#ended up being a lot harder than i thought

[captain-huggy-bear]

To Fight a Ten Year Old

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Notes: Alas, I did in fact experience this as a child, but I can laugh about it now :) Also writing soccer instead of football actually hurt me.

Very silly + short idea to be honest but hope it brings a smile to some faces!

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a stupid little back and forth the two of you have going as you get ready for bed, silly little questions like 'tell me about your first broken bone' and 'why is your favourite animal your favourite?'. It's something Quinn and you have been doing since you first started dating. It started as a way to get to know each other better and ended up a habit, a ritual of sorts.

Each year the questions get harder to think of as your lives become more intertwined, most of your stories featuring the other, but it still raises interesting moments from your childhoods and silly little stories that explain a lot about you or him. Things you probably wouldn't find out about each other unless you asked these random questions or a family member brought it up at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Today is no different. You're going through your night routine, taking off your make up and moisturising your skin, while Quinn brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, door open so you can talk.

"Okay..." He's thinking hard, even as he talks around his toothbrush leaning his head out of the bathroom to watch you as you wipe away your eyeliner, "How about first heartbreak?" His voice is muffled around the toothbrush and almost sounds like he's underwater, despite this he never seems to want to wait until he's done.

"Like first heartbreak? Or first proper heartbreak?" You're running a cloth over the rest of your face as you ask, wiping away concealer and blush, an array of colours smearing the fabric. Your skin being revealed bit by bit.

"What's the difference?" He briefly disappears back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and put his toothbrush away, but you know he's still listening as you explain.

"Well, first heartbreak is that time as a little kid that you thought you were in love and got hurt by it but it wasn't serious. You were probably over it by the next week, and first proper heartbreak is when you're older and it actually is heartbreak and you can't get over it for at least 3 months."

He hums as he comes back to lean against the doorframe, shoulders looking delicious without a shirt on, "First heartbreak, probably less depressing for a Monday night."

You take a moment, reaching for your moisturiser as you think back. There are many moments you could think of where you thought you were in love as a litte kid and had your heart broken as a result, but one stands out the most.

"Okay, um...When I was 10 years old I really liked like this boy in class called Cameron but Cameron really liked Emily, a girl 2 years older than us." You can still remember it now, the way he used to sit with her whenever he had the chance, how she clearly did not want a kid 2 years younger than her hanging around, how lovesick he was...how lovesick you were.

"Okay, so Cameron likes a cougar?" You glare over at him as you rub moisturiser into your skin, disapproving as he grins at you, straight teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

"2 years apart at the age of 10 and 12 does not make someone a cougar, Quinn!"

"I don't know, baby, seems pretty cougar-ish to me." You roll your eyes at him as he strolls closer to you, taking your comb in hand and tilting your head forward gently. He's careful as he starts to detangle your hair, careful not to pull too harshly on your scalp, much kinder than your mother used to be when you were a child. Quinn's always careful not to hurt you, apologetic if a tangle pulls too roughly.

"You're ridiculous. Anyway, where was I?" You reach for the detangler handing it back to him as he works, closing your eyes gently.

"You liked a spotty kid called Cameron." There's a hint of dislike riding his voice, even as his fingers are careful as they pull strands of your hair apart, teasing out knots.

Your eyes flash open and meet his in the vanity mirror, lips pursed at the way he insults a ten year old he's never met, "I liked a tall, cute kid called Cameron who was into soccer."

"Yeah, like I said, spotty." The dislike turns to a jealous sort of mumble, matched only by the sour look on his face that has you huffing out a laugh.

"Are you jealous of a ten year old?"

"He's not ten anymore..."

"Do I need to remind you this is a story of heartbreak?"

"Still, should've been me." His hands slide from your hair, comb having been put back on the side, and down to the base of your neck. Long fingers working at the tension there, you lean back into his fingers even as you call him out for his ridiculousness.

"We didn't even know each other! You're absurd, anyway, so I was certain Cameron was my future husband and I decided to be very brave one Valentine's day and get him a card and a gift." You lean a little to the right as Quinn hits a knot on the left side of your shoulder, you sway back into him.

"I'm proud of little you, that's gutsy." He can almost imagine it, little you bravely handing over a glittery red and pink monstrosity, little bows in your hair and chubby cheeks.

"I know, braver than I am now." You're not sure you'd have been brave enough to do something like that now, it had been Quinn after all who'd made the first move, Quinn who'd set the pace of your relationship at the start, "So I get him some chocolates, those stupid cheap heart shaped ones, and I make a stupid card covered in glitter and all sorts. I take my time and I write a heartfelt confession inside and then decided to give it to him in front of the entire class."

"No..." His voice drops, horror filling it as he looks at you through the mirror, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. You nod at him, confirming his worst fears, he knows how this is about to go down.

"Yeah, rookie move. I do it though, I hand it over and then he proceeds to not even read the card and um, rip it up in front of me and the entire class while telling me that he was going to marry Emily."

His fingers still in their massage. In fact, Quinn completely stills, his entire body rigid as he frowns at you through the mirror, there's a silence, long and heavy before he speaks.

"Where does Cameron live?"

"Quinn." You turn in your seat to look up at him, lips pursed together.

"I'm serious where does he live I'm going to go have some words with him," He crosses his arms and there's a brief moment where you're distracted by the strength and definition in his forearms before you really process that he's considering having words with a guy who broke your heart when you were ten.

"About his choices when he was ten?"

"Yeah! Who does that to someone, not only did he reject you, which is an insane decision by the way, he embarrasses my baby in front of the entire class!" Quinn reaches for your hands as he rants, pulling you to your feet, as his fingers twist and twine with yours. You'd think he's just joking but his tone is completely serious and it makes your heart warm, no matter how silly he's being. He's genuinely personally offended on your behalf about something that happened when you were a child, before you knew each other. It's sweet. Silly and absurd, but sweet.

"You can't fight a guy who broke my heart at the age of ten."

"Sure, I can or I can get Millsy to do it." He cracks a smile at that, even though he's serious about wanting words with this Cameron, he's also aware he's being absurd. He tugs you closer by the hands even as you glare up at him like a disappointed parent.

"You are not setting Miller on my childhood crush!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous! It was over a decade ago!" Even as you protest you're smiling, arms reaching up to rest over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Fingers twisting the strands of brunet hair that rest there.

"And, he broke your heart and that's not acceptable, baby, i'm sorry, I have to defend your honour." Quinn palms rest on each of your hips, pulling you in as his fingers curl into your pajama bottoms.

"But, it was a good thing."

"How is that a good thing?"

"Because if he hadn't done that, I might have married him and been stuck in a loveless marriage and then never met you or met you but not been able to be with you." You look at him with a little smirk like you've beat him at his own game, like you've outplayed him in a game of chess.

"So you're saying that I actually should be thanking that spotty kid for breaking your heart?"

"Yes."

There's a moment of silence as he draws you ever closer, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, all soft lidded eyes and warmth. Pliant like a docile house cat.

"I'm not thanking him, I will, however, not get Millsy to fight him." It's mumbled so close to your lips that they're brushing his, an almost kiss that speaks volumes about where his mind is now.

"Good, because I'm not breaking you or Miller out of prison."

"You don't love me enough?" He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be offended or care as his eyes are heavy, focus on your lips, not your eyes and certainly not on the ten year old he was threatening to set Miller on 5 seconds ago.

"Oh, I love you enough, but I do not have that skill set, honey."

"I don't know, think you could probably charm the officers into letting me out, baby." Quinn brushes the tip of his nose purposefully with yours and you know he's seconds from breaking and just kissing you, he has his tells, his little gestures that have consistently given him away.

"You suggesting I seduce the police now?" You pull back just enough to get his attention, to force a pout from him at the distance, his fingers scrambling at your back to pull you back in.

"...Nawwh, only me."

"You're an idiot." He pulls in you in with enough force that your chests bump with a soft smack, rubbing his cheek against yours just because he knows the stratch of his beard will get a giggle from you as you shy away from the sensation.

"I'm your idiot though."

"Mmm, my idiot." You mumble it against his lips as he finally breaks, self control being ditched in favour of the way you sigh against his mouth. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, minty and sweet as his lips part beneath yours with a hum.

Maybe heartbreak at ten sucked, but you can't help but be thankful for it when you ended up winning the jackpot when you scored Quinn. So much better than spotty ten year old Cameron.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Angst Villain x civilian where the villain cheats on civilian with hero

“If it is of any comfort, it didn’t mean that much to me." The villain cocked their head, as if they were thinking about something intensively - which they weren't. They looked at the civilian, but failed to conjure any pity.

Their partner, well, probably ex-partner now, looked at them with wide eyes and tears rolling down their cheeks.

"I-" The civilian's hands were shaking, their face contorted in pain. "What did I- what did I do wrong?"

Their voice was shaking.

"Nothing."

"I..." The civilian took in a deep breath. "Oh god..."

They gasped for air desperately but the villain couldn't help but think about the hero in their bed, moaning lovingly. It was true that the civilian hadn't done anything wrong. They were quite good company to keep around. They were tidy (which was very important to the villain), they were nice, avoided conflict, didn't ask too many questions. The perfect kind of person to keep around, someone who wasn't getting involved in the villain's business.

But when it came to pure desire, the hero was simply more tempting. It was about power.

The civilian wasn't a challenge in bed.

The hero on the other hand...

"Oh god...I can't-" The civilian gasped for air over and over again, coming very close to mimicking a panic attack.

"I can move out if you want, or you do. Whatever you like."

"I wanted to marry you, I - I love you, I..." The villain raised a lazy brow.

"We can still get married if you want to, but I'd like to screw the hero every now and then," the villain said. The civilian turned away, but the villain could obviously tell that they were crying harder now. They would have never brought this up, but unfortunately, the villain had gotten a bit lazy and the civilian had found out about the affair.

