#i barely know anything about The Discourse surrounding her and i do not care

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

.

[gascon-en-exil]

If you don't mind me asking who's Anacybele?

That's the most common handle for a notorious personality in the FE fandom who's been around for over a decade. I referenced her briefly in the discourse video, referring to her as this fandom's equivalent of a Snapewife.

True to that designation, Anacybele's calling card is her extremely parasocial attachment to certain male characters. When Path of Radiance was current, she became a hardcore Ike/Elincia shipper and was clearly projecting hard onto Elincia. Come Radiant Dawn, and Ana was unhappy, to say the least, outraged at the near-absence of Ike/Elincia content and taking out her anger on Ike/Soren and Elincia/Geoffrey alike...but mostly the former, in rants that she was quick to assure everyone were not motivated by homophobia. As she's quick to dismiss any queer FE content that isn't inarguably explicit (Heather and Leon, pretty much), it's rather hard to believe her on that point. I've seen some things to the effect that she's been found over the years making racist and homophobic statements related to real-world politics as well, but I don't know much of the particulars.

When Awakening came out she moved on to her second great parasocial love: Frederick. FE13 is much more accommodating for self-shippers like her, but she was roundly mocked when she attempted to bring her personal "Freddie Bear" fantasies into Serenes Forest's community of min-maxing Apotheosis players. As Frederick is a low tier father who has no sound gameplay reason to be paired with Robin, this didn't go over well. Then with Fates she got attached to Ryoma, resulting in her loud refusal to play Conquest (because Ryoma dies there) and routine bashing of the Nohrian characters and their fans.

She does seem to have mellowed out a bit with later games; I've seen her develop similar feelings toward Sylvain and now Diamant, but not as passionately as she had toward Ike and Frederick. Case in point - as far as I know she's never railed against Sylvix despite it being a very popular gay ship featuring one of her faves. Still, as I found out just now Ana continues to bash anything she doesn't like. This includes the Japan-only games, reportedly because she thinks emulation is unethical (or doesn't know how to do it, one or the other) and so is dismissive of anyone talking about those games or wanting content for them in Heroes. Cue the latest round of wank from her, because it's been almost two years since the last dedicated Path of Radiance New Heroes banner and because supposedly no one cares about Jugdral.

If we're making comparisons, while Raxis and co. are much more toxic because of the lengths they'll go to harass people they don't like and attempt to "control the narrative" surrounding their fave, Ana is much more individually memorable because of her sheer persistence over many years and commitment to what seems to be a genuinely unhealthy form of fandom expression. She's also inadvertently become something of a relic of past eras of fandom, as rather than cloaking her attacks in faux-progressive language she only barely (that I've ever seen) makes any attempt to disguise her homophobia or generalized character/ship bashing. It's...a lot.

[valkyurii]

Why is all of the discourse surrounding Elden Ring related to the Haligtree twins it would seem?? It's all either Miquella bad, Malenia bad, etc and I do not know why this is the case.

It genuinely baffles me.

Oh but whilst we're at it, happy new year dude!!! (Or atleast happy new year's eve!!!)

BIMBOM 💕💕 Happy new year to you too!

On the topic of Elden Ring discourse… yeah I really don’t know where a lot of it comes from. Especially where Miquella is concerned. People bend over backwards to try and make him seem like a horrible person and if I’m being honest a repeating pattern I’ve noticed is that it’s Mohg fans trying to justify him kidnapping Miquella. Which is pretty self explanatory in the game, yet they so desperately want him to be seen as innocent in the whole ordeal. It’s always: “Miquella must have manipulated him somehow” or “Miquella wanted to get kidnapped so he could use Mohg, not the other way around” my brother in christ if you’re going to stan a villain as least acknowledge them as such. None of it makes any sense anyway because why would Miquella go to all that trouble trying to grow the Haligtree, build a safe haven for the downtrodden, and work towards banishing outer gods, only to willingly walk away from it all and have Mohg corrupt him like that. Also none of what Mohg was trying to do worked in the end anyway because he messed up Miquella seemingly beyond repair and “…no matter how much of his bloody bedchamber he tried to share, he received no response from the young Empyrean.” Does that sound like the poor guy wanted to be there? The word kidnapped gets thrown around countless times and yet people just ignore it.

