare, but im explaining it anyway because they have neo pronouns??? and it sometimes isn't explained that someone is a gamma it's just assumed from the fact that the author is using ze/zer/zim. but this is a third primary gender in which someone will either mature into a female alpha or a male omega, so since the gender is unknown, they are referred to with ze/zim pronouns before their maturation. they're born with both sets of genitalia and a uterus; so they're infertile if they later present as an alpha, and fertile if they present as an omega.

there are also enigmas (literally once every generation; demeanor and physicality just alphas on steroids). deltas are literally just alphas who can't command. i haven't often encountered gammas, enigmas, or deltas in fics personally.

two of the defining features of the omegaverse are scent glands and knotting.

scent glands - residing in the base of the neck and wrists, the scent glands... well, they smell. omegas smell good, alphas are usually described as having an oppressive smell, betas also smell but it's incredibly subdued. the smell of an alpha is always more evident than others. the smell can attract a mate; closer to an omega's heat, their scent becomes gradually more potent. an alpha's smell can tell others that they're in a rut. alphas can issue a non-verbal command that can be ignored (by some people) via their scent glands.

knotting - alpha dicks have this thing very astutely called the "bulbus glandis" (creative, right), referred to as the knot. it's uhh, it's a knot on the base of their dick. basically, it inflates during sex and locks into the vaginal walls and traps the cum inside for max chance of pregnancy. this by itself is fine, but the best part is that the alpha and whoever get stuck together for a period of time. the period of time varies from fic to fic, but i've seen everywhere from 15 minutes to three hours. tbh it's fucking great, it can be really funny and unhelpful or horrible i hate you get out of me or really sweet depending on the ship dynamic. the knot "deflating" is often referred to as "the knot going down."

here's a purposely shitty example to give you an idea of what this looks like:

"i'm the omega and i'm in heat ahh i'm so horny!" "i'm the alpha and i'm in an uncontrollable rut and this omega smells so good! i'm gonna get this omega pregnant! graaaah! [aggro alpha noises]" [probably pretty kinky sex, 'cause there's d/s dynamics here, but varies from fic to fic] "the alpha came inside me and we have to wait for the knot to go down, aww nuts!" [PREGNANT]

aaaand scene.

[fredwardart]

The Key To Lando's Heart - Lando Norris/Franco Colapinto

@watercolor-hearts has an absolutely wonderful Cardiophile Lando universe. It centres around Lando's love for his heart.

Introduction to the universe is here, check it out!

A big part of it is the relationship between Jon and Lando, and since finding out that Franco and Lando share Jon as a trainer, it's the perfect opportunity to add (with her permission) some heart and workout focused Norapinto into this universe.

When Franco starts working with Jon, they get on really well. Franco really likes how Jon meets him where he is and supports him to push himself and it's a bonus that Jon's really knowledgeable and tells Franco the benefits of each exercise. Franco knows most of these because he's interested in how his body works. but he listens intently because Jon's voice is easy to focus on while working out and it's a really big reminder of why he does what he loves.

Jon asks him how he feels after doing a workout. He tells him to focus on what his body is telling him. Jon knows that Franco enjoys showing off what his body can do and tell everyone about his workouts, so it's a good way to get Franco engaged.

Jon tells Franco to keep an eye out on his breathing and his heart rate. As a training exercise he asks Franco to note the changes he feels in his heart rate and once he's told Jon about what he felt, exactly when he felt his heart rate rise, they compare it to the actual data captured on Franco's watch, just like he does with Lando. Jon uses it as an exercise on how Franco can trust what his body is telling him and that he's doing a good job at reading it. Franco feels a warm feeling inside at knowing he can trust himself.

Jon asks Franco if he can have access to the data on Franco's watch. Franco agrees but he asks why it matters a lot. Was there something wrong with the data he'd seen already? Jon clarifies it's because he wants to keep an eye on his vital signs as he works out but he assures him there's nothing wrong, so Franco questions why Jon doesn't just take his pulse.

Jon says that it's so he gets a more continuous reading but Franco can tell that he hesitated only slightly as he spoke. He can tell something's up but he doesn't pry. He shrugs and moves on.

One day the curiosity gets the better of him (it doesn't take long for him to ask because he's not embarrassed to ask) and he wonders why everything is so heart focused. Jon says that it's a habit because lots of people work harder when they appreciate how their body works and the heart/heartbeats are really obvious to spot. He says this is why a lot of people focus on their breathing to get into the zone.

Franco lightheartedly wonders who would be so fixated on their heart, but he thinks that Jon's worked with many sportspeople and it's not exactly odd to focus on it. The heart is important after all.

So it's not surprising when he walks into the gym early and sees Jon talking with Lando after his session, gesturing to his watch.

But that isn't what Franco focuses on, it was probably the same thing he does with Jon. Lando looks different - but not in a bad way. He's sweaty and red with exertion but he has this glow in his skin, a post workout glow, which shows on his smile that is somehow even more radiant than usual.

He smiles at Lando as he walks past, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. The smile he gets in return releases a swarm of butterflies in his stomach that took him off guard. Sure, Lando was pretty but that smile... He'd do anything to get that smile again.

So he needs an excuse. The most fitting thing would be to suggest a group workout to Jon. It'd not like Jon would suspect anything. And he could take some sneaky looks at Lando, too. Jon hesitates. He isn't sure Lando would want it, and when he mentions it to Lando after a session, he himself isn't sure. He doesn't want to be super open about it and it could be incredibly risky. Especially with somebody that catches his eye so much. It could mess everything up before it's even begun, but it seems innocent enough. So he says yes.

Lando finds himself enjoying the workout. The stretches are pretty low intensity so his heart isn't showing off just yet. And Jon's equal attention to both of them is helping him keep it at bay.

Though, Franco's glances in his direction are quite tempting.

It is going remarkably well. Until the treadmill. He's focused on Jon's words of encouragement to them both until Franco comments on his breathing. It's fine, Franco is known for liking to publicise his workouts so it's probably nothing. But then he starts talking about how fast his heart is beating. Lando misses his step on the treadmill and almost goes flying off the end. Jon catches his arm and asks him if he's okay, mercifully steering the conversation away from hearts. It's not the same as talking about his heart but it feels like Franco knows something and reading the possibile subtext, he could be being cocky about it. It could be innocent, but it keeps swirling around Lando's head for the rest of the workout. The rest of it goes by in a haze, and as enjoyable as it would be usually to show off in front of someone, he's glad it's over. He barely takes notice of Jon going over heart data with Franco as he's walking out the door, until Franco pulls up his phone and calls out to him:

"Wow, my pulse is racing! What about yours? You were working hard."

Lando stops. He looks like a rabbit in the headlights as he tries to process what Franco said. Before he works out what to say he takes off. The passing touch of Franco's fingers on his wrist as he pushed past certainly didn't help how worked up he'd got over the acknowledgement of his heart. No amount of breathing exercises could fix this one. He really really wishes it could be any other way. Franco probably can guess what's happened now (or at least thinks he's weird) because the situation in his shorts wasn't exactly hidden.

He couldn't face seeing Franco for a while after that. Not after where his mind wanders to when he's coming down. How the hell was he supposed to explain what happened?

He loved working out with Franco but he can't do it again. He can't risk it. And hopefully Jon had made up some kind of excuse for what happened.

And that's what Lando assumes, as Franco goes about life like that whole thing didn't happen, despite Lando trying his best to avoid talking to him.

The next time Franco shows up early to the gym, Lando doesn't meet his eye. But that doesn't stop him from pointedly brushing past and asking for another workout session. When Lando says no the awkwardness in his voice and expression is unconcealable. Franco knows better than to ask but as he spins on his heel d something makes him turn back to face him.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Lando cringed at how quickly the words flew out of his mouth and wished he could force it back in.

"Well something's wrong. Can we talk about it?" Franco's sincerity was surprising to Lando but it didn't make it unbelievable.

Yet the words weren't coming. He didn't trust Franco like he trusted Jon. That took time and he'd only known Franco a few short months.

"You like this... Don't you?" Franco said softly as he lightly touched his fingers to Lando's chest.

"Franco..." Lando's voice was barely above a whisper over the thundering of his heart in his ears.

Franco removed his fingers in an instant, his voice cautious. "Too soon?"

Yes. No. Yes. Lando thought.

It was too much but his rationale was being overridden by something that was telling him he didn't want anything more.

"I want it." Hearing his voice so husky s urprised him but it was overshadowed by the sudden feeling of Franco's palm on his chest. Lando let out a shaky exhale and the sight of Lando was enough to make Franco cocky.

"Wow. That makes your heart go even faster." Franco remarked as he placed his free hand on Lando's wrist.

The small smile on Franco's lips that appeared as Lando moaned soon disappeared. Lando grabbing him by the wrist was a surprise, but a welcome one. He couldn't wait to see where Lando was taking him.

[amemoire]

EDIT #2: Because this somehow made it outside of the intended audience I need to clarify that these are my HEADCANONS and are NOT 100% canon fact. Yes, majority of it is rooted in canon, but there's a good mix of my own thoughts too. I guess its flattering that they were liked this much, but quite frankly I'm also uncomfortable as this should never have been reblogged and inadvertently risk spreading false information. If you enjoy them, just like the post. Do not reblog.

Just me compiling some notes about Kinich don't mind me:

He was noted to be one of the few people that has won the pilgrimage several times. While in the AQ there are also others who have ( i.e. Mualani, Chasca, etc. ), they went out of their way to note this in a live letter. And we can still assume that number is relatively small because we as the players will only meet people important to the plot.

In addition to the above, his skill speaks for itself when you have a whole group of people willing to switch to his team without problem just because its him.

He's died at least once during the Night Warden Wars— stated himself during the AQ. This is noteworthy to me because it keeps him on a very human level rather than making him into an unbeatable, untouchable person. He even lost the recent pilgrimage because of an injury sustained during the team competition. He's vulnerable, he makes mistakes. Or you can take it to mean that he might've put himself at risk for the sake of another any of these times.

He cooks, he cleans, he grows crops, sews, does the laundry, etc. etc. His tragic background and lack of adults to help him as he grew up meant that he had to learn all the household chores at a VERY early age. By the time he was seven, Kinich was on his own and refused to accept anyone's help or kindness. Not because he was stubborn, but because he'd already adopted the mindset that everything in the world came at a cost.

His character trailer implies that he's both skilled with a variety of weapons and will utilize anything he can to his advantage— being that one of the ' weapons ' was a selfie stick. The others were his claymore, a sword, and a pair of dual blades. He's crafty, adaptable, and seizes the opportunity. It's likely that he prefers two-handed weapons that can also be held in one hand when needed.

Being from the canopy, there's his interest in sports— both extreme and not. But to be honest, he prefers the extreme. They're more stimulating and the sense of danger brings about the feeling of freedom his people believe in. Normal sports might seem boring in comparison and he's admitted to finding something new once that happens. Mountain climbing, cave diving, bungee jumping, surfing, etc. If you name it, he's tried it. If he hasn't, then he will later.