It wasn't the end of the world, but the villain had planned to keep the civilian around for a little longer. More than once, they had thought about proposing to the civilian out of pure necessity, but the amount of work linked to that, had spoiled the idea quickly.

"You don't have to decide now," the villain clarified. "It's an option, that's all."

The civilian's back was still turned towards them.

"I had so many plans for us," they whispered, almost mumbled the words. "What did I do wrong, why are you doing this to me...?"

The villain rolled their eyes.

"Like I said, it didn't mean that much to me. They're attractive. They showed up at my work. We fucked on the desk and started to meet regularly." A lot of lies. Technically, they had been flirting with each other for the last year. "Work" meant their usual nightly activities. The thing with the desk was true, though.

The civilian turned around, eyes bloodshot.

"Did they force you? Because they're the hero?" The villain pursed their lips. Interesting. It was probably pretty easy to turn themselves into a victim in this situation (the civilian was by no means rational right now), but they had already admitted that they wanted to meet the hero in the future, so keeping up with that lie was going to be exhausting.

"No," the villain said. "Their ass just looked great that night."

"I don't understand, I thought you loved me?! We've been together for three years..." The civilian wiped away their tears but new tears followed and followed.

"...I like your company, yes."

"That's it?"

Once again, the villain cocked their head, staring at the civilian.

"Come on. A hero. The hero. Who can say no to that? It's a sexual thing. Has absolutely nothing to do with you. You're great." They shrugged. "Stay here. Get some sleep. We can talk about the rest tomorrow."

The civilian stood there, didn't dare to move.

"My love, you must be exhausted."

The civilian took in a deep breath. They nodded.

"There we go," the villain said softly. "You look lovely right now, by the way."

It wasn't that the villain liked being cruel - they just couldn't help it.

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 8 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix

part viii (gift-wrapping)

You don’t know what the last-minute staff meeting is for, but the email looked important, so you show up outside the building’s biggest conference room on the hour, as ordered. As soon as you set foot inside, though, you know this was one you could have skipped. There are piles of gift bags and rolls of wrapping paper on every table, as well as packets of tissue paper and spools of ribbon and actual jars of confetti with scoops in them. On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someone’s written REMEDIAL GIFT-WRAPPING.

You didn’t think your gifts were wrapped that badly. Tomura hasn’t complained. Then again, Tomura doesn’t know you’re the one leaving his gifts, so he wouldn’t know who to complain to if he had a problem. In spite of showing up on time, everybody else somehow got here before you, so you hesitate just inside the doorway, looking for an empty seat. Before you can find one, something moves in your peripheral vision, and you glance over to find Twice beckoning to you. He’s sitting with Spinner, Dabi, and Tomura, and they’ve got an empty seat nearby.

A few weeks ago, you’d have found somewhere else, but you’re much more comfortable with Tomura and his friends than you were before. Seeing them outside of work at Toga’s party probably helped. Seeing them the next morning, waking up with bedhead and low-grade hangovers that could only be cured with diner food, moved them firmly from the category of scary coworkers to people you could call friends. And waking up at one end of Toga’s couch to realize that you’d spent the entire night sharing it and a blanket with Tomura moved him from Secret Santa recipient to something else.

You’re not sure what else, exactly. You’ve been keeping a close eye on him since the Secret Santa thing started, just so you could figure out good times to sneak down to the basement and leave things on his desk, but for the past few days you’ve felt different about seeing him out and about. Instead of being relieved, and using your next free second to race downstairs and plant a gift, you’ve gone to talk to him. Or you’ve stayed put wherever you were and hoped he’d come talk to you. He’s different at work than he is out of it, but now that you’ve seen him the other way, you can’t fail to see that the person who slept on the couch with you is there when he’s here, too.

Work doesn’t bring out the best in him, and work-related holiday festivities are even worse. You can hear him complaining as you make your way over. “I don’t need to learn gift-wrapping. The stuff I leave is fine.”

“No. Spinner’s gifts are fine. Yours look like you’re dropping off a sperm sample,” Dabi says. He’s organizing the pile of gift-wrapping supplies and ignoring the way Tomura swears at him. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“With everybody else here, Toga’s probably not just picking on us,” Spinner says. He spots you coming over and waves. “Hey. You got an invite, too?”

“My gift-wrapping must be worse than I thought,” you say. You drop down into the chair between Twice and Tomura. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Tomura glances quickly at you, then goes back to screwing around with a mostly-empty roll of ribbon. “You have a gift in your mailbox. I saw it when I checked mine.”

You didn’t put a gift in his mailbox today – it’s on his desk again, waiting for him whenever he gets back. You dropped it off after you saw him walk back on the way to the conference room. “I’ll look after we’re done with this. Does this happen every year?”

“No. It’s new.” Tomura scowls. “It sucks.”

“Hi everybody!” Toga’s standing on a chair at the front of the room, waving to catch the room’s attention. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s come to my attention that some of you guys don’t know how to wrap a gift to save your lives, and even though it’s the gift that counts, the way it’s presented matters, too! So for the sake of your Secret Santa recipients, we’re going to go over the basics of gift-wrapping –”

“And we’re going to practice on these,” Midoriya announces, holding up a clear plastic bin that’s full to the brim. “The gifts from the toy drive. Which we need to wrap anyway.”

“I told you we weren’t in trouble,” Spinner says to the group at large.

“No, we’re just free labor.” Tomura’s scowling worse than before. “I can’t wait to count my papercuts afterwards.”

“To help with this,” Toga continues loudly, “every table has at least one person who knows what they’re doing. Compress and Yaoyorozu will go over the basics, and then your group’s expert will help you get going.”

Where’s your table’s expert? You glance around, only to find everyone else looking at you. “We need to work quickly,” Iida announces, even louder than Toga. “It’s imperative that we get these gifts mailed this afternoon. If they’re delayed by the storm, they won’t reach their recipients in time. Do you want to be the reason why needy children go without presents this year?”

“Hey! Iida! That’s kind of harsh,” Midoriya says hastily. Dabi is snickering. “Just do your best, everybody!”

There’s a bin of toys under the table. Compress and Yaoyorozu order everybody to start with something in a box, since they’re easier to work with, but you have a bad feeling you’re the expert, and the things that are weirdly shaped are going to take longer. You take out a plastic dinosaur toy and get to work, listening with half an ear to the instructions. You don’t want to contradict anything they’re saying. It’ll slow things down, and based on the size of the toy bin, you can’t afford that.

You overhear the other supposed experts at the other table, and they seem pretty comfortable giving instructions, but you decide to keep quiet unless somebody asks you something. And somebody does. “Are girls born knowing how to gift-wrap or something?” Spinner asks, staring at the dinosaur toy you’ve successfully mummified in candy-cane wrapping paper. “How did you do that?”

“Practice, I guess?” You don’t really remember somebody teaching you. “It was probably just watching my mom.”

“Maybe you should handle all the weird-shaped shit,” Dabi says. He abandons the box he’s wrapping and starts sorting the toys in the bin. “I want to get out of here sometime this year and that’s not going to happen if you put me in charge of that.”

You nod and pick up the grotesque-looking nutcracker at the top of the pile. To your surprise, everybody else settles down to work quickly – even Tomura, who’s still scowling, and handling the wrapping paper like it might take a bite out of him. The other tables are chattering, but everybody at yours is quiet. Focused. When Midoriya swings by to pick up any wrapped gifts, he has to make two trips to collect all of them from you.

It’s not until you’re starting on the second round of presents that Tomura speaks up. “This isn’t so bad,” he says, and you almost amputate your finger in shock. “I thought it was going to be like that movie.”

“Which –” Dabi interrupts himself, then makes a weird noise. “The one where the guy’s cheating on his wife?”

“And he’s trying to get the clerk to gift-wrap that ugly necklace he bought for his mistress before his wife gets back?” That scene made you cringe. There are lots of scenes in Love Actually that make you cringe, but that one stands out. “Did he actually cheat on his wife or was he just trying to cheat?”

“He’s cheating.” Dabi measures out a huge scoop of glitter and drops it on top of the present he’s wrapping before he tapes the wrapping paper down. “My dad pulls shit exactly like that. Except he was fucking my boyfriend, not his secretary.”

You almost choke on thin air. “He – what?”

“That was ages ago,” Twice says. “They didn’t talk for like – five years. Then Dabi’s sister made them go to family therapy and now Enji makes up for it by giving Dabi money whenever he asks.”

“And when he doesn’t,” Spinner says. Dabi is making a face. “You’re better off, dude.”

“You know how Shigaraki hates Christmas? That’s how Dabi feels about Valentine’s Day,” Twice says. You probably would, too, if your dad had hooked up with your boyfriend. “If you’re still around by then, you can hang out with us. We always celebrate by maxing Enji’s credit card.”

If you’re still around by then. What does that mean? “Sounds fun,” you say, watching as Dabi adds two scoops of glitter to his next present. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“It’s there. We’re supposed to use it,” Dabi says. “The kids will get a kick out of this shit.”

“Yeah, but their parents will hate it.”

Tomura takes a scoop of glitter and pours it in the gift bag he’s been screwing around with. “It’s not about them.”

You remember who the gifts are for all at once. Kids in foster care, whose parents probably suck as a rule. They deserve to have some fun, and you’ve never met a kid who wouldn’t go crazy over a glitter bomb. When you start wrapping your next present, you add some glitter to it, too.

At some point the department heads come looking for all their employees, which is how you find out that Toga didn’t clear the meeting with anybody before she called it. Most of your table takes the opportunity to flee – Dabi first, then Twice, and Spinner after a second’s hesitation. Tomura stops halfway out of his chair when he realizes you’re not getting up. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me yet,” you say. “And there’s still a lot to do.”