Same with the word stalemate. No one knows what that even means apparently. People look at that fight between Radahn and Malenia as “big guy strong, little guy weak.” I know that Radahn being seen as this big alpha male gigachad is so important to The Gamers, but holy hell does that argument get tiring after a while. You can clearly see in the trailer that both of them were exhausted. Malenia can barely stand by the time they clash swords, and when she stabs Radahn you can see he’s down on one knee with his hand out bracing himself. Not to mention the whole time before she even blooms he could have grabbed her and yeeted her across the field. My point being is that they were both pretty damn spent by that point, hence why it’s said they fought to a standstill. If I’m being honest though I don’t really care to much for the whole “who’s stronger than who” argument. There are other things about them that I find more interesting. When I first saw Malenia I was like “ah yes hot warrior woman” and even though I love and appreciate her combat prowess, cause damn can she swing a sword real good. When I learned about her battle with the rot and how she actively fights it off through sheer will and determination (and of course the help of unalloyed gold) I began to appreciate her so much more as a character. It’s also what makes the war in Caelid that much more tragic to me. Knowing that she battles to ward off this curse that’s trying to destroy her and then in a moment of desperation she unleashes it, hoping to perhaps utilise it to her advantage, only to have it backfire and essentially kick start the process towards her fully becoming consumed by it as later shown in her fight with us. Without the needle and Miquella there to help her she set about this series of events that ended… not well.

I would honestly give anything at this point to know what the plan was in Caelid. Why she was there, whether or not it was a decision she made all on her own, or if perhaps Miquella had asked her to go. People are so quick to call her a monster and him a saint, but they forget that she is his blade and fights in his name. Did he need Radahn dead for his plan to work? It’s just interesting that she made a beeline for him and didn’t bother with any of the others. If Godrick hadn’t provoked her she probably would have left him alone. She wasn’t interested in volcano manor or the capital. Surely she passed through Leyndell, so did Morgott let them through? There doesn’t seem to be any other way to get to Altus and we know she stopped at Shaded Castle. There’s no sea access as everything north of Limgrave is on a mountain. Folks saying she was on a hunt for great runes doesn’t add up to me because she walked on by half of them. All we have is speculation at this point and as I said; I would do anything to have actual canon explanations. I know that won’t happen as they love leaving things up to interpretation. Only it’s frustrating as hell when 90% of people in this community have like zero reading comprehension.

[pg-17]

So about that new Hogwarts Legacy game…

It was a warm summer afternoon in 2013 when I got my first personal computer, at the age of 8. The very first video game I played on this computer was Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Even as an 8 year old idiot who’d only played 3 other games before on his cousin’s console, I could tell that Half-Blood Prince wasn’t exactly the cream of the crop when it came to games. But being the huge “Potterhead” I was, I couldn’t care less. It was a fun time.

Since then I have continued to play and enjoy many more games. My favorite video games tend to be RPGs and in 2019, I randomly got a strong urge to see an RPG set in the world of the Harry Potter books. Fast forward to 2023, and as it would appear, my wishes have been granted. Hogwarts Legacy, developed by Avalanche Software and published by Warner Bros. should be exactly what I was hoping for, but as we all know, it isn’t. Due to the actions and beliefs of its author, JK Rowling, since 2020, the Harry Potter IP has been tainted.

For those unaware, JK Rowling is a vitriolic transphobe who may refer to herself as a feminist but we all know that isn’t actually true. Since then she has rightfully received well-deserved criticism from many trans folks who grew up reading her books, identifying with the metaphor of Harry getting to escape the closet under the stairs. She is a disappointment and a pathetic hateful woman and there is no defending her. Many trans people are advocating to boycott her and I am fully in support of it.

Which brings us to the issue at hand: leading up to the release of Hogwarts Legacy, trans people on Twitter and Reddit (r/GCJ primarily) have attempted a disorganized boycott of the game by urging people around them and in their internet communities to not buy it. Unfortunately, as the mind-melting sales of the game show, this boycott has demonstrably been a failure. In fact, even if this may be upsetting to hear to some people, the boycott has provably made more people buy the game than not. Reactionary right-wingers who have no history with the series are buying the game just to, in their words, “own the libs”.