He's been crowned dance champion— supposedly. This fact came from Ajaw, so it's fair to cast doubt. However, since when has Ajaw ever willingly offered Kinich some kind of praise ? I think this statement is most likely true and he was indeed being humble about it to avoid dancing. But even if it is false, we can still safely say he can. Music and dance are a vital part of Natlan's culture.

Life is more important than any kind of payment. He will always prioritize the life of another and has a strong disliking for anyone that would seek to endanger that life. With zero tolerance for poachers, bullies, and the like, no amount of mora can win him over. And getting to settle the score with them— whether its through himself or Ajaw— is all the payment needed.

He prefers his good deeds to remain in the shadows. No one has to sing his praises, in fact he's prefer they don't. Kinich has little interest in making a big deal about his actions and always keeps hush about anything he might've done. For example, Kachina had to find out from elsewhere that he'd dealt with her bullies before they were even friends.

He's so SO incredibly the mom friend. While he's not good at offering comfort or encouragement, he's observant and accommodates for others where he can. You can look at a couple of his voice lines for this where he's looking out for you and reminding you to take care. During the AQ, Mualani even knew that she could count on him to wake her and Kachina for the pilgrimage. Their exchange strongly suggests it wasn't the first time he'd had to do something like that.

EDIT:

Idk how I forgot to add this but he is ENTIRELY self-taught !! He never had someone to train him when it came to tracking, hunting, weaponry, and using the grappling hook. ( And for much of the housework after his mom left ). Instead, he learned on his own through sheer observation of others. And now he's lauded as one of the best in the nation.

It's implied during his story quest that he's the ONLY ONE to have inherited the Malipo name in 500 years. When Huni and Toba are talking to Sanka about who the name has been passed down to, they only mention Burkina and Kinich.

Taking the web event into canon consideration, Kinich is not only highly skilled in tracking and hunting saurians but also in raising them from egg to newborn.

[spankedquail]

I've adored every post you've made up until that last one. That last one is deeply concerning.

You are a human being who works and earns your income. Life is very short. Your husband removing all ways of receiving joy in life is trouble. No self-pleasure? No sexual pleasure? Not even being allowed to purchase a coffee, make-up, clothes or whatever your hobby is? You deserve to freely engage in whatever your joys are.

If you're 100% fine with this change in the dynamic, then good luck to you.

But if not, you have every right to safeword that. That's quite serious.

Say you're in an area with no cell service, or cell service goes out unexpectedly because cell companies DO go out at times. Outages do happen, and now you have no access to your money that YOU earned without his permission? That's risky, in not a fun or kinky way.

While this deep level of submission is lovely, you are still an individual with rights.

Not hating- just a worried anon.

Kind regards.

Hey, I really appreciate your thoughtful comment! I’ll do my best to answer it because I think it’s important to share and clarify a few things :)

First off, thank you for your concern. You’re totally right that, in a scenario like the one you mentioned, there could be potential danger. I want to reassure you that I do have access to my accounts as well. While my husband can access them through our shared 1Password account, I’m not locked out. If an emergency came up, I could act independently without needing any special protocol.

I also want to clarify something about sexual pleasure in our relationship. I absolutely experience immense pleasure when we’re intimate. In fact, not orgasming tends to heighten the overall experience for me rather than diminish it. It’s important to note that everything is consensual, and this dynamic enhances our connection, rather than taking away from it.

This is a bit embarrassing to admit, but for context: I’ve been lavishly spending for well over a decade! I love nice things, and I already own more clothes and shoes than I care to admit—essentially, I have an entire walk-in closet full of...everything. I truly don’t need to buy more, and the financial check-ins have been incredibly helpful for us. They’ve actually allowed us to pay off our mortgage almost twice as fast as we originally planned. It also helps curb my dopamine-fueled habit of browsing sites like SSENSE just because I enjoy online shopping. We ultimately want to really build our retirement funds so we can both retire early and maybe work on some less demanding fun side projects or freelance together in a less structured way than the jobs we have now.

I definitely don’t feel that my husband is removing all joy from my life. I completely agree that a lack of joy would be a huge issue, but that’s not the case here. We do a lot of things together—date nights out, traveling, and sports—and these activities don’t involve submission at all. He’ll usually handle the payments for those occasions. Plus, I regularly go out with my friends to concerts, movies, and other fun events. So, joy is very much a part of my life, just balanced in a way that works for our dynamic.

Thanks again for raising your concerns so thoughtfully. It’s great to have this conversation!

[nanjokei]

further guidance for newcomers coming from reddit

hi arriving redditors. here are some things i don't see most posts mention. this is for people who conquered the baby steps of joining the site. i think they're pretty important! also me clarifying on some stuff i've seen people word very vaguely consistently in their guides

under the cut because it's a chunky set of bullet points! with a few that also discuss how to keep yourself in a safe and fun browsing environment for yourself and others (mostly quality of life)

if you have any questions either send me an ask (anonymously is ok too) or reply to the post

you can enable a custom theme that shows on the web in your blog settings, if you so wish (blog settings > visibility) and then (custom theme toggle to on) this is the classic tumblr experience, but it's ok to want to hide your blog from the public. however you won't be able to link stuff on your blog to people without tumblr accounts

you can find custom tumblr themes by searching resource blogs like theme hunter or just in the tags in general (like "tumblr theme" or just "theme" and see where the other tags you may find to refine your search takes you)

tumblr is currently trying to enact changes to appeal to "new users" that make the website less friendly to its current inhabitants, such as fucking with quality of life and muscle memory and even stuff integral to the culture of the site. if you see people complaining, i highly advise against going "this sounds kind of nothingburger" and assisting in sending tickets to support the drive against such changes

there is a 250 post per day limit. you probably won't hit it though.. maybe? but people used to make post limit blogs (seperate email) for that. but that is for heavy usage users.

you can make as many sideblogs as you want. you are free to divulge whether or not it's you. of course use common sense to gauge whether or not it matters. but side blogs can be anything: maybe you want to categorize things, maybe you wanna make one into a huge fan page/blog for a specific hobby/celeb/show/game/etc, maybe a quieter space, maybe posts you feel don't belong on your blog, maybe even a blog where you reblog resources to exclusively. the possibilities are endless! (maybe not for porn, it's a little harder to skirt by these days even with muh community labels)

a lot of posts are incredibly vague about whether or not you can leave comments on reblogs. i think it truly depends. for example, if it's praise for artwork, i feel like it is truly best left in the tags. the artist can see it still! it shows up in their notifs when you reblog. in comparison, when it comes to funny text posts and pictures, you can comment as you like, but consider TPO (time place occasion). it helps to check the notes (comments only filter) to see if the quip or comment you wanna make has already been made or if OP made further comments later. again, it's a call to use your judgement and everyone has a different tolerance for this kind of thing

i see many people or perhaps most came from LGBTQ+ centric subreddits so i am surprised i'm not seeing this mentioned often: there are unfortunately a lot of terfs here. please stay safe. install shinigami eyes and engage in blocking sprees whenever possible.

in account settings, not blog settings, there is a section called "content you see". it has filtered tags and filtered post content. the difference is filtered tags is specifically for tags, for example, if you want to hide a certain show you don't like, you can have the site apply a peek-a-boo filter on it (this content contains #TAG, as in click to view). you ask, what if the person on my dash doesn't tag it as that? that's fine! it also takes into account the original poster's tags. the OP didn't tag it? then filtered post content might help. MIGHT. it's pretty helpful and unlike twitter's mute list, as far as my experience, it is not broken. for example, if you write [SHOW NAME THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE] in plain letters (with aliases as seperate entries just to be safe) it will filter any post that has the words in the body of the post. pretty useful! use this to curate your dash further or even filter out triggers.

speaking of tags. a lot of people are also vague about this. i'll say it clearly. you can add whatever tags you want to a reblog. there's no limit (aside from character lim per tag)! there's no social faux pas, unless you're being backhanded at someone's creative work, like reblogging just to dunk on it or going "i like the art but not the character" etc. when it comes to your own posts, try to avoid tagging irrelevant tags (for example, if you're making a lot of posts that are tangentially about cardcaptor sakura, think about if it belongs in the tag or not. think of it as whether or not it deserves an OC flair on reddit). again, people's tolerance differs, but especially on older media and slow tags people do not appreciate random tangential text posts (for example "i wanna watch ccs!" and nothing else)

in terms of culture, tumblr has a weird balance between "you can ask for context" and "lurk for 10,000 moar years". i would not know myself. i've been here for 12+ years *shrug* you'll have to gauge it for yourself. most things you can google "[tumblr user] callout" and figure out from there LOL (yes that's usually what happens). i DO encourage trying to garner it from context, especially for terms.

due to the looser moderation(?) on here, LGBTQ+ and other minorities use their own discretion reclaim slurs freely. join in, or put the slurs in your filters. it's fine not to join in as that's your personal comfort, but this is a heads up that the culture is like this since i'm not sure how the moderation is in places like r/196 are. (sorry i used reddit for entirely different things ><)

DO NOT TAG D0NATION POSTS WITH #D0NATION OR ANY OTHER VARIATION. this is SO important. it's best not to tag donation posts AT ALL. tumblr internally flags them and suppresses the post. just reblog silently (d0nate if you can) and move on (censoring just in case lol)

search is useless for finding specific posts. give up before you even try. your best bets are google, asking for help on the dashboard, or just hoping it shows up on your dashboard one day (it probs will, maybe not immediately when you need it though)

i called old tags "slow" but not dead earlier: tags Do Not Die (though some just kind of randomly get wiped or lose posts, idk, it is some post-2018 indexing weirdness) so you can find fanart and posts from 2012 and it's ok to reblog! the essence of tumblr is the continued circulation of people's creations

please do not repost screenshots of tumblr posts unless they are no longer accessible (reblogs locked for example) 😭 i am seeing this happen already. this is the one thing from reddit you're gonna have to let go of. twitter and other place screenshots are OK (probably, some people don't like them). but don't let your page look like one of those r/(etc) post aggregate bots on twitter is what i'm saying. once you explore a tag enough times you'll know what is usually appropriate to post (usually derivative meme templates are OK, but don't overdo it (tho this just falls under "dont spam") (also this is MY personal preference, so if the climate of the tag houses a lot of memes, go ahead!)

in general reposting content that isn't your's is kinda eh. especially reposting people's art without explicit permission. there are art reposters who in the modern day usually ask for permission, of course there are internet spelunkers who repost content from old web and dead sites. there's a lot of nuance, but i highly discourage reposting things you didn't make yourself unless it's stuff like official art and whatnot. photography and other stuff from other people, use your judgement. and as an aside i know "stolen memes" are r/196 and other meme subreddit cultures but it's not exactly appreciated here and i feel like if the reposting gets out of hand tumblr users might get real tired of it. the humor isn't really the same here in that sense, i suggest posting them in a sideblog that archives such things so they aren't lost and/or keeping them in your community tags. ofc no one can stop you!! but the whole highly derivative fried meme thing is very reddit. the culture could not be more different even if we are similar in many ways. i mean this in the nicest way possible >_< if you're not sure, DON'T REPOST.