You know there’s work waiting for you back at your desk, but it shouldn’t take too long, and Iida’s guilt-trip about the presents definitely got to you. You empty the rest of the toy bin onto the table and grab a box with a model train printed on the front. A chair scrapes next to you as Tomura sits back down, and he lifts the train box out of your hands. “Give me that. I can’t wrap the weird ones.”

You stare at him. You can’t help it. “What are you doing?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me, either.” Tomura shrugs. “It’ll be faster if I help.”

“You hate this stuff,” you say.

“I’m not going to be the reason needy kids don’t get presents this year.” Tomura’s Iida impersonation is pretty on point, especially when he adds in Iida’s trademark hand gestures. You laugh. “And I haven’t gotten a paper cut yet. Nobody will put up with my bitching next year if I don’t get at least one.”

He says that, and it sounds like him – but somehow you don’t buy it. He’s not making eye contact, and his ears are turning sort of red, and your heart kicks up a weird, fluttery jolt. “If you want to hang out, you can just say that,” you say. “You don’t have to do – I know you hate doing this.”

“This is what you’re doing,” Tomura interrupts you. “That’s the important part.”

That one’s hard for you to parse, so hard that Tomura manages to wrap the train and start on the next gift before you can get even sort of a handle on it. And once you do, you’re not sure you want one. Tomura hates Christmas. Every Christmas thing you’ve seen him do has been done under pressure or threat, and he just got a golden opportunity to escape. Why would he give it up to hang out with you?

There’s one answer. An obvious answer. One you’d believe if it was coming from anybody but him. “I can use the help,” you admit. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Yeah.” Tomura reaches for the wrapping paper at the same time as you do, and your hands collide. You thought he’d flinch. You thought you’d flinch. But your hands stay still, poised against one another, for a long moment before Tomura draws away, his fingertips skimming the back of your hand as he goes. “Any time.”

<- part vii part ix ->

[witchywithwhiskey]

the mistletoe tradition

pairing: intern!bucky barnes x boss!female reader

summary: the young intern in your office catches you under the mistletoe for the fourth time during the office holiday party, and it leads to both of you confessing to the feelings you'd been hiding.

warnings: age gap romance (ages aren't specified, but reader is older—i imagined late 30s to Bucky's mid-to-late 20s), power imbalance relationship (but not really because of reasons explained in the fic), fluff, kissing, making out, some dry humping, some dirty talk, some dirty thoughts, implied/referenced sex, pet names (doll), happy ending

word count: 4.5k

a/n: here's my last entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "How is the mistletoe following you around?" i wrote like three different versions of this fic and i wanted to include smut but i just ran out of time and energy. this month has been a lot harder than i thought it would be, so this is gonna be my last holiday fic. hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

The cheerful chords of some pop star’s Christmas song filtered down the dim back hallway of the office building. The jaunty, joyful tune was the soundtrack of your awkwardness as you stared up at the little bundle of mistletoe that hung above your head. 

You looked back down at the person who, moments ago, caught up to you to wish you a final merry Christmas, and had then noticed and pointed out the mistletoe.

If it had been anyone else in the office, you would’ve laughed off your annoyance at being chased down when you were on your way home—because leaving the company Christmas party early was less of a faux pas when you co-owned the business—and given them a quick peck on the cheek. 

You’d been practically ecstatic to leave your employees to enjoy the festivities without you, even if all you had waiting at home was a bottle of wine and a cozy winter romance novel. But that joy had twisted into something else, something too tangled for you to decipher, when you saw who’d caught up with you.

Because it wasn’t your fellow co-owner Natasha Romanoff, or the rising star of the art department, Steve Rogers, who you’d been half-certain was flirting with you over the spiked eggnog earlier. It wasn’t even the obnoxious playboy that was Tony Stark, who only kept his job because he was a genius. 

No, the person who caught you alone, in the dark back hallway near your office, under some traitorous mistletoe, was the worst person in the office who could have—the intern, Bucky Barnes. The decidedly young and egregiously handsome intern, the one you had a little crush on, the one Nat teased you ruthlessly about finding insufferably attractive. 

“How is the mistletoe following you around?”

The whining words slipped from your lips before you could bite them back, your tongue loosened by the half glass of wine you’d sipped throughout the evening. The petulant tone of your voice should’ve been embarrassing, but you were too twisted up inside to care. 

Bucky had caught you under the mistletoe no less than three times in the few short hours you’d been at the company Christmas party, and if Nat hadn’t been conveniently across the party on each occasion, you would’ve thought she was setting you up to make a fool of yourself with the young intern. 

As it was, you’d demurred each time Bucky had found you under the mistletoe, offering him your cheek while your employees looked on and chanted for you to kiss. You’d thought a kiss on the cheek from the handsome intern would be fine, but it was anything but.

Each time Bucky had brushed his lips to your cheek, his rough stubble rasping against your soft skin, you’d lost your mind a little bit. When he kissed you, your heart rioted in your chest and your body went warm all over. When he was close, you breathed breathed him in; he smelled of bourbon and vanilla, and all the constant anxieties in your head went quiet. 

Each kiss on the cheek from Bucky Barnes had been delicious and intoxicating and wildly inappropriate. And you’d had to endure it three times. So you felt your petulant whine was entirely justified when he caught you under the mistletoe again. 

But Bucky only chuckled, one of his hands finding your lower back while the other caught your hand. He reeled you into his hard, firm chest, holding you close beneath the mistletoe.

Something about the embrace reminded you of an old couple slow dancing in their living room, and you almost smiled before you remembered you were annoyed and excited and curious about what Bucky was about to say.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

Mischief sparkled in Bucky’s blue eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up in a playful smirk, and you suddenly, desperately, wanted to kiss the expression off his face. 

But, of course, you didn’t.

Instead, you forced yourself to press your lips into an unamused line. You glanced over your shoulder and down the long hallway, where the rest of the company was laughing and talking and, if you weren’t mistaken, singing along to the Christmas music playing from someone’s bluetooth speaker. Then you turned back to the young intern.

“I’m going home, Mr. Barnes,” you said stiffly, knowing exactly what you were doing by referring to him so formally—creating some figurative space between the two of you. It was needed since your body seemed reluctant to pull away from his warmth and create actual physical space between you. “You should go back to the party.”

Bucky cut his eyes over your shoulder, giving the party a dismissive glance before returning his focus entirely to you. There was something heady about having the attention of the younger man, something you stubbornly wanted to ignore until you were home alone.

“I believe I’m still owed a kiss, doll,” Bucky murmured, the pet name rolling off his tongue so deliciously, it should be criminal, especially since you’d never heard him refer to anyone else with such an endearing nickname.

A fierce heat ignited between your thighs, spreading through the rest of your body like you’d just taken a big gulp of hot chocolate, and you gasped. At the last second, you tried to fix your face into a glare and make the sound come off as affronted, but somehow you knew you weren’t fooling Bucky. You certainly weren’t fooling yourself. 

“You shouldn’t call me that,” you huffed, attempting to hide the breathiness of your voice with annoyance. But your protest felt feeble when your hand had come to rest on Bucky’s bicep, which felt firm and nice beneath the bright green cardigan he’d worn to be festive for the party.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Bucky conceded, tilting his head to the side as he considered you. Then, so casually—like he thought if he did it casually enough, you might not notice—he brought your joined fingers up and settled your hand on his shoulder, leaving his arm free to wrap around your back. He held you close and stared into your eyes while he said, “But I think you like it.”

Another soft, sharp inhale sounded in the back hallway as you gasped. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were forced to confront your body’s reaction to Bucky when he’d used the pet name. You had liked it, but you couldn’t tell him that.

“It’s unprofessional,” you muttered, because you couldn’t deny his observation without lying. 

But you couldn’t meet his eyes, your gaze lingering on the dark stubble dusted across his jaw like fresh snow. You could still feel the rasp of his scruff against your cheek and, for one wild moment, you wondered if it’d be just as wonderful to feel that delicious scrape against other parts of your body…

Bucky chuckled, and the low, mirthful sound took you by such surprise, you didn’t even think to protest when he spun you around and backed you up against the wall. His big body pressed in close, and when you glanced in the direction of the party, you found that you were shielded from sight by the large ficus you’d gotten to brighten up the hallway.

“You know what’s unprofessional, doll?” Bucky asked, the rough, nearly desperate tone of his voice dragging your attention back to him. 

The young intern’s blue eyes were heated, intense, and just a little bit melancholy, the mixture so tortured, it surprised you enough that you didn’t know what to say. He seemed to take your silence as your only response, and continued on. 

“It’s the way I can’t stop thinking about you,” he rasped, his eyes drifting down your face to alight upon your lips, his already darkened gaze deepening into the even more pitch-black of lust. “It’s the way I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss you—really kiss you—the way a woman like you is meant to be kissed…” 

Bucky’s confession settled around your shoulders like a cozy sweater, so sweet and comforting that you wanted to bury your face in it and giggle as giddily as some lovestruck girl—and just as suddenly as you had that urge, you stopped your thoughts in their tracks. What were you doing, Bucky was too young for you! 

But…was he really? He was younger, sure, but he was a grown man. You were both adults. 

Of course, there was the issue of you being the boss of the company he worked for. But, actually, you couldn’t do anything without Nat’s input. So it wasn’t like you could abuse the power you had over him. 

But you and Bucky getting together would still be wrong…wouldn’t it?

The silence dragged out while you warred with yourself, and Bucky pulled back a little, his eyes darting around your face like he was trying desperately to read your thoughts. 

Somehow, that little bit of space he gave you felt like a whole gulf, which meant that this—whatever this was—had gone on too long. You gathered your professionalism around you like a coat of armor, sucking in a breath to let Bucky down easy. 