But I say instead of feeling powerless in this situation we should try to learn from our mistakes and be better. Why did this attempt fail? Well there are 3 reasons I see, all of them super depressing:

The average Joe is incredibly bigoted towards trans people and would never do an act of solidarity towards them.

The boycott was incredibly disorganized and mostly just consisted of trans people on Twitter calling anyone interested in the game transphobic which is obviously never gonna change anyone’s mind.

Trans people, especially trans women, have no political influence at all. This movement did barely anything other than serving as content for reactionary youtubers.

Here’s what we have to understand, anyone who wasn’t gonna buy this game had already made up their mind even before the game came out. I knew the moment I learned about Rowling’s beliefs that I would in no way financially support her ever. But the people who know about her and still don’t care cannot be persuaded unless there is a larger cultural shift in the discourse surrounding trans rights, and that is what we should be focusing on. Arguing with no-life chuds on social media is doing nothing but wasting our own time. We need to take a page out of 4chan’s book and learn to better organize our movements. Unified we may be able to create actual change instead of just inviting debate perverts who want to dehumanize LGBT people.

Also to the people wanting to play the game but not support JK Rowling, simply pirate it. That’s more ethical than giving money to corporations like WB and evil hags like Joanne.

#TransLiberationNow

That’s about all I had to say, buh-bye now!

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

Unity made it to the point in Cyanne's journal where she understood why she was talking to herself. Her understanding of the stone expanded with every page Cyanne turned, and her calculations took on new shapes.

“Huh,” Cyanne muttered. Up until that point, the device was just...the Device. Then here came Molly, wanting to help in her usual way, blessing the device with a proper name. “I welcome the help. Seems like however this Reach business is supposed to work, you’re more adept than I am.”

Cyanne turned the page. “It’s a busy house. I have my team from the Pillbox here, though without a proper barracks and no way to house them without shoving them all into hotel rooms...I may just send them home. Leave the development to us. Besides them, Amber is here. She was the one hacking...everybody. She's settling in after apparently being attacked by Agnes. The implications behind that are...unsettling...but the network is chomping at the bit for payback.

"Anyway, Paris conducted the rescue, and she's acting as Amber's bodyguard...so she’s here...don’t know if she plans to stay. I imagine not, since you’ll be here. I don’t think she’s as big into conflict as she used to be. Finally, there’s her partner Koa... I can’t begin to sort out if he’s coming or going. If I were to assume, he’s charging his batteries and waiting for the Agnes shit to hit the fan.”

Cyanne laughed. “Are you sure you want to come here? A lot of big personalities under one roof, and a lot of unstable politics surrounding Umbrae. It might be calmer across the pond.”

Somewhere, in the middle of the discourse, Eleanor stopped scoffing to herself, and her usual quips fell to the wayside. Eventually, her silence drew Amy’s attention, finding her retreated into a corner with a stone-cold stare on her face. Amy tracked Eleanor’s gaze...and found herself wearing the same exact expression.

Pan stood against the wall, halfway through a slice of cheesecake sitting atop a saucer. Her fingers barely moved, and her eyes struggled to lift from the blank stare at the floor. Both Eleanor and Amy knew it didn’t matter where Pan’s eyes looked--they knew that she saw visions of her father in them no matter what. Pan's mind tumbled and fell into a slideshow of every time he hurt her for her “benefit;” from the day he left, causing her to chase him into the Shadows, all the way to the point where he left again, forcing his title upon her. It hurt worse now that she could recall every moment with precision.

But even without Reach, she recalled the exact number of lives lost in the attempt to wipe Parliament, and along with them, the Shadows’ Board of Directors from Earth's surface. It was the single act of butchery Delun needed to make Pan’s promotion possible.

Bill and Delun would have been good friends.

Pan sat down the saucer of cheesecake.  The phone number she dialed was longer than any telecommunication standard. “I would like to arrange a video call with prisoner 5241-SR. Encrypt it on your end, and let me know when you have a key generated.” She hung up, and for a moment, she struggled to move.

Eleanor gently wrested the phone from Pan’s grasp before making her way to the bag she tucked away in the corner, rummaging through its contents in search of her laptop.

“You know if she talks about this to anyone...”