this is just advice from me, but when liveblogging a show, it's nice to tag it with a unique tag, such as #[your name/nick] plays [game]. i find it's ok to tag series name to some posts that are more substantial, people are happy to see others enjoy what they love, but using a unique tag also helps people track YOUR liveblog since they may save the tag to look at :)

put your age or whether or not you're an adult somewhere where people can see, (and your pronouns too or lackthereof). whether or not if it's on your bio, or an about page, or a carrd. please. it's a matter of curation and safety. some people don't wanna follow minors by accident and vice versa, just as a means to curate their space

people write alt text and image descriptions in the post bodies pretty often. yes it's built into tumblr, but either some people forget or the feature... refuses to work that time. yes it's BROKEN. if you feel like you can contribute alt text for an image in an adequate fashion, go ahead!

try not to reblog people's personal posts. asking people never hurts!

you can restrict non-followers from replying to your posts, or turn off replies all together. as far as i know it's not possible for seperate posts unfortunately, just a blog-wide toggle. when replying to someone specifically, be sure to @ them so they can see it!

for a long time, only the first 5 tags you used in an original post mattered. a lot of people still repeat this, but in my experience this seems to have... changed?? i can't say for sure, but my posts appear in tags beyond the first five. just to be sure, tag the most relevant things first! (or not, if you have your own strategy LOL)

you're free to not tag trigger warnings (it's nice to do it for others tho especially if they ask) but please tag flashing images as such. #epilepsy warning, #flashing, #flashing image, #flashing, etc.

REPORT BOT BLOGS. it blocks them for you anyway. just blocking doesn't do anything for anyone

you can add other people to a sideblog to make it a group blog. this is how blogs with mods work, or even collectives, it has a lot of uses in general so have fun with it! be wary it requires getting someone's email so be safe about that and try to do it with people you trust.

this is advice from me since i noticed after publishing this post that a lot of reddit users don't tag things. you don't have to btw!! but my advice that brightens up the website: if you reblog cool art, writing, music or photography (taken by OP) and you like it a lot, i highly recommend leaving compliments in the tags. we live in an age where creative creation is increasingly unappreciated and people are quiet silent— creators get no feedback therefore no encouragememt to keep creating. this is more like a personal plea, but like to reblog ratios have become DIRE. people are apathetic and scared to interact with people's creations even though on here they are actively ecouraged to. if you like art or fic etc i even more highly recommend you reblog it. likes don't do anything! reblogs = more eyes on it. let's support each other's creative endeavors 🩷

don't fall for the trap of trying to make tumblr into reddit, or trying to recreate the feeling of a subreddit. it's not gonna work. try to adapt. it's easier said than done but lol. rome wasn't built in a day. operate your blog like your own space rather than trying to recreate a hub. the tolerance for trying to change tumblr culture is super low and a lot of people who are much meaner than me will probably try to bully the idea into the ground. and people DO get mean. (like playground namecalling, but people have no reservations about it, so it's stuff that would probably get you banned on reddit)

if your post gets traction and the note notifications annoy you, deleting the original post will make the notifs stop coming. a lot of people reblog the post to keep it on their blog then delete the original to effectively "mute" the notifications permanently.

[izanacore]

“casual” | manjiro sano x reader

chapter three 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: a no-strings-attached arrangement between a party girl and a frat boy turns messy when mikey falls first. but when (y/n) runs from love, she loses him for good—until fate brings them back together, years too late.

characters: manjiro “mikey” sano, fem!reader, draken “ken” ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya

warnings: angst, heartbreak, fwb dynamics, explicit content, crack, fluff, jealousy, insecurities, themes of regret, alcohol use, violence, bullying, depression

notes: mikey is insufferable. that’s it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

chapter three

the afternoon sun bathed the university gates in a warm glow as she adjusted the strap of her bag, exhaling softly. all she wanted was to get home, maybe eat, maybe ignore her assignments—maybe both.

but just as she stepped outside, a familiar voice called out.

“oi.”

she turned her head, only to find mikey standing near his motorcycle, flanked by draken, baji, and mitsuya. they looked like they were in the middle of a conversation, but mikey had already stopped paying attention. his dark eyes were on her now, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

he jerked his chin toward her. “come here.”

she frowned but walked over anyway, already regretting it.

as soon as she reached them, mikey, without any preamble, slung an arm around her and gestured toward her. “this is my GIRL friend, y/n.”

the way he emphasized GIRL had her blinking.

draken raised an eyebrow. “your what?”

“my GIRL friend,” mikey repeated, nodding like he was clarifying something incredibly important. “as in a girl who is my friend. a platonic girl friend. not a girlfriend—just to be clear.”

baji snorted. mitsuya smirked. draken just sighed.

she narrowed her eyes at mikey. “…why are you saying it like that?”

“what? i’m just making sure there’s no confusion.” he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself. “don’t want people getting the wrong idea.” his gaze was flirtatious as he looked at her.

“oh, yeah, you really cleared that up,” baji muttered, shaking his head.

mikey leaned back against his bike, nodding toward the guys beside him. “by the way, these idiots are draken, baji, and mitsuya,” he said lazily.

“you must be really special, huh?” mitsuya remarked, leaning back with an amused look. “this is the first time mikey’s ever introduced a ‘girl’ friend to us,” lifting his hands to make air quote

she raised a brow. “is that supposed to be a good thing?”

the group erupted into laughter—well, everyone except mikey. he gave her a deadpan look before crossing his arms.

“uhm, yes??? you should be honored i consider you my friend,” he said, exaggerating the last word like it was some grand title.

she rolled her eyes, already done with whatever this was. “okay, friend, i’ll be going now,” she said to mikey before shifting her attention to the others. “it was nice meeting you guys.

mikey barely reacted. “yeah, same. i gotta go too.”

she turned and started walking, but she didn’t get far before she heard hurried footsteps behind her.

“mikey?”

he had jogged after her like it was urgent, only to slow down the second she turned to look at him. he blinked at her, stuffing his hands back into his pockets like he hadn’t just run after her. “where are you going?”

she gave him a look. “home???”

he nodded toward the parking area. “then why are you walking? my motorcycle’s over there.”

she blinked. “and?”

“and i’m taking you home.”

she flashed a sarcastic smile. “no, thank you.”

mikey didn’t even pretend to care. he just grabbed her wrist and led her to the parking lot. when they reached his bike, he got on and looked at her expectantly. “get on.”

she let out a long, exhausted sigh but got on anyway. who was she to refuse a free ride?

the ride home was quiet, except for the occasional hum of the engine and the warmth of his body in front of her.

when they reached her apartment, they both got off. mikey took off her helmet, his fingers brushing away a few stray strands of hair.

“thanks,” she muttered, already turning toward the door. mikey fell into step beside her, walking her the rest of the way.

but as soon as she pushed it open, she felt mikey brush past her—and head straight inside.

she froze. “what the—?”

mikey, completely unfazed, kicked off his shoes, walked past her desk, and then— flopped onto her bed like he lived there.

she gawked at him. “what are you doing?”

he propped his head up on one hand, looking at her lazily. “what?”

she gestured wildly. “why are you on my bed? why are you even inside???”

mikey blinked, completely unbothered. “you think the ride was for free?”

she threw her hands up. “i didn’t even ask for a ride!”

“well, i gave you one,” he said simply. “so you have to pay.”

“oh my god,” she groaned. “mikey, get out—”

he tilted his head. “you kicking me out?”

“yes?!”

he clicked his tongue, then casually patted the space next to him. “that’s not how you treat someone who just gave you a ride, y’know.”

she stared at him, trying to figure out if he was actually serious or just messing with her. but then he smirked—that smirk, the one that made her stomach flip in ways she didn’t want to admit.

she was still processing what was happening when he suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him.

the next thing she knew, she was on her bed, trapped under his gaze, with the heat of his body too close, too overwhelming.

she swallowed. “mikey—”

his smirk deepened. “no backing out now.”

and then his lips were on hers.

chapter two | chapter four





[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Chapter Three

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he’s been through to get to Baldur’s Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan’s wife.

Chapter Summary:

Lorroakan is out of town, and Rolan finally gets to spend some time alone with Tav.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5980

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

warnings for allusions to domestic violence and sexual abuse

---

Rolan was wearing his best robes, his hair neatly combed and tied back in its usual style. He had been incredibly liberal with his use of healing potions, to ensure there were no traces of cuts or bruises on his face. Normally, he would’ve considered this wasteful, but tonight, it was important.

Lorroakan was away on a trip, which meant that Rolan finally had the opportunity to see Cal and Lia again. According to their most recent sending conversation, Lia had befriended some Harpers who were willing to help her and Cal sneak into the city for the evening, and then get them back to the refugee camp safe and sound.

Rolan felt himself on the verge of heart palpitations. It had been two months since he’d last seen either of them in person. Sending spells and scribbled notes delivered by pigeon weren’t the same. And he was seeing them today.

The tower was a breath of fresh air now that Lorroakan wasn’t here. It felt good not to have to tiptoe around. Myshka was taking full advantage of this, sprawling out in the middle of the library. When Rolan walked in, the cat looked up and started purring at once.

Rolan bent down and scratched him under the chin, and the cat responded by jumping up onto his shoulder. Rolan gave a feeble protest – he was going to get fur all over his robes – but gave up when the cat lay himself across his shoulders.

“You’re in a good mood today,” came Tavya’s voice from behind him, and he spun around so fast that he almost lost his balance. She was smiling at him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. She wasn’t Lorroakan.

“I’m seeing my siblings at the Elfsong Tavern tonight,” he said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face.

She beamed back at him. She was wearing an oversized jumper and loose-fitting trousers, her hair messily tied back into a ponytail rather than its usual braids, and still, she was exceptionally pretty.

“I’m glad to hear that. You must miss them. Did you come all the way from Elturel together?”

Rolan nodded jerkily, surprised that she had remembered where he was from. “Yes. It was a long and perilous journey but we made it. I’m lucky to have them.”

“Well… I hope you have a good evening.” She took a step towards him, reaching out, and for an irrational moment, he thought she was going to touch his face, but she scratched Myshka under the chin instead.

Standing this close, he could smell her perfume. He could count the freckles on her nose. It was a wonder she couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked. The words were out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to process what he was saying.

She looked up at him, mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to intrude-”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.”

She closed her mouth, tilting her head to the side contemplatively. “This old tower does get pretty lonely,” she said. “It’s not like I have many opportunities to make new friends. Lorroakan doesn’t like me going out in the evenings.”

He gave her a questioning look, and she faltered.

“I mean… He’s just worried about my safety, is all,” she clarified, stumbling over her words a little.

“Of course,” he said.