“Y’know what’s really unprofessional?” Bucky murmured, his tone turning teasing as he lifted a hand to cup your face gently. 

His thumb tapped your lower lip and you watched his eyes darken for a second before he shook his head and shot you a playful smirk. Then he answered his own question. 

“The way I can’t stop thinking about your pretty mouth when I’m supposed to be showing Fury how to convert a document into a PDF file,” he said, giving you an exaggerated, exasperated eye roll like he was asking, Can you believe my life?

A surprised laugh burst from your lips, taking you off guard. You caught a glimpse of the way Bucky’s eyes softened, and the grin that began to bloom as he took in your reaction, before you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds of your amusement. 

“I swear, I’m not laughing at you,” you managed to huff in between hysterical giggles, your voice nearly inaudible between your snorting and the cotton of Bucky’s sweater pressed to your mouth. 

You’d realized almost immediately how it must’ve looked for you to laugh at what Bucky said, and you didn’t want him to take it the wrong way—you just couldn’t get over the image he’d painted of your gruff, no-nonsense head of security, Nick Fury, trying to figure out how to save something as a PDF.

“I know,” Bucky murmured, his lips grazing your temple softly. You could feel his smile against your skin, and it sent warm tendrils of delight curling around your heart. “Fury’s so intimidating, no one would ever expect he’s completely hopeless with technology—the guy barely knows how to send an email.” 

You snorted and laughed harder even as you tried not to, because this was the worst part about your attraction to Bucky Barnes—you genuinely liked him. 

You didn’t cross paths with him too much, since his role was to help others around the office with odd jobs, and you had your own dedicated assistant. But when you got a moment with him while he was setting up the projector for a meeting, or fighting with the office copier, he never failed to make you laugh. 

He also never failed to make you question your resolve to never show him your true interest, even with Nat whispering in your ear that you should go for it. Most days, you didn’t waver from the decision you’d made not long after Bucky had joined the company to keep things professional.

But in that moment, with half a glass of wine mixing with his scent of bourbon and vanilla, making your mind feel fuzzy and light, you teetered on the edge of confessing everything you’d wanted to say to Bucky for months—how you thought about him all the time. 

How, especially after that evening at the party, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to let him kiss you. Really kiss you.

The thought sobered you, and you straightened up, leaning back as much as you could with Bucky’s arm still wrapped around your waist. You forced yourself to look him in the eye, prepared to put an end to the inappropriate moment you’d allowed to go on for too long. 

But your breath caught in your throat when you saw the sweet affection mixing with the sincere desire in his sparkling blue eyes. He was looking at you not like some young intern chasing after their older boss for the fun of it, but like a man who truly enjoyed your company and wanted to get to know you better. It was more than a little terrifying.

“You should…” you started to say, trying to tell him to go back to the party again, but the words died a quick death on your tongue. 

You couldn’t do it. You were so tired of pretending you didn’t have chemistry with Bucky, that you didn’t want to see where things could go with him if you just took the leap.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in a question while he waited for you to finish your sentence. When you didn’t, he began to pull away, like he was worried that he was crowding you too much—only for your fingers to dig into the soft fabric of his cardigan, halting his retreat before it had barely begun.

For a moment, Bucky froze, looking down at your hands clinging to him, a pleased smile spreading across his face when he realized you didn’t want him to pull away. Instead, you tugged him back against your smaller form so he was caging you in against the wall. 

Carefully—so, so carefully—he slotted his body against yours, his knee pushing between your thighs until your bodies were lined up perfectly, pressed so tightly you wondered if he could feel the way your heart was beating a hard, staccato rhythm against your ribs.

“You keep trying to tell me what I should do,” Bucky murmured, picking up the thread of your conversation as he ducked his face close enough to yours that you could smell the hot chocolate on his breath. “But until you tell me you want me to stop, I’m going to stick to the mistletoe tradition and kiss that pretty mouth of yours, doll.”

The word ‘stop’ was on the tip of your tongue. It was what you knew you should say, just like you knew you should extricate yourself from him and put an end to the inappropriate moment. But that wasn’t what you wanted. 

What you wanted—desperately, hopelessly—was for Bucky Barnes to kiss you.

The man’s eyes roamed over your face, bright and eager for your response. When you didn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze dipped to your mouth and a rough noise sounded in his throat that was half growl, half moan—and all yearning. But he still held himself back.

“Tell me, doll,” he begged, his voie ragged like he’d just sprinted to you through a snowstorm. “Tell me you want this just as much as me.”

Instinctively, you angled your face closer to Bucky’s, so your mouths were almost slanted together. You could taste the sweet richness of the hot chocolate he’d drank at the party, and your lips tingled with the need to close the distance between you. 

You held out as long as you could, but the truth was, you’d somehow always known it would come to this. So you said the words that would condemn you to your fate and make your wildest dreams come true.

“Please, Bucky, I want this so bad,” you rasped in a voice husky with the depth of your desire for the man who had caught you under the mistletoe four times that evening. “Just kiss me already.”

Then, what you would’ve thought was the impossible happened—Bucky Barnes kissed you. 

And, boy, did he kiss you.

Bucky’s mouth crashed down on yours, stealing the breath from your lungs as his lips pushed and pulled against yours, dragging you into a steamy dance that had you gasping and opening for him. A groan rumbled in Bucky’s chest and vibrated across your tongue as his own plunged into your mouth. 

His hand cupped your face, tilting it exactly where he wanted you so he could kiss you harder, deeper. He kissed you like he’d been dreaming of it his entire life, and he was worried you were in danger of ripping it away from him before he was ready.

But you weren’t going anywhere. You kissed Bucky just as fiercely, months and months of desire rising up in your body and spilling free in the moans that fell unreservedly from your lips. Your hands raked through his hair, grabbed his shoulders, tugged on his cardigan—anything you could do to bring him closer, to consume him just as he was consuming you.

With a rough sound, Bucky fell against you, pinning you to the wall at your back while the arm he’d wrapped around your waist pushed you down onto his thigh between your legs. Your hips rocked against him on instinct, and it was so delicious, warm, greedy pleasure surging through your body, that you did it again. 

“Yeah, baby, take what you need, make yourself feel good,” Bucky rumbled against your jaw, where he was busy pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that were making you feel practically feverish with desire. 

“You’re making me feel good,” you murmured heatedly, turning your face into the column of his throat and sinking your teeth unrepentantly into a spot just beneath the edge of his jaw. Bucky’s big body shuddered in your arms and you felt something like pride surge inside you.

“Careful, doll,” he teased, his voice ragged as he kissed his way back to your mouth, sucking on your lower lip hard enough to wring a soft, keening sound from your throat. “You almost sound like you like me.”

You huffed a laugh, but then a thought occurred to you and you curled your fingers into the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, pulling his head back so you could look him in the eye when you spoke. 

“I do like you, Bucky,” you said, and once those words were out, you couldn’t seem to stop the rest. “I’ve liked you since I met you, I just—it was my job to keep things professional.”

“I think we’re a little past professional now,” Bucky pointed out, but a grin was spreading across his face, the expression delighted and not the least bit smug. “And it’s all because you like me,” he teased, capturing your mouth in a sweeter kiss. 

You hummed an ‘mhmm’ and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. 

That time, Bucky’s kiss was slow and precious and devastating—the beginning of something real instead of the culmination of so many months of repressed desires. 

You could feel the surety in the way Bucky held you, the way he took his time learning you, his mouth exploring yours and discovering what made you sigh and moan and whine. 

When Bucky finally pulled away again, both of you were breathing hard and your mind was fuzzy around the edges in the best way possible. You were so lost in the hazy, delicate pleasure of the moment, you almost missed Bucky’s question.

“So, what are you doing for Christmas?”

For the first time since Bucky wrapped you up in his embrace, you jerked against his hold, more out of surprise than a desire to get free. But you still had to shake your head to clear the lust from your mind and focus on what he’d asked.

“What?” was your brilliant response.

You were stalling and you knew it, but you didn’t exactly want to tell the man who’d just kissed the hell out of you that you were planning to spend your Christmas alone with some wine and a holiday-themed romance novel. Or that, maybe, if you were feeling wild, you’d bake some cookies for yourself—but that was a strong maybe.

“My family’s back home in Brooklyn, and I can’t make it back,” Bucky explained, ducking his head so he could catch your gaze, which had drifted away from him in your silent musings about your sad Christmas plans. His expression was tentative, but hopeful. “I heard from Nat that you’re on your own, too.”

A sound huffed out of you that was half sigh, half laugh. Leave it to Natasha Romanoff to make sure you didn’t spend Christmas alone even after you’d turned down her invitation to spend it with her and her sister. Your business partner and best friend could always be counted on to meddle—you were surprised you hadn’t seen this coming somehow.

“I am,” you finally confirmed, knowing there was no way to get around the fact that Bucky already knew you’d been planning to be alone on Christmas. There was some relief in it though, and you found yourself smiling as you told him, “I have some wine and I was thinking about baking some cookies…”

“That sounds perfect,” Bucky jumped in, giving you what you could only assume were his best pleading puppy dog eyes. He looked so happy and excited, even as you could tell he was trying to keep a lid on it. “I love wine and—it might surprise you—I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“Handy how?” you asked, fighting the smile that wanted to spread across your face. Based on the way Bucky’s eyes were dipping down to your lips, though, you figured it was a losing battle. 

“Oh you know, I’m great at licking cookie batter off spoons and whisks, and…” Bucky trailed off, dropping his voice to a smooth whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “I can lick other things, too.” The innuendo was thick in his tone.

“Mr. Barnes!” You faked an affronted gasp and swatted his chest playfully, but you couldn’t keep up the act and burst into laughter.

