#he inspired me to continue art at a time where i completely gave it up

[silveme]

Sigma has been in Overwatch for five. FIVE!!! 🖐️ (<-12345. Count it.)

Slutty..

Slutty…

SLUTTY….

YEARS!!! 🎉🥳🎊👏🍾🥂

In celebration of that fact, here is my piece for @afterlematch ‘s Sigma anniversary collab! Original post is HERE. Final composition and the original png is under the cut! 👇

[jjenthusee]

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: This is inspired and dedicated to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes amazing post linked here (show it some love) and their numerous sweet words especially on my Broken Mug writing drabble (also linked), so after crying reading their messages, i had to do something about the intense rush to write and the best way i can think of thanking you is by doing what i know, art and writing. i had no idea that i was influencing anyone, i only hoped my love for Jason was communicated correctly. i hope every single one of you that comes across my account has beautiful things happen to u. i’ll give u all a million kisses. please continue to write, i would love to continue reading what u have for us next <3 there’s also a surprise at the end :D (as always comments are appreciated if you’re comfortable <3 let me know your brain rot thoughts) ENJOY

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, soft Jason, touch starved Jason lowkey, siri play Never Grow Up by Niall Horan 😔, might have inspired the direction of the fic

Word Count: 3.4k

The moon was high.

Moonlight had casted a faint glow on the window blinds, it peaked in through the tiny gaps.

Only a small lamp was on, cascading light from the living room into your room. It gave enough light to see the outlines of your room. Bathing everything it could touch in a faint warm glow.

It was still dark enough that the details were too fuzzy to point out, but most objects were wrapped in shadows, bringing a unique calm to your room.

In the chill of night, the bed was warm. Jason was the perfect heater. The blankets were cozy and the sound of a fan whirred at the corner of the room.

It didn’t make sense covering yourself head to toe in a fuzzy blanket with a fan blasting air at you, but the sound mellowed you into the night, calling slumber closer to you.

It would have been easy to sleep if you were given the chance, but your gentle giant boyfriend was adamant to prove to you that he needed to sleep as physically close as possible to you.

It would have been fine, but today you couldn’t find a relaxing sleeping position. You had to shift your body around before finding the state of mind and the right amount of comfort to drift off, but tonight was difficult. Not only were you constantly shifting in the bed sheets, you were keeping Jason awake.

As your body moved to a new spot on the bed, Jason followed. Turning his body to follow the heat you left behind on the sheets. He wasn’t fond of the fact that a blanket fully engulfed you while he didn’t, it wasn’t fair.

When he got close enough to throw his muscular arm over you, you beat him to your next journey across the mattress.

If the queen bed the both of you were laying on looked like a college dorm twin XL with Jason laid out over it, then you shouldn’t have cornered yourself onto the edge.

Now half of your body dangled off the mattress. The bed was definitely big enough for the both of you the last time you checked, but with Jason getting closer to you every time you moved, it looked like he teleported a smidge closer when you blinked.

It also wasn’t ideal when he rolled onto the corner of the blanket that had unraveled from your legs.

You teetered on the end of the bed when he purposefully made sure to take up ninety percent of what was left of the mattress. Locking you on the edge, wrapped in a blanket.

You had been laying on your side, but Jason kept nudging you, tickling your face with his messy hair when he got close enough to attempt to burrow his large self into you. You kept scooting back, but once you didn’t feel anymore mattress, your legs were feeling where the cold air invaded the bed.

Now you settled on the dangerous edge with one leg completely off. Despite your avoidance of Jason, your free leg locked around Jason’s leg for any support to keep you safely on the bed. Your entire upper half was swaddled like a baby as the blanket blocked out any of the chill, your arms completely smushed against your sides with no way to free yourself besides Jason moving his body off of the edges of your blanket.

You had no control whatsoever.

It was you and your straining leg on Jason that was the only thing keeping you from plopping on the cold floor. Now in a vulnerable position, did Jason have the bright idea of asking the question you’ve been avoiding all day.

Where were his pudding cups?

———

“I take it back!” You pleaded with Jason as he kept the blanket tightly wound around you, preventing you from moving your arms to retaliate.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jason playfully faced at you, laying on his side. His voice melted with innocence, but had underlying amusement.

Your blanket was your savior and your enemy as it saved you from the hard floor, but it was also securely caught by Jason’s entire weight. He had you completely trapped inside with only your head and legs poking out, the fabric slung around you.

Moving his body an inch closer to the edge, Jason pushed your body further off, further with no support beside his mere weight and strength keeping you from falling.

“I swear there were two pudding cups before you left!” You screamed, your hair falling off your face, the ends gravitating toward the ground, your impending doom.

“Sweetheart, let’s play world’s greatest detective and I’ll ask you something. If I didn’t eat ‘em and we are the only two people who live in this apartment, then who do we have left? Hm?” Jason’s voice, honey sweet, as he emphasized the contradictions in your statement.

With the blanket bunched in his hands, Jason easily lowered you slightly, juggling your weight effortlessly while laying on his side. You cursed at his perfect athleticism.

The room may have been dark, but you didn’t need the moonlight to know he had a shit eating grin trying to get you to confess.

You felt like this was probably the closest you would feel to people walking the plank in those pirate movies you watched as a kid, a sick waiting game not knowing when your fate was inevitable. It was fun at the time and maybe the cold ocean was different from your bedroom floor, but otherwise it was still cold.

“I don’t even like sweets!” You playfully laughed as he teasingly let his hands slip, clearly seeing through your lie. You squealed as you felt your head dip and your leg fall from on top of Jason’s.

“And my hand slipped.” Jason equally lied through his teeth, his threat filled with no malice whatsoever as he securely held onto you.

“I’m starting to feel like this has nothing to do with pudding cups.” You raised your head back up to look at Jason, a full smile present on your face, testing your vulnerable state.

“Oh?” Jason raised his eyebrow as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed. The angle looked great on him.

“My world’s greatest detective intuition is telling me that you’re just mad that I kept rolling away from you.” You mischievously pointed out.

“My love, you need to use those skills to find out why all our pudding is gone.”

“Do you do this to all the criminals you interrogate?” You deflected, using your eyes to point to the current position both of you were in, dangling from the bed in a blanket while Jason kept you there.

“Only the pretty ones.” Jason sung, pulling you up slightly so you weren’t as close to the floor, not quite on the bed, but in a better spot than before.

“I didn’t realize the Red Hood had such malicious threatening techniques.” You shook your head feigning disappointment as you struggled to readjust your leg to latch onto his again. It probably looked awkward, but you were desperate. It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was built like a tank. “I promise to not rob anymore banks anytime soon. I’ll straighten myself out. Scouts honor.” You breathed out, exhausted from the movement.

“Just admit you ate the pudding and I’ll erase everything. Your speeding tickets and the bounty on you in 15 countries.”

“It’s 18 actually, don’t defile me—“

Jason effortlessly lowered you again. The blanket slipping slightly from jostling you around.

“Okay, okay!” You cried out. “If I fall you’re limited to two kisses a day!”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Three, take it or leave it.”

“Tell me where the pudding is.”

“Four kisses and you can cuddle suffocate me when we sleep.” The blanket around you felt noticeably loose.

Jason scoffed, offended by your choice of phrasing.

“If our lives are ever on the line, I gotta remember I can’t ever let you negotiate.” He tauntingly called above you. “And I don’t cuddle suffocate you.”

“So it was ‘cause I moved away from you earlier!” You cried out as you slipped further. The blanket loosening completely around you, your gasp blurring into Jason’s name. A plea to catch you.

Jason quickly bent down, rolling his body off the bed and slipping his arms around you as he followed you to the floor. He rolled his body forward enough to quickly shift your position so his body plopped on the ground first while you landed on top of him.

It was a soft landing as you laid on his chest. Quickly finding a comfortable position in his arms.

“You only get one kiss a day.” You flatly said. “Why is our bed frame weirdly tall?” You nuzzled your head into his chest.

“Our deal was two.” Jason tenderly caressed your head. Moving your hair in motions that made you want to fall asleep.

“Looks like we’re both liars.” You barely whispered, sleepiness taunting your body.

“I guess you’re still wanted in 18 countries.”

You lazily laughed into Jason, his body slightly shaking from your movement. His arms wrapping around you, engulfing the feel of your laughter and locking it between your bodies. He smiled into your shoulder. Smelling your comfort.

You lifted your head, freeing your face. You were still being held by Jason, but you had a clearer view of his loving gaze lost on you as he traced your features, entranced by your smile.

“Missed opportunity.” You drunkenly watched and felt Jason’s fingers caressing your face.

“If you let me ‘cuddle suffocate’ you, you might have another shot.” Jason’s thumb rubbed your cheek, pressing into the softness. His calloused finger pads feeling slightly itchy, but you would never pull away, too endeared by how gently he treats you.

“Worth it.” You say after snapping out of your trance that was locked on your boyfriend. He knew the right areas to get your mind lost on his touch, focused solely on him.

You pulled yourself up from laying on top of Jason, grabbing for his hands as you stood. Straining to help pull him up, but almost all the effort came from his own strength, not yours.

Playfully, Jason never let go of your hands and let his body be dragged completely onto you, dramatically coming forward to rewrap himself around you.

You giggled as you threw your arms around him. Enjoying the warmth that radiated from him, reheating the once empty space. Your own personal heater. You were glad tonight was one of the nights he stayed home with you, cuddled in bed all evening. You tried your best to soothe his mind, away from the thoughts of patrol as much as you could.

Giving his mind a small mental break, to hold you close and whatever else he needed. Both of you continue to work hard to develop and maintain the kind of trust that Jason needed to work through the hard days, silent but never alone.

With reassuring hugs while he counted your breaths, holding onto your hand just to thoughtlessly memorize them, standing in your presence just to observe you.

His difficulty with readjusting to the mundane and useless tasks of every day life was the biggest challenge. Too many conversations about why we need to treat ourselves because we want to. Jason’s mind was filled with too many needs.

He needed a reason to buy himself something, he needed to push his body to the limits because there was no other option, he needed to work alone.

So you showed him that he didn’t need you to hold his arm while you walked around the city, but he wanted you to do it.

He didn’t need you to take care of him, but you wanted to because you cared.

As you lost yourself in the shared closeness, you swayed your body. Jason unconsciously following your movements, swaying with you and letting his hands intertwine behind you, letting it gently rest against your lower back. Once you held on, Jason had silently vowed to never be the first to let go.

As you moved your bodies, clueless about Jason’s promise to himself, you didn’t let go either. So the two of you clung to one another.

It was one of the millions of things you cherished about Jason, he showed his devotion through his mannerisms. He helped put away your bags after a tired day of work, when he brought you a blanket if you fell asleep on the couch then carried you to bed. He bought your favorite snacks if he was at the store. He effortlessly followed you, content to be next to you.

Of course, he still put up limitations. He wouldn’t put your safety at risk. He sat closer and became more aware of restaurant doors, he kept you walking on his side or always in front of him, when he slept he made sure to determine the layout that suited you best, away from the window. His eagerness to make sure your wellbeing is priority.

It led to him not sleeping once you switched your position too many times tonight. He wasn’t satisfied with you being closer to the window, but he also was determined to get you to cuddle.

Numerous times you wanted to tease him, but after a Red Hood reveal that had you debating if he collaborated with his brothers to pull a twisted prank on you and an emotional talk, you couldn’t blame him for any of it. The fitted suit was just an added bonus you could outrightly ogle at.

You two were standing, holding each other in the dark. His head nuzzled on the base of your neck, his hands gripping your shirt, crinkling at the desperation. Sometimes Jason felt overstimulated when his feelings were ready to burst. His unfamiliarity with so much tender affection makes his mind unable to process all of it.

All you can do is to tell him that your there. Reminding him that you were unwilling to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Jay.” You softly reassured. “I’m right here, in your arms.”

Jason was unaware of the same silent promise you prayed to yourself, to never let him go.

When Jason’s grip loosened, your lips softly kissed the side of his head, soothing the thing that gives him a hard time. Repeating the motion, feeling his breaths even.

You never said that you were limited to how many kisses you can give him.

As you methodically swayed and with one final kiss against his hot skin, Jason shifted himself to standing taller, resting his forehead on yours. His hair laid flat against your skin.

You closed your eyes, enjoying how docile he became once you initiated physical touch. A craving he wanted and you unconditionally gave him.

When you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness, you grabbed one of his hands to intertwine them, your other hand gently falling onto his shoulder. He noticed the familiar stance, mimicking that of a dance. He silently rested his free hand on your waist, once again feeling the fabric of his shirt that you wore.

There was no music, but you leaned into Jason once again, swaying to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and in tune with his breaths. The further closeness let you settle your head underneath his chin, his hand following around the width of your waist pulling you in more.

Everything felt perfect. It was the middle of the night in the dark, you wore pajamas, no music played, both of your hair messy, but you held Jason. A sweet grasp of his shirt bunched in your hand, your feet bumping into his, the smell of your soap radiating from his skin from his shower.

If this was your last day on Earth, you would think you were blessed to be in front of the most loving, tender man. Watching his eyes softened and sparkle as he feels a breath of peace.

That was all you needed.

In an act of surprise, you moved your arm to wrap around Jason’s waist and attempted to dramatically swoop him back. It was haphazardly done, but he gladly played along despite the difference in height making it a little awkward. He dipped back then came forward, reuniting your embrace, both of you laughing at your clumsy attempt at a slow dance.

“Why does this feel like an awkward school dance?” You breathed out, breathless from the laughing, talking into his clean shirt. Most likely you were taking it to wear tomorrow night.

“We’re just swaying, we aren’t really moving how we’re supposed to.” Jason rubbed your back as you caught your breath, his voice softly surrounding you as you rested on his chest, feeling every word.

“And how would you know?” You looked up at him, a teasing tone. “It’s not like either of us know how to slow dance.”

Jason paused, looking down at your eyes, contemplating.

“Would you like to learn?” He hesitated, combing his hand through your hair.

You completely stopped swaying, Jason’s hand dropping from the top of your head to rest on your cheek. He carefully watched your reaction, your eyes widening, a stunned look in your eyes.

His grip tightened, barely noticeable if you didn’t feel his thumb press on your waist, helping to remind you to respond.

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You looked down toward your feet, slightly feeling the embarrassment creep up at your confession, but Jason rubbed his thumb on your cheek. A silent comfort. “But, I don’t have a reason to learn. I’m way past school dance age, I rarely go to events where it might happen, and…no one has ever asked me.”

A silence settled between the both of you, Jason’s thumb pausing. He looked between your eyes, glancing back and forth.

“Can I get my phone?” He asked with no explanation, no other detail leading to your earlier confession.

You felt the mortification creeping at you. You nodded, letting go of Jason.

He stood there until you removed yourself first. His grip fleeting, walking in the dark to grab his phone, illuminating the room with its screen where he stood. You curiously watched him, not quite understanding his intentions.

“I might be a little rusty.” He voiced, a broad back facing you.

A gentle melody played from his phone. Quiet, but getting louder as he pressed the volume button on the side of his phone.

“What?” You stood there awkwardly.

Jason turned to face you, throwing his phone on the night stand as he walked back over, raising an open hand to you.

“May I have this dance?”

He stunned you again, your brain having too many delays at once.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to meet his. You couldn’t respond to his question because your throat ached, ached in a way that you wished the world ended right there, to consume the pounding heartbeat in your ears, the firm grip of Jason, and attempt to swallow up all the love swelling in your heart. It would put up one hell of a fight.

Once the both of you met, bodies close, Jason repositioned your hands as it was before. Gently guiding you through the steps as you nervously looked at your feet, your tense body adding to your struggle.