“Did you really mean it? I don’t have to come. I don’t want to interrupt a reunion with your siblings.”

“They’d be happy to meet you,” he said, “and hopefully soon they’ll be let into the city proper, and I won’t have to spend months apart from them.”

Tavya nodded. “It’s a shame they can’t live here. Lorroakan is…” She looked as though she was choosing her words very carefully. “…particular about his space.”

“As is his right,” said Rolan, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Of course,” she said cautiously. “I need to change into something more appropriate for an evening out. Do I have time to bathe?”

Rolan blinked, trying not to focus on the image that her words had brought up in his mind. “I’m leaving in an hour.”

“Okay, good, I’ll be back.”

She gave Myshka one last scritch and then headed towards her bedroom.

*

Rolan was warned of Tav’s approach by the sound of her high-heeled boots clicking against the stairs.

“Does this look alright?” she asked, and he turned to face her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out in the evening.”

In Rolan’s opinion, she looked a hell of a lot more than ‘alright’. Her dark brown hair fell in loose curls down to her mid-back. She was wearing dark lipstick that stood out against her pale skin. She’d opted for a dark green dress with a modest neckline, that nonetheless clung to her curves.

Rolan realised that he was staring. She was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered that she’d asked him a question.

“Uh… You look…” He searched for a word that was complimentary, but not too complimentary. “Nice.” Her face fell a little, so he quickly said, “The dress is lovely, the green really suits you.”

“Thank you, Rolan.”

She gave Myshka a kiss goodbye and then the two of them set off. The cobblestones weren’t all that friendly to her boots, so he offered her an arm, which she accepted gratefully.

He wondered if he should be nervous to be seen like this, arm in arm with his master’s wife. Did the people of Baldur’s Gate know her face? Would anyone tell Lorroakan?

But Tav didn’t seem too concerned, and he was sure she knew better than he did, so he tried to relax.

The Elfsong wasn’t too crowded when they arrived, so Rolan immediately spotted his siblings sitting at a table in the corner. He made eye contact with Lia from across the room and she practically leapt to her feet.

Rolan met her in the middle and she threw her arms around his neck.

“Rolan!” she gasped, squeezing him tight. She wasn’t usually so physically affectionate with him, but this was situation was far from usual. They hadn’t been apart for so long since their parents had taken him in.

He felt Cal’s arm wrap around him, so he pulled one arm free of Lia’s grip to embrace his brother as well.

“We made it,” said Cal. “Baldur’s Gate.”

Neither of them seemed too keen on letting him go, but eventually he had to pull back, albeit reluctantly. It had been so long since he’d been held.

He stood with them at arms’ length, taking them both in. Cal’s hair was growing out. Lia’s, on the contrary, had been roughly chopped to just longer than chin length. They both looked thinner than the last time he’d seen them, with clothes that looked a little more threadbare, although they were smiling at him.

He was suddenly very aware of the fineness of his own robe. It was one of the few things Lorroakan had given him. He couldn’t have his apprentice looking scruffy.

Rolan must’ve frowned at the thought, because Lia’s face fell. She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. For a moment, he was worried that there was some injury he had missed. She was worryingly perceptive.

“You’re looking well,” she said, and he felt the tightness in his chest loosen. “Come, we’ve got a table, let’s sit down.”

He turned, and found himself almost running right into Tav. That brought him up short. For the briefest of moments, he had completely forgotten that he’d brought her. He looked down at her guiltily.  

She didn’t seem all that upset to have been ignored. Instead, she held up a bottle of wine.

“I got red, I hope that’s okay,” she said.

Rolan could feel the eyes of his siblings on him, so he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Cal, Lia, I hope you don’t mind that I invited Tavya tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Tavya,” said Lia. “Charmed.” There was a glint in her eye that Rolan didn’t like, and he was determined to snuff it out before she said anything to embarrass him.

“Tavya is a friend of mine. She is Master Lorroakan’s wife,” he said. Lia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Please, call me Tav,” said Tav.

The four of them sat down at the table and Tav immediately set to pouring the wine. Rolan tried to offer to pay her back for what she’d paid for it, but she waved him away. He felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t like she was lacking for money.

It was a good thing, too. Seeing his siblings like this made him realise that he should be sending them more of his meagre paycheque. It wasn’t like he had much to spend his own money on, as room and board were provided.

Tonight, he would treat them to a good meal, and tomorrow he would start saving more to ensure that they weren’t going hungry.

“Are you both well?” he asked, eyeing the way his sister was taking a deep swig of wine. “Perhaps we should get some food in us before we get too deep into festivities.”

“You’re no fun,” said Lia, but didn’t protest as Rolan stood up to go and order at the bar. Tavya reached for her pouch of gold, but Rolan pretended he didn’t see. It was one thing to accept drinks from her but he didn’t want him thinking that he’d invited her here purely to mooch off her kindness.

When he returned to the table, Tav seemed to be in deep conversation with his siblings. Lia was giggling. That surely couldn’t be a good sign.

“What are you laughing about?” Rolan asked as he sat down in the chair beside Tav.

“We hear you’ve befriended a cat, Rolan,” said Cal, a teasing note in his tone.

“Well, Lorroakan ensures I have a lot of work to do, so I hardly have time to befriend anyone else. Myshka enjoys the relative comfort and, uh, peace of my bedroom.” He glanced at Tav. He wondered if he’d said too much. Even alluding to Lorroakan’s violent nature seemed risky.

“I’m not surprised your bedroom is peaceful, it’s not like you get any action,” said Lia, and Rolan’s jaw dropped. The wine must’ve been going to her head already.

“Lia,” Cal admonished, but he was laughing too. Rolan snuck a look at Tav, and found that she was grinning. Zurgan. This was embarrassing.

Lia reached for the bottle of wine but Rolan was faster, deftly sliding it out of reach. “I think perhaps we should slow down on the wine until we’ve eaten something.”

“Boooo,” said Lia, trying to swipe the bottle from his hands, but Rolan held it away from her.

“So, I hear the two of you have made friends with some Harpers,” said Tav, and Rolan was grateful at the subject change. “Do you know Jaheira?”

“We met her in the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” said Cal. “She put us in touch with some people to help us once we got here. The Harpers have been a real help around the refugee camp, making sure everyone gets fed.”

Not well enough, thought Rolan, eyeing his siblings.

Tav took a sip of her drink and nodded. “That sounds like the Harpers.”

“You’re familiar with them?” asked Lia.

“Oh yeah. I met Jaheira when I was just a little girl. I wanted desperately to be a Harper but my father never would’ve allowed it,” she said wistfully. “I heard them described as a band of bards and rogues who do their best to help people, and I thought I’d fit right in.”

“So which are you?” asked Lia.

“Hm?”

“A bard or a rogue?”

Tav chuckled. “A little of both, I think.”

Rolan opened his mouth, wanting to know more, but at that moment, their food arrived. The man was just setting down a plate of Rothé ribs in front of Tav when he did a double take.

“Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t Miss Tav!” he said bombastically.

Tav let out an awkward giggle. “Good evening Alan.”

“It is you! It’s been an awfully long time, Miss. Something must be keeping you busy these days.”

“My husband,” she said, and didn’t clarify any further.

Alan shook his head. “Such a shame. The old regulars still ask about you sometimes. You used to light up this place.”

Cal and Lia were looking at Tav with curiosity, but Rolan was just confused. At the look on his face, Tav said, “I used to play here sometimes.”

“She’s being modest,” said Alan. “She’s the finest violinist I’ve ever heard, and a dab hand at the lute as well. Beautiful voice too.” The violinist part Rolan could vouch for, but he’d never heard her play the lute or sing. She was blushing now. “Why don’t you give us a song? For old times’ sake? Business hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I’d certainly like to hear you sing,” said Cal.

“Me too,” Lia agreed.

Tav looked at Rolan then. “What about you, Rolan? What do you think?”

Rolan couldn’t deny that he was intrigued, but the idea of saying so was mortifying. “I think that you are an excellent musician, and you should only perform if you want to.” Alan was still hovering beside them, expectantly.

“Would you at least let me finish my ribs first?” she said, mock-angrily.

“Of course, of course. And the food is on the house. Anything for an old friend.”

Tav groaned. “Fine, I’ll perform for you. Will you bring my friends here some bread? And perhaps some sweet buns for dessert?” She gestured at Cal and Lia. “They need fattening up.”

Cal let out a startled laugh. Rolan watched Lia, eyes wide. She had a bit of a temper, and he wasn’t sure if she’d take that as an insult. To his relief, she just snorted and raised her goblet of wine.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said.

Ribs were difficult to eat in a ladylike manner. Tav tucked a napkin into the front of her dress to protect it and then she dug in.

It was hard for Rolan not to stare. Tav didn’t eat much at the tower, and the food she did eat was eaten daintily with cutlery. Right now, she was digging into her Rothé ribs like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Sauce coated her lips, so she ran her tongue over them to clean them off. Rolan felt a stirring deep inside him, and quickly looked away.

He found himself making eye contact with Lia, who, again, just raised her eyebrows at him. He glared at her, hoping she’d get the message.

Fortunately, she quickly became distracted by her own meal. Rolan was sure he’d been right that his siblings hadn’t been eating well, and their reactions to the food in front of them only reinforced that belief.

He would’ve been embarrassed by their table manners if Tav didn’t have sauce dripping down her chin right now.

Rolan himself couldn’t bring himself to eat with such reckless abandon. He ate his dinner slowly, trying to make a good impression.

None of them spoke much while eating. When Tav was done, she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

As if he’d been watching them, Alan appeared by their table once more, looming over Tav with an expectant look on his face.

“Let me go wash up,” she said, indicating her sticky hands and face.

“Excellent,” said Alan. “One of our regular bards has offered to lend you her lute. It’s a shame I couldn’t find a violin at such short notice.”

“I’m rusty with the lute, but I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as Tav was out of sight, Rolan turned his attention back to his siblings, and found them both watching him intently.

“You know…” said Lia, and Rolan already knew that he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say. “She looks a little bit like Louisa.”

Rolan felt his stomach do a flip. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.

Cal tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I can kinda see it,” he said.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Rolan hissed. His cheeks were hot. Louisa had been a human girl back in Elturel that his siblings had often teased him about having a crush on. She certainly had long dark curls like Tav’s, and the same petite frame, but that was where the similarities ended.

It didn’t matter anyway. Louisa had been polite to him, but she clearly wasn’t interested, and he hadn’t seen her since Elturel fell. He hadn’t thought about her in almost as long, since his focus had been keeping his family safe. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

“Whatever you think is happening, isn’t,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I know,” said Lia. “But please be careful, alright? She’s Lorroakan’s wife.”

“I’m very aware of that fact, thank you,” he snapped.

“She’s coming back,” warned Cal, and Rolan sat up a little straighter.

Indeed, Tav was heading back to their table, but she was waylaid by Alan, who handed her the lute and ushered her over to the little raised platform that served as a stage. There was a stool waiting for her, which she hopped up onto.