Pan shook her head. “Amy, I don’t think she cares. I don’t think I do, either.” She willed her eyes up from the floor. “We can’t sweep our history under the rug forever...”

--

The cell was a cave, and the door was several dozen feet above her. The rock was always wet and slippery, so there was no climbing it. The only thing she had to call her own was a small lantern, powered by batteries that the guards tossed down through the bars. The batteries themselves were always from differing brands, with various levels of charge. Anything to keep her from forming a pattern. Her eyes hadn’t tasted sunlight since...

She didn’t know when.

The method was effective. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were lowered down in a basket at irregular intervals. When they caught her through the camera measuring the length of her curls, the guards descended in force, held her to the cold stone, and shaved her bald. When they grew back, she begged and pled to keep them, vowing never to measure them again. They never came back. Her curls grew to her shoulders, but by then...the objective was met.

Sparrow Ravensdale’s perception of time was irrefutably shattered, and without it, there was no way she could weave an escape. The hole in the artic was all she knew.

The rope fell from the door above and slapped the cold ground, waking her from her sleep. Her instinct told her to recoil back, her hands raised. She heard the guard connect his gear to the rope and slide down until his boots struck the stone.

He sat the laptop down in front of her, along with a brighter lantern. “You have a caller.”

“But...” Sparrow shivered. “Kelsie called not too long ago...it’s too soon.”

“It's the director.”

“...what does he want with me...?”

The guard shrugged and stepped to the side. “Be ready. The call will commence in a few minutes.”

Molly sat down on the floor - not the floor of the elegant manor house bedroom in Cambridge, England, but the floor of Casa Del Doi. She made herself stop for a moment.

“Funny you mention Agnes.” She said, resting her chin on her hand. “I noticed...Something about her when I was looking at Floss earlier. It was an accident. But I think they have a history, and yeah, even if people aren't talking about it right out in the open just yet, you don't have to be a Shadow to notice you could cut the tension around Somnia...” 

She bit her lip in thought. “Maybe you’re right. I only just got Liss back and here I am packing cases. I just...” She wondered how to possibly describe what she had seen. 

“...The people who sent us this message? They really weren't kidding...” Molly let her hand drift down to the floor, and in much the way the bay window had become a theatre of time, the floor between herself and Cyanne lit up momentarily, a perfect depiction of the Cataclysm folding the sky. 

When Molly pulled her hand away the floor was simply the floor again. She got to her feet.  

“I guess since you’ve got me-” she gestured around, still amused by her ability “-on call, now, maybe I should keep my feet in England. But if you need anything, you know where to find me. I don't even know how, but I’ve got my ear to this thing, I can hear the flow of it, because of that I might be able to help.”

There was that sweet smile. It had only truly re-emerged when Liss had stepped over the Upton threshold.

“And besides, I expect a lot more than a baby shower. I expect to be attending both of my daughter’s thirty third birthdays.”

Molly’s eyes glimmered, and the reach connection tapered gradually, until the Upton residence reasserted itself.

-

An uncomfortable silence fell in the wine cellar.

“She’s right.” O-ren broke it finally. “It’s time to see Beatrix. I know where Bill lives. I’ll go there, contact her, I’ll talk to her if she want to talk...”

“O-ren! What if...” Go go hopped down from the bench, her face a picture of fear.

“Go go, I need to do this, do you understand?” The statement started out hard and turned gentle. A shrug. “Besides. I’m not treating this as a suicide mission. Bee and I...”

She gave Mallory a dry look before looking back at her adopted daughter.

“...Bee and I have things we need to talk about.” O-ren looked at Floss. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but I need to ask one more thing. I don't have any resource available to me here. Can you find Beatrix for me?”

Floss nodded. “That’s easily done. And anything else you need. But I insist, you rest tonight at least. You’re still recovering.”

“I wont let her lay a hand on you.” Go go insisted. 

“If Bee wants that you wont be able to stop her, because you’ll be here. I’m going alone.” O-ren replied sharply, a bit of that old severity cutting through in her tone. Go go’s mouth dropped open.

“No.” She responded. 