Once you felt a decent rhythm and Jason patiently assisted you, memorizing your expressions, movements and the smile you beamed when you finally felt comfortable.

He grabbed your chin. Guiding your head back up to look at him. Bringing his head closer to yours.

Your eyes closed halfway before he gripped your back, dipping you back, holding your weight as you inhaled in surprise.

“Jason!” You laughed his name as he swung you back up, extravagantly twirling you from him, clasping your hand to twirl you back into his embrace.

“Rusty, huh?” You quipped, eyeing him, trying to stabilize your steps.

“What can I say, Alfred beat the movements into me. He would feel a shift in the air if I got it wrong.” Jason smiled, picking up the swaying again, enthusiastically moving both your bodies.

You continued dancing through laughter, not watching your feet as much as you were, letting the feeling of the music guide you.

Not knowing where your body and his separated, a beautiful blur.

How could you have missed out on something so sweet?

A dance shared between two individuals who adore one another.

Jason stamped another mark onto your life.

First dances laced with intertwined hands, lips brushing against one another, tuning out everything but each other’s voices.

Maybe the world did end, but you wouldn’t have known, too immersed in the moonlight on Jason’s skin, the warmth of love and home enveloping you.

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as scenes from my favorite romance novels

Even when you’re alone, it’s like your love is torn from a page.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: A very self-indulgent author. Scenes inspired by trashy Regency/Victorian romance novels. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s and (m!receiving) in Tim’s. Praise kink in Dick’s. Blindfolding, bondage, and vaginal fingering in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Scenes are inspo only, not direct quotes. I swear I can write cute smut. I have so many other favorite books and could do this another two times at least.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋 When He Was Wicked by Julia Quinn

“Do you ever wonder what I think about?” Bruce murmurs, head buried in your neck. He refuses to touch you with his lips, only ghosting his nose over your sensitive skin; you feel his breath, warm and lightly spiced, fan over your collarbone.

He lets out a low sigh that covers your chest like a blanket, and your heart echoes the way his breath trembles. Whatever control he thinks he has most of the time—it’s completely gone with you.

“Do you wonder,” he continues, “what I wish I could do to you?”

You’re laying back in his bed and he kneels between your thighs, supporting your back with one hand while his fingers absentmindedly toy with the zipper on the back of your dress. Like this, he notices everything about you: the way your hair sits, the warm sparkle in your eyes, the way your lips part with every breath.

And you look so unbearably kissable that he’s fighting against his baser instincts.

“I would start right here,” he answers himself, finally pressing his lips against your shoulder. You shiver in reply, and a low chuckle slides out of his throat. “I would kiss every inch of you. Twice. I’d figure out where to bite you to make you squeal, where to lick to make you whimper. I’d have you come undone on my tongue—and I think you’d like it. Maybe you’d like it so much that I’d have to do it again.

“And then I’d sit you in my lap,” he rumbles, lips pressed underneath your ear while he finally, finally, unzips your dress. His eyes are half-lidded, his mind just as hazy as yours is. “I’d fill you so completely, darling; your heart, your thoughts. I’d make every one of your breaths mine—forever, if I could.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋 Heartbreaker by Sarah MacLean

“Here, baby, give me your— Yeah, just like that.”

The second Dick says that, your breath catches and you feel yourself tense. Heat washes over you from cheeks to toes, and you let out a soft whine that makes blue eyes dart up to your own. All he did was ask you to move your leg, then take your thigh in his hand to bring it over his shoulder.

His eyes glint and he smiles like a kid on Christmas. You just gave him a fun new trick to use on you.

“Oh baby,” he croons. “You’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You whimper. “Dick, please—”

While his cheek presses against your thigh, his smile is nothing less than devastatingly sweet. “I know, baby; I know.”

He watches you like you’re a work of art, like he’s in awe of every breath you take. Eyes locked on yours, he kisses his way from your knee to the juncture of your hip and thigh, then lets you watch as his tongue darts out from his lips and laves over your soft mound. You tense, shivering, and nudge your hips just a little closer to his lips.

“Oh, good girl,” he groans as if your eagerness is bringing him pleasure. He rewards you, then, with a languid lip up your folds, another groan, and a muffled murmur of, “Look how you squeeze me when I praise you, baby. Fuck, just like that; just like that. Wanna feel you nice and tight, can you do that for me?”

JASON TODD 💋 Scandal in Spring by Lisa Kleypas

“I’m here,” Jason murmurs near your ear, lifting his lips only as high as is necessary to whisper to you. In a second, his mouth is on you again, kissing down your jaw and throat until his face is buried where your neck and shoulder meet. In one swift, light motion, he tugs your shirt down so he can mouth over your skin, and your heart begins to race.

Because, just a few hours ago, you were under the impression he was dead.

Equal parts astonished and worried, you brush your hands over the angry bruises purpling on his skin. You don’t know what to say except, “Please be real.”

“I’m real,” he instantly replies in a shaking voice, kissing down your chest until he reaches the point of a nipple and sucks it into his mouth. Warmth blooms where his lips meet your skin, and you know for certain that this can’t be a dream; your imagination has never been so vivid.

“I’m real,” he repeats. “Feel me.”

“But you’re covered in cuts—”

His eyes, glinting in the moonlight that streams through your window, dart up to your face. He looks at you the same way you look at him: as if you’re newly aware of how lucky the two of you are.

“They don’t matter,” he promises. He takes your chin in one of his hands, and you feel his fingers—rough with scars, freezing cold—as they slide toward your neck. “You’re all that matters, baby. I’m not going anywhere without you, understand?”

TIM DRAKE 💋 Devil’s Daughter by Lisa Kleypas

“Oh fuck,” Tim murmurs behind you. At first, you think it’s in ecstasy, given the fact that he has you bent over a low bookshelf with his cock shoved mercilessly in your cunt.

But then he repeats himself, and you turn your head—but you can only catch a glimpse of how his lips are pressed tightly together. “What’s wrong?”

He huffs out a self-conscious laugh. “Do you have any tissues?”

Huh? “No, I don’t think so—”

“I forgot,” he declares around the thick lump of embarrassment of his throat, while letting his head unceremoniously fall on your shoulder, “a condom.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you start to laugh. Here you are, having sex where you definitely shouldn’t be—in a private study room in the library—and of course this happens. It’s too funny. Perfect, even.

“That’s okay,” you assure him before you wriggle and turn in his arms. With gentle hands, you touch his hips and nudge him backwards; now, he’s the one against the wall instead of you, and you smile up at him while you drop to your knees. Biting your lip, batting your eyelashes, you have the perfect solution in mind.

All his mortification goes up in a puff of smoke when you take his cock—so pretty, pink-tipped and bobbing against his thigh—in one of your very capable hands. Leaning forward, you kiss up the shaft until your nose meets coarse, intimate hair; then, you kiss down again and wrap your lips around him, drawing precum and a soft moan out of him with your first curious, teasing suck.

DAMIAN WAYNE 💋 Widow in Emerald by Scarlett Peckham

You don’t know him, but that makes it better. You’re blindfolded before he ever enters the room, and his hands are cool to the touch and efficient in every movement as he binds your wrists to the four-poster bed. 

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t kiss you. That’s the arrangement you have: you place your trust in this stranger as a means of learning how your body finds release. He, for whatever reason, wants to make music out of your whimpers and moans.

His weight shifts, and you feel him slide in between your thighs. His fingers spread atop your bare chest, and you marvel at how big his hands must be for his thumb to reach one nipple while his little finger grazes the other. He puts just a hint of pressure on your sternum, then drags his hand down your stomach until his palm cups your sex.

Cold. His fingers are cold as ice, and you wonder if he’s just like that, or if he did something to his hands before his time alone with you.

With a flick of what feels like a sturdy yet nimble wrist, two fingers spread your folds, gathering your beginning wetness and exposing you to the air of the room—no, that’s his breath, and you feel the sensation of menthol when he breathes a sigh against your clit. Those same two fingers slip into you now, and you shakily sigh. The pace of his breaths becomes your own as he sends waves of pleasure through you, fingers moving in and out in a slow rhythm that draws a veil between who you are outside this room and who you’re meant to be within it.

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

What Are you Hiding There, My Bee~? (fic)

Link to Full Art (credits go to @lyrieeeee): Sethos/Scaramouche

Summary: During a picnic, Scaramouche discovers that Sethos has a back window and takes full advantage of it :P

A/N: This is the first fic of a series of SethoScara fics I have planned out. A total of three (maybe more) including this one. Though, you can consider My Honey ♡ My Bee as part one establishing their relationship. Inspiration for this fic comes from this artwork along with this submission from @vaporized-dimsum. I hope you all enjoy reading this one! It was very fun for me to write it! Though the title of this fic was hard to create :( Also, proud to say I typed 51% of this while I was on vacation on my iPod Touch 2nd Generation ;) One last thing, be sure to complete the poll at the end to have a say where Scara should be tickled. It is time for Sethos to get revenge~

Word Count: 2561

Also on AO3!

—

Sethos and Scaramouche were having a picnic. Scara initially refused but eventually gave in because of Sethos’ persistence. So here he was, running his fingers through his lover’s hair and feeling the soft strands.

“Having fun over there, honey~” Sethos teased.

Are you having fun with my hat, annoying bee?” Scara huffed.

“Aw, still sulky about having a picnic with me?”

“You are so annoying.”

Wanderer refused to admit that he was actually enjoying this mundane activity of a picnic.

“Lighten up. Here,” the leader of the Temple of Silence set down Scara’s hat and turned around, handing him one of the cooked dishes he packed. “You haven’t eaten yet. Try my signature dish. I know you’ll like it.”

“And what makes you think I’ll like your cooking?” he asked, dropping Sethos’ hair in annoyed disappointment. Why do I like his hair so much?

“Because I only make the best of the best for my boyfriend!~”

“Tch,” he felt his face start to heat up and grabbed the food from Sethos’ hands to hide his incoming blush.

“Stop saying words like that,” he mumbled, taking a bite from his boyfriend’s cooking.

Oh shit. It’s good.

The former god’s eyes widened in disbelief at the explosion of tastes hitting him as he took another bite.

“So, you like it?”

“It’s really-” he was about to compliment him, but he saw the smug look in his eyes.

“Actually, it’s really terrible.”

“Now, now love~” Sethos singsonged. “I know you’re lying. I saw the look in your eyes~”

“You saw nothing.”

“What about that bite you just took?”

“That was for your pride, so it won’t take a hit.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Wan,” Sethos laughed and leaned on him.

“Hmph,” he grumbled.

Sethos dropped his teasing and went to grab and admire his lover's hat instead. Laying on his belly, his long locks covering his entire back.

“What’s your deal with my hat anyway?” Scara asked, ignoring the craving to just comb his fingers through his bee’s hair.

“It’s so cool! The patterns, ornaments, and accessories are so detailed!”

“If you want it, you can take it.”

“Really?!”

Sethos giddily grinned, putting his lover’s hat on with a cheeky smirk as he faced him.

“You want to use my hat as an umbrella?” Sethos imitated him.

“That’s not how-”

“The fucking audacity to make that request.”

Sethos burst out laughing and fell forward into Scara's lap.

“That’s not how I sound like,” Scara glared at him.

“Noho, that is hohow you sound lihike.”

Sethos continued to laugh, making Scara’s hat fall off and parting his long locks. Scara’s eyes widened when he saw a sliver of skin shine in the sunlight.

“I didn’t know you had a back window,” he reached out in awe. “Why do you even-”

“HYAHAHA!”

He jolted in his lover’s lap, letting out a bright shrill of laughter, distinct from his laughing right before.

“That was…uh…” Sethos’ eyes darted up towards his lover who had a hint of mischief running through his eyes.

“What are you hiding there, my bee~?”

“Eek! I-I gotta head out now. Haha! N-Need to run some errands so bye!”

Sethos made a run for it, activating his Electro powers. Wanderer just watched him, slowly getting up and picking up his hat. A shit-eating grin grew on his face. It hasn’t even been a week since he tickled Sethos, but he has been craving to hear his delicious laughter and just get his hands on him.

“Get back here, little bee~”

Sethos felt shivers travel down his spine as he heard those words and ran even faster. He saw Wanderer’s shadow in front of him and went into panic mode.

“I’m getting closer, love~,” he heard from above.

“N-No you’re nohohot!” he squeaked out, reversing his direction to throw his pursuer off.

But he knows he’s winning a losing battle. The sounds of Wanderer’s clothing becoming louder with each passing second.

Scara was having the time of his life making Sethos let out little squeaks and giggles trying to run away from him. He also had a great view of his physique and his muscular arms. The way the sweat made his skin glisten and- What am I thinking!? He shook his head and eyed his prize, the back window. His lover’s hair swayed back and forth, his back window coming in and out of view as if teasing Scara.

“Dumb little bee,” he huffed to himself.

By now, he was right on top of Sethos and smirked devilishly.

“Coming down~”

Sethos didn’t have time to react as he was tackled down to the ground from above.

“Oof! Hon- Whoa-whoa-whoaah!”

Sethos lost his footing and Wanderer managed to shield his head in his arms right before they started tumbling down the hill. Thankfully it was a grassy hill as they rolled and rolled until they reached the bottom.

“Ugh,” Sethos groaned, face down in the grass as he turned his face to the side once he felt Scara get off him. “At least it wasn’t saAHAHAHA-!”

Sethos let out a shriek as he felt a finger scratch the patch of skin exposed on his back.

“MoCHIHIhi!” He tried raising himself but immediately felt his lover straddle him and a sudden squeeze on his sides. “EYAHAHAHA!”

His hands gave out and his body shook with laughter as Wanderer scribbled his fingers over his back.

“Ihihi dihihidn’t eheheven dohoho ahahanythihihing! Why ahaham ihihi gehehetihing tihihickled?”

“Oh, you did do something, little bee,” he said, grazing his fingers against his clothed shoulder blades. Eheheheek!

Wanderer couldn’t help but chuckle at Sethos’ reactions. He’s cute when he laughs and giggles like this.

“Whahat dihihid ihihi- WAHAHAIT!” Sethos yelped when he felt Scara lift up his clothing, exposing his back to the warm breeze. “Hohonehehey! Dohohon’t dohoho ihihit! Plehehease!

“Do what?”

“Tihihihickle mehehe! Whahat elSEHEHE- NOHOHOHAHAHA!”

“I thought you would never ask~”

His devious lover smirked as he now properly tickled his back. His fingers scribbled over the ticklish real estate.

“WAHAHA! T-ThAHAt’s NOHOHOT waHAHAt I MEAhaHANT!”

“You said, ‘Tickle me,’ didn’t you? What else am I supposed to do, not tickle you? You asked for it, little bee~” Scara smirked, planting kisses on the ticklish skin as his fingers trailed down his spine.

Sethos shook his head in ticklish mirth, grass falling out of his hair as he tried to reach behind him to fend off Scara’s fingers but to no avail.

“Youhu arEHEHE usIHIHing myhy wohohords aga- AHAHAHA! ahahagainst MEHEHE, MOCHIHIHI!”

He scoffed, “Since you care so much about words, try to spell what I’m writing then.”

He slid his fingers meticulously across his lover’s back, focusing on his shoulder blades.

“AHAHAHA!” Sethos screeched. “IHIHI’M NOHOHOT REHEHEHADY!”

“Wrong answer~” Scara grinned, squeezing his side.

“NAHAHA! OkaHAHAY! OkAHay! Uhh, ehehe! ‘L’ Ahaha! ‘O-’ GAHAHA! NOHOHO!” Sethos let out a loud laugh when Scara traced the third letter on his spine.