The crowd grew quiet. It was a strange thing. Perhaps the audience were old fans of her from her days before Lorroakan, and they’d been anticipating this day. Or perhaps they just saw a beautiful woman holding an instrument and wanted to know if she was any good.

She plucked a pretty little melody on the lute, and the crowd’s silence deepened. It was like she was casting some kind of spell on them. Rolan wondered if she was. He hadn’t studied bardic magic – he had never considered it worth his time – but he knew that there were some who could cast powerful spells with the aid of music.

Tav opened her mouth and started to sing. Her voice was high and sweet and clear and Rolan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He wasn’t the only one. He had no idea that it was possible for a room full of drunks to be so rapt.

Her song was unfamiliar. The lyrics told the story of a bird being kept in a golden cage, and eventually losing its voice. At the end, the bird gained its freedom, but only in death. Its spirit flew through the skies of the city, singing beautiful songs.

As Tav’s final notes played out, there was a moment of silence before the crowd erupted into rapturous applause.

“Rolan,” said Lia softly, and he turned to look at her. “Are you alright?”

Rolan cleared his throat, realising that his eyes were watering. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” He glanced between his siblings again. “I am… sorry. For bringing Tav without asking you two. I’m sure you were hoping to catch up with me alone.”

Cal shook his head. “Don’t apologise. She’s lovely. And it’s good for us to get a sense of what your life in the tower is like.”

“Of course,” said Rolan, feeling a little uncomfortable at the fact that he had been lying to his siblings about the reality of his situation with Lorroakan. He didn’t want them to worry about him.

“And besides, if the Harpers let me join officially then we’ll be able to come visit a lot more often,” said Lia.

That cheered Rolan a little, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. As much as he missed his siblings, keeping that at a distance meant it was easier to keep them in the dark about the way Lorroakan treated him. Would they lose respect for him if they knew he couldn’t stand up for himself?

Of course not, a small voice in the back of his mind murmured. They love you.

Still. Distance from Lorroakan kept them safe. Would Lia be safe with the Harpers?

Before he could think about it any further, Tav started up playing again, this time strumming a far more upbeat tune. There was a roar of appreciation from the crowd, so he assumed that they must’ve known the song, even if he didn’t.

From what he could piece together over the sounds of the crowd, it was a bawdy tale about a young noble woman going out into the world and making all sorts of trouble for herself. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

He reached across the table and took one of Lia’s hands in his own. She looked slightly bemused at this uncharacteristic display of affection, but squeezed his hand back.

“Tell me about the refugee camp. Is everything alright there?” Rolan asked.

“It’s lively,” said Lia. “Lot of people coming and going. It’s not exactly… peaceful.”

Again, Rolan felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t been able to get his siblings lodgings in the tower. At the tower, they would be safe and well-fed and always have a bed to sleep in. Well. As long as they stayed out of Lorroakan’s way.

“It’s not so bad,” said Cal. “There are lots of orphans, though. It makes me sad. You see all these families torn apart. It reminds me of how lucky we are to still have each other.”

“I’ve missed you,” said Rolan, reaching out a hand to Cal now too, who grasped it immediately. “It’s lonely without you. The only people I interact with on a daily basis are Lorroakan and Tav.”

“What about customers?” asked Lia.

“Ugh. Customers.”

“Please,” said Cal, “You know how Rolan feels about the general public.” Lia let out a guffaw.

Rolan just rolled his eyes. “I think we need more wine.”

All in all, it was a good night. He drank and talked with his siblings. Tav would occasionally pop up between songs for a drink and a brief chat before she would get dragged back onto stage by her adoring audience.

At around a midnight, a young half-elf man – a Harper, as Rolan understood it – with long dark hair came over to their table and apologetically informed Cal and Lia that it was time to head back to the camp.

As they gathered up their things, Lia gave Rolan a hug and whispered in his ear. “That’s Geraldus. Cal fancies him.”

Rolan looked Geraldus up and down, and then looked at his brother. He had chalked it up to the alcohol before, but now that he was really looking, he could see that Cal was blushing a little as Geraldus set a hand on his arm. Rolan raised his eyebrows at his brother, but Cal quickly looked away.

“I think I’ve sung more than enough to cover my supper.” Tav’s voice broke out over the hubbub. She was pressing the lute back into Alan’s hands, although he seemed very keen for her to keep playing. “My friends are leaving, so I think it’s time for me to head home.”

She wouldn’t be swayed. Although she had only just met them, she gave both Cal and Lia hugs before they left. They came back to embrace Rolan one more time, and then they were gone, being swept away out into the night air of Baldur’s Gate.

Rolan had a funny, tight feeling in his chest. He missed them already. He had no idea when he’d next see them.

“Are you alright?” asked Tav.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” His tone was clipped, trying to keep the emotion at bay.

“One more drink for the road?” she suggested, and he agreed, if only to quiet the burning feeling in his chest.

As they settled back at their table with a final goblet of wine each, Tav said, “That must’ve been hard for you. Saying goodbye again, I mean.”

Rolan didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way you love your brother and sister. It’s so nice to see.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No one?”

“I have no siblings,” she said.

“Your parents?”

“My mother died when I was very young. I don’t remember her at all. And my father…” She grimaced, swirling her drink around in her goblet. “Well, let’s just say I don’t have warm feelings towards him.”

“… Lorroakan?” Rolan’s tone was cautious.

Tav looked back at him, disbelieving. “You think I love Lorroakan?”

“Well, you did marry him.”

“Not by choice.” She took a deep swig of her drink. “Well, not my choice, anyway.”

Rolan sat frozen, staring back her. She looked suddenly very tired. They were both drunk and she was clearly exhausted. He should take her home before she could say something she’d regret. Still, he was rooted to the spot, in expectation of what she might say next.

“I’ve never been loved the way you love your siblings either. My father loves me the way he’d love a particularly shiny gold piece. Lorroakan would be happier if I were some kind of life-size doll that cooked his meals and kept his bed warm. He’d sew my mouth shut if he didn’t love hearing me call him Master while he’s bending me over his desk.”

Rolan’s face heated up. Tav grimaced, as if her words had only just caught up with her. Her ears had gone completely pink.

“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m drunk. I shouldn’t say such things. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”

“Myshka loves you,” Rolan interjected.

She looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“These patrons love you.” He gestured around the bar.

“They hardly know me.”

“Still. You had them hanging on your every word tonight.”

She finished off her drink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then gave a small burp. Laughter bubbled up in his chest.

“And what about you, Rolan?” She planted her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “Would you miss me if I died?”

“I… Uh… You’re kind to me,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

“Oh, I see. You’d miss the things I could do for you,” she said. Rolan couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not.

“No, I mean…” He sighed. “I enjoy your company, Tav.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “I enjoy your company too, Rolan. Now…” She put her hands on the table and unsteadily pushed herself to her feet. “I should get home before I embarrass myself any further.”

“You haven’t-”

“My tongue has been far too loose tonight. If my husband heard what I’d been saying…” She shook her head, lips pressed together in a tight line.

“He won’t,” he reassured her.

“I know.”

Rolan drained his goblet and stood up as well. She took hold of his arm to steady herself. He let her lean on him as they walked out of the inn.

“I never asked,” he started, feeling a little awkward. “How did you know about my healing potions?”

Tav gave a wry smile. “Myshka saw you sneaking out the empty bottles. He didn’t understand what you were doing, of course, but I did. I figured that since Lorroakan is my husband, I should try to help you if I could. I may not have chosen him, but I do feel somewhat responsible for his behaviour.”

Rolan furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She pursed her lips. “Lorroakan is a simple man. As his wife, I have certain… methods of influencing him. It wasn’t always easy, but I’ve been married to him for five years now. I can foretell the changing of his moods, most of the time at least. I know when to simper and fawn, I know when to ask him for things I want, and I know when to hide.”

He stopped in his tracks. Tav stumbled, the heel of her boot catching between two cobblestones. She would’ve fallen had he not caught her, a firm arm wrapping around her waist to hold her still.

“Tav,” he said, his tone serious.

Tav grimaced, not meeting his eye. “Sorry. These bloody boots. They’re not great on cobblestones.”

“Tav,” Rolan repeated. “Why do you need to hide from Lorroakan?” She just blinked at him, her eyes wide. He sighed. “Has he hurt you?”

She forced a smile onto her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was an expression he was familiar with. It was the same one he wore when serving customers in Sorcerous Sundries. She was shutting him out, and he hated it.

He was still supporting most of her weight. Her hands were clutching at his upper arms for balance.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I know how to handle him.”

“Tav…”

“We should get home.” She patted his shoulders, and he reluctantly released her. “I’m tired.”

“… Of course.”

Because who did he think he was? It wasn’t his place to intervene in his master’s marriage. So what if he hurt her? That wasn’t any of Rolan’s business.

The image of Tav, beaten and bloody, flashed across his mind. He blinked it away.

Tav was fine. She was uninjured, right in front of him, fussing over the heel of her boot.

“It broke off,” she said, holding up the broken piece of heel. “Shit.”

It wasn’t all that far to Sorcerous Sundries, but Tav had already been unsteady before her shoe had broken.

“I could carry you,” he offered.

Tav blinked up at him. “It’s alright. I can just go barefoot.”

“And get your feet cut up on broken glass and Gods-know-what?” He scoffed. “Come on. You can climb up on my back. I may be a wizard, but I’m stronger than I look.”

“Okay,” said Tav. “Can you bend down?”

Feeling nowhere near as awkward as he should’ve, Rolan squatted, allowing Tav to clamber up onto his back. As her arms wrapped around his neck from behind, he had to suppress a shiver.

He hooked his hands underneath her knees, and once he was sure she was secure, he stood up.

“Woah,” Tav breathed. Her mouth was far closer to his ear than he anticipated, and he felt a twitching in his groin. It didn’t help that the smell of her perfume was everywhere. “I don’t normally see things from this high up. Is this what it’s like to be tall?” She rested her chin on his shoulder.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“So are you!”

“Let’s get you home.” He started to walk.

“Onwards, good sir,” she said, and then descended into a fit of laughter. She had a lovely laugh. He didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing it.

If he had been sober, perhaps he might have considered how the two of them would appear from the outside. His master’s wife was on his back, her chin on his shoulder, giggling breathlessly. Perhaps he might’ve worried what the neighbours would think if they saw them. As it stood, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Your hair is coming loose,” she said suddenly.

“Oh.”

“I rather like it. You should wear your hair down.”

He laughed nervously. “I find it gets in the way.”

She touched the knot he’d tied it into earlier, and a shiver went down his spine. He could indeed feel the loose strands sticking to the back of his neck with sweat.

“May I?” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

Deftly, she untied his hair, letting it fall down to his shoulders. She didn’t stop there, though. She mussed it, detangling and straightening it out, until it was as though it had never been tied back.

If he hadn’t been walking, Rolan would’ve closed his eyes, leaning into the sensation of having his hair played with. It was a weakness of his.