“Yes, Go go. You’ve been fighting my battles too long. And it’s mine to deal with, please understand?” O-ren took Go go by the arm. The argument fell away. The bodyguard looked bereft. A look past Go go’s shoulder toward Floss indicated, in a complex non verbal communication, that this was the other part of what she asked; look after my step daughter for me, just for now. 

Florence gave a barely perceptible nod. “I can arrange transport as soon as you need it, but tomorrow.”

“And me? Do I sleep here?” Mallory asked, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. 

“O-ren, Go go. There are bedrooms set up upstairs for you. Please make yourselves at home. I need a moment with Mallory.”

The two of them went quietly up the steps, O-ren throwing a look of gratitude back over her shoulder before she moved out of view.

Floss got up off the stool and squatted in front of the young Viper. As she spoke her voice was quiet, but utterly serious. She laced her fingers together where her arms rested on her knees. 

“I know who is responsible for the loss of your family. And believe me, you are not the only person gunning for them. I’m not in the business of telling people what to do, but the problem is - that person is much more powerful than you, in some ways much more powerful than many of my associates in this house. You will need our help...”

Mallory sat quietly, absorbing everything the older woman said with a look of frowning concentration.

“...So here’s what I can offer you. If you want to leave this house now? Go about your life? I wont stop you. No one’s going to put another tranq in your leg. But if what you want is to really know, what happened? You need to give us time, and be our ally. So what’s it to be?”

The frown softened on Mallory’s face. After a moment she nodded.

“Alright. You’re on.”

Floss extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “You get the last choice of bedroom I’m afraid. Straight down the hall.” She looked the Viper up and down. “Feel free to take a bath, and Mallory...I meant what I said, you hurt anyone in this house - you’ll be dealing with Beatrix, and you’ll get no information.”

Mallory nodded, and left Floss alone in the cellar with her thoughts. She only stood there a moment before she decided that a piece of cheesecake would be much preferable to her internal dialogue.

Mallory walked slightly dumfounded through the house she had previously been carried through, and started the bath running in the spacious en-suite bathroom. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and began typing a text;

[Milo, I don't think this could get anymore nuts...]

[frickfracksnatchisback]

Alright, I have a feeling that some people aren’t gonna like this Hot Take™ of mine, but you know what? I’m not active enough on this blog to really care about my “reputation” at this point, sooo...

(In case you don’t care and/or don’t want to see it, fandom discourse under the cut. Keep in mind that everyone’s entitled to their own opinions.)

I haven’t found the courage to speak up about it in the past because I was afraid of how people would see me. But honestly? If anyone full-on hates me for what I’m about to say, then maybe this is for the best. I’m...really getting sick of all the discourse surrounding Vanessa as a character, not going to lie. I get if you want to use her for angst purposes in your AUs and stories; I get if you don’t particularly like her as a character; I even get it if you like to sympathize with Snatcher as far a toxic relationships go. But this whole discourse that “anybody who likes Vanessa as a character is an awful person”? I’m sorry, but I just can’t agree with this type of mindset anymore. Want to know why? Because it sounds exactly like the Snatcher discourse that’s also been going around. “Snatcher can’t be a dad/friend to Hat Kid! He tried to kill her!” sounds just like “You can’t redeem Vanessa! She killed the Prince!” to me. Not to mention that half of the characters in AHiT are problematic in one way or another. Mafia Boss, Conductor, DJ Grooves, Snatcher, Empress, even Mustache Girl! They’ve all done one or more questionable things within canon and have actively tried to kill Hat Kid. Why do these characters get overlooked while Vanessa is “completely irredeemable”? The “canon” we have surrounding Vanessa is already very loose to begin with. The most you can find is the Time Rift storybook and a few letters hidden within the manor level, and even then, not everybody knows about those or even finds them in-game. Also, Shane Frost, one of people who helped create AHiT, doesn’t explicitly depict Vanessa as a completely evil character. If anything, from what I’ve seen, she only acts the way she does because of the way her mother treated her. And while that isn’t canon in the actual game anymore, let’s be honest here. Nobody really goes one hundred percent by canon, and what little “lore” you can dig up from the storybooks is open to interpretation. There could be many reasons as to why Vanessa is the way that she is! But we don’t know for certain, because the lore and canon within AHiT is barely fleshed out. Maybe Vanessa could’ve had abusive parents; maybe her ice magic corrupted her based on her emotions; maybe she had some type of mental disorder. Does that make what she does “in canon” necessarily good? No, but if you’re going to portray her as a villian character, you have to have an actual reason as for why she’s motivated to do these things other than “she’s just evil”. I’d like to clarify, Vanessa’s not one of my favorite characters. The ships “Snatchnessa”, “Moonessa”, and “Princenessa” aren’t even any of my main ships. But coming from someone who’s been bullied, even if indirectly, for the characters and ships they like? This is not okay. It’s gotten to the point where fanon has overlapped with canon so much, that people are starting all this unnecessary discourse just so we’ll fight with one another. And it’s become tiring. It is not the end of the world if people like Vanessa or see her as a comfort character. You do not have the right to bully someone for having a “Vanessa turned good AU” when stuff like “Dadtcher” and “AHiT found family” are completely acceptable in your eyes. That’s hypocritical and, not to mention, it’s a cutesy 3D platformer game for pity’s sake. It’s not that fricking deep. Unless someone is outright justifying abusive behavior and using Vanessa to do so, there’s no need to attack anyone just for merely mentioning or making content of Vanessa. I know not many people will agree with me, or even care for that matter. But if you’ve managed to read this far, please take at least some of what I’ve said into consideration, or at least with the smallest grain of salt. I don’t expect to change your opinion, and you can’t change mine; I just hope that some of you can see where I’m coming from with all of this. And if you can’t? I’m not here to argue. The block button is right there, so feel free to use it. Thank you for your time.