“You want to give up?”

“NEHEHEVER! ‘VehEHEHE!’”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you~”

“‘VEHEHE!’ ’V!’ aHAHand ‘EHEHE!’ ‘E!’ MOCHIHIHI!”

“And it spells?”

“LOHOHOHOVE!”

“Wha-”

“LOVE! LOHOHOVE! LOVEHEHE!”

Scara’s hands stilled in surprise, not expecting him to answer correctly.

“Yeah,” he said, continuing his onslaught of scribbles. Hehehey! Ihihihi answerehehed correhehectly! “How about this one?” he asked, ignoring his lover’s protests.

He increased the pressure of his writing and instead of letters, he started drawing a few shapes.

“WHAhahat arehehe thOHOSE!? ThOHose areHEhen’t WOHOHORDS! AHAHAHA!”

“Well, use letters to create a word to name them. Shouldn’t be too hard since you are a master spelling bee, aren’t you~?” Scara knows he is being cruel, but he can’t help but want to take victory in this game.

Sethos had tears of mirth threatening to fall but that wasn’t going to make him back down from the challenge. He tried to focus, focusing on his lover’s fingers. How they know their way to make him laugh and draw out the reactions they want.

“NOHOHOHOT THAHAHAT FOHOCUS!” he pounded his fists into the ground as a guffaw of laughter left his lips.

His lover just raised an eyebrow in amusement, fluttering the feather on his vision in place of his fingers and enjoying the way his back repeatedly arched up and down.

Ticklish shocks ran through Sethos’ body, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He focused once again, visualizing the shapes that Scara was tracing on his back. A circle, ahahaha! He’s merciless! Nehehe, a heart. And…a zig-zag? Heheahaha! Darn, my ticklish back!

“Ahaha! A ciRIHIcleHE! CIRCLEHE! HEART! AHAHAHAND! ZIHIHIG-ZAHAHAG! ZIG-ZAHAG!”

Scara was yet again surprised, more so than last time.

Shit, he is really good at this. Tch, I’ll just need to trick him then. Use his ability to my advantage.

“Dihihid Ihihi wihihin?” Sethos giggled, a hint of smugness laced in his voice.

“You are a cocky, little bee,” Scara dug into the back of his ribs in punishment.

“HAHAHAHA! WAHAHAHA! I’M SOHOHOHRRY! I’M SORREHEHEY! I’M SAHAHAHARRY! NAHAHAHA!”

Scara roughly tickled him for a couple more minutes before letting up.

“Nohoho mohohore, plehehease!”

“Serves you right.”

Scara placed his hands on his lover’s back once more, making him yelp in surprise.

“Mohohore?” he whined.

“Mhm,” Scara hummed. “You guess this right, you win.”

Scara traced Sethos’ back more lightly this time, almost like a caress. Sethos happily giggled, his head resting on his arm as he turned to the side with a carefree smile on his face.

“Thihihis ihihis prehehetty nihihice, ehehe.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Scara said, tracing down his spine.

He twitched in Scara’s hold in surprise. “AHAHahaHA! OhHOHo rigHIhigHT!”

Scara snorted and started tracing the letters again.

“’Tehehe’ ‘Ihi’ uhuhum ‘C’ ‘KehHEHE’ ‘L-Ehehe’ ahahAHA! ‘M’ ‘Ehe!’”

“And what does that spell?” A smug expression crossed Scara’s face as he continued his soft tracing.

“Ahahahaehehe! ‘Tihihickle Mehe!’”

“Come again, little bee~” Scara teased, stopping his tracing.

“Tickle Me!”

A beat passed before Sethos’ eyes widened like saucers in realization and he turned to look at him.

“Honey. You are so eHEHEVIHIHIL! NAHAHAHA!”

He shoved his face back into his arm as Scara ruthlessly scribbled his fingers on his skin.

“I honestly can’t believe you fell for it twice, my ticklish bee~”

“YOUHUHUHU WEHEHEHERE DIHIHISTRAHACTING MEHEHE! I-I COHOHOULDN’T THI- AHAHAHAHA! THINK!”

“Doesn’t change the fact you still said it,” he stuck out his tongue at him even though he couldn’t see him.

“MOCHIHIHI!” he shrieked when he felt him target the spot where his back window would be if his clothing were not lifted up. “YOUHUHU PLAHAHAYED DIHIHIRTY!”

“How could I have played dirty? You correctly said the two words I was drawing, and you won.”

“WEHEHELL, HAHAHAHA! Y-YOUHUHU STIHIHILL PLAHAHAYED DIHIHIRTY! THIHIHIS IHIHIS YOUR EXCUSEHE TOHOHO TIHIHICKLE MEHEHEHE! YOUHU JUHUST COUHULDN’T ACCEHEPT THE FAHACT I WAS BEHEATING YOUHU AT YOUR OHOWN GAHAME! AHAM IHIHI RIGHIT?”

The tickling suddenly stopped and Sethos gulped in some much-needed air. He took the time to catch his breath and regain his energy. A few minutes passed of him just panting and the wind brushing the blades of grass around them. It was then that Sethos realized that Wanderer, who was still on top of him, wasn’t saying anything.

“Lov-Ow!”

Scara suddenly shifted forward and nipped at his ear.

“What was-”

“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?” Scara directly whispered into his ear making him shudder. His voice was much deeper and threatening, making Sethos gulp in nervousness.

"You want to see how I really play dirty?”

Sethos could hear the smirk in his voice, and he felt butterflies in his stomach. Whether they were from excitement or fear or even both, he didn’t know. He tried to speak but no words came out.

“Where is all that bravado now, my bee?”

Scara grabbed Sethos’ chin and turned his head towards him. Sethos saw the look in his lover’s eyes and audibly gulped, heart pounding in his chest. Scara's violet eyes shined with hunger and that smirk turned into a devilish grin when he saw his reaction.

“I have one word for you,” he leaned even closer to him, making him squirm in his hold. “Raspberries.”

Before Sethos could even process what he said, he immediately succumbed to laughter with Scara blowing raspberry after raspberry on his back.

“BWAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHA! HOHOHON- AHAHAHAHA! PLE- HAHAHAHA!” Sethos couldn’t even finish his words as Wanderer mercilessly wrecked him with raspberries.

“Pfft!” His spine.

“NAHAHAHAHA!”

“PfFFTt!” His shoulder blades.

“GAHAHAHAHA!”

“PFFFFTTT!” His back window.

“BWAHAHAHAHA!”

And to make matters worse for him, he started drilling his fingers into his sides and armpits along with scribbles on the back of his ribs.

“EYAHAHAHAHA!”

Sethos was in hysterics as he pounded the ground with his fists and kicked his legs out.

“SCA- AHAHAHAHAHA! SCAHAHAHA- HAHAHAHA! SCAHAHAHARAHAHAHA!”

“That is my name, ticklish bee.”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP! I-I’M GONNA DIEHEHEHE! AHAHAHAHAHA!

“Apologize.”

“I-I CAHAHAHAN’T- GAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Guess you chose death.”

“NOHOHOHO! WAI- AHAHA! WAHAHAHAIT! OKAHAHAHAY! I-I’M SOHOHOHORRY FOHOHOR SAHAHAYING THOHOHOSE THIHIHINGS TOHOHOHO YOUHUHU!”

“Hmm.”

“WHAHAHAHAT EHEHEHELSE DO YOUHUHU WAHAHAHANT MEHEHEHE TOHOHOHO- BWAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! STAHAHAHAP!”

“Beg.”

“WAHAHAHAHAT?”

“Plead for it, nicely.”

“AHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAY! snort D-DOHOHOHOHON’T- GAHAHAHAHAHA! snort”

“I’m waiting~”

“N-NEHEHEHEVER! Y-YOU- snort NAHAHAHA W-WOHOHON'T GEHEHET IHIHIT OHOUT OHOF MEHEHE!"

"Oh, you're going to wish you never said those words. Laugh before me, my ticklish bee~"

Scara mustered all the breath he could take before letting out the biggest and loudest raspberry he could right on poor Sethos' back window and repeating it over and over all while spidering his fingers all over the rest of his back. The last of Sethos' defense came tumbling down soon after.

"GAHAHAHAHA! snort NONONOHOHOHO! FINE! snort FHIHIHINE! WAHAHAHANDEHEHE! STAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEASE! snort SCAHAHAHAHARA! MYHYHY BELOHOHOVED HOHOHONEHEY! I’M BEHEHEHEGGING YOUHUHU! snort BWAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIT’S TOHOHOHOO MUHUHUHCH! snort PLEHEHEASE! HAHAHAVE MEHEHEHERCY! MEHEHERCEHEHEHEY!”

Oh my archons, he is so adorable.

Scara smiled endearingly at him, at last giving him mercy. He trailed little kisses and raspberries from his back to his neck and eventually turned him over onto his back and went in for a slow, sensual kiss which Sethos immediately melted into.

“Mmm~ Scaraah~ mmph~”

“Mm~ Sethohh~ Hahh~”

They made out for a few minutes, combing their fingers through each other’s hair and exploring each other’s mouths before pulling away. Breathless, they stared at one another taking in each other’s flushed face before Sethos started giggling.

“Your tickling was ruthless!” Sethos managed to say in between giggles.

“But you liked it~”

Sethos looked away blushing but didn’t deny it.

Wanderer chuckled, lifting himself up and picking Sethos up bridal style.

“Let’s finish our picnic.”

“Oh, when did you become such a romantic?~ Ack! Sohohorry!”

“If you don’t shut up, I won’t do this again.”

He was blushing and looking straight ahead as he went up the hill. Sethos glanced at him before closing his eyes in exhaustion with an understanding smile on his face.

“I love you, honey.”

A smile tugged at Scara’s lips.

“I love you too, bee.”

Sethos fell asleep in his arms soon after and curled in towards his chest. He shook his head fondly.

“Let’s go home instead.”

He silently called upon the Aranara to pack up their things and that he’d pick them up later. After thanking them, he set off towards their home and he looked back down at Sethos’ sleeping form. He smiled lovingly at him and planted a kiss on his temple.

“Sleep well, my lovely, ticklish bee.”

—

Google Form Link!

[cantwritethetword]

(2023) TickleTober Day 8: Alien - More Human Than You Think

Fic Descript - The Doctor maintains that being tickling is a strictly human thing. While Rory is quick to accept it, Amy knows him too well.

~A/N  - BLAME @carrie-tate FOR THIS HER 11TH DOCTOR ART HAS REIGNITED MY LOVE OF THIS TRIO AND INSPIRED ME TO WRITE THIS FIC (ngl heavily based on this art)

These guys were my first introduction to doctor who when I was like 8 so they are very very important to me I love them, so hopefully I write this well ^^

(also feel it's important for everyone to know that I watched this wonderful montage the whole time I was writing it lmao)

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

"I keep thinking I'm used to you." Rory said with a light chuckle.

The Doctor popped up from where he was working. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a scrunched face, wielding a modified hair dryer and what looked like washing machine tablets.

Clearly the irony was lost on him.

The TARDIS needed a little TLC (in the Doctor's words), and so the team had taken the rare opportunity of peacefully floating through space to get some adjustments done. The Doctor was banging and tinkering at the console, Rory was watching, and Amy had gone to take a shower (because apparently she had no desire to listen to the Doctor's consistent yapping as he worked).

"Well, I've been here for long enough to feel like I know you." Rory explained. "But then you go do something... odd... And it's like the first day I met you all over again."

"Are you forgetting Rory," The Doctor half-shouted over the whirring of the hair dryer. "I'm an over 900 year old Time Lord from another planet, of course I'm odd. The best people are."

Rory softly tilted his head, taking a moment to fully appreciate that perhaps it was the overall circumstance that was weird rather than the person in front of him, before circling around the console closer to his friend.

"That looks better." The Doctor sat upright and clicked off his tool, turning to face Rory. "What do you think? After this I've just got a few more tweaks and we can be off again."

"You look human though." Rory continued from his previous train of thought. "You eat human food, you dress in human clothes, surely you aren't completely Alien."

"I'm just as Alien to you as you are to me." The Doctor chirped, scurrying over to the next stage in his TARDIS-repair plan.

As he moved, however, he failed to realise the space (or lack thereof) between his head and the edge of the console. He let out a tight-lipped groan as he rubbed the impact site on the top of his forehead.

"And you feel pain like us." Rory added, jumping to add the spontaneous example that would back up his point to the list.

The Doctor shot him an agitated look. "Don't they teach you bedside manner at your nursing job? I near enough break my skull and all you do is point out that we both feel pain? Most beings do!"

Rory, ignoring the Doctor's initial complaining and instead focusing on his last statement, nodded in contemplation. "I suppose they do..."

"I sUpPoSe tHeY- ugh..." The Doctor rolled his eyes, accepting that he wasn't getting any sympathy from the usually most sympathetic person on the TARDIS. "Any other questions? Or can I get back to doing something important."

"Hmm..." Rory scratched the back of his head. "Are you ticklish or anything?"

The Doctor froze momentarily, before jumping to his feet with a spin and a smile. "Nope, that's unique to you humans."

Rory gave him a doubtful but unsure look.

"Honestly, if anything you lot are the weird ones with your... hyperactive nervous systems... and... involuntary laughter responses..." The Doctor rambled, but his flow was a little more disjointed than usual.

"I guess so..." Rory nodded, but he still couldn't shake the memory of the Doctor's odd reaction.

But, there was little time to think about it.

"Has he bored you to death yet?" Amy said with a grin from the stairway.

"Hey!" The Doctor complained as Rory laughed. "I'm the most quality entertainment out there."

Rory opened his arm for Amy to tuck herself under it. "The Doctor was just telling me how weird we humans are."

Amy gave him a look. "You're one to talk Mr Bow-Tie."

The Doctor tugged on the aforementioned accessory. "Bow ties are-."

"Bow ties are cool, right." She finished for him, rolling her eyes. "My point still stands, how exactly are we the weird ones?"

As Rory opened his mouth, the Doctor jumped in first. "Well, weird might be a strong word. Humanity is wonderful and beautiful and terrible and strange and-"

"We're ticklish." Rory interrupted. "But that was the only example he could give me so I'm not sure I-"

"Oh you're not ticklish, Doctor?" Amy asked halfway through Rory's statement, but something in her grin made The Doctor suspect she knew the answer already.

"Uh..." The Doctor rubbed his neck. "Well I... Well..."

"He said it was just a human thing." Rory offered a response, oblivious to the rising tension surrounding the Doctor.

"Is it now?" Amy took a few steps closer to the Time Lord, her face trying to seem innocent and confused. "Just humans?"

The Doctor stumbled backwards, his hands fumbling over themselves. "Well, perhaps sometimes... some Time Lords may... may be a little more uh... susceptible to uh... to things like that."

Amy continued her devastatingly slow pursuit around the console of the TARDIS, leaving Rory on the opposite side. "And would you be one of them?"

Rory finally caught on as the Doctor backed up towards him. "Wait you lied to me?!"

"Rory it was nothing personal I just-" The Doctor babbled nervously, his hands now forming a semi-protective barrier between him and his pursuer.

Amy made eye contact with her husband, that evil grin still plastered on her face. "Rory, how do we feel about liars?"

Without a word, Rory stepped behind the Doctor and hooked his arms under the Doctor's shoulders.

"Waitwaitwaitwait no!" The Doctor shrieked, wriggling in Rory's hold. "Plehease!"

"Huh..." Amy paused, an inquisitive look on her face. "Humans normally wait for the tickling to start before we start laughing... Is that a Time Lord thing too?"

The Doctor whined. "Yohou know that's not truhue!"