“I like your hair down too,” he said. “It suits you.”

“Really?” She laughed again. “Lorroakan hates it. It gets everywhere. He says it makes me look scruffy.”

“He’s an idiot.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms back around his neck. “He is. In so many ways.”

“Only Lorroakan could be married to a woman as beautiful as you and still find reasons to complain.”

Tav inhaled sharply. Rolan’s brain caught up to his mouth a moment too late, and he bit his tongue hard. Before she could respond, they rounded the corner onto the square that housed Sorcerous Sundries, and he cleared his throat loudly.

“Here we are,” he announced, entirely unnecessarily. “Almost home.”

“…Mhm.”

Neither of them spoke as they crossed the square. He didn’t set her down until they were standing under the awning of the shop. As he unlocked the doors, Tav pulled off her boots.

Barefoot, the height difference between them was even more apparent. He pulled back the heavy door and held it open for her.

“Thank you, Rolan,” she said, walking into the shop. “You really saved me from the peril of stepping on glass shards, or a twisted ankle.”

He followed her inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He locked it and checked the wards were all still in place. It was a fairly involved process, so he was surprised to find that she was still standing there when he was done. He had expected her to head straight for the portal.

The two of them walked together up the staircase, close but not touching. Rolan let her lead the way through the portal. It was dark in Ramazith’s tower when they made it inside.

The hallway that led to the master bedroom went past Rolan’s room, so the two of them continued walking together. When he stopped outside his bedroom door, she stopped too.

“Rolan,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for inviting me out tonight. It was nice to meet your siblings. They seem lovely. I was going out of my mind with boredom in this place.”

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Hearing you perform was…” He searched for the right word: complimentary, but not effusive. The only one he could think of was, “Incredible.” It was accurate, at least.

She laughed a little shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The light was low, but because of his darkvision, he could still see her clearly. She was blushing.

A very stupid part of his brain told him to kiss her. She looked up at him, her pretty eyes finding his. Her lips looked so soft. She looked as though she was expecting him to do something, or say something. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his room, peel her out of that dress and make her scream his name.

But she was his master’s wife. If Lorroakan found out, he’d probably kill both of them.

And besides, why would a woman like her ever want a man like him? If she let him kiss her, it would be because he was the only man available who wasn’t her husband. It wouldn’t be because she actually wanted him. Not really.

“Goodnight, Tav,” he said.

She stared at him for a few seconds more. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

She disappeared down the corridor towards her own room. Rolan couldn’t help but watch her go, wondering if it was a mistake. As soon as she was out of sight, he opened his bedroom door and slipped inside.

He didn’t bother to change into pyjamas, simply stripping naked and climbing into bed. He took his rapidly hardening cock into his hand, his mind conjuring images of what could have been if he’d been a weaker man.

---

Notes:

in case you missed it last chapter, you can see what Tavya looks like here

Next Chapter

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 6:

"Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy, Mrs. Wallace?" Dean listens to his brother interview the victim's wife as he searches for anything ‘weird.’ 

"No, I mean, I don’t think so… I just – I can’t believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?"

"More than you might imagine."

Dean finds it, the hex bag stuffed between the fridge and the counter. He holds it up behind the widow's back so Sam can see. 

Sam sighs, "Mrs. Wallace, did Luke have any enemies? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"

"No, and if someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better way than  razors in a single piece of candy when there's an entire bag?"

And the lady would have a point, if they weren't dealing with a witch.

---

Dean bit into the chocolate, it was the cheap stuff that people didn't mind giving out for free, even when it he was and adult man two days before the holiday. It was too sweet and had a weird after taste. Not great but worth it when Sam made a face.

"Really?"

"It's Halloween, man."

There's a rustling sound, Danny pulls another candy from its wrapper. He pops it into his mouth.

"You too? After the the razor blades?"

"I don't mind a few metal bits, adds crunch."

"Seriously?" Dean turns to the kid, who's watching them innocently, "You chowing down on sheet metal when we're not looking?"

"I might be, you'll neeever know."

"Uh-huh." Dean was pretty sure he was messing with them. Pretty sure. "Find anything interesting Sammy?"

"Hexbag has some serious stuff. This plant has been extinct for 200 years, this coin looks real, 600 years old real... and this," Sam lifts the little burned thing. "Is the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby."

"Gross. Witches man, I hate'm."

"Well, we're dealing with a powerful one. Getting stuff like this, wouldn't be easy."

"That or they're super rich." Danny offers. 

"What would a super rich guy get out killing a soccer dad?"

"Wants revenge on the guy who married his college sweetheart who got away?"

"Uh... sure? Do you have a name?" Sam asks.

"No, I was just throwing out possibilities."

"So we have nothing."

---

Then there was the second hex bag in a random high-schooler's party, a girl boiled alive in room temperature water. 

"Maybe this witch isn’t working the grudge, maybe they’re working a spell..." Sam skims over an old creepy book. "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."

"That's an incredibly inefficient way to summon Frighty." Danny mumbles. 

"Frighty?"

"Fright Knight, Spirit of Halloween."

"The demon the witch is trying to summon, Samhain? You know him." Sam clarified, Dean watched the kid carefully.

"Not by that name.” He flopped back on the unclaimed bed that would probably Dean's but was currently serving as a couch. “Names are important. And he's not a Demon he's a spirit."

"Samhain, the origin of Halloween, the Samhain the Celts believed in.  October 31st was the night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, Samhain’s night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"And in those centuries Halloween changed, became trick-or-treating, pranks, parties, candy and horror movies. The idea of Halloween itself, the spirit of Halloween. Fright Knight shed his old name and became something to reflect that. He won't like you dredging up past identity."

"You're sure you don't just know a different guy?" Dean asked. He wouldn't believe this if he hadn't still had the Autumn Dance's song echoing in his dreams.

"Yeah, Frighty's sensitive about it."

"So this witch is summoning what? More Halloween fun?"

"No, he'll be mad. Probably send her to a nightmare realm, but it won't go past that."

"Well... good."

"And you're sure?" Sam asks, "According to this once he's raised he can do raising of his own."

"Frighty wouldn't."

"Alright... still we should find this witch before she kills anyone else."

"Of course."

---

A whole day of stakeout to find out that the cheerleader had lied to their faces, she'd had access to both houses, claiming to never have heard of the Wallace's. Then they find her history of violence, the fact that she's emancipated and very well could be living fake ID to fake ID.

Finding her on the other hand... was proving more difficult. 

Danny had even walked them through a couple of front doors, like straight through the front door, like they were the ghosts. It was weird, and cold, and super useful even though it didn't amount to much. 

They needed a gameplan. And a gameplan seemed much more likely to drop into their lap when Danny opens the motel door and says, "Oh, hi Castiel! 

"Danny," Castiel greets, "Dean. Sam."

"Oh my God!– er– uh– I didn’t mean to– sorry. It’s an honor, really, I– I’ve heard a lot about you." Sam expertly fumbles as he moves out of the entryway. 

"And I, you. Sam Winchester... The boy with the demon blood... Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities." Wow... awkward. 

"Let’s keep it that way." Adds a guy staring ominously out the window.

"Yeah, okay, chuckles." Dean turns to Castiel. "Who’s your friend?"

"The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"Not yet, what's it to you?"

"Have you found the witch?"

"We know who she is."

"Is she dead?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." Says nameless angel #2.

"It’s just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs. And the witch knows who you are." Castiel lifts a Hexbag.

"This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

"I would've found it. I only just got back." Danny defends and both angels' attention snap to him. 

Danny has offended #2 "You cannot be certain of—" 

"It's a pretty strong energy, I doubt some drywall would stifle it much." 

"Regardless. You need to leave this town immediately." 

"Why?"

"Because we’re about to destroy it." Castiel informs them. And Dean expects it when the air goes cold. The angel's shift uneasily, but they don't pin Danny as the source.

"Your plan is to smite the whole friggin’ town?"

"We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here." Sam argues

"One thousand two hundred fourteen." #2 corrects.

"And you’re willing to kill them all?" Dean can hear Sam's faith shattering, and he hates these guys even more.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city." #2 tells them

"It is regrettable." Castiel sympathizes.

"Regrettable?"

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"And we're just supposed to let you?" Danny asks. "Because of your apocalypse's prophesied precursors?"

"It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here."

"And ten years ago they said Phantom was inevitable. They said only one half'a life, against six billion. But guess what? We're all still here."

"The abomination." #2 recognizes, from whatever this story Danny is telling is. Frost snakes up the windows. Their breaths fog in the air, but #2 is undeterred. "This is not the same."

And the Angel's do notice the change, but instead of Danny, they turn to glare at Sam .

"No," Dean lies, because he doesn't want to know if Danny is being stupidly arrogant or if he actually can take these guys. Part of him knows the collateral of either outcome... he doesn't want to know. And he's ticked off, and the angels are looking at Sam like they're going to smite him for something he's not even doing. So, he bluffs, if it backfires then Danny can do whatever he planned to do. "if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself." #2 tells him, and just him, Dean realizes. They aren't offering to save anyone else. He's even more sure this is the right thing.

"Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." He turns to Castiel who, oddly, is more sympathetic than his friend. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel! I will not let these peop–"

"Uriel, that's enough." Castiel holds up his hand, silencing #2 whose name is Uriel, apparently. Castiel watches Dean for a long moment. "I suggest you move quickly."

---

"Do you guys have this? I think I should spy on them." Danny says when, presumably, they're out of the angel's earshot.

"You trust this Halloween guy?"

"With the jewels behind the throne." At some point Dean will stop being thrown by the things the kid says. At some point.

"Right... Then they're the bigger threat. We'll figure it out, call us if they're planning a double cross."

Danny vanishes from the back seat. 

"You okay?" He asks Sam, who still looks miserable. They do say to never meet your heroes.

---

"The decision's been made." Castiel tells Uriel. Unfortunately, he does not elaborate on what decision, or what outcome has been decided on.

"By a mud monkey." Uriel laughs bitterly.

"You shouldn’t call them that."

"Ah, it’s what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Danny flips himself over the bench the angel's share, so he sits between them, upside-down so his feet hang over the backrest and his head dangles off the edge of the seat. It's not a defensible position... for someone worried about silly things like corporeal objects. "That's mean for a guy who's currently wearing a human person. At least show some respect for him."

The angels don't jump, and he didn’t really expect them too, but it's always fun when they do.

"And it's close to blasphemy." Castiel warns Uriel, but Danny heeds the warning as well. Castiel seems to be on team let-the-town-live instead of team nuclear bomb, and Danny would like it to stay that way, so he's not going to try to narrow down where in the realms these guys are from. (At least today.)

Uriel sighs, "Very well. But I do not take orders from this one, regardless of his involvement in the Abomination's unmaking."

Huh? 

"Of course not. Why are you here, Danny."

Huh? Okay normally when beings like this start throwing around words like abomination, they're talking about him.

"I'm keeping an eye on you guys. Obviously."