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - YELLOW

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

WORDS: 7539 WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Mentions of blood

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

-----

You:

First love never dies.

For so many, it simply remains this fantastical dream. Of monsters and ghouls, fairies and witches. And perhaps, those people are right. In ways not everyone can imagine, most of the time, the realists and those grounded with what cruelties are out to get you, it isn’t always so healthy constantly hoping that the first one you give your heart to will ultimately be the last. Always, one’s immediate thought when they hold a hand or kiss another’s lips was that frivolous hoping and imaginative discourse that somehow, this is what it’ll be for the rest of your life. With that very person you chose to give your heart to and this illusion that you’ve given it enough thought, whether you actually had or hadn’t.

And those realists, those who are constantly out to get other’s hopes and irrational dreams, you never thought they’d speak to you that way until that first crack in your beating heart, the first gap made by the quakes of reality. Your first heartbreak.

And perhaps maybe the worst one, out of all the many heartbreaks you’ve gone through in your eventful young life. The ghosts of your past, the ones that never leave you alone and go on to haunt you for so long as you held onto some kind of hope, torturously holding onto that love and hurt all the same, you just let them exist. You tried to fight them, tried to move on. And for many years, you hadn’t. You failed and it brought you even more of this turmoil.

But had you really come to doubt that theory, the one that disproved that famous claim that first love, in fact, does not diminish, no matter the years and the people and the places you’ve gone through and met? Even with it so obvious that your first love came to such a disastrous, albeit expected end out of two teenagers hopelessly in love, did that love actually die?

Not when after all those years, everything you did and didn’t do out of love always ended up boiling down to him.

The time you shared, that fairytale of a story, one you were fortunate enough to live through and live by for all the years that came after, it wasn’t even because he was the safest bet, which he wasn’t. And it was unfair to call him that at all. It had its own risks, its own trials of hurt, but the triumphs you reaped, the light you’d inevitably saw at the end of that seemingly endless darkness, you never could doubt that it was there at all.

Perhaps that delusion of a fairytale was what brought you down in the first place. Perhaps all this was because you thought he, of all people, could never hurt you at the least, and he ended up hurting you the most. It was this illusion of some fantasy, one you wanted so badly to believe, that this wonderful story of how you came to be will continue for the rest of your life. That this contentment, this fruitful, carefree relationship will last and that troubles aren’t ones to worry about at all. This lie you told yourself that he could never hurt you, it was that very thought that did instead.

So perhaps it were true. Maybe first love never does die. What dies instead was that very mirage, this belief that it’ll continue to be a fantasy just as how it started. Because love never was a fantasy to begin with. It wasn’t how you came to be, or how magical it seems to someone who hears your story. It was how you hold on, how you never take your hands off theirs no matter how much the winds pull you apart. For so long as it continues to bring out the most beautiful version of yourself, love was holding on.