When you’d gotten yourself under control and looked back at Bucky, his expression had softened. His blue eyes were sparkling with so much warm affection in his gaze, he looked like he was thinking about a day when he’d be able to teasingly call you Mrs. Barnes. 

For some reason, that idea didn’t scare you as much as you would’ve thought it might. Your feelings for Bucky must’ve run deeper than you thought. Besides, Mrs. Barnes had a nice ring to it, you decided as you leaned into Bucky’s chest, brushing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Come home with me,” you murmured into his skin, breathing in the bourbon and vanilla scent of him and knowing you’d never get tired of it.  “Let’s start celebrating Christmas tonight.”

A grin spread across Bucky’s face and then he was pulling you in for another kiss, even longer and sweeter than the last one you’d shared. 

By the time you separated, the sounds of the party down the hall had dimmed and you could tell it was winding down, or moving to a bar so the office could be closed up for the holiday break.

Once you’d gotten your coats, you and Bucky slipped out the back door and he followed you home in his car. The two of you were in agreement that everyone in the office could find out about your relationship after you’d figured it out yourselves, and you planned to spend the holidays doing exactly that.

That Christmas, you spent your days laughing and talking with Bucky, getting to know him while you baked cookies and he kept himself busy hanging more mistletoe around your home, which he used at every opportunity to steal a kiss.

True to his word, Bucky was good at licking spoons and whisks and other things—to the point that you nearly burned more than a few batches of cookies. Bucky ate all of them happily, claiming he preferred his cookies to be nearly burned, which made you smile and kiss the powdered sugar off his cheek.

In the evenings, you’d curl up with Bucky on your couch, reading together or watching a movie by the light of the Christmas tree. He’d lay his head in your lap or you’d put your feet in his, or you’d lay entwined together under a cozy blanket until you fell asleep.

Between all the holiday celebrating, you’d take Bucky to bed, where you’d learn each other in more carnal ways. It turned out, the two of you were a better match than you ever could have believed, fitting together in ways that had you seeing stars and coming apart beneath him, on top of him, beside him…

By the end of Christmas, you were happy make your relationship with Bucky Barnes official. You could both see a future together, and you were excited to see what a life together would look like.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from giving Natasha a stern talking to for her meddling. Bucky admitted that she may have hinted to him about your crush, and that she’d made sure Bucky was able to catch you under the mistletoe those first three times during the office Christmas party—though the final time had been all his doing. 

He’d always planned on confessing his feelings to you, even if it wasn’t in exactly the manner he’d done it, while holding you under the mistletoe for the fourth time during the office holiday party. But he was just as glad as you were that things worked out. 

And he backed you up when you talked to Nat, who was just thrilled the two of you had gotten together. So much so that she immediately started telling Bucky about what kind of rings and jewel cuts you liked while you could only roll your eyes.

The next Christmas, at that year’s office holiday party, Bucky caught you under the mistletoe a new record of five times. The mistletoe tradition was his favorite, he reminded you. Which was, of course, why you made it easy for him to find you under the mistletoe.

Besides, you enjoyed it too. Each time Bucky caught you under the mistletoe, he wrapped you up in his arms and gave you a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. He kissed you proudly in front of the entire office, and neither of you worried about how it might look. 

After all, it seemed silly to care about your colleagues seeing you kissing Bucky Barnes at the Christmas party when you wore his ring on your finger. Everyone knew you loved him, just like they knew he loved you more than anything else in the world—even more than the mistletoe tradition.

december daze challenge masterlist

[thesummerstorms]

The gingerwort truffle tea hits Rook a lot harder as soon as it has time to enter her blood stream. Around the time she starts humming some Marcher drinking song in Assan's direction, Davrin ends up cutting the picnic short and taking her back to the Lighthouse.

He's a little guilty, sure. He'd meant to give Rook an opportunity to relax, not to put her out of her mind with a hallucinogenic tea. Still, he can't help but laugh a little, especially as Rook keeps trying to have friendly conversations with Assan and the passing Crossroads spirits the whole way home. Her words are growing more slurred, though, so he's glad they don't accidentally stumble on any Venatori or Antaam on the way.

Lucanis walks in to the library just as Davrin is trying to get Arsinoë to settle down on the library couch. He's dressed for a trip - back to Treviso maybe, Bellara had made a comment about spices that morning- but as soon as he spots Arsinoë, his steps falter.

Crows are a paranoid bunch, so Davrin is ready for questioning. Rook and Lucanis are both professional assassins. He knew as soon as he realized what was happening that he'd probably have to talk someone down, reassure them of his intent.

In fact , the general plan had been to find either Neve or Lucanis, explain what happened and throw Rook at them, then find a seat where he would still be able to watch out for her and make sure there weren't complications, but where he was also well out of "clinging" range. Rook's arm had been thrown around his shoulder a little more closely than necessary on the walk back.

What Davrin is not prepared for is how Rook's eyes go wide when she sees Lucanis. The way she immediately stops trying to baby-talk Assan and grows pale and quiet. The crack in her voice when she blurts out- "Please don't tell Viago. Lucanis, please."

Davrin has seen frozen rivers warmer than the sensation that shoots down his spine. Rook's tone... This isn't some recruit embarrassed about being scolded. Her shoulders shake slightly beneath Davrin's hand. Assan lets out a little distressed chirp and rubs against her leg, but for once Arsinoë doesn't respond.

"I knew what was in the cup before I drank it, I promise. Don't tell Viago."

Lucanis's face has twisted up and, really, it isn't exactly a secret that he's sweet on Rook. Davrin is expecting to see his own horror mirrored back at him. A snarl, maybe, if anger draws Spite too close to the surface.

Instead Lucanis sighs. Not a flash of violet or a hostile glare thrown Davrin's way or a flinch away from Rook's pleading expression. Just a sigh.

Resignation, Davrin realizes.

Lucanis moves forward, crouching beside the sofa and ignoring Davrin entirely now as he speaks softly in Antivan. Davrin doesn't catch any of it except for "de Riva" but Rook is arguing back in the same language, so it doesn't seem to be having much effect. She keeps repeating herself - "por favor", he knows that one too- and if he were a betting man Davrin would put money on it being more or less the same refrain as what she said in Trade.

Rook leans forward earnestly, big grey eyes and too wide pupils. Lucanis asks her a question, his tone gone coaxing, and she shakes her head. Then he stands up and Rook puts her head in her hands.

"Hey, listen-" Davrin says tamping down the nervous twitch in his hand before he can reach before his sword. He steps in front of Lucanis instead, because whatever Rook is so worried about, he was the one who thought this whole mess would be a good idea. "Lucanis, it was just a tea. Rook's just having a bad reaction. Why does she keep asking –"

"Not now," Lucanis growls, gesturing with a short jut of his chin back in Rook's direction. "Ask later. Not now."

And okay, Davrin can understand that. If Arsinoë is this freaked out, no point in spooking her further. But he still doesn't understand why Lucanis is leaving, walking out the double doors of the main building and back out into the courtyard. Davrin trusts himself, sure, but Lucanis doesn't feel the same way, historically speaking. Yet he's walking away?

Arsinoë doesn't notice, all her earlier mirth evaporated like the morning dew. Assan is still making little worried squawks, looking back and forth from Rook to Davrin as if he has picked up on her distress and is demanding Davrin fix it.

Except Davrin doesn't know how because he still doesn't get why Arsinoë is so suddenly upset. He doesn't think it's just the tea, or surely she wouldn't have been so cheerful on the way back from Arlathan.

"This is some weird Crow shit, isn't it?" he says, mostly to himself since Arsinoë is too out of it to respond, "What the fuck." Then, he raises his voice a little. "Rook? You okay? Arsinoë."

At the sound of her name, her actual name, Arsinoë flinches.

What the fuck.

The doors creak open again. He hears the distinctive thunk of Neve's prosthetic against the stone floors followed by a sharp inhale as she catches sight of Arsinoë

"What's going on here?" Neve demands. Her reaction Davrin understands; immediately, she's at Rook's side, hands already starting to glow faintly with what is likely healing magic. "I thought you were headed to Arlathan. Was there trouble?"

"Not exactly," Davrin grimaces, watching as Rook (predictably) lifts her head a little at that last word, the one they all like to pretend he doesn't know Neve has taken to using as some sort of pet name for their glorious leader. Normally that would be his cue to take Assan and flee, but now he's just glad the Rook is reacting to something.

"Neve?" Rook asks, shifting in her seat, then gently pushing at Assan to make room for Neve to settle beside her. "Neve, you shouldn't drink the tea."

"The tea?" Neve asks, reaching up to brush a stray curl out of Arsinoë's face, "What tea?"

"Mmm. The tea. Ask Assan. My head is starting to hurt."

"Ask... Assan?" Predictably, Neve places the back of her hand against Arsinoë's forehead, a slight chill creeping into the air. Even more predictably, she looks back sharply at Davrin.

"Look, in my defense, Emmrich said it was fine. I drank the tea. I'm fine. But Rook..."

What Neve would have said to that, Davrin will never know because the doors open again. Lucanis strides in, too rushed to walk carefully and silence the clinking of his weapons. In his hands, he holds a clay pitcher and one of his own favorite cups, one of the ones from that fancy tea set.

Lucanis hesitates briefly, staring openly at the way Arsinoë pressing her face into Neve's hand, the way Neve is pulling Arsinoë closer, bracing her. His expression goes dark and yet when Neve catches his eye he nods, seeming... grateful?

Weird Crow shit.

"Arsinoë, you need to drink this. Hopefully it will help." Rook shudders against Neve, but Lucanis persists. "Viago is back in Treviso, I promise. He needs to know nothing, but you need water."

"Wait, Viago?" Neve asks, "The Fifth Talon? What does he have to do with this?"