"We are not planning to break the seal. Your priority should be the witch."

"Yeah well, Frighty hasn't expressed desire to end an entire town."

"We are trying to prevent the end of your world." 

Danny doesn't say 'I am the end of this world.' Because he's not, because he refuses to be and they probably won’t get that he's joking. He doesn't say 'I could've been the end of this world' because... they don't seem to know that?

"Like the Observants failed to do?" He says instead and he wish- no he was disappointed he hadn't sat so he could see the angel's faces. He wonders if they have members in that group.

"The Observants succeeded." Uriel corrects. And isn't that interesting. Did the Eyeballs lie to angels? Danny wouldn't put it past them.

"No, no they didn't. They handed it off to the Timekeeper, who disobeyed. The "Abomination" just didn't feel like much destruction."

"It lives?" Uriel demanded. 

"Nothing dead lives." Danny lied. 

"It still exists, and you know where it is." Castiel guesses.

Danny stands, like a normal person would stand because apparently angels can't tell what they're talking too. Maybe it's the anti-Vladco-tracking-device device in his shoe? But yeah, standing like that means he has to awkwardly unhook his legs and climb off the bench. "Obviously."

"Where?"

"Ah, no. I thought we established that I don't trust you."

Uriel stands, fast, so fast a human might not track it. "You will tell us."

"Will you try to make me if I'm under his protection?"

Uriel stops, doesn't quite get in his face.

"The world isn't going to end." Danny tells them, it's almost a promise.

Castiel stands. "So you'll ignore what Samhain will do? Because you don't believe the seals hold power?" 

Danny sighs, “ Fright Knight , his name is Fright Knight.”

“Does his summoner know that?” Uriel asks, with the smugness of someone who knows old magic. 

“What do you know?”

---

Dean feels a little uneasy when Fright Knight rises in the dying man's body. He feels doubt when he calls the witch beautiful, hopeful, when he kills the witch, and doubt again when he calls her a whore. Like sure, but it doesn't feel like something Danny's friends would say, you know? Then again, he's Danny’s friend and he's not really above it? Maybe he's just reading into it because of Ruby, and Lilith, and every other demon who's shown utter disdain for their followers. Still, he thinks the kid would at least give the guy a disappointed look.

But Fright Knight didn't seem bothered by them playing dead on the ground, faces covered in blood because of Sam's quick thinking.

He didn't seem delighted by the trick-or-treating or the decorations like Danny said he would be. They follow him to the cemetery and arrive just in time to hear the screaming start.

They split up, Dean frees the kids and starts in on the zombies. It's easier to let the rage flow as he hacks at the hungry undead. It's easier than confronting the thought circling the back of his mind.

Danny lied. Danny lied. Danny lied.

The kid shows up around the time things start to get tight. He drives someone into one zombie's eye socket and blasts another away with some kind of green fire. It gives Dean the moment he needs to lock the rest inside their vault. 

Then Dean punches him in the face. His fist connects. Danny staggers back, clutching at his nose, but then his eyes go wide.

"The witch didn't summon those, did she?"

"Ya think?!" Dean swings with the weapon. This time the kid dodges cleanly and is running. Dean gives chase.

"Where's Sam?! If I was wrong about this, then—" he cuts himself off, deciding which path to take as it forks. Dean swings again, this time Danny blocks and disarms. Intangibility, Dean realizes, Danny simply just pulled the weapon from his hands. Then he tosses it away. "Dean, where's Sam!?"

The panic looks real. Feels real, Dean can taste it on the air. Can Danny fake that? What would be the point of pretending after he's won?

Dean shakes himself, and points in the direction Sam went. They both run in that direction.

They arrive to see Samhain throw Sam across the room.

"Fright!? What are you doing?" 

Samhain sees them, and Dean is flying backwards. He hits the wall hard.

"Fright! It's me!" Dean blinks and Danny is floating off the ground.

"You should know better," Samhain tells him, "than to use a name unclaimed by one such as me, Phantom."

"That is the name you gave to use!" Danny flies back, joining Dean in a hard impact against the wall.

"No longer!" Samhain shouts.

"No!"

"I am far more than you can ever—" Samhain chokes. Sam stands on the other end of the room, his arm outstretched. His face twisted in struggle. 

Then demonic smoke pours from the man's mouth. It crackles on the ground, Dean sees a glimpse of hellfire before it vanishes. The body Samhain inhabited, crumples to the ground.

---

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean demanded. Danny stands with the motel door half open. 

"There's something I need to do."

"After that? You think you're just walking away?!"

Danny holds the door open for him. Dean looks to Sammy.

"Want me to come too?"

"We'll talk later." Dean decides, because he doesn't want to be sidetracked by a fight with his brother. (And it will probably be a fight.) He walks out, and follows the kid down the street.

Danny pays a trick-or-treater twenty dollars for a plastic costume sword. He steals a jack-o-lantern off someone's porch, and finds a place where they're not likely to be distributed for a while.

"Are you helping, or just waiting to see if you need to shoot me?" Danny asks, there's no threat or demand in it, just weariness.

"What would I do if I was helping?" Dean asked. Danny turned the plastic blade in his hands and started carving into it with his knife. 

"I need a devil's trap." 

"You're summoning a demon?!"

"...Not if this works..."

"Explain."

"They're the same person, Fright Knight and Samhain. But the witch summoned Samhain, pulled his past self to the forefront, and Samhain rejected the new name... maybe, if I summon Fright Knight by his way... maybe it will bring him back?"

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then even if I'm making the trap, you're checking it beforehand."

Dean sighed. If the kid had been his usual joking self, he'd tell him off. But he was solemn, sad, and was etching symbols into cheap plastic like it was a gravestone.  "Can I stop you?"

"No." 

Dean sighed and started drawing. He was always careful with devil's traps. But he paid extra attention to this, he made it as detailed as he was certain of without going back to consult Bobby's books. He checked and rechecked. As Danny made his own circle in mystery sigils around the pentagram. 

"It's ready." He told the kid, who checked his own work. Then he plunged the plastic blade into the pumpkin. He said some words in a language that wasn't Latin, and slowly pulled the blade free.

The blade that emerged was not made of plastic. Dean didn't know what it was made of, but the embedded sigils matched the ones Danny had carved, and its blade looked deadly sharp. Once the entirety of the sword was pulled free, a storm began inside the pentagram.

Samhain had been exorcised from the body he'd possessed earlier. Now trapped without a vessel, he amassed into a roiling black cloud that thrashed against the invisible walls of its binding.

The storm spoke with thunder and static. Danny replied with the cracking of lake ice and the silence of an infinite nothing. 

And Dean understood. 

Rage. 

Betrayal.

Mocking. 

Demand: Return. Return. Return.

Mocking. Destruction's intent. 

Dean sees it. In a year's time, what was Fright Knight's will, will no longer be in transition. People will do as they always do, preparing in joyful tradition for a night celebrating youth and horrors that they do not have to fear. Factories will churn, parents will spend precious dollars or days crafting or both, people will carve into pumpkins and hang cobwebs and plastic imitation corpses— and they will all do so, not with the intent of warding away Halloween's Patron, but with the intent to welcome him. Such power will be Samhain's. There will be ruin unlike any humanity has seen before.

 Fury. Betrayal. 

Plea: Return.

Mocking. 

Acceptance.

"Dean, can I borrow your knife?"

The English words pull him back from... whatever that was, but not quite pulling him free. If he gives him the knife, Danny will have both it, and the sword of unknown power.

He responds with a ground scuff of readying feet,  the fabric rustle of a repositioned gun.

Danny nods, replies with a turn of the sword. He holds it by its blade, holding it out to Dean handle first.

Dean takes it. 

Danny doesn't let go for a moment. "Careful," he warns, "Soulshreader is bound. She will try to return to her master."

Dean tightens his grip on the handle and Danny releases her. Dean pulls the demon killing blade from his belt and hands it over in the same manner.

Danny steps into the circle with Samhain and Dean watches a demon die. 

Danny steps back out of the circle and chokes on his sobs.

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

INKling

A/N: Okay so a while ago I saw a post made by the__ria on Instagram where she drew Gerard as a tattoo artist with a bunch of tattoos and piercings and it's so INCREDIBLE (the post is from April 2023 on her Instagram page if you wanna see my direct inspo!). So here's a cutesy little story about who I think tattoo artist Gerard would be, and him doing/walking the reader through her first tattoo. Pairing: tattoo!artist!Gerard x F!Reader Warnings: Swearing, needles? (idk if that's one but putting it down) Word count: ~2,900

You were finally doing it.

After over a year of wanting to, lots of thought and contemplation about it, you were finally forcing yourself to overcome the fear of potential pain and just get the tattoo you had wanted. You figured now was not only the perfect time to get some important art with significant value to you on your body but also to face your fear of pain and commitment. Call it killing two birds with one stone, you were calling it a whirlwind of anxiety.

Your favorite co-worker, Lianna, had promptly suggested her tattoo/piercing artist as soon as you told her you were gonna do it. Her face was sparkling with various pieces of metal through her skin, her arms lined with sleeves of small tattoos, and you knew she had some other places too. So why not? She clearly knew what she was doing, and you had no one else to rely on for this.

So this Saturday morning you entered the small parlor tucked in-between a couple of larger shops on the grungey side of town. You preferred it here anyways, where coffee shops and cocktail places were oddly experimental and regular clothing stores were silenced by the absurd amount of thrift stores. “You ready?” She asked with a big smile as you two walked in.

You tightly smiled, “Yeah, but nervous.”

“Don’t worry, Gerard is amazing. He makes everything so comfortable and is such a talented artist. He’ll take great care of you.”

“Did I hear my name?” You heard a male voice shout from a hallway somewhere.

“Yeah Gee, it’s Lianna.”

“Again? Dude, I will always thank you for your business but you were here like three weeks ago-" He stepped around the corner and into the back part of the counter, stopping briefly when he saw you.

“I’m here for her.” She clarified nodding her head in your direction.

Of course Lianna had to bring you to not only a vibey, comfortable tattoo shop, but one where the owner, and soon to be your artist, was extremely hot. You really tried to control your dilating pupils, but then again, no one could do that. There was no hope for you at this point. His lightly shaggy but short black hair that fell just below the tip top of his ear. The piercings that looked like they were made for his face included a septum, angel fangs on the top of his lips, a bridge piercing, and a small one on the center of his bottom lip (you weren't sure what those were called). And the tattoos that surrounded the skin all over him and up his neck just past the cut of the top of his shirt. You wanted to trace your finger over every inch of ink on his body.

“And who is this?” He smirked which you quickly picked up on, going to sit at his computer briefly.

“Um, I’m Y/N.” You said with a small smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sugar.” He looked up at you a bit, “What’re you here for?”

“A tattoo-“

“Her first.” Lianna quickly jumped in.