Rory chuckled from behind. "You're not really in a position to talk about truth right now."

The Doctor was about to argue when Amy lunged, lightly scribbling her fingernails all over the poor Doctor's torso. He inhaled sharply, the effort of containing his reactions forcing out squeaking noises.

"Seems pretty ticklish to me." Rory commented, struggling with the sudden responsibility of keeping the Doctor upright.

Amy smirked, pausing her attack. "Oh, I don't know... He's not laughing anymore, maybe he was right..."

"I'm-" The Doctor panted out. "Always... right-"

Before he even had the chance to finish there were ten fingers digging under his armpits.

His eagerness to jump at the opportunity to talk after being unable to for the last ten seconds was exactly what Amy was counting on, and the sudden unexpected attack brought out a shriek of helpless cackles from the poor Doctor.

With a grin, Amy looked up at her husband. "Now this is what I'd call ticklish."

"OHOKAY FINE FINE FIHIHINE!" The Doctor yelped in between giggles. "I'M TICKLIHISH! JUST LET ME GOHOHO!"

Rory and Amy locked eyes, smirking.

"What do you think Rory?" Amy asked, letting her fingers skitter up and down the Doctor's bony ribcage. "Have we proved our point?"

Rory hummed in thought, drawing out his response to mess with the Time Lord as long as humanly possible. "I might be convinced, but he still hasn't apologised for lying..."

"I DIHIDN'T HAVE A CHOHOHOICE!!!"

Switching to drilling her thumbs into the Doctor's hip bones in response to his claim, Amy gave him a fake-confused look. "That doesn't sound like an apology."

Rory laughed, while the Doctor scrambled to put together something that sounded like speech through his laughter. "FIHIHINE OKAHAY I'M SOHOHORRY!"

Amy withdrew her fingers as Rory guided the Doctor to the floor, letting him rest his head on Rory's leg.

"I think you're more human than you think." Rory chuckled, patting the Doctor's shoulder.

"Right." The Doctor glared up at him, but there was a hint of softness behind his eyes. "Can we go now?"

[cameronspecial]

The People We Used To Be

Pairing: Musician! Rafe Cameron x Musician! Reader

Warnings: Rafe being an asshole

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 8.5K

Summary: Music brought together Y/N and Rafe, but he pulled them apart. After seven years, a competition to win a recording deal brings them back together and they are forced to confront their past.

A/N: Inspired by @ghostofwriting's Kildare Spilt series which is absolutely amazing and you have to check it out if you haven't already. The songs in the fic are "Traitor" by Olivia Rodrigo (Altered to fit the fic) and "Right My Wrongs" by Bryson Tiller. I didn't write them.

Masterlist

Music has a way of making the world make sense for Y/N and Rafe. The Pogue and the Kook met at a Mommy and Me music class their mothers took them to as toddlers. Their mothers and each other helped foster a love for the art and it became even more of a necessity when they lost their mothers. Rafe was the first one to lose his mother. Margaret Cameron had been battling cancer for two years before her passing and it completely destroyed her eight-year-old son. Every Kook he knew tried to help him with his grief, except the one person who could actually get through to him didn’t live on Figure Eight. Instead of crying in his room in Tannyhill, he found himself riding his bike to a small bungalow on the Cut. It was in that small house where a little girl sat on the front porch with a guitar that was too big for her, trying to play “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. Her mom’s favourite song. The sound of the chain of his bike caused her to freeze and look up from the strings. “You are getting better,” he praised, getting off his bike to walk it up the small driveway. She gave him a smile that showed him she wasn’t afraid to be happy during his time of mourning. She didn’t walk on eggshells around him and he loved it. It made him feel normal, like before his mom got sick. She beckoned him to the porch swing with her hand, “Come sing with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh, that’s a girl song,” he argued. 

The front door opened and out came Melody Y/L/N. Her smile matched her daughter. “Now, Rafe. Have I not taught you anything about music? There is no such thing as a boy song or a girl song. Or a Pogue song or a Kook song. As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. Now, why don’t we all sing together?” Those words touched him and it would continue to do so well into adulthood. And it was that afternoon when Rafe started to heal from the pain of a dead mother. Playing music with the Y/L/N women and being happy made him feel closer to his mom than any condolences from other people.

———

Y/N lost her mother at twelve years old. The real kicker was that the universe decided that the day the girl would turn into a young lady was the day of her mother’s funeral. Her mother was a lively person and requested in her will that people wear their favourite colour to her funeral. So Y/N wore light blue to the burial. When she went to the bathroom after returning home, she was greeted with a massive red stain in her underwear. It felt as though the world had ended. Melody may have talked to her daughter about the logistics of dealing with a period, but Y/N couldn’t remember a word of what her mother had said and she began to panic. She locked herself in the bathroom after her dad gave her a new pair of underwear and some of her mom’s leftover pads. Other than that, he had no idea what else to do to get his daughter out. His wife was gone and his daughter was dealing with a problem he had never experienced before. He felt hopeless until he thought of the one person who could help. 

Ward dropped off his son in front of the one-story yellow house, telling his son he could sleep over if Y/N needed someone. Rafe walked into the house as if he lived there and went straight to the bathroom door. “Hey, Rock Star. I heard you were feeling bad. I brought you some KitKats, dulce de leche ice cream and some Tylenol,” he announces, looking through the bag. “My mo- My mom used to say eating sweets made her feel better.” She didn’t respond; instead, she remained seated on the floor against the bathtub. Her head was on her knees to catch the tears coming from her eyes, wishing her mom could be here to help her through it. Rafe sighed, worried his friend would never leave that room again. Since food didn’t work, he only knew one other thing that might be able to get her out. If it didn’t work, then he didn’t know what would. He ran to the living room and flipped through the CD holder, looking for a specific one. He finally found it and took it out. He set it in the CD player and dragged it into the hallway. He plugged it in, skipping to the perfect song. The notes began to play and he shook his hips in synch with it. “I come home, in the morning light,” he started to sing with Cyndi. She could hear his exaggerated shrieks from inside her confides. He was definitely doing it to goad her out. “I think I’m a great singer. What do you think, Rock Star?” he screamed from the other side of the door. She sat there for a little longer, listening to his horrible singing. 

Eventually, she had to save her poor ears from the torture. His singing dimmed in volume at the click of the lock. He saw her feet tapping and he knew it was only a matter of time before she joined in with him. Once she started singing with him, he switched to his real singing voice. The slant of her lips was still in a frown, but it was still an improvement from not wanting to see anyone. And once again, music helped the children grieve the loss of an important woman in their lives. 

———

Her foot taps against the floor as she bites her nails. The earplugs she is wearing help dampen the sound from the stage. She can’t believe he is here. It really shouldn’t be a surprise. This competition would launch the winner’s career. Y/N hasn’t seen him in seven years and hasn’t played with him for just as long. Kiara comes from behind her and rests a palm on her shoulder. Kie has been touring with Y/N’s band for three years now. As soon as she graduated high school, she hit the road and became the Melodies’ personal assistant. They both turn to look at the lead singer of Just Wanna Have Fun as he sings while strumming his electric guitar. He turns so she can see the back of his guitar and she spots the beam note with their initial in each of the ovals of the notes. R and Y/I/N. She is surprised he hasn’t painted over it already. Each band gets to play three songs and when she hears the next song he decides to play, she can’t stand on the sideline and watch them perform anymore. She turns around and heads into the lounge area for the musicians. How dare he play that song?

He could feel her gaze on her throughout his first set. He should’ve figured she would be here. If he thought she was, he wouldn’t have played the next set. He finishes his part of the duet and he looks to the side of the stage to see her while Frank sings the verse that used to belong to Y/N. Disappointment flashes across his eyes at the empty spot where she was. This is the first time he gets to see her in seven years and of course, he has to screw it up. He gets so caught up in the past that he almost misses his verse. 

———

The cool air tickled their skin as her head rested on his stomach. The new electric guitar his dad bought him for his fourteenth birthday lay beside them. “Do you ever worry about us not being friends anymore?” she thought out loud, staring up at a cloud that looked a little like a bunny. He frowns at her and lifts his head up to look at her, “No, why in the world would I think about that?” 

“We are total opposites, Rafe. You are a Kook. I’m a Pogue. You are destined for a life of greatness while I’m meant to be stuck on my side of the island.”

He laughs, “That’s absolutely ridiculous because we are both meant to be in a band together and become so famous that the members of Pink Floyd will be jealous.”

He could see the seriousness of her question and sat up, taking her with him. She now sat across from him and he took her hand into his. “But seriously though, all that stuff doesn’t matter. Not when we have music. It’s like your mom used to say. Music isn’t meant for one type of person. As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. And that logic is the same for us. We speak to each other, so we are meant for each other,” he promised. He scooted to his backpack and got out a Sharpie. He sat back down beside her, flipping his guitar onto his lap. “What are you doing?” she questioned. She slid in closer to him. He uncapped the marker and began to draw a beam note. He looked up at her with a smile, “Proving to you that we will never stop being friends.” He put his initial in the first note and handed the marker over to her. She got the message, writing her initial in the other note. He took the marker back to cap it. “There. Now, as long as this is here, we will be friends forever.” She giggled at his remark, thinking it would eventually fade; however, what she didn’t know was that he forced his dad to get something to seal the writing that very night. 

———

Y/N will never get over the feeling of being on stage. Whether she is playing for a crowd of one or a hundred, all she needs is to share what she loves with people willing to listen. She smiles at the camera Kiara flashes in her face and takes the towel Kie hands to her. The fabric removes the sweat from her forehead, staining with makeup in the process. She makes her way to the lounge to put her stuff away so she can wait out the other bands until they announce who is going to make it to the next round. Her usual routine after a gig is to take a breather outside by herself. She needs the outside air to cool her down and let her think, so her bandmates give her the space she needs as she heads out the backdoor. She breathes in the cool air, slamming against the rough brick wall. So far, she has been able to contain her emotions about seeing him again. Yet, finally being able to focus on her feelings, makes her realize that she is still hurt by what he did all those years ago. She trusted him with all of her heart and he broke that trust. How could someone she loved so much betray her so badly? 

“It’s been seven years and you still haven’t changed, Rock Star.” The voice snaps her out of her thoughts. Her head swivels in his direction, rolling her eyes at him. “Neither have you because I’m guessing you are here to smoke. You know those things will kill you, right?” she retorts, looking in the opposite direction. He chuckles, “Yeah, this girl I used to know a while back told me that all the time.” She doesn’t join in his playfulness. “You know what, I’m just going to go back inside,” she decides, pushing off of the wall to head to the door. He reaches for her wrist to stop her. She stops at the contact and he flicks the cigarette bud on the floor. He stomps it out. His gaze finds her again and at the disapproving look on her face, he picks it up and throws it in the garbage. He points toward the door, “I’ll go. I recognize how much you need these moments alone. I’ll see you back inside.” He steps toward the doorway, pausing to glance at her over his shoulder. “It was nice to see you in person again.” She scoffs, “I wish I could say the same.” This digs another shallow hole in his heart and he lets the door slam shut behind him. Once he is gone, she slides down the wall, resting her head on her knees with her eyes closed. Is a record deal with one of the best recording labels really worth the regauging of old wounds? 

Rafe heads to the bathroom, the inside of his cheek caught between his teeth. The decision to use the individual bathroom is easy; he doesn’t want anyone to walk in on his mental breakdown. His hand twists the cold facet and splashes the water onto his face. The shock of the temperature aids him in rearranging his thoughts. At the sight of her broken heart, it killed him that he wasn’t able to drag her into his hold and whisper how sorry he was for letting them get to this point. After all their time apart, every single detail that he remembers about her is the same. Her lavender perfume remains his favourite smell in the world. The dark fuschia lipstick is the one he picked out for her when she started wearing makeup. And she relies on the tiny taps of her feet in rhythm with the song playing in her head. 

———

Rafe watches her from his spot in front of the stage. The area designated for the bands to stand in during the elimination announcement isn’t as crowded as the general admission behind him. Two bands are going to be eliminated. It isn’t a lot, yet it doesn’t guarantee Just Wanna Have Fun is going to continue in the competition. He hopes the Melodies advance, certainly because the longer they both stay, the more chances he has at making things right between them. All he wants is to get back what they had and maybe what they didn’t get the opportunity. That wish is quickly submerged by a wave from a passing jet ski. 

The jet ski is probably two inches shorter than Rafe. His light brown curly hair goes passed the bottom of his ear and looks like a flat mane. The green eyes stare at Y/N with adoration that only Rafe should be allowed to direct toward her. What really destroys Rafe is when that five o’clock shadow brushes against Y/N’s skin to give her a kiss on the cheek. Garrett notices Rafe’s gaze and shoves the glarer with his shoulder. “Stop staring. You look creepy,” Garrett orders, turning back to the stage. As Rafe is about to obey the suggestion, he catches the way Y/N leans against the chest of the mystery man, causing a bubble of nausea to form in his stomach. The screech of a microphone calls the attention of everyone in the crowd. A short woman with blue hair and black lips angles the bulb toward her, “Everyone played beautifully tonight, but unfortunately, you all can’t join us next week. Just as a reminder every week, two bands will be eliminated. Now, for the moment you have all been waiting for.” She takes a pause to unfold the paper with the names of the unlucky musicians and her cheerful demeanour shifts to one of sorrow. “I’m sorry to announce that Dex the Sex and Heartaches will not be playing on this stage again next week.” The bands closest to the exiled ones express their condolences, while the ones further away can be seen celebrating the small victory. Rafe turns to hug his bandmates and can’t help but risk a glance at her. Her arms are around her supposed boyfriend’s neck and their chest are pressed against each other. 

The green-eyed monster tickles his heart. His legs move in advance of his brain processing his emotions. The tips of his navy blue converses touch her black leather boots. He notices the way the man’s arm around her waist slightly tightens so that the veins in his arms are prominent and the sharp jaw clenches. Rafe eventually has the confidence to look in her eyes and her distaste for him marinates in them. His fingers go to scratch the back of his ear, “Congrats on making it to the next round. You… you played great. Was the last song new?” She leans forward in the man’s hold and some of her hatred cools down. “Thanks, it is. Something I came up with last week. We’ve been working late nights to perfect it for tonight. You sounded great tonight too,” she says barely above a whisper. The man behind her looks between the ex-bandmates and extends his hand out, “I’m Knox, Y/N’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet you, Rafe.” 

Rafe grips Knox’s hand a little too tight with a straight smile. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he placates, wondering how much trouble he would get into for punching the idiot. It would be unwarranted for sure, yet it doesn’t stop his urge to want to do it. Feeling the start of a cock fight brewing, Y/N steps in. “We didn’t eat dinner before the show, so we are going to go… do that.” She breaks away from her boyfriend’s hold and takes his hand, following her friends toward the exit. Her cold demeanour might have made someone else lose spirit. Someone who didn’t know Y/N. Rafe knows otherwise though. He was able to crack the glaze of her harshness. He isn’t letting that victory go. 

———

His feet ache after a late-night practice. They had gotten the last timeslot for practice at the venue today, not that Rafe minds. He works better at night because it is when he needs a distraction the most. She was there earlier, so he didn’t get to see her. The smell of her perfume followed him wherever he went while he was there. They haven’t had any encounters since that night. It doesn’t surprise him; she is obviously avoiding him. It hurts him more than hell and he knows he deserves it because he did something a hundred times worse to her. The echo of his footsteps is the sole sound in his vast apartment. This has been his house for five years, except it doesn’t feel like home. Not when it doesn’t have that touch of her like his room at Tannyhill does. 