And for those years after your relationship, you did hold on. Both of you. With strengths unmatched by another. You held on.

You realized all that, this decision you ultimately made, a few months ago one night when you got a call from Steph when it should have been a call from Tim. But it wasn’t like you expected that latter at all. This happened one too many times than you would have hoped. But they said he was okay, just a little beaten up. He wouldn’t let the others touch him, however. That was when they called you.

You took a cab from your apartment, even when it costed a small fortune. You were worried, of course, but your hands weren’t shaking, your mind wasn’t a mess you no longer understood, your thoughts were coherent and still you could trail behind them with a red string attached to the back of your mind. All else was calm, as was the falling snow out the car window. You let that calmness get to you. You had to. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good. Especially not him.

You got to the manor with no one around to welcome you in save for the butler, which forced you to go straight up to Tim’s room, leave your coat by the rack. It was too early for the sun to be up, too late for it to stay that way for long. You hurried, stayed quiet, then you reached his room. You knocked no more than three times and opened the door without waiting for him to let you in.

They said he had been this way since the first incident, the one almost a year ago when he collapsed and ended up at the hospital. That at rough nights, times when his sharp eye wasn’t as sharp and movements not as quick, he refused to let anyone in for help. Maybe it was this denial that he was in need of any, denial that his lack of sleep and caffeine dependency was still a problem, or maybe he just didn’t want to trouble anyone. Though the same could be said for literally everyone else in the team. A lot of them get shot three times and brush it off just to save theatrics.

And maybe Tim was alright, better than the others let on, and it was because of that incident why they worry about him a lot more. Maybe this was just annoyance of that matter, his locking himself in his room even when a bullet wound over his shoulder so large was making his lips awfully pale and his skin an unnatural shade of white. Even when he didn’t need help, and in this case, he probably did, it didn’t mean you were going to leave him alone.

He was at the foot of his bed, back against the bed frame with a laptop in front of him, legs spread out relaxed and unbothered. Too relaxed, however, almost weak. And his eyes were droopy and low. He looked at you like he’d expected you to come, maybe even wanted to ask why it took you so long. But he didn’t say much. Nothing more than a faint hi spurred out his mouth.

You shut the door behind you and took off your shoes and your last layer of your sweater. When you stood close enough to see that the red stain on the bandage he put on himself wasn’t going to do him any good, you went straight to his bathroom, took out whatever kit he had lying around and settled on the floor right by his side.

“I’m fine, you know.”

“Shut up.”

You tried reaching for his bandage but he ended up grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“It’ll stop.”

“It won't if you don’t let me take care of it.”

Still, he held onto your hand, didn’t let it go even when it loosened, and you didn’t pull away either. Instead, you inched closer, tangled your fingers together so yours would rub calmingly against the back of his palm the way he often liked.

You didn’t know what movie he had on his laptop right then, and frankly you didn’t care much. When he’d loosened his hold on you just enough to let go and reach for a clean rag in his kit, his eye trailed back to the screen. His hand, however, stayed on your lap, lightly resting on your thigh.

His way of giving in. It was one of those days, as obvious as it was. Didn’t mean you weren’t there to annoy the hell out of him until it inevitably changes, or not. You just liked being around to make sure he’ll be okay. Often, he is.

You pulled on the hem of his shirt, and reluctantly, slowly, he sat up, didn’t take his eyes off his laptop and grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off. You ignored that itch in your neck when he sat back down, lean abs rippling with his back crouched over.

You worked painfully slow, painful for you just as it was for him. His blood was everywhere, spilling out the bandage that had absorbed more of it than it should. You took it off, praising yourself for not taking another five minutes back at home doing whatever when it was apparent you should have gotten here two hours ago.

Like he expected some nagging remark out of you, he still couldn’t look you in the eye. And you, as frustrated as you were with him, opted not to say anything at all. You just took the rag and went to work, brushing it on the skin surrounding the wound red with the stains.