"That's what I want to know," Davrin agrees. It's not like he ever though the Crows were great people, but it doesn't explain why Rook is reacting like this just from seeing Lucanis, why she keeps begging that no one tell the man who is supposed to be her mentor that she... what, accidentally been drugged? That doesn't seem like something a thirty year old assassin should be afraid of, much less to this extent.

Maybe it is the tea. It has to be the tea. Because why else would Rook be acting this way about Lucanis? Normally she's the first to reassure him, to seek him out and assure him that the demon shoved inside his skull doesn't scare her, but now she's refusing to take a cup because he poured it.

Lucanis looks wounded at that, brown eyes gone unreasonably soft and sad. Finally, he hands the cup off to Neve and unbuttons his Crow-purple cape, shrugging it off to the floor. Rook's shoulders slump a little at that, and Lucanis must take it as a sign because the next thing Davrin knows, the man is putting a hand on Rook's knee.

(It occurs to him again that maybe he shouldn't be here, but worry roots Davrin in his spot.)

"Rook, it's just water. I promise, cara. If Emmrich wants to give you a potion, I promise to check it first, but this is just water. I give you my word."

It's probably a sign of trust that despite the fact Rook gets somehow paler at the mention of "potions", ultimately she caves and lets Neve help her raise the cup to her lips. Lucanis reaches for the pitcher again, and she lets him pour more into the cup before her head slumps against Neve's shoulder.

For a moment, the three of them who are sober sit (or crouch or stand) locked in a moment of awkward silence. Arsinoë is never this touchy, at least not when Davrin's around. And even if it's different when she's in private with Neve and Lucanis, it doesn't make her behavior less strange.

"Lucanis," Neve asks finally, when Arsinoë seems to show no further reaction, "What is going on?"

"Rook is House de Riva," the Crow replies as if that answers everything somehow, then adds "They're famous for their poisons, at least since Viago became Talon."

"Esma too," Rook mutters from Neve's shoulder without opening her eyes.

"And the Talon before Viago had a knack for them as well," Lucanis agrees, hand back to hovering over Rook's knee as if he's still uncertain his touch will be welcome. "Though not as much as Viago."

"She said something about daily doses of venoms at the breakfast table," Neve remembers. She looks about as happy about that as Davrin feels.

It takes effort not to turn that discomfort back on Lucanis, but it wouldn't be fair to snap at the man when he's looking at Rook like that. "So what... Rook was more sensitive to the tea because she grew up being poisoned? Is this some kind of bad interaction or-"

"No." Lucanis replies, the reconsiders. "Well, some of it, maybe. But that's not why she was asking about Viago."

Davrin's hands twitch with the need to grab Lucanis's overly decorative lapels and demand a clearer answer, but Neve-

"She's afraid of being punished. Her teacher is a poisoner, and she let herself drink from a tainted cup."

Neve's voice quavers on the word punished, unable to hide entirely behind her normal stoicism, but her eyes are hard, with a glint like steel. Davrin just feels cold again as Lucanis nods in confirmation.

"Yes. Crow houses do not all train their Fledglings the same, but none of them tolerate stupid mistakes. If a de Riva found themselves so easily poisoned, without even checking, I would not doubt that the next cup from their seniors would be punishment and lesson both."

"Bastards," Davrin bites out, thinking of Uncle Eldrin and the berries. The cramps and hallucinations had been the lesson, not the preface for more punishment to come. Intense punishment, if Rook's reaction isn't just the heightened emotions caused by the tea.

Lucanis is still looking at Rook with those wounded eyes, still not-quite-touching, even though she seemed to relax when he shed the cape. But the resignation has crept back into his voice like a weight, and he only shrugs at Davrin's swearing.

"Thus is the life of a Crow. We can't afford to make mistakes. Our teachers know this."

"You won't do it twice," Arsinoë agrees, sound almost like she's quoting something. "Because you remember." Sitting up just enough to sip at the cup again, she still hesitates, eyes fluttering as she glances at Lucanis, waiting for his nod of reassurance before drinking.

Davrin's gut churns at the careless way she says it, at Lucanis's total acceptance.

(He was the one who poured her the tea. It was his idea to ask Emmrich about the truffles.)

"Well." Neve says. "I dare say we've all learned some things today. No need to tell Viago. Or anyone else."

"No," Lucanis agrees.

Rook gives a little sigh at that before her hand darts out to catch Lucanis's. "My head still hurts," she complains.

Davrin turns towards the staircase immediately, suddenly sure he wanted to be far, far away from all this. "I'll go find Emmrich. Assan-"

But the griffon had dropped into what Davrin recognizes as a guarding stance, as if set to protect an injured member of the flock. Well, for once Davrin has no compunctions about leaving the feather brain behind with the Crows. And Neve, of course.

"Assan can stay here as chaperone."

He takes the stairs two at a time, all but bolting towards Emmrich's study. The last glance back before he darts into Emmrich's hallway, he sees Neve helping Arsinoë pull Lucanis out of his crouch and towards the little two seater.

[journey-to-the-attic]

alright so i've just spent most of the morning catching up with nb s3 so here are my thoughts immediately in retrospect (spoilers of course)

it became very clear with the last few lessons that the writers either were on crunch time to round things up (most likely) or just could not give a shit (feels less likely, and i want to have more faith than that in them)

so i guess we're never going to find out what nightbringer's deal was? or what he meant by sending mc back in time to find happiness?

or what that prophecy was about

or how nightbringer 'made solomon the man he is'

or why barbatos was so mysteriously knowing in the opening movie, as if he had something to do with the time thing

or what the deal is with michael

story ended before we could date thirteen :(

not really to do with s3 but i wonder if they ever intended to have mc make pacts with diavolo or barbatos

thirteen and mephistopheles did not have arcs at all? there were some points where it felt like thirteen was deliberately excluded, even

raphael's arc is over so abruptly as well. he's anguished and distraught and then babel explodes but not really and he's completely fine again afterwards?

did not need lucifer to be in angel form for the master moment. and i feel like it would've hit harder for lucifer as a demon to break through the illusion anyway!!

it felt like there were so many cop-outs in general

rule of three: mc does fall from things three times in total but there doesn't seem to have been any real narrative reason for that

the last fall had a whole dramatic foreshadowing dream about it! but mc just has a brief vision and then it turns out lucifer caught them and everyone's fine

got real tired of the angel stuff.. the celestial realm's done a complete 360 in terms of its perception in the narrative and i'm really not a fan of it

simeon just. decides to keep being an angel. and it works??????

well it immediately turns him back to human apparently anyway

and the implication at the end is that he's just going to go back to being an angel, too, which... COME ON

i audibly went "oh ffs" at that part

i wasn't that mad at them just reversing the demon-simeon thing because i think the most interesting way to explore his character was to keep him human

then they kept going and i was like GUYS NO WAIT

the magical science is really frustrating because it's just close enough to real life science but a bit too hand-wavey about the magical mechanics to be interesting

beel gets done incredibly dirty in general - it felt like the majority his dialogue just continued to boil down to "i want food"

barbatos has basically nothing to do, which is crazy given the nature of nightbringer and his... you know... time powers

i really do not buy mc being totally fine after all of their exploits. surely there must be SOME physical repercussions even if they're so powerful?

the implication that the brothers are eventually going to figure out the time travel thing (and that diavolo already knows) interests me, but of course now we'll never know

the unwillingness to bring up any real conflict around mc's increasing power was really frustrating in general - couldn't the 'it does that to defend out of a manifestation of their kindness' thing have come after they genuinely struggled with it for a bit?

couldn't anyone have debated what they might have to do if mc became a danger to the devildom? because that angst could've been great

mc's magic in general isn't really handled well

the moon plot in lesson 60 felt like it was intended to be the big climax of s4, which was then hastily repurposed into the s3 finale when it was announced that the story wouldn't continue past there - it felt similar in vibe to the three-world-imbalance plotline of om s2, something that really needed a lot more time for both the build-up and fall-out

for a hot second i was convinced this was gonna be an atla 'my lover turned into the moon :/' thing but of course not

the premise of the moon plot was really good though! i can imagine a better planned season, with writers who actually had time, that could have done it really well!

the idea of 'the moon is in love with mc too' was a really funny plot point (/positive), kind of loved it

i genuinely didn't realise that the moon plot had been resolved until diavolo started making his science fair speech. i thought it had failed because mc and [demon brother] got blown up or something, and they'd have to try again

so for a good while i was just going "guys?? guys the moon? it's still coming? the big moon? it's gonna kill everyone ??"

i got excited by the chapter name 'the sleeping demon' because i thought the king was going to get involved, but it's just whichever brother you picked passing the fuck out after the moon explodes

there's a lot more routes in lesson 60 - almost certainly because they had to get in an obligatory end-of-season kiss with all the romanceables and couldn't fit them all

the generic references to 'he' and the lack of any dialogue from the other brothers during 'the sleeping demon' made it feel really stilted and awkward - i suppose they didn't have enough time to really tailor the dialogue to each brother, which is fair enough, but also the plot point of the brother passing out didn't feel necessary in the first place

if they needed a branching point to pick a brother for their obligatory kiss, they could've just had mc get moon blasted and then they can choose which brother is there when they wake up

they'd need a different plot point for the others after that, but it gets rid of the awkward references to a nameless 'he'

the thing that puzzles me is that seasons usually wrap up their big plots by the end anyway, but the pacing of the end of s3 feels like they were expecting to end at, like, lesson 70 instead - my best guess is that a pre-existing lesson 60 had to be modified to feel suitably end-game (brings me back to the idea that the moon plot was meant for a future season)

also i don't purport to know what's going on behind the scenes but at times it felt like they could have spent maybe ten more minutes adding a little more dialogue (the bonus story in lesson 60 comes to mind)

all in all... it's a weird place to end the story on. i probably still need to gather my actual feelings regarding that but right now i'm just kinda like "okay. huh. well nice knowing you guys i guess"

[fakeusernamelol]

Sorry I'm obsessed with bad ending teen dad stancest--

When Ford leaves home for college he takes Stan with him, Stan thinks it's fine, it's not their boat but it's basically what he used to wants, they're out of jersey and they're okay. Fiddleford asks him what he wants out of life sometimes but that question's made him sick since he was twelve and realized he wasn't smart enough to be much more than a housewife for whatever man he ended up with. Instead he tells Fiddleford he's gonna be a pirate, because it makes him laugh. Then Ford wants to go to Gravity Falls, and Stan's back to being alone with him. By the time they're 27 he's stopped trying to keep his hair short, he makes for a piss poor Ma as far as hes concerned but the twins aren't old enough to get that yet. Bill gets mad at Ford so Ford gets mad at Stan, and Stan sleeps on the floor next to the kids' beds because Ford's better than their father, he won't lay a hand on him in front of the kids, and Stan uses it because hes a conniving coward with a distant look in his eyes that their own Ma used to have.