———

“God, could your room look any more like a stereotypical teenage boy’s jerk off-centre?” she criticized, looking around the room with disgust in her eyes at the cluster of cups on his bedside table. Some of them had ring stains around the glass. He looked at her over his shoulder, “What are you talking about? All the guys I know have a room like this.” She points at the walls littered merely with car posters or bikini models. “Yeah, and that’s the problem. How can you call this place home if there is nothing that shows you are the one living here?” she argued. He gestured to the poster, “What do you think that is?” 

“That shows me that any guy in my class lives here.”

“Like a Pogue could afford half of the stuff in this room.”

“Really, Rafe?” 

“Right, sorry. Can you just get to the point? What do you think I should add then? What will make this place my home?” 

“You need more personality in here. Pictures of people you love. Little trinkets. Plants. Music stuff. Love letters from a sweetheart.” 

He chuckled, “Like you display your love letters. And why can’t my personality be cars and bikini posters.” “Because that’s every other straight cis-gendered boy's personality. You know, if you added more things, it would make a girl feel more comfortable in your room,” she attempted a different tactic. His brow arched, “Hmm, never thought about it that way. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in my room though. Why bring it up now?” “I’m tired of looking at this nasty-ass messy room. That’s why,” she admitted. He nodded, taking into consideration her opinion. He grabbed a piece of tape from his desk drawer and took out his wallet. She observes as he slides out a picture from the window slot. He tacked on the photo right above his desk. She couldn’t see what it was in, so she stepped forward. Her eyes welled up with tears at the sight. It was a picture of them. The memory of when the photo was taken comes to the forefront of her mind. They were twelve years old and he had just learnt a new chord on the guitar, so of course, he had to teach her it as well. His hands were placed over hers on the neck of the guitar, while he guided her fingers. “What’s this?” she stupidly questioned.

He grinned at her, “You told me to put up a picture of someone I loved and I did.” “And you just had that picture in your wallet this whole time?” she clarified. He shrugged, “Yep since I got it.” “That is very unexpected, Rafe,” she thought out loud. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “What do you expect, Rock Star? You’re my best friend. Of course, I love you.” The words stung her. It shouldn’t surprise her that was who he saw her as. She was a Pogue; she could never be more to him. 

———

He should’ve brought that picture to New York with him. He did bring one thing over that reminded him of home. The music room in his apartment has everything he needs to write a song. It is the one place in his apartment that he doesn’t mind spending time in. There are so many ways for him to clear his mind here and it is where his bandmates like to hang out too. No matter how many times Frank (keyboardist), Garrett (bassist), Topper (drummer), and Barry (band manager) enter this room and know every inch of the room, they will never find his most precious possession. He kneels beside the drawer tower filled with various accessories for the instruments and pulls the bottom one open. He pushes down on the false bottom to reveal a stack of lined papers. They are rumpled from how many times he has read them over; he just couldn’t bring himself to send them or get rid of them. At first, he wrote them to apologize to her, but then he started to use it as a cathartic method. He allowed himself to express everything he had ever wanted to say to her in the letters and every time he needed a reminder of who they used to each other, he read them. His hope was that one day they would be the personalization their house needed to feel like home. It’s been a while since he wrote a new one; however, with her reappearance in his life, it feels time to write another. 

Dear Rock Star,

Even after all this time, you still manage to find a way to have a hold on my heart. Maybe, it’s because I never sent the first letter, so we never got the closure we needed. But seeing you again made my heart feel like it was beating to the tune of its old song. Everything I felt for you came back like a tidal wave and all I wanted to do was hug the ever-loving shit out of you. And then he went to you. That wave I thought I could overcome became my undoing. It made me regret never reaching out to say I was sorry. I realized that your rejection of my apology would be a lot less painful than your moving on from me. It was bound to happen. How could it not when you are the most amazing person to have ever existed? I just dreamt that I could’ve found my way back into your life before it happened. But I didn’t and now, I have to stew in my consequences. 

I sometimes wonder if you miss me as much as I miss you. I get that it is different for you. You were the one who got hurt instead of the one doing the hurting. I think you do. You may not admit it, but you responded to me. Maybe you wanted to seem professional and I can see that being your reason. Yet, your eyes told me something else. I’m not talking about when we talked. I’m talking about when I was on stage. You saw the beam note and I could see the yarning behind the hatred. You want to go back to that time just as much as I want to. I’m going to get us back to that place, I promise. We might not be able to be exactly the people we used to be; nevertheless, we can try. Because you still speak to me, Rock Star, and that means we are meant to be.

Loving you always,

Rafe

He sighs at the final stroke of the pen and caps it. He reads it over and over until it is all he can think about. The words have never felt more true to him and he makes a vow to himself to make it come true. If he can’t have back what they once had, then he will make damn sure he’ll earn the next best thing. He hears the jiggle of the front door handle and rapidly shoves everything back into the drawer. “Dude, why is it always so damn dark in here? Don’t you know how to turn on lights?” Topper teases from downstairs. “Where are you? Come out of the studio for once, will ya? We brought you food from that Turkish place.”

———

“I think maybe we should try you coming in later with the backup vocals, Debs. Why don’t we try again?” Y/N advises. At the nod from the other girls, Y/N faces the stage outward and grips the microphone with both hands. Viola counts them down, beginning the rhythm for everyone to join in. Y/N waits for her cue to sing; she has been the lead singer for the Melodies for seven years and she has yet to figure out what to do with her hands. When they started the band, they figured having two guitarists didn’t mesh well with their sound. So, she offered to drop the instrument for the band because Laila hates singing. She didn’t mind not being able to play on stage, except there were sometimes when she missed it. She’d even dare to say she missed playing with Just Wanna Hav Fun because she wanted the ability to shred some strings in a room bigger than her shoebox of an apartment. The note that signifies she comes in plays and she opens her mouth to sing. Her mind turns off, focusing entirely on hitting every note perfectly. Every time she gets to be on stage, she finds herself falling in love with music again. Especially since it helps her feel closer to her mother.

The girls get lost in the music and forget the time. The clearing of a throat causes Y/N to whip in the direction of it. Topper gives her a small smile and a wave, “I hate to stop the creative flow, but it’s eleven.” Y/N’s head bobs and helps the others get all of their stuff together. She can feel the eyes of the people she used to call friends on her. She tries not to succumb to the pressure of their gaze. As they leave the stage, both groups awkwardly look at each other. She hasn’t kept secrets from her girls, so they know everything that went down between her and the boys. 

Laila, Viola, and Debra can see the emotionless expression on her face at the encounter with her past and decide not to bring it up. “Are you working a shift today?” Laila inquires whilst placing her guitar in its case. Y/N slings her bag across her chest, “Yeah, I’m doing a closing shift. If you guys want to come over to rehearse some more, come over after ten. I need a break between now and work.” “Got it, I’ll bring the pizza,” Laila informs before leaving with Debra and Viola. Kiara returns from the bathroom and approaches Y/N, looking nervously between the stage and her friend. “I don’t want to talk about it, Kie,” she laments. Kiara notices the way the singer avoids eye contact. The PA shakes her head, “You’ve been burying this within you for almost a decade. That isn’t healthy.” “I have no idea what you are talking about. It is perfectly fine to not talk about it. And for your information, I interacted with him on the first competition night. I would say that counts as acknowledging it,” she contends. Kiara’s head tilts to give Y/N a pointed look.

“I overheard that conversation. You were just being nice because the audience could see you.”

“You can’t deny that I was being nice. So I say it counts.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean, Y/N/N. You aren’t only hurting him by leaving things unsolved, but yourself. The more you avoid getting closure, the more you come up with your own explanation for his actions. Those are always going to be worse than the truth. Think about it, not for him. For you.”

Kie doesn’t wait for an answer and it leaves Y/N to think about the impact of her friend's words. She chances a glance to where the music is coming from before heading home. The world is drowned out by the music playing in her headphones, filling in the space where her thoughts should populate. Everyone believes she has to speak to him; they lecture her on the importance of learning the full story. It is rich of them to say all those things when they aren’t the ones who Rafe pained. He didn’t even have the decency to say he was sorry after she confronted him. All he had to present to her were countless excuses. So they don’t get to have an input on how she deals with her shit because she is dealing with it. Through her writing. Out of Rafe and Y/N, she has always been the one more attuned to writing. Rafe can write good songs, he just isn’t as in love with the process as she is. Once her headphones come off at home, she rushes to her bedside drawer, pulling out a beaten-up notebook. She flips through countless songs about him. Every single one was written when she couldn’t contain how she felt. She finally gets to the picture of them she uses as a bookmark. It is the same one he taped onto his wall when they were fifteen. She couldn’t bring herself to take anything else of him during her move. As soon as the pen hits the paper, everything she has been bundling up inside falls onto the page.

———

He had asked her out. Rafe asked her out and she said yes. It had been a game of cat and mouse, them going back and forth on whether or not they should risk their friendship for something more. Spoiler alter, it wasn’t going to be. She didn’t know that though. At the moment, she was focused on getting to band practice. The cold evening breeze caused her to wrap her zip-up hoodie around her body by holding it against her waist. She drops her phone right as she gets to the opening of Topper’s garage. Something she overhears while picking up her phone makes her delay her entry to the room. “I heard you are going on a date with Y/N.” It was a high-pitched voice that could only belong to Samantha. Y/N wasn’t the biggest fan of Samantha. The Kook had a permanent judgmental face in her presence and she could hear the repugnance lacing the question.

Y/N expected her best friend to hear the same tone and defend her. It never happened. “Listen, I didn’t want to do it. I got tired of her doing that pathetic mopey-eyed shit. She was begging for me to ask her out, so I did to stop her pestering. Trust me, I could never willingly date a Pogue.” Suddenly, her heart popped under the weight of the tire and he continued to smear her most vital organ across the road with every laugh he let out. What added to her decimation was that her other bandmates joined in her mocking. During their friendship, they had never made her feel different because of what side of the island she was born on. She thought they didn’t care about the number in her bank account; apparently, they did. She wondered how many lies they told her. Was everything they ever paid for for her because they pitied her? Were they truly her friend? She stepped back to leave, not having the courage to face the most important people in her life until Rafe said something that turned her agony to rage. “What about that stupid saying her mom always said that she lives by.  As long as it speaks to you, it is meant for you. It is so ridiculous. One. Not everything talks. Two. Does she believe that a life outside of the cut is meant for her? Y/N is so delusional.” Samantha let out a cackle. This was the ultimate betrayal. 

She stormed into the room, letting the boys’ height tower over her. The faint smell of weed permeated the air. With the number of times they smoked in here, she was surprised the fabric of the light brown couch didn’t permanently smell like the drug. Topper’s garage wasn’t what most people would imagine for a place to park a car. It made sense though because his family didn’t keep their cars in this garage. They had another small building to house their vehicles in true Kook fashion. This room was a modern finished room, perfectly equipped for whatever Topper’s new hobby was and it happened that his hobby for the past year was being in a band. Rafe could see the fury in her eyes and knew she heard everything they said. He felt horrible. In an ignorant teenage boy fashion, he said anything he could to get laughter out of his friends, creating the biggest mistake of his life. Time needed to rewind, so he could say what he should’ve. The way she looked at him buried him in regret. His desire to take her into his arms for her comfort was trumped by the knowledge that she would chew his head off. “How can you say those things about my mother? The fact that you would ridicule her after she treated you like her own son is sickening. You didn’t deserve her love and she would be disappointed in who you turned out to be. So would your own mom because the Margaret Cameron I know would be ashamed at how you just talked about her dead friend and your presumed best friend,” she fired. He could make glass out of sand with the way she scorched him. His mind zipped around with ways to apologize and make things better, yet his dumb hormonal self advised him to keep digging. She was outnumbered after all. 

“Playing the mom card, how depressing. No, I think my mom would be proud of me. She never liked you anyway. How could she? All you are is a sad little poor Pogue.” 

Lies. Margaret adored Y/N, loving getting to sing with the little girl. The laughs from the Kooks fueled his outer confidence, while his heart was being grated into millions of pieces. She froze; her face contorting into a pout. He spotted the wobble of her lip and the hitching of her breath. His feet shuffled forward a micro-inch, wanting to wipe away her despair. She took a deep breath. Silence seeped into the air. The tension thickened like trying to swim in a pool of peanut butter. She held her head high as she spun to leave, refusing to let them see her misery. 

———

Another competition night passes with the survival of Just Wanna Have Fun and the Melodies. The venue hall is practically empty, except for a few stray people. While the rest of the girls go home, Y/N stays behind to get some downtime alone in the rehearsal room. Being in the Battle of The Bands with Rafe is proving to be harder than she thought. They haven’t had another conversation, but their proximity puts her on edge. Her footsteps echo in the hallway as she leaves the bathroom. Headphones cover her ears, distracting her from the presence behind her. A tap on her shoulder causes her to twirl around. A skinny man with a sad excuse for a beard leers at her. He is wearing The Melodies’ merch and gives her a gut-twisting smile. Suddenly, she feels uneasy because of the lack of people in the building. Time droops as his thin fingers encase her wrist. She tries to yank her arm out; his baby-like grip impedes her attempt. “You have such a beautiful voice,” he mumbles. The usual compliment doesn’t have the same effect coming from a man who looks at her in such an objectified manner. 

“You need to let go,” she orders, having no obligation to acknowledge the content of his words. His hand further coils around her skin, “I said something nice about you. The least you can do is say thank you.” Fear sets in when his other hand reaches for his belt and he begins to drag her toward the bathroom. An arm hooks around the delusional man’s neck, causing him to stop and jerk her backwards. She quickly recognizes the thick bicep. “Let go of her,” Rafe growls in the assaulter’s ear. Relief flushes her at the release of weight from her wrist. “Rock Star, go get security and go back to the practice room.” Her mind goes on autopilot and follows his instructions, overlooking the manner in which he knows why she is here late. 

Once security is sent to aid Rafe, she returns to the instrument-filled room. Her attention is on the blue acoustic guitar resting in its case close to the metal stool. She picks up the guitar and takes a seat. Her fingers press against the string on the neck and her other hand strumms to create the chord. The lyrics she wrote so long ago flow out of her. 

“You betrayed me And I know that you'll never feel sorry For the way I hurt, yeah You said I was priceless but you really meant worthless. It took you a second To pretend I was nothing Guess I should’ve known That you were always a liar.” 

Rafe's back rests against the stone, a tear slipping out of the corner of his eye and down his face. He was going to go in to check in on her but hesitates to fall through. She needs to say something to the universe and for once, Rafe isn’t going to take that away from her. He saw the way the bounce of her foot disappeared with the song. Instead, he plans to give her exactly what she needs. The guys are going to hate him for this. 

———

The crowd is electric as Rafe takes a second to breathe. He looks around the venue, searching to see if she is in the section for the musicians to watch the show. His eyes connect with Y/N’s. He can carry on with his plan. He rests a hand on the microphone and adjusts the earpiece in his ear. The mic stand tilts while he brings the mic closer to his mouth, “This next one is new. It’s not on any of our albums, but it is something that is long overdue.” He flicks his head toward Topper to start playing the song they worked all week to perfect in time. Rafe’s head bobs to the beat of the drum, waiting for his queue to jump in. He starts singing at the same time he strums the first chord.  