“Oh? A newbie.” He smiled, “We all gotta start somewhere. It looks like you’re in luck too because I’m free this morning so you won’t have to deal with Frank. He gets a little needle happy and likes the bigger harder stuff, and I’m assuming you wanna start simple.” You nodded, “What’re you thinkin’?”

“I want a sunflower on my forearm,” You said as he lightly nodded.

“Sounds easy enough, got any ideas I can see?” You nodded and pulled up your Pinterest board of ideas you liked while he quickly scanned through them, clearly taking many mental notes. “Perfect, mind if I take a few minutes in the back to draw up some ideas?” You nodded as he shot you a quick smile and went to the back.

“So, what do you think of him?” Lianna turned to you and asked.

“Why did you take me to a hot tattoo artist?” You groaned under your breath and through your teeth, hoping the walls here were thick. “Out of everyone and you chose the one that’s my type, and manages to make every single tattoo and piercing he has look like they were literally made for him.” She shrugged.

“Hey babe, remember I’m into women. Been dating the same one for five years, I don’t notice that shit about men.” You rolled your eyes, “If you really wanna go for it though, Gerard is most definitely single.”

“Yeah because someone who looks like him is gonna go out with me.”

“Judging by how incredibly flirty he was and the amount of times I counted his eyes looking you slowly up and down, I think the feeling is mutual.” You rolled your eyes. “For someone as genuinely beautiful as you are, we need to work on your self-confidence around men. It’s borderline sad how poorly you are at dealing with any man who is into you.”

“Because they’re not into me. They’re being nice.”

“I’ve known Gerard for years. That’s an overly nice, flirty, ‘I want to fuck this women’ Gerard.”

“I’m not looking for just a fuck.” You clarified, though you definitely wouldn’t mind doing that with him.

“Alright, I’m back. Thanks for waiting.” Your trance was broken by Gerard rounding the corner with an iPad in his hands. He walked over to you, standing next to you, and glancing the screen in your direction. It took your brain a few seconds of recalibration to stop focusing on his body heat, proximity, and damn smell that reeked in some sort of addicting way of cigarettes, coffee, and some musky pine situation.

Your eyes zeroed in on the design, realizing it was everything you wanted and more. Your face broke out into a huge smile. “It’s perfect. Like legitimately perfect.” He smiled back down at you.

“I’m glad you like it.” He responded. “Let me run back and print this out real quick, then get you to my station so we can talk placement.”

It only took him two or three minutes to get a variety of his designs printed out, coming back out and leading both you and Lianna to his station.

“You’ve eaten and drank water today, right?” He asked and you nodded.

“I wouldn’t have let he come here without that.” Lianna was quick to speak up.

“Right.” Gerard curtly nodded with a tight smile. “Just double checking. You would be surprised by the number of people that say they do that and then pass out or have issues afterward.” Your eyes went wide in concern. He saw your face and immediately retracted what he had said. “That’s not gonna happen to you. It only happens to people that don’t and just say they did.” He politely smiled. You nodded.

He spent a few minutes working with you on placement before finding the right area, and then carefully positioning it on your arm to make it easier for him to work. Even with his gloves on, your mind wandered with curiosity about how his hands felt, what they could do, and where they could go. It was subconscious, as you internally kicked yourself for thinking such things.

“Alright sweetheart, if you need to take a break or for me to stop because of the pain let me know.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip as you grew even more nervous. Your mind felt like it was spinning a bit, your face heating up at the prospect of the pain. “Do you wanna take another minute?” He asked, clearly sensing your nervousness.

“No, I’m okay.” You replied. “Just rip the band-aid off.” He softly smiled and nodded, grabbing his small tattoo gun.

“If it makes you feel any better,” He mentioned, loading what you assumed to be the ink inside. “Women’s pain tolerances are amazing when it comes to tattoos compared to men. I’ve had way more grown-ass men tap out after a few minutes on easy tattoo spots then I’ve had women after hours on more painful areas.” “Really?” You asked, partially amazed. He nodded with a “mhm”.

“I swear,” He smiled softly. You didn’t even notice until now that he had placed the needle on and began tracing the outline.

It was way better than you had anticipated. If anything, it didn’t even feel fully like a scratch, just like a very very small burning and tingling sensation.

“You doing okay?” He asked, his eyes still zeroed in and focusing on the lines he traced.

“Yeah, actually. This doesn’t really feel like much.”

“See.” You could see his cheeks push up from where his head was tilted in what you assumed to be a smile. “Tattoos are generally not bad, but especially on women.”

He continued on for a few minutes, Lianna filling the air with her random ranting about one thing or another, before Gerard spoke up again.

“Why did you decide on this tattoo, if you don’t mind me asking?” He spoke.

You softly smiled. “It’s for my grandmother. She passed away just over a year ago, loved sunflowers, so I wanted to get it for her.” Gerard hummed in appreciation.

“I’m assuming you were close with her?” He asked next, to which you hummed a quick “mhm”.

“I was very close with my grandmother too.” He smiled to himself, now tracing some the of the leaves. “She was the one who convinced me to continue with art from when I was a kid into my teen years, and then wanted me to go into it professionally.” He said.

“That’s really sweet.” You replied. “Do you have any tattoos for her?”

“I’ve only got one, shockingly.” He chuckled. “I got it right after she passed, five years ago-ish. It’s just her name in her handwriting on my inner forearm.” You glance down to where his arms laid, working on your own, but couldn’t find it.

“What was her name?”

“Helena.” He stated. “I can show it to you after.” You nodded, not even sure if he could see your face, but also not sure how to respond fully. “Are you ready for shading? This is probably gonna hurt a bit more.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” You replied. He looked up at you for the first time during the session to give you a comforting smile.

“If you need to tap out just say so. No shame in it.”

Shading dis hurt notably more. You closed your eyes for a small portion of it when the pain became a lot, the repetition of the needles over and over again on the same part of your skin. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You sighed out, letting your mind take you to other places but the pain on your arm.

“Good girl.” He muttered. That phrase made you tense, and you prayed no one in the room noticed your legs move slightly closer together. Damn praises.

Your eyes opened, working their way up to Lianna who was smirking between the two of you. Had you not been preoccupied with one of your arms being temporarily out of commission, you would’ve hit her.

Less than 20 minutes later he was done. You heard the gun turn off, and his gloves come off.

“You wanna see it?” He asked and you nodded, standing up and letting him guide you to the full body mirror in the shop. As soon as you turned your arm to see it, you gasped out loud not even intending to.

It was more than perfect. You weren’t sure you could have pictured it turning out any better, the way it cascaded up your arm and the perfect detailing.

“It’s literally perfect.” You stated in disbelief and excitement, turning to Gerard who had a huge smile plastered on his face. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He replied, “I’m glad you really like it.”

“More than really like. I absolutely love it.” He nodded in appreciation.

You quickly glanced down to his inner forearm, noticing the delicate cursive tracing of the name "Helena". He quickly noticed, moving his arm up and to his side to allow you better access to see it more fully.

"That's really beautiful. And sentimental." He nodded.

"It keeps me grounded. Reminds me of her and all the principles she gave me." He softly smiled. "Grandma's are pretty damn special, aren't they." You giggled under your breath.

"They sure are."

It didn’t take long for him to ring you up, handing you over the total and waiting for you to pull out your right card.

“Wait-“ You began at the front desk, he stood behind it his head perking up at your confusion. “This is less than it’s supposed to be, right?” He shrugged it off.

“Lianna comes in here so often, I added a friend's discount.”

“Gerard, you really don’t have to do that. You worked really hard and I-“

“It’s okay, really.” He softly smiled. “Just come into me for the rest of your tattoos.” You nodded with a smile.

“Of course.” There was no need to argue and try to say you weren’t sure if you were getting more. As soon as you realized the pain was much less than anticipated, and how much you loved the new piece of art on your arm, you knew deep down you would be back for many more.

“Thank you, again.” You said, giving your signature on the receipt.

“Anytime.” He cheekily smiled at you. “I’ll see you around.”

“For sure-“

“Before we leave,” Lianna spoke up, now standing beside you and leaning on the counter. You assumed she was going to either request an appointment with Gerard or ask a tattoo-related question. “Gerard I’ve known you for four years.” He gave her a quizzical look, clearly just as unsure as you were as to where this conversation was heading. “You’ve never once flirted with a client, until Y/N.” He tried to interject with a quick opening of his mouth as his face turned bright red. “And Y/N is shit at talking to men. So just give her your number so we can all walk out of here happy and knowing the sexual tension over the last hour and a half does exist, and will be dealt with.”

Both you and Gerard stared at her with wide eyes unsure of what to do. For the first time that day, Gerard seemed flustered.

“Oh, um- yeah, sure.” He said, fiddling around the desk and finding a post-it note. He hastily wrote down his number, handing it to you. “No pressure or anything at all.”

“Thanks.” You softly smiled, still too embarrassed by Lianna to muster up anything more. “I’ll uh- I’ll text you.”

“That would be great.” He replied. “You like coffee?” You nodded. “Perfect, we’ll set up a date.” Your eyes went wide with nervousness. You looked like a deer in the headlights. “Again, no pressure.”

“Right.” You said, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you Y/N.”

“You too, Gerard.”

As you walked out of the tattoo shop, you felt your cheeks heating up into a bright red of embarrassment from Lianna. “Why the fuck would you do that?” You asked/yelled at her as soon as you were a solid two blocks away.

“What? The tension between you two was insane.” She explained with a sigh. “And he wasn’t going to ask, because Gerard’s professional and takes pride in that. And you sure as hell weren’t going to ask, because you lose every ounce of your confidence around men.”

“That’s-" You knew she was right but the principle of the matter still made you mad at her.

“It’s the truth. And you should be thanking me! You now have a date with a hot as hell tattoo artist.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t judge men by how they look.” You fired back.

“I am a true and proud lesbian at heart… but you do have a point. I could see his attractiveness from a ‘I’m into guys’ perspective. It took a lot of imagining.” You groaned.

“What if he doesn’t actually wanna go out with me and you just made him feel pressured?”

“Gerard Way doesn’t feel pressured.” She explained with a scoff. “If there’s any man in the world who is confident bordering cocky, but thankfully stays a few steps away from cocky, it’s Gerard. He would have come up with an excuse, or better, told me off if he didn’t want to give you his number.”

“Whatever.” You sighed. “Now I have a date to set up and a new stressor and-"

“Gerard is chill.” She softly smiled at you. “He’s literally just gonna ask you to get coffee with him, he’s gonna pay no doubt, and just chill in the corner of a coffee shop with you and talk.”

“I’m not good at talking to men.”

“You’re great at it when you feel comfortable.” She sighed. “Just- trust me, he’s a great guy. If you’re nervous, tell him and he will completely understand.”

“Okay.” You said in a final defeat. “If this all goes to shit though, I’m blaming you.”

“If it all goes to shit, which it won’t,” She confidently fired back. “I’ll pay for your next tattoo.”

“It won’t be from Gerard if it all goes to shit.”

“Eh, so be it. A revenge tattoo arc would be fun for you!”