But then the portal, it drives Fiddleford insane, Fiddleford tells him Ford is dangerous, that he's going to kill them. And Stan didn't believe it until he spent a night barricading a door covered in height marks and crayon while Bill tried to claw his way in and then the next morning when he caught Ford crying in front of the TV, Ford punched him full in the face in front of the twins.

So it was so easy, hitting Ford back for once, shoving him just a little too far and letting the portal take him away, leave Stan with the house and the kids and a new name to inherit and the freedom to cut his hair and get himself the glasses he needed and call himself Stan instead of what Ford called him.

SORRY IF I RAMBLED TOO MUCH IM EATING YOUR DRYWALL I NEED MORE AU--

would that be a win-lost or a win-win?

PLEASE PLEASE DON'T APOLOGISE WHEN YOU ARE GIVING ME EXACTLY WHAT I WANT, I LOVE YOU AND OF COURSE I'M GIVING YOU MORE DEAR ANON you and me are now friends and i don't take no for answer 🤭🤭💖💖💖 Also what a good name for this au, im using it now 😘

(tw: Transphobia, Misogyny, Abuse, a lot of implied noncon yadda yadda you already know where's this going 🤷)

Stanley needed something to hold on to try to survive this new life, it's not exactly what he always dreamed but it's not bad, he has ford and that's all he has always needed, isn't it? He can get used to, come on he has always been seen this way he can get through it.

But when he met Fiddleford those thoughts were becoming harder to support again, a new person, new air and new perspective. Sure he wasn't going to tell him all those crazy thoughts he had because that would make ford mad but he can express a little of it, fidds wouldn't ever know that those jokes were actually his dreams but at least he can say them and think a bit of them every once and then to distract a bit from the real life. Maybe... Who knows,maybe one day Ford wouldn't be this harsh with him and he and their kids could still sail the world once he's done with college! Joke's on him, of course they were going to do what ford had in mind and he can't say anything, after all if he's not in the streets is thanks to him so,heh, could be worse. going to miss fidds anyway...

But well, not time for thinking about himself, they are already grown adults and since he's not getting a job the least he can do is be a good as possible mom for their already 10-year-old twins. Ever since they've been in Gravity Falls, Stan can swear that he's seen all kinds of strange creatures but Ford seems delighted with it and only times he doesn't talk to him in a rude tone is when he says something about them so, it's not that scarier as it was the first times. He doesn't quite understand what Ford is actually doing with that information, but after that he goes to the basement and warns him and the kids to stay away from this as possible, and he's going to obey for his own sake.

...At least as much as he can because things are becoming even weirder, he has seen Ford obsess over an investigation before, but this time he seemed to be going genuinely crazy, not all bad tho, at least fidds was back again and having a new face in the place was genuinely a good thing for him, sure he was here for working but anyway stan would try to sneak up on them like bringing them something to drink after a long day of work in the basement, Ford wasn't so harsh when Fiddleford was around so he wasn't so scared to do that and share a few words with a good friend not knowing that ford would make him pay for that later.

« what did I tell you about going down the basement, [ ] ? You have your things upstairs with the kids. »

It was fine, he deserved it. He has never said anything about Ford's abuse, because ever his teenhood he knows he deserves it, He only knows how to screw things. Maybe if he hadn't broken that stupid machine ford would change his mind but he had to fuck it. Yes, he sometimes still daydreams about a world where ford could accept him, a world where ford would hug him often and not hurt him again and maybe, a world where he calls him stanley for once... but time has passed and his hope has faded away, Now he just wishes that thoughts to leave his mind once for all.

Suddenly things get worse. «they could?» it seems to be.

Ok, sleeping in the kids room wasn't so bad, sure the floor was cold and he only had a blanket in order to not die of hypothermia but at least he had his kids near him and that was fine, ford wouldn't try to make something to him with them near. Now, seeing the eyes of that friend he always thought of like a kind of safe place full of fear and warning him of such an unthinkable danger for him what's indeed something he would never forget and fuck shouldn't do it. He thinks he knew what Ford was capable to do, sure he's angry with him ever since and his touch is not the gentlest, but stan didn't think he would go so far as to endanger himself, much less his children... Seems like everything he thinks is really just bullshit, he says to himself while using his body to lock the door of the kids room while hearing those strange creepy laughs and scratches from behind the door.

Ok so things are going to be dangerous now, but the next morning when he sees ford crying with his hands in his face and his legs on the floor he gets second thoughts, something was wrong with ford, he don't get what but maybe he could...

So you know, Stan has endured a lot of things ford has done: the words, the insults, the abuse, the punches, the constant contempt and more but punching him in front of their kids was enough.

For the first time ever since that night in the bathroom floor stan had enough of ford and didn't even think twice before giving him the punch he has always deserved it. Not punch, punches.

HE was angry, HE was tired, and not even the cries of his little children in the background had made him stop while Ford tried, like the coward he really was, to flee from him when he saw that this time his blows were not saving him.

Funny, stan thought, « I always protected ya' from Crampelter and his herd, no matter what. Ya' we're afraid of givin' them a good punch but what about me, sixer? Are ya' scared of me now? »

Stanley was stupid, but he was stronger, even if ford has always despised him for being born as a woman, HE was stronger than him and for once he wasn't scared of his rejection.

But.. sure he didn't expect what happened next. He has never seen what he and fidds were doing in the basement and now, he knew it even less.

He was angry but fuck he didn't mean that! Why does everything have to be so complicated towards Ford? Fuck!

...On the bright side, those 30 years will serve Stanley well to realize everything that his brother held him back from for years, guess who's the one being welcomed with a punch in the face here. 😗

So, you can say the bad ending au got a good ending? Lol 🙆

[notthestarwar]

Have another snippet of my writing that I like. This one prob requires a bit of set up so,

This is a modern au. Jaster raises 10 of Jango's kids in his absence, before Cody runs away at 16. Years later, Jango is murdered and it turns out that he's been living in the same city as Cody all along, and so have Wolffe and Fox, each living completely different lives.

Excerpt from: the Last Days of Jango Fett

Cody’s gaze sweeps over the exterior of the gym and he wonders if he's making a mistake. He spent a lot of his time, growing up, in gyms like this. The faded lettering of the sign declares the gym’s official name to be ‘Koon’s training gym’ but scrawled over that, in grey lettering, is its true name ‘Plo’s bro’s’ he bites his cheek, wondering at the identity of Plo. If he’ll find him inside, or if the sign serves as only a fond memorial. He crosses the threshold and he may as well have stepped back in time.

He can hear a familiar voice, barking orders, corrections. But his gaze skips straight over the set of strong shoulders, the back of a head so much like his own, and instead he only has eyes for the ring, because inside, there is a boy who for all appearances could be Cody’s own; who could even be Cody himself, had you a loose grip on temporal structure.

Boba is good, better than a boy of his age should be, clearly Jango’s been training him. He still wouldn’t have stood a minute in the ring with Cody at the same age, not that that’s any fair comparison; Cody could have beaten them all. They said he was born with a golden ticket in his mouth. A right hook to end all right hooks and with it, a way out. For them all.

Cody had spent all his teen years training in a gym like this, just down the road from Jaster’s, born ability or not, he wasn’t given an easy ride. Jaster’s old buddies rallied together for one last go and they gave it their all. Within the walls of that gym, they lived again, they gave it all they had to train Cody like it were 30 years previous and they still had a chance in hell of winning. For a moment, it seemed like they would.

Cody in the ring had been a sight to behold. He and he only, could retrieve their last chance, lost to anyone else because no-one knew where it fell. But Cody and Cody only, he would rise to the top and he would reach and he would hold it in his hands. Glory. Lost and abandoned, left to gather dust from the day it had fallen from Jango’s hands. Theirs, once again. Cody could have saved them all.

But. Cody couldn’t be that for them. He had the talent, sure. He had the drive to make it to the top, for certain. More than all of that, he had that magic, that thing you can’t quite put a word to, that made him a sight to behold in the ring. Like pure gold. But there was one thing Cody didn’t have, the wherewithal to be his Fathers keeper. Cody did not have it in him, to live his life for a man that did not want him. Glory in the ring; that was Jango’s dream, not his.

Born on a cool November, against the odds, Cody entered the world a healthy 9'5 with a healthy set of lungs to match. Jango did not know of this, Jango was not there.

Cody, healthy and round, had been placed in to the arms of a woman who had looked down upon her son and immediately known that she could never, quite, be what he needed and so she hadn’t tried to be.

Once when he was young, Cody had overheard Jaster speak of her. Only the once and not of the woman herself but of her, as Jaster put it, ‘sentimental bullshit’. Jaster was a strong believer in facing up to your problems and the woman who had given birth to Cody, did quite the opposite.