“I've gotta right my wrongs With you is where I belong You've been down from the go Recognition is what you want And it's something that I should know Something that I should know All the things that you went through I never meant to put you through it twice, no Tell me how can I right my wrongs That's something that I should know All the things that we been through I never meant to put you through it twice, oh no”

His eyes flicker to her and his heart drops at the tears running down her round cheeks. Every part inside of him wants to stop playing when he sees her go backstage. He gets through the set and the rest of the guys say goodbye to their fans. He is too distracted to give it his full attention. Once backstage, he removes his guitar and weaves through the crew and other musicians in a jog to get to the musicians’ lounge. Disappointment crosses him when he can’t find her. He spots Kie and runs over to his sister’s friend. “Where did she go?” he interrogates, eyes frantically scanning the room for her. Kiara’s eyes roll, “You seriously expect me to tell you after the stunt you just pulled.” His hands clasp together in a shake. “Please, Kie. I needed to do it. She had to know how sorry I was and music has always been our way to connect. It felt right,” he explains, trying to resist the urge to drop to his knees in front of everyone. 

“It’s seven years too late, Rafe.” 

“It’s only too late unless one of us is dead. I need to make sure she is okay. That she knows I mean what I wrote.” 

“I don’t think you are begging enough.” 

His head goes crooked and he follows her gaze to the floor. He swallows his pride and gets onto his knees, “Please, Kiara Carrera. Tell me where Y/N is.” Kie smiles in satisfaction. “I won’t tell you where she lives, but I will tell you where she works and you can keep going there until you happen to be there when she works,” Kiara grants, typing the location into his phone. 

———

The clouds outside make the afternoon dark, adding to Rafe’s loss of hope of not seeing Y/N. The news said it was supposed to rain tonight, but it said that about every day this week and it was wrong. There is a small skip in his step as he reaches for the handle of the coffee shop. An elderly lady stands in the doorway he opened, so he steps back and allows her to pass him. She gives him a small smile as she does. Freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of steam coming from the machine strike his senses. Lydia at the counter recognizes him and begins making his usual before he gets to the register. TJ already has his order punched into the system when he gets there. All Rafe has to do is pay. Once that is done, he sits at a booth sitting along the right wall to wait for his drink. This allows him to see the counter and the front door at the same time. He has been to the cafe every day this week. He only leaves when they close or when he has to practice at the venue. A week isn’t long, yet it still allows him to get to know the people working there. They couldn’t disclose when Y/N is working for privacy issues and he understood why. He would be more concerned if they did tell him no matter who he claimed to be. His name is called and goes up to get it. He reseats himself, opening his laptop to keep himself occupied. 

Lavender. It overpowers him in a good way. He glances toward the front door and she is there, walking further into the store with the most dazzling smile directed toward Lydia. “Look who finally showed up to work,” the barista calls out. Y/N laughs, “I haven’t been scheduled to work. You know that, Silly.” “I know. Work just goes a little slower without my work wife here to keep me company,” Lydia complains with a grin. Y/N hasn’t noticed him and a part of him wishes she never will so she never loses the joy he hasn’t gotten to see since he was sixteen. He considers ducking out before she can see him, except Lydia has other plans. “Oh, by the way, this guy has been coming in every day to see you. He’s sitting over there.” Y/N’s eyes follow Lydia’s finger to where Rafe sits.

She sighs, “My shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes. Is it okay if I…” TJ answers for the barista. “Yeah, take your time.” Y/N’s head bobs and she pulls the hood off from her head. The KCHS written across her chest causes his heart to ache. He gave her some of the money so that she could buy the hoodie. She must not have remembered that fact if she kept it. Her path turns to his table and she settles herself in the seat across from him. “The nerve you have to sing that apology like it can solve all of our problems and then stalk me at my place of work,” she grits through her teeth. He bites the corner of his lip, “Music was always how we connected. And I wanted to make sure you were okay. You ran off during my set.”

“You don’t get to pretend like we still have music after what you said about our mothers. You gave that right up a long time ago. You also aren’t allowed to pretend you care for me.”

He reaches out for her hand and she yanks it away. “The things that I said… They were my greatest mistake. I have never forgiven myself for not apologizing on the spot and I don’t expect you to do so either. I do hope that you know that I regret every single word I uttered that day, Rock Star,” he pleads. He tries to meet her eye, but she averts her gaze. “The world has been a much darker place since you left. I am so sorry that I caused you the pain that I did. I would do anything in this universe to tell my younger self to tell you the truth that day.” She can’t help herself, “And what was the truth, Rafe?” “That even though we hadn’t been on our date yet, I was madly in love with you. I love you with every fibre in my being and it scared me because I knew how much it would hurt if I lost you. Not only that, I was just a teen and stupid enough to think getting a laugh out of my friends was better than facing something new. I had never been so wrong in my entire life.” Her eyes gloss over and checks the time on her phone. She stands up without another word, breaking Rafe’s heart as she walks to the back room. 

The air comes out of his nose in high pressure. He understands her message and leaves Y/N’s place of work. It is hard to process the words he said. Her younger self would’ve loved to hear his declaration of love. She would’ve been so excited. A small part of her heart flutters at the reveal, no matter how angry she is at him. The worst is she genuinely believes he is remorseful of his actions.

Their issues couldn’t be fixed with one small apology; however, she would never forgive herself if she never saw where this could go. “I’m sorry. I’m going to take my break right now,” she informs her co-workers, not waiting for answers. She takes off her apron and throws it onto the ground. She runs out the door in hopes she can still catch him. The crowd makes her question her belief until she spots the blue flannel he is wearing. She threads herself through the people and is met with resistance. “RAFE,” she yells out. He freezes, spinning around to see her. He pushes his way to her and they stand before each other as wet spatters begin to hit their heads. He chances resting his hands on her elbow, delighting when she doesn’t flinch away from him. “I think I forgive you,” she says. The patter from the rain drowns out her words, so he places his forehead against hers to hear her better. His smirk reveals he does have an inkling of what she confessed, “What did you say?” She knows the game he is playing and rolls her eyes. “Forget it, I’m just going to go back to work,” she snarks, turning away to head back to the cafe. Rafe catches her wrist and tugs her against his chest.

Their lips finally connect in the way they have been waiting for for twenty-three years. Her soft petals press hard against him like a rock. He reciprocates the pressure, running his tongue along her lips to ask for entrance. The rainwater mixes in with their saliva as she allows him in. He remembers the jet ski that once drowned him and pulled away. “What about Knox?” he questions. She stares at him with big eyes, “We were never really dating. He is Viola’s brother. He knows our history and thought it would be fun to play around with you to keep you away.” 

“I see. That didn’t work out as you guys had planned, did it? I don’t think anything can keep me away from you once I realize how stupid I was.”

“No it did not… You need to know that just because I forgave you doesn’t mean everything is back to normal. We can’t go back to pretending that we are still the people we used to be. I’m not the girl I was seven years ago and you’ll have to regain my trust.”

“And I am prepared to do whatever it takes to gain back what I broke. As long as I can be by your side.” 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[slitheringghost]

What is your favorite headcanon about Voldemort?

Ooh I have many!

- At some point he murdered Caractacus Burke in revenge for his mother.

- He buried his mother’s bones at Hogwarts, because he wanted to give Merope a proper burial, being enraged by her burial in a pauper’s grave and by her family never claiming her body, and because she never got to attend Hogwarts and he thinks of it as her birthright too (more on that here).

- He used to make jokes at the orphanage, a la his hand jokes in GoF or joking about his background with his gang in the HBP memory, but all the other kids were so terrified of him that they never laughed or appreciated his sense of humor. Tom was very sad about this.

- Like Sirius, Tom really loves crosswords.

- His appearance being Like That is intentional (at least, until 1981), mainly because he had babyface, and was tired of having the kind of face that made everyone flirt with him and made old ladies want to pinch his cheeks.

I’m in two minds whether not wanting to look like his Muggle father was an additional reason or not; on one hand he badly wants to shed the Muggle part of himself, on the other he still remains deeply obsessed with his father and in a warped way craves any connection to his family that he can get, including his looks.

Either way, it’s implausible that it’s just an inherent part of practicing Dark Arts (which I see as a very varied and extensive categorization of magic with entire fields under it anyway and definitely not all inherently Evil). Tom is hardly the only one to go far in Dark Arts, and yet we don’t see anyone else’s appearance changed by it (like Bellatrix, Grindelwald, Snape, etc). We also know horcruxes don’t inherently have that effect, because his face is unchanged by the time of the Hepzibah Smith memory, at which point he’s likely made 1-2 horcruxes (?).

- One of his least favorite subjects and the one he’s least skilled at is Transfiguration, for obvious reasons.

- He doesn’t believe in blood purity, and continues to think of himself as Muggleborn long after he finds out he isn’t (I think there’s some evidence of that here), in part because that highly specific Muggleborn culture shock and feeling of coming into magical society with no prior knowledge of it and going “wow these people are completely batshit crazy” has never left him and drives about 60% of his actions (see also, my post on his perception of pureblood family culture).

- He looked his father in the eyes as he killed him, and Riddle Sr.'s eyes were just a tiny shade off of the exact shade of blue that Dumbledore's eyes are.

- He gave the diary to Abraxas Malfoy, which is a fairly popular headcanon, but the alternative interpretation of him entrusting it to Lucius honestly bothers me because it doesn’t really make sense and it just goes against all the sentimentality inherent in how he deals with his horcruxes imo. (More on this here and here).

Not my headcanons but ones I've adopted:

- The Dark Mark as inspired by the northern lights from this post

- The part in this lovely Bellamort fic where Tom muses on how he actually considered marrying up when he was young because he wanted belonging and permanence in the wizarding world, but didn't for several reasons including the powerlessness of being a poor half-blood under the control of pureblood families:

There was a time when he had considered that very concept. He had known others of questionable background and some talent who had found places for themselves in magical society by virtue of marrying up. They tended to live their whole lives at the service and disposal of their in-laws, always aware of the potential to be cut off from the family purse strings or for a quick, mandated divorce. This did not appeal for a number of reasons.

- My HC inspired by Tom doing it in this fic - despite Dumbledore's "Voldemort understands nothing of children's tales and love" blah blah, Tom did pay attention to Muggle fairy tales as a kid, and drew a connection between The Little Match Girl fairytale and the story of Merope's death.

[imtrashraccoon]

…..I don’t mean to bother but I’ve had some major art block sooooo maybe a small Drabble for some inspiration? I’ve been on a tangent with undertale and dragons lately(mentally) but I’ve been so freaking busy and tired that I’ve just not had anything to put down onto paper. So dragon au if you don’t mind( Your The Dark Fortress AU has me in a star’s dammed chokehold)

Have a great weekend!

I'm so sorry this took a while but I hope the length makes up for it! These guys may have me in a chokehold too lol

This is a sort of part two to this post.

Future Tumble Edit: I made a prequel to these drabbles.

Donovan

You woke up in a cold sweat, desperately trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could. It was that same dream again; the one where you were constantly running but could never escape the invisible screams. Besides terrifying you, the nightmare served as a continual reminder that you were completely alone in the world.

The little nook you'd claimed as your own was dimly lit by distant firelight but you couldn't tell what time it was otherwise. The dark fortress was silent, as if even the structure itself was resting like it's scaly residents within. You should probably try to go back to sleep but after such a rude awakening, you were reluctant to do so.

Then, you heard heavy footsteps approaching your little hideaway and the dim light was replaced by a cyan glow as the last dragon you had wanted to see peeked inside. Because of his size, Donovan could only fit his head into the entrance but for the moment, he chose to remain outside. Both of you sat there for a moment, just staring at each other silently.

"I could sense your distress earlier. Are you alright?" the black dragon finally asked.

You frowned and averted your gaze. "No..." you whispered.

He seemed to consider your answer for a moment. "I suppose that was a silly question to ask," he started to say. "Would you be willing to talk about it?"

You shook your head, "No, not right now anyways."

He gave you a slight nod. "I won't force you but I am here if you decide you want to."

The idea of unloading everything you'd had to carry since you were a child onto your superior wasn't something you liked, especially because he was the one responsible for your trauma. Sure, he hadn't personally killed everyone you had held dear or destroyed your home town, but indirectly or not, you were still resentful and afraid of him.

"No matter what you believe, I consider you a valued member of my horde," Donovan added. "I value your wellbeing just as much as I do any of the others."

That was surprising. You'd only been here for a short time and in that time, he hadn't given you the impression of being so forthright. Still, he'd never lied to you, or any of the other dragons, as far you knew.

When you nodded silently, you heard him shuffling outside the nook and the cyan glow from his eyelight briefly disappeared. It returned after a moment and you looked over at him curiously.

"Would you like some company at least?" he asked in a soft voice.

You raised an eyebrow and gave him a confused look. Wasn't that what he was already doing?

He seemed to change shape before your eyes into a more compressed form. He still looked like a dragon but now he was wearing some rather formal clothes and was closer to your own height. You had a feeling he was still much larger than you though. The important thing was that he could fit into your little hideaway now, which you weren't sure if you liked.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his phalanges, giving you the impression that he wasn't used to this form. Notably, he remained outside and waited for you to answer his question.

Once you'd regained your ability to speak, you shrugged. "I guess not?"

He gave you a toothy grin before crawling into your space and settling down at the edge of your makeshift nest. You noticed he had a book tucked under one arm and a part of you felt relieved that he didn't seem interested in just making conversation.

You laid back down and pulled the blanket up to your chin. One of Donovan's tails was resting against your leg but you didn't mind. Just him sitting near you seemed to ease your lingering anxieties. The sound of his breathing and occasionally turning a page soon lulled you into a comfortable slumber. Maybe in the morning you'd ask if he was always able to change his form like this.

Dirk

Steady...

You readjusted your grip on your sword and tried not to dwell on how sore your calves were becoming from squatting for so long. You were perched in an alcove above the courtyard where your opponent was currently searching for you.

You wouldn't exactly call the dragon a friend. He loved to tease and prod until you inevitably snapped. You knew that he got a kick out of seeing you mad but you weren't much better. You had always been a hot-headed person and whenever he wasn't purposely being annoying, you liked to test the limits of his own patience.

Sure, it was basically suicide to poke the literal beast with razer sharp claws and teeth, but you liked to live dangerously. While you also had to stay clear of the blade he liked to strap to his tail, you actually enjoyed the little cat and mouse game you two played. How far was too far? Who would chicken out first to keep from hurting the other?

You couldn't keep yourself from grinning as Dirk slowly stalked through the courtyard. He had an incredible sense of smell so you knew he'd figure out where you were eventually, but by then it'd be too late. As soon as he wandered beneath your hiding spot, you dropped down, landing squarely on his back.

Dirk reacted immediately and with a snarl, did his best impression of a bucking bronco. You stubbornly dug your heels into his sides and held on the best you could, but were soon sent careening across the courtyard.

You scrambled to your feet, inhaling sharply at the pain that would soon become many bruises. With a roar, Dirk charged and you just barely managed to leap to the side. One of his wings came down hard against your back. You struggled to catch your breath.

"Is that...all...you got...?" you panted.

His smile twisted into a cruel grin. "oh i've just barely started, cute stuff~"

You grinned and beckoned him closer.

Dirk didn't hesitate any longer and you braced yourself to meet him. He swept your legs out from under you with his tail. You kicked his stomach and rolled to your feet again. He just barely grazed your back with his claws. You smacked his snout with the flat edge of your sword. He barreled you over onto your back. You clawed at his eye sockets with your own nails.

Then he sat on you and no matter how much you struggled, you couldn't throw him off. Your sword was pressed against his throat, as was his tail blade to yours. You both stared at each other for what felt like ages, daring the other to stand down first.

"you're getting better..." Dirk remarked in a quiet voice. The target that floated above his chest was pulsing wildly but he didn't seem even close to being winded yet.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. "You're an awful liar..."

He snickered and licked a wet stripe up your face. "you're not wrong about that!"

Maul

You let your feet dangle over the edge of the wall and inhaled the cool autumn air. Somehow, you'd managed to survive living in this terrible fortress for three months. Finding your place in the rankings had been difficult but as the days passed, your confidence began to return.

While you still avoided most of the resident dragons whenever possible, there was one who didn't seem to mind your presence. Compared to the others, Maul was even-tempered and patient. The only time you remembered him lashing out was when Dirk attempted to steal his dinner once.

The big guy had left a couple hours ago without saying a word to anyone, which is why you were sitting outside right now. He was different from the others and you couldn't help but wonder why. He definitely took satisfaction in kills but he also wasn't one to boast about them. He also didn't usually go out of his way to hurt people but he was all too willing to defend himself if needed.

Just as you were thinking of going back inside again, you spotted the familiar silhouette of the dragon on the horizon. As he drew closer, you noticed that he was holding a large stag in his talons. You waited until he'd landed before creeping back inside the fortress again.

By the time you'd made your way to his quarters, he'd morphed into a sort of person-sized dragon and was already beginning to dress the carcass. You didn't know that he was able to change his shape but it would explain how he managed to always have preserved food on hand.

Unfortunately, being in a different form certainly hadn't dulled his senses and just as you were thinking of leaving, he paused and slowly turned around until he locked eyes with you. For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot as he studied you suspiciously.

"...do you...want to help?" he asked in a quiet voice.

You had expected him to tell you to leave and when he hadn't, you were taken aback. You didn't have a lot of experience with butchering but it couldn't be so bad if he was allowing you to help.

"Um, I suppose so? What do you want me to do?"

You crossed the room until you were standing next to him, purposely staying on his left side to avoid startling him. He'd already hung up the stag and sliced it's throat to drain the blood into a basin underneath. You could tell that he'd been careful when killing it, likely to avoid losing most of the meat, and it didn't seem like it had needlessly suffered before dying.

Maul retrieved a sharp-looking knife and handed it to you. "...watch," he grumbled.

With his own claws, he began making careful incisions in specific areas along the carcass. You did your best to pay attention but you couldn't help noticing that despite his obvious skill, he had a slight tremor in his hands as he worked. It wasn't so much as to ruin the pelt but you were beginning to understand why he might've wanted help.

He soon had you copy his movements and with some guidance, you helped him peel off the pelt, which was set aside for later. After that came the process of carving up the carcass into various cuts of meat. You weren't sure how he was planning on preserving all of it, but you had a good feeling he would smoke it and a part of you hoped he would let you try some when he was done.

It took several hours and you definitely wanted a bath afterwards, but working together had made the arduous task a lot easier. You could confidently say that you'd butchered an animal now, however you wouldn't say that the process had been enjoyable. Your skin felt sticky from sweat and other fluids, so on top of a bath, you would also have to thoroughly wash your clothes to get all the blood out.

While cleaning up, Maul had started a fire and began roasting a sizeable chunk of venison, which was helping to clear the almost overpowering scent of blood from the air. The tantalizing smell also served to remind your stomach that you hadn't eaten a proper meal all day.

Just as you were about to sneak away, Maul dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder. "...where do you think you're going?" he growled.

"S-sorry, I just thought-"

He didn't let you finish protesting before all but picking you up and dropping you into a chair near the fire. "...stay." He sternly pointed a claw at you to punctuate his demand.

You nodded, feeling more than a little anxious all of the sudden. Why was he upset? Had you ruined something?

Maul sliced off a decent hunk of the roasted venison before approaching you again. At least he had half the mind to set it on a tray before offering the still piping hot meat to you. When he didn't explain and just stared at you expectantly, you took a careful bite. He let out a pleased rumble before pulling up a chair and sitting down himself.

It wasn't anything fancy, but to you, it might as well have been the best thing you'd eaten in years. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had any venison that wasn't tough or incredibly gamey. You hadn't noticed Maul adding any seasoning, but he could've while you were busy cleaning and you wouldn't have noticed.

"It's really good..." you hummed softly.

He gave you what probably passed for a smile as far as dragons were concerned and ruffled your hair. "...you helped, so you deserve to enjoy it."

The finality of his statement stuck with you. While the scarred dragon wasn't much for speaking, you had a feeling that he meant everything he said. The thought that he was happy with how hard you'd worked made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe he actually liked having you around after all?

Reven

You wished you hadn't gotten out of bed today. Not only were you existing on maybe four hours of sleep, but your old scars had decided to act up as well. Needless to say, you were in no mood to deal with any of the dragons' shenanigans and had sequestered yourself on the ramparts, hoping none of them would find you.

A sudden gust of wind had you drawing your cloak even tighter around your aching body. It was a foolish idea to even be out here and while you knew you would regret it later, you really didn't want to go inside. At least you'd had half the mind to bring your whetstone so you could be somewhat productive, but now that your sword was sharp enough to split hairs, you didn't have anything else to do.

For a moment, the sun was blotted out by a large shadow but when you looked up, you didn't see anything. You were starting to consider going inside after all when Reven appeared out of nowhere, landing on the stonework a few meters away.

You held your breath, hoping by some miracle he hadn't spotted you and was simply surveying the area. Of course, you were proven wrong when he turned his head and fixed you with an unimpressed look.

The cloaked dragon was impossible to read even on the best of days but if there was one thing you knew, it was that he was best left alone. He wasn't as "stabby" as Dirk tended to be but you had witnessed how quickly he could snap on multiple occasions. Oftentimes, he seemed to grow irritated for no reason and when that happened, he would lash out at anyone unlucky enough to be nearby, which was usually Dirk.

You regarded Reven silently. It didn't seem like there was anything bothering him at the moment, but you really could only see his eyes beneath his hood and they always seemed full of hate. Today was different though. Sure, he looked like he'd been force fed a lemon for breakfast but there was something else there...

"H-hey..."

He narrowed his eye sockets at the sound of your admittedly pathetic voice. Suddenly, the empty space in the center of his mismatched eyelights constricted and a very familiar realization came over you.

No matter how friendly they could be, there was no changing their nature. You would never be more than prey to them.

Before you could even think of running, Reven had you. The next thing you knew was the deafening sound of wind in your ears and how every movement made your stomach lurch. How sharp daggers threatened to pierce you on every side. How you couldn't move. How you didn't dare open your eyes for fear of what you might witness.

The seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity. You were still alive? What was he doing? Why hadn't he flung you against the wall? Or dropped you from a thousand feet? Or swallowed you whole? Or...?

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Slowly, you tried moving your fingers and then your toes. The daggers kept you from moving the rest of your body since you weren't about to chance what would certainly prove a horrific way to die.

You chanced a peek at your captor and came face to face with one of his eyelights. While it sharpened slightly as it focused on you, the psychopathic bastard said nothing, but how could he? It was awfully rude to talk with your mouth full.

Reven was apparently hellbent on taking you...somewhere. Unless he had finally gotten fed up and decided to do away with you where Donovan would be unawares? No, who were you kidding? Nothing escaped the corrupted dragon, nonetheless the absence of his favourite pet.

You placed your hand against Reven's jaw. There was nothing you could do but accept whatever he had in mind. So, while it seemed insane, you willed your body to relax. Anything could happen next and you needed to be ready for it.

Your acceptance seemed to do the trick or maybe he had just arrived at his destination. A wave of butterflies welled up in your gut, threatening to burst out as he descended back down to the ground. You felt a jolt pass through his body and into yours as he landed.

He deposited you onto the ground and while you panicked at first, he only gave you an annoyed look and settled down in the grass. To say you were confused was an understatement. He hadn't said a word the whole time and now he was just ignoring you?

"Reven?"

He let out a huff but turned to look at you out of the corner of his eye socket.

"Why did you...kidnap me?" you asked quietly.

He looked away again and towards the horizon. "you were acting like a sad sack all day," he muttered. "thought a change of view would help."

You frowned slightly at that. He'd taken you to a rocky outcrop overlooking a lake surrounded by a pine forest. It was certainly different than the often bleak fortress, so much so, that you could actually see the sunset.

You watched as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, painting the world in a swash of oranges, yellows, and reds. The sight was certainly spectacular and once the colours began to fade, you turned to Reven again.

"It's beautiful, thank you..."

He only grunted in response but you could feel his gaze on the back of your head when you looked away again. He didn't seem interested in making conversation but that was alright with you. Sometimes just sitting next to someone who cared was comforting in and of itself.

[sonics-atelier]

A Sacred Celebration: Love's Eternal Embrace

Summary : Hua Cheng comes home to a surprise Xie Lian baked - well burnt - for him, cue tooth rotting fluff, fox and ferret plushies, self indulgent.

a/n : Hello Tgcf Fandom, wanted to Kickstart my journey by writing a piece for Our Kings Birthday, hope you like it <33 ❣️ (This art is so beautiful btw, I was inspired from it)

Hua Cheng wandered through the fields, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. As he made his way back home, a sense of peace enveloped him. Upon entering, he was greeted by a delightful surprise: a small celebration prepared by Xie Lian, complete with a half-charred, half-cream-covered cake. The sight was endearing, bringing a soft smile to Hua Cheng's face.

“Gege, how did you know it’s my birthday?” Hua Cheng asked, his voice filled with affection and surprise.

Xie Lian beamed with excitement. “I asked around, and Ling Wen told me since she owed me a favor,” he replied proudly.

Clearing his throat, Xie Lian began to sing a sweet, if somewhat off-key, birthday song, followed by a playful poem he had composed:

“Oh Lord of Ghost City, so brave and true,

How you have bewitched me, oh how you do,

With your smile so bright and your gaze so keen,

In your embrace, I find a world unseen.

Trapping me for eternity,

Oh what bliss,In moments stolen, in every tender kiss,

Through trials and storms, together we stand,With you, My love, I find my promised land.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes welled up with tears, his heart touched by the genuine effort Xie Lian had put into the celebration. He tried to speak, to thank Xie Lian, but his emotions choked him up. Mistaking his reaction, Xie Lian shook him vigorously and patted his back, thinking the cake was causing him to choke.

“Are you okay?!” Xie Lian asked, his concern genuine "I knew my skills aren't good-"

Hua Cheng started laughing, the sound rich and heartfelt. “I’m fine, gege,” he managed between laughs.

Xie Lian pouted playfully. “Don’t scare me like that! You almost gave me a heart attack”

The ghost king apologised profusely while his gege swatted at him.

Xie Lian’s face lit up with another idea. “Wait, I have something else for you.” He pulled out two cotton-filled plushies he had made: one was a fox with an eyepatch, and the other was a ferret with a crumpled hat. Hua Cheng’s eyes widened in surprise and amusement.

Xie Lian began to narrate a whimsical tale, holding up the plushies. “Once upon a time, there was a brave fox with an eyepatch and a clever ferret with a crumpled hat. They met in the woods and became the best of friends. One day, the ferret proposed to the fox as a joke.”

Hua Cheng laughed loudly at that, his eyes shining with delight "I already apologised gege!"

Xie Lian continued, grinning, “But the fox took it seriously, and they decided to get married. They had many adventures together and lived happily ever after.”

Hua Cheng, caught up in the story, started playing along with Xie Lian, making the fox and ferret plushies dance and interact. Their laughter once again filled the room, creating a melody of joy and affection.

When the laughter finally died down, Hua Cheng looked at Xie Lian with a depth of emotion that words could barely convey. “Thank you, Xie Lian, for always standing up for me, for being there when no one else was, for being my source of comfort.”

Xie Lian cupped Hua Cheng’s face tenderly. “You deserve to be loved, Hua Cheng. I am so proud of how far you’ve come.”

Hua Cheng kissed Xie Lian’s palm, a gesture imbued with reverence and devotion, as if he were worshipping at the altar of his beloved. Their love was a sacred religion, each kiss a prayer, each embrace a hymn. They moved closer, their lips meeting in a kiss that was profound and tender, a testament to their unwavering love.

In that moment, they were bound by more than just affection; their love was a sanctuary, a holy place where they found solace and joy. Smiles and contentment radiated from them as they held each other close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 ( do not repost or reuse in any way shape or form , I will decapitate you )

[kozachenko]

I've crawled out of my cave after playing Final Fantasy IX for a long ass time what have I missed?

Artist's Notes:

I'M BACK BABY! A while back I made a post with a new style experimentation thingy but I ended up deleting it because it was just kind of a boring face thing, I was planning on doing more art but then I started playing Final Fantasy IX and uhhhh yeah so that game has kind of taken of my brain for the past two weeks and I am 20 hours into the game because I love it so much. I wanted to draw Vivi because Vivi is just really fun to draw ok? I've kinda been feeling really burnt out with my lineless style, mainly because of how hard it was to do lighting. I'll show one of my initial art style tests on the bottom of this post. Again, used to have it be an individual post but it was just one face so it was kinda boring, so might as well include with this one on the subject of art styles. I wanted to kinda mix some aspects of my older style with the sketchy shading lines with a more painterly way of doing the lighting (mainly in the shadows). All in all, I think that's my favourite part about this drawing, it feels nice to finally be able to do some proper lighting again, and I want to experiment even more with my lighting and rendering in future pieces. Also, part of the pant shading got kinda lost in the sketchiness, so for next time I'll probably focus on the clarity of the more sketchy parts of the drawing, since I did go with my initial sketch for the final drawing. I also gave up on the background since I had no idea what to do for it, and I didn't put too much detail into the staff as I forgot which one I gave him in my current playthrough and I didn't want to risk spoiling myself via looking up references, but that's ok I like how the singular yellow circle on it matches Vivi's eyes. Also I was having a bit of trouble figuring out how to draw his body and how to pose him, but I like how the pose turned out a lot. It was inspired by his idle animation when in a battle in game where he does a little shimmy.

Ok I need to talk about Vivi's design because I love it so fucking much oh my god-

I absolutely love how his face is just in complete shadow and only his eyes stand out, it's so cool and unique and I love how they recontextualized the original black mage design from the classic Final Fantasy games. How they did it I won't say because I don't wanna spoil the game, but someone give this poor baby a therapist because he goes through a lot. Actually, same can be said for all of the FFIX cast, they all need therapy (again, I won't spoil anything, please go play the game for yourself).

While I do love almost all the characters in the game, even though Vivi is most fun to draw, my favourite character has to be Zidane (the main protagonist of the game). He's a really fun protagonist, and they could have easily written him as a misogynistic jerk who doesn't respect women but they didn't, and I really appreciate that. He's just an overall cool dude who's a really nice older brother figure to Vivi and also just has a cool character design (who I also want to draw eventually). Initially in the game I was planning on grinding levels for Vivi to make him the tactical nuke of the party, but then that title went to a different character (who was initially multiple levels behind the group since I grinded the party in the starting area way to much before they joined, but now they are two levels ahead of everyone and have pulled the team through a lot of tough battles, again I won't say who it is because it is kind of a spoiler and the way the gameplay actually ties into their character arc is just so good omfg). Once I eventually finish the game I'll probably write a full review on here, so no spoilers until then lol

Also, I've kinda been burning out a bit with making Touhou art, which also made me a bit burnt out with Touhou stuff in general (although I will continue keeping up with the manga) so getting into other things (i.e. Final Fantasy and even Fallout since I've watched the first season of the TV show which is a whole other post for another day) has helped me refresh and given me something new to think about. I've ended up in the exact place I feared ending up, where I would start drawing fanart for it not because I wanted to but because I felt like I had to, so I'm taking a bit of a break. When I do draw Touhou fanart again I'll try to draw for the sake of myself, and to all the other artists and fanartists on this platform (and on any social media for that matter), take care of yourself and don't forget to take breaks when you need to!