That woman had looked in to her babies eyes, and had delivered that baby, quite promptly, to Jaster’s doorstep. An undetermined amount of time later, Jaster had answered the door to find two bottles of milk and Cody, laying on the doormat.

Cody had been left quite alone, with nothing but a blanket, and a note; explaining that his mother, having looked in to her son’s eyes’, had immediately known that she could never contain quite the amount of love that her son would need and was therefore, leaving him to his Father, a man she was sure was more than capable. Jaster, who at this point was already responsible for two of Jango’s progeny, suspected otherwise; as he had told the milkman that day after he had kindly knocked and asked if Jaster was quite aware there was a baby sleeping on his doorstep.

That day, standing there speaking to Jaster as a baby laid between them, the milkman, in a moment of startling honesty, had looked down to the babe and told Jaster that upon the birth of his first son, he had worried that he wouldn’t be suited to fatherhood, but had since realised that all the little ones really needed; was loving. Jaster, not having slept through the night in about 2 years by that point, had bluntly retorted that love would not feed yet another mouth and so, he would be needing another bottle of milk, before sweeping down to gather the child to his chest, the note laying unneeded on the doorstep.

Cody had heard Jaster reason, through that crack in the kitchen door, that the last thing any child needed was a bit of paper telling them their parent didn’t have it in them to love them enough. Jaster had known, from that first glance at Cody, as all parents do, that upon finding that Cody needed more love, he might only ever meet such a thing with carving out just a bit more space in his heart or wherever else love is kept, to hold it.

To Jaster, parenthood was not about biology, it was simply about being needed and being the kind of person, that would change themselves however necessary, to meet that need.

That day in the kitchen, Jaster’s friend had shortly weighed him up to be a ‘soft fool’ who ‘only had it coming’ ‘what with all these doorstep babies’, but Jaster hadn’t seemed to mind. In the following years, Cody had rarely heard him talk like that again, but the sentiment lived on with him all the same, carried with him until he was old enough to understand what such a thing really meant.

Not that Jango ever stopped by to see it for himself, but everyone who met Cody declared him to be the spit of him. Cody was Jango’s second coming for sure, it didn’t matter that Jango was still walking the earth. Everyone who saw Cody in the ring was sure that he’d been delivered upon them to finish what Jango could not.

Cody often worried, that he wouldn’t quite weigh up in the eyes of Jaster, who had afterall, known Jango the best. Cody rather worried, that he instead, might take after his maternal side. The type to run from problems rather than face them. Because of this fear, Cody spent his whole life rising to each and every problem until one day, he did quite the opposite.

In the early hours of the day Cody’s big match was to be held; the one that was sure to shoot him right to the top, so high that his eyebrows would brush the stars and the rest of them, they’d all be able to fall on clouds; the big match that wasn’t just Cody’s ticket to a kinder life but everyone’s, his showstopper, Cody had found himself with a bag over his shoulder walking the track out of town.

When he reached the end of that track, where the old road met the big one, he’d found Jaster sat waiting for him.

Jaster had offered Cody a small smile and, told him he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t come. Then, he had met his eyes and wished him luck. Jaster had said that he was proud of Cody, for having reached the same conclusion that Jaster himself had; Jaster knew that Cody was not put on this earth to right Jango’s wrongs, Cody was here, only to be Cody , and besides, he never had to worry about turning out to be the kind of person that Jaster might not like, because the thing about raising someone, is you keep loving them no matter who they might turn out to be.

Later that day, as one by one the fields passed him by, Cody had looked out the window of the coach and known with a surety that sometimes, the only way you can face your problems, is by leaving.

That day, Cody left the memory of Jango Fett behind, in search of a life where there was a bit of room to be Cody Mereel, and he had never once looked back.

Cody had left the memory of Jango behind, in the pursuit of himself, but now, here was Boba.

Boba had not left Jango behind as he hadn’t been given time to, Jango was only a ghost in Cody’s childhood but he was something more real to Boba. That is at least, until one day, when he was just gone.

For the first time, Cody looks behind himself and there, following, as he always has been, is the boy he left behind. Cody had to leave that boy in order to become the man he is today. he doesn’t regret it, he likes who he is, who he allowed himself to become, by leaving. But now he can see that in order to help Boba, he needs to be both the man who’s risen above the ghost of his father and also, the boy who could never quite live up to the memories his father left behind.

For the first time in his adult life, Cody remembers what it was to be the son of Jango Fett and then, against better reason, he holds on tight to that memory. When he looks back over his shoulder once again, there isn’t anyone there. That boy is looking forward as Cody looks forward and when he takes his next step, they take it as one. Cody is whole and he is his self, he is as he always has been, wholly and completely.

In the gym that is in every way, both the same and nothing like those of his childhood, Cody takes another step and then another, until his toes are almost touching the side of the ring.

Boba sees him first, just a glance and then, Cody sees the moment that his face registers. Boba just stops in space, he blinks wide eyes at the sight of him before tilting his head, letting those same eyes trace over Cody.

Now that he’s seen Jango Fett, Cody knows precisely why he might garner such a reaction, Cody didn’t have a dad so he has no idea what it is like to lose one. He can’t quite imagine what this must be like for Boba, it’s just you and your dad and then, he is murdered. Your dad dies and you are 10, and then, almost identical men start spilling out of the cracks of the city.

Boba has been distracted for long enough now that Wolffe has given up on trying to call his attention back, he turns to see what has the boy’s attention caught and soon comes up short himself.

Cody looks up at his big brother for the first time in 20 years and swallows.

“Hi Wolffe.” He says quietly.

Wolffe is frozen, even more so than Boba, not even his eyes move and now Cody looks at him, he isn’t sure if they can. One side of his brothers face is heavily scarred, like something long ago scraped across the surface, even from here Cody can see that the eye on that side is clouded.

His brother takes in a loud breath, “Cody?”

And then before Cody can even think to answer, Wolffe is moving, rolling out of the ring until he can engulf Cody in his arms.

Cody is the same size as Wolffe now but somehow it doesn’t feel like it, he feels dwarfed, finally back in his brothers arms and why did Cody ever think he could live without this? Wolffe’s arm is cradling his head and the other is bracing Cody’s back and he can feel his head tucked against Cody’s own and Cody has been alone for 20 years and he didn’t have to be, he knows this now, as well as he knows anything.

Cody doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know what he expected from any of this. The past week has been a storm. An uncontrollable thing that you can only watch happen.

Had he thought maybe that upon seeing him, Wolffe might hit him?

Maybe that he would berate him for leaving?

Cody didn’t know who the adult his brother had grown in to really was. Maybe he had expected him to be cold, distant in the face of the brother that left them all? Cody had showed them all that it was possible to leave, that such a thing wasn’t only the purview of Jango and from what Rex had said that had left their family fractured. It had never been the same again after Cody left and showed everyone that they could leave. One by one, they had each followed him in to the unknown, lost to each other thanks to him.

Had he thought any of that, he would have been wrong. The man holding him isn’t any of that, he is just Wolffe, he is just Cody’s brother.

They are together, once again.

[arsenicflame]

ANGELA/SERA FROM THE MARVEL SNAP HERO ANIMATIC

[the-casbah-way]

i never ever cry in front of anyone ever but there was this boy i was OBSESSED with in primary school when i was like seven years old because he was the fastest boy in the class and he had cool spiky hair and i always thought it was a crush until i came out and realised it was gender envy of some form and today my friend out of the blue told me that i look like him and we looked at his instagram together and i actually do. i look almost exactly like him. and i cried like an absolute wanker because i’ve been so miserable my whole life being perceived entirely the wrong way and i went home today and looked at myself and realised i look like the boy i always wanted to be when i was a kid. and whenever i feel bad about myself i get to remind myself that i look like him so i shouldn’t feel bad because back then i couldn’t have ever dreamed of getting to look like this. and t will only make it better and even though the idea of starting it is still so scary to me i keep having moments like this that make me realise how good it’s going to be even if some of it will suck. i always focus on all of the ways my transition has gone and will go wrong and i forget that it’s going to go right in a lot of ways too

[funkle420]

a great way to combat genAI in the future would be educating kids (and teens and college students and all ppl) on art way more.

[sammygender]

im new here- is dean abusive?

imo yeah. smarter people than me have written dissections of the way he treats sam & others (he’s also Awful to his psuedo-son jack, but i haven’t gotten to that season yet), i’ve probably reblogged a bunch of them.

he certainly doesn’t mean to be & i don’t say it to condemn him as a person or as a character & i’m still very attached to him & he loves sam very much (not that that makes a difference in whether u abuse someone or not) - but the way he treats sam a lot/some of the time is emotionally abusive and sam is clearly badly impacted. s4 and s8 come to mind as his worst moments also ofc moc era - after that there’s less interpersonal conflict (up to where i am at least) but that’s because sam mostly stops disagreeing with dean not because dean actually gets much better <3 spn is cycles of abuse show after all. family is hell. dean’s learnt pretty much everything about how to behave from his abusive father and as a result. well. cycle continues

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[vcrnons]

Top 5 favourite Vernon eras?

ask me my top five anything !

( @ikigaisvt asked me the same thing [ wondering about your top five vernon era 🤲-sammy <3 ] whehjgrghsdjg i love u guys. i am smushing these together just so i don't post the same thing twice <33 ) ( all of this is retroactive becauseee fml was my first svt cb so i wasn't around for any of these but i have consumed an ungodly amount of content so i can reasonably confidently make this decision )

FEAR.

home;run

don't wanna cry (look. blond vernon can just be so deeply personal, okay)

black eye

hot

[whumpyourdamnpears]

finished the chapter three rewrite 💪