(Ok part of that last paragraph was definitley influenced by the good ol' "it's 9:00pm and I need sleeb, but the message at the end still holds up, always take care of yourself)

Oh yeah, and here is that one style experiment I did btw

Man I really fell down the "Yoshitaka Amano art enjoyer" to "Final Fantasy fan" pipe line didn't I?

[marbarmars-arts]

So...I MAY have been collecting Fawfuls like pokemon cards <3

(and what the heck do I mean by that exactly??) WELL in a discord GC my friend Parmy suggested we’d imitate each other’s art styles as like a collab of sorts? Well...I kinda took that a step further heheh ^^

(And fun fact...this was supposed to be something I was gonna do for AU day of Fawful month too, but that idea got cut due to time)

So may I present...the different Fawfuls I drew!! For my friends/cool acquaintances!

So the one who led up to this in the first place, Fawful from @parmsnik AU!! He is dating/eventually marrying Naspi depending on where you’re at in the AU haha! Your way of drawing Fawful seems to change a little bit each time you draw him, so I tried to my best to guestimate a consistent looking Fawf! Very cute!

Up next is Fawful from @the-spacewaffle AU!! Yippee Ronnie’s AU! Thanks for being my friend for so long,,to talk about Fawful and all that stuff y’know? I’ll be cheering you on to complete the story qwq your Fawful is always so nice to my OCs when we crossover khskdjh also...pet the Reddo!

Eee yay now it’s @snuffydoo Fawful and his AU title I totally made up on the spot! I know you don’t really have a name for that kind of thing and it doesn’t have to be canon but I hope you think it’s cute anyways haha! I had a lot of fun drawing this one!! It’s so stylized! AND IT HAS DIMMY (I enjoy your Dimmy artstyle sm) but I don’t draw Spamton very often kjhskgh

Here’s @federthenotsogreat Fawful AU of sunshine goodness~! HE RETURNITH (and since I couldn’t think of another character to feature with your AU...not knowing if Cackletta is there or not jhgskg I gave him a cute little swirly sun!) I admire the fact his outfit is mostly YELLOW and also blue those are cool colors OH AND THAT LEG TOO, also super cool :)

The smol and cute @omgtheywereroomates Fawf! Your ask blog is so neat! I know I don’t ask too many questions there but I just,,,the cartoony fluffy hair?? Love that, and also thank you for your support and the super cool ship as well ^^ 

Heheee yeah hey it’s @cammiluna Fawful from Immortal Fool! Before you say anything YES I’m aware he’s got the new design since it’s near the end of the comic, you released the page that featured said new design while I was already working on this drawing xD So whoops! I just wanted to give appreciation to your comic series that you continued despite everything, and well...I know I haven’t shown much progress on it, I also want to make a comic series...so you’ve inspired me a lil :D

Deep down here there’s a little AU by @aliencatwafers which features Fawful in the sewers! With the little baby bros!! You’re a very insightful and inspiring writer with plenty of neat headcanons and ideas for the bean! Ik you mostly draw in pencil but I took the colors from your submissions to Fawful month this year and used em here! Hope it looks cool!

This little gremlin here with the two moms is Fawful from @bean-n-shroob ask blog! He looks very silly and unhinged (in a good way) and I hope he’s having a good time since after BIS! I love how round your designs are and Fawf is no exception :D

Last but not least is this VERY soft Fawful from @localdealmaker​ and their AU, whose title I made up too (again doesn’t need to be canon or anything if you don’t want it to be, I just wanted to give every drawing a cute name ^^) I think yours was the most complicated to draw for me but I love how he looks, so squish!! Kaboo is cute too!

WHEW THAT WAS A LOT OF TYPING KSJHKGH but yeah I hope you guys have enjoyed this...I might make another part someday full of more Fawful designs from friends but I AM A LITTLE BURNT OUT...doesn’t mean I didn’t have fun tho!

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2024 #38

hello hello! audiobook reading persists into this week and for the forseeable future. basically any time that i have the bandwidth to be reading a physical book with my eyes i think "oh i should be working on my thesis" so audiobooks are what is keeping me from just sinking into a pile of work and never emerging

Finished:

Bloom Into You, Vol. 4-5 by Nakatani Nio, translated by Jenny McKeon this manga continues to rule, giving me my cute romance fix

Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie, narrated by Adjoa Andoh i'm liking that while this is like the sequel to Ancillary Justice, this was a pretty self contained story. Breq i love you. love the further exploration of ancillary-ship and imperialism and had a good chat with a friend about similarities to elements of Murderbot (we looked up publishing dates so if there was any inspiration taken, Imperial Radch came first)

Squire written by Nadia Shammas and Sara Alfageeh, art by Sara Alfageeh i felt a little undersold on the friendships the protagonist made in this, but the art was amazing the whole way through

Happy New Year by kathkin on ao3

from a clear sky by kathkin on ao3

Survivor Injustice: State-Sanctioned Abuse, Domestic Violence, and the Fight for Bodily Autonomy by Kylie Cheung, narrated by Dana Wing Lau a weird thing that's happened since i've dedicated my research brain to sexual violence is that any book written with an even slightly wider audience in mind very quickly becomes a bit tedious bc I've read all of this before. however i do think the portions of this that are about domestic violence and controlling how people vote, and the prevelance of sexual violence across all political parties in the US was the most worth the read part of this book for me

The Wicked + The Divine, Vol. 2: Fandemonium written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie holy shit?? excited to read the next volume (tho i think i'm going to switch the the Big volumes that collect 10 issues at a time insted of the ones with 5-6)

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo, narrated by Emily Woo Zeller really excellent YA lesbian historical fiction/romance set in Red Scare era san francisco chinatown. really nicely balances the protagonist finding herself, finding community, and finding love, with a realistic depiction of what life was like for a young lesbian during an intensely homophobic era

my real face by kathkin on ao3

Started/Ongoing:

Rethinking Rape by Ann J. Cahill reading for my thesis! my undergrad college gets a shout out in the acknowledgements

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa, narrated by Harrison Knights ya romance remix of pride and prejudice where "Elizabeth" is actually a trans boy, Oliver Bennet. i think it's sweet but i have one issue with the book generally and one issue with the narrator. first, since i'm familiar with pride and prejudice and have read/watched a few different adaptations at this point, i'm finding the pacing of this book a bit odd. like the disastrous darcy proposal happens 75% of the way through instead of closer to the middle. this throws me off because it means there's gonna be less time afterward to build toward Oliver and Darcy actually understanding each other than i think they deserve. my issue with the audiobook is that Knights has some very distinct character voices, and yet sometimes reads lines with the wrong voice, and no one at the publisher noticed? you can't read one of Jane's lines with the lispy voice you gave Lydia and not expect me to be completely thrown out of the book. however, i do like hidden identity stuff, so the parts of the book where Oliver knows Darcy both as himself Oliver and when he is closeted/girlmoding as Elizabeth is like catnip to me up to a certain point

[in-my-loki-feels]

10, 34, 63, 64, 67, and 74

10. Cltr+f "blinks/blinked" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up.

As Don was checking the straps one last time, Loki walked over. Don turned, then blinked in surprise when Loki reached out to wipe up the smear with his thumb. He transferred it to Don’s cheek, rubbing until it disappeared.

34. Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer? Damn. I guess if my general despair about the state of the publishing industry hasn't swallowed me, I'd like to have at least one published book. Traditionally published would check off a dream of mine but I'd be happy with self-publishing. Either way, I'd like to have found "my people", however many that may be. (And I'd also still be writing fanfic, if I'm honest. I really love connecting to a community through fic.)

63. Something you hate to see in smut. I'm trying to think of something that wouldn't yuck someone's yum because everyone's tastes are different. I guess continuity errors? I hate being thrown out of a really good scene because someone has a third hand, or the characters seemingly teleport between two sentences.

64. Something you love to see in smut. Kink negotiation! I find communication in all forms sexy AF so I love to see the whole range of it in smut, whether it's an explicit discussion beforehand, or checking in during. Not every scene needs it, but I do love to see it.

67. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas? I think I like both. I wrote a lot for LJ kink memes back in the day and I find it really satisfying to "meet the brief", so to speak. I also really enjoy writing from art prompts, like in a reverse big bang, but in those scenarios I had a choice. I could write for what spoke to me. If someone gave me a prompt that didn't click, I'd have trouble writing it. That's why I've hesitated to participate in Fandom Trumps Hate. I'm worried that if someone bid on me and requested something that didn't inspire me, I'd be in a tough spot.

I also enjoy writing for my own ideas, of course, of which I have many.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it? (Is President Loki involved? lol) I don't know how to describe it, but I think my writing has a tone that would give me away. It's very "genre fiction". I also think I might use certain phrases or descriptions in more than one fic, but I don't want to list them and have anyone notice if they didn't before. (please don't tell if you have noticed, haha)

Plus, I tend to write a lot of tropes/themes that would probably give me away: found family, reunions, communication (especially after angst).

Thank you for the ask! <3 (From this game.)

[wholemleko]

updates ig???

(reposted from my deviantart)

so i guess this is like. my plans for the future or at least where i feel like im at when it comes to comics and such.

tl;dr - bird of death is my main project now and everything else is in uncertain limbo

details under the cut:

first thing is just, the state of my projects. bird of death, which im posting now, has completely taken over my brain and its something i enjoy working on much more because its part of a bigger project that im working on with a group of 6 other people and ultimately i think art is a social thing for me. at this point ive also got a 115+ page buffer which ive never even come close to before, so i feel very much at ease about being able to put it out into the world without the months long hiatuses ive gone on with my other comics. plus, it has elements in it that are largely influenced by ideas from my previous projects which i guess leads me to my next point...

which is that im growing burnt out of my older comics. i had for a long time. i occasionally experience moments where i really love my old stories again and give myself the impression that im ready to get back into them, but then it always ends up being temporary and fizzling out again just a week or so later. like venturing. i spent years working on it and theres so much left of the story for me to tell, things that i am still excited to show. but at the same time, its a story i started when i was 16 and i guess this happens to a lot of creators, but my writing style is so different now and when i look back at it i cringe. theres also the factor that felix is almost like an undercooked version of my protagonist in bird of death (for reasons that have only vaguely been revealed). so when i think about writing his story it just feels like. he's the same guy but more poorly put together by a younger me.

this same thing goes for another comic project that ive never shared publicly but which ive been working on for just as long as ive been working on venturing. its actually the story im using for my final project for my degree lmao. the characters in it that im most invested in feel like early drafts for characters from bird of death... the catharsis of writing them has moved to this new story. my old projects just feel like early drafts of this new one but wearing different clothes. they are all born of the same train of thought.

then theres the matter of my fancomics. children of decay is so early on and undercooked that i barely have anything to say about it except that i still love the idea of having a warriors comic, but man i am just not invested in it the way i am with bird of death. (also the fact their titles are so similar... feels silly lol).

my moomin fancomics are a whole other matter... im not the writer for them, and theres still a ton of content that i wanted to cover. im still only in the first chapter of blackthorn tree, and i wanted to adapt 4 more fics afterwards. they are stories that i love, and which continue to be very dear to me, but the inspiration that gave me is, again, now being channeled into my newest project. i guess that makes sense, given that my protagonist was originally made to be a moomin oc. ive also felt increasingly disconnected from the moomin fandom, not because i like the series itself any less, but the fandom landscape is just very different from what it was. another factor is that i did actually have the rest of chapter 1 almost finished, but i lost all those files when my old ipad got fried and this really bummed me out, just a further discouragement.

putting all these things on the backburner feels bad. i dont like saying that i dont know when or even if i will come back to certain projects. i know lots of people enjoyed what i was making, especially venturing and the moomin comics. but i just cant find it in myself to commit to them again now that this new project has pretty much overtaken me, and i dont know if that commitment will ever come back. this isnt to say that i am putting an end to any of them or that im quitting them. just that they are not the thing i am committed to, and i am putting them into uncertain limbo. it feels smarter to concentrate my energy on a project i am much more devoted to now, which is very developed, and which i am making alongside other people who are also very devoted to the greater project.

if u got this far thanks for reading, and thanks to all those who've supported me over the years in my creative endeavors

[vault76]

here is my contribution for @officialtolkiensecretsanta !! it is for @maglorslostsilmaril !!

I really hope you like it, I had so much fun writing it and it challenged me in a way I haven’t been in a long time. I would be sinning if I didn’t also thank @adanedhel for his amazing suggestions, support, and editing.

Happy Holidays!

“My first composition is finally done, Father,” Elrond announced, producing his lyre and playing its entirety to Maglor who gave his son his undivided attention. It was an absolutely beautiful piece that captured the skill of its composer and even gave attention to the acoustics of the room where the performance was being given. When finally the piece was complete, Maglor allowed his tears to flow and embraced his son as his own father once had upon hearing his first piece. After a moment to collect himself, Maglor finally spoke.

“My son, you have created something out of nothing which is an act of the Gods. I am proud of you and I have always been. However,” when he paused, Elrond raised a perfect eyebrow, “this may be your first solo composition, but it is not the first thing you have ever composed. Allow me to tell you a story…” 

--

Light blooming through the stained glass window danced in blue, green, and red across the strings of Maglor’s harp as his fingers plucked them one at a time, letting them resonate through the room one at a time before sighing and trying another note. It had been months since he had last attempted the exercise and that one ended much the same -- with disappointment, self-loathing, and a bad mood when it had been meant to lift his spirits and invoke a sense of pride and accomplishment for art well-made. 

Coming from artists, such as his father who demanded perfection from himself as well as his children, made Maglor even more frustrated with the next note that, while beautiful and harmonious as any G that had ever been plucked, it felt like another pointless waste of time. 

As he moved to get up from the stool on which he sat, Elrond and Elros toddled into view with curious eyes. It was about the end of the twins’ regularly scheduled afternoon naps, and they had both been more and more curious about the goings-on in the music room. Feeling his heart elevate from the sight of his young sons, Maglor remained seated and watched.

It was Elrond whose tiny fingers reached up for the strings first, very gently, too gently to create much sound at all. Elros was a bit more adventurous with his little hands but still so gentle. Maglor watched them with a mix of curiosity and discomfort, as he was concerned that their little hands could throw the instrument out of tune or worse yet, their soft fingers could get cut on the strings. 

Deciding that enough was enough, Maglor did rise from his seat to collect his sons. As he did, Elrond strummed a chord that made Maglor pause. He glanced down at his son who was giggling and continuing on, and carefully guided both children away from his harp, but not before playing the chord himself and feeling the wheels of inspiration turn.

--

Maglor sat again in the music room, playing the chord again. He had found that it wouldn’t leave his thoughts and had inspired a completely new composition. It came to him more and more as he practiced, allowing himself a more trial-and-error approach versus striving for perfection in one take. Soon enough he was fully in the moment with his fingers fast on the strings and pleased with the progress he had made. It was played again and again, each time a more perfect version showed itself. 

It slowly became a family affair. Elrond wanted to help more after recognizing his contribution -- he was given a triangle to add where he felt appropriate. Elros was certainly also included as he had the task of handling the tambourine. Both took on their roles with absolute delight. What was first a very fun game soon was handled with the utmost of seriousness for the two small children -- Elrond did not have to be instructed where to add in his triangle, and Elros was given a percussive solo with his tambourine. Instead of an afternoon nap, the children asked for their instruments. It was a point of great pride for Maglor to be able to pass on his love for music and poetry to his sons. 

--

“... and so you see, my son, it was you who gave me that spark of inspiration to continue to create. If I inspired you, it is because you inspired me all those years ago. I do not see that composition as mine; I see it as ours. And, it goes without saying, that you and your brother are my most valued compositions of all. I may not be your sire but you are my son, and every breath of mine is spent loving you.”