Nothing too lethal, though nothing you should ignore. You cleaned the rag and carefully, with the gentleness on your fingers you found to be present when you touched the most sensitive spots on him, you dabbed the cloth onto the wound, and with that, you found yourself sitting so close to his body, enough to smell the remnants of smoke from an exhaust pipe, probably from his bike, stained onto his bare neck.

No longer could you hear the movie that went on behind you, No matter how much noise there could have been, there was only silence, and with that silence there was that pull on your throat, one not too easily ignored unlike everything else you pushed to neglect.

Tim’s eyes were no longer on the screen, as it seemed when you glanced up to his face. There were on your hands, mesmerized by how soft you were touching him. Even with it just being a graze of your finger against his skin outside the wound, still it was this feathery touch, enough to have drowned him within a cloud’s misty bed.

It was, against your wishes, the kind of silence you wished wasn’t so deadly. Deathly silence, as you’ve come to learn, draws out the loudest voices in your head, thoughts in volumes you never would have otherwise comprehended. And there would be no ignoring them, not at that moment. And those thoughts lingered on the taste of his breath against your lips, his fingers that had went up from your clothed thigh to your cheek, brushing strands of your hair away even when they weren’t much a bother. They were on his hair, damp from sweat falling to his eyes. The smell of him, that mentioned smoke, the cologne he put on earlier that day, the natural musk of his scalp you once loved to revel in. It was the feel of his skin that seemingly grew warmer each second that passed.

You went on to clean the wound, even when your mind had long left that issue, though you convinced yourself it was reason enough for you to draw your head even closer. To have a better look at the wound. And at that, his face was close enough for you to hear the counts of his breaths.

Tim didn’t back away. He let you work, do whatever you wished with his chest without an ounce of protest.

Your other hand, the one without a rag to hide behind, finally found its way on his bare shoulder to hold onto when that hitch of your breath almost knocked you out cold, when at the faintest hover of his warm lips against your neck, the little trails of him cold on your skin.

You tried not to stop with the rag, but even that was hard to do. With your eyes closed shut, hands clenching to a fist just to have some kind of composure. Tim wasn’t pressing his lips against your skin enough to kiss it, to feel his tongue around it and send you to some heavenly descent. It was just there, barely even touching it, hovering so close enough to feel the chap of his dried lips but just not enough.

You almost clenched hard onto his shoulder when he breathed, hot against your skin, and continued to for so many more seconds.

Leaning into him would have been the easiest thing to do, to let his lips press hard onto your neck to leave marks, hand on your head tight enough to hold you in place.

But it was that knock on the door that pulled you both into the realities of what it was, or rather, what you weren’t. You didn’t kiss him that night, and since then, you never failed to ponder constantly on how you should have

That night was months ago.

Tonight, you hoped, that with every well-wishing angels and spirits there were, that with your hand on the doorknob, heart in your pocket, and breath held back for as long as it needed to be, that all this would only go as well as you’d hoped.

.

Tim:

He could smell the trouble he was in the moment she walked into his room unannounced. And only with her would it not bother him in the slightest, when if it were anyone else, he’d have sent them out his room three seconds after they’d barge in like that. She only knocked twice, just before she opened the door and walked in, thereby catching him in the middle of the untimely act of staying up past two in the morning, crouched over his desk so unhealthily bad for his spine that instinct screamed at him to sit up just to mellow down the eventual nagging.

But there wasn’t any of that, at least. “Hey,” she said, and she settled down with her jacket hung up on his door.

“You’re here late.”

“Figured you’d be up.”

“How’d you know?”

“I just did.”

Then he turned to his laptop, realized she knew because she saw his status was online, and that it didn’t have to take a detective or a best friend to figure that out. Tim stretched out his neck went back to focus on the screen. Thankfully, he wasn’t as bad as he used to, having a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for him at the side of his desk. Then, he’d never hear the end of it.

It was that kind of comfort, the same as having a hand to hold as you stared right into the eyes of an apocalypse or a face so beautiful to look at when all else around the world just seemed so wretchedly ugly, having her company even when it wasn’t to some necessary resort. She was just there, and her presence meant so much more than it should.

But he stayed calm, went on with his work, while she went over to his side looking over at the screen like it were any interesting. It wasn’t. Not for anyone who looked at excel files and felt the need to throw up.

A hand on top of his shoulder, however, loosened some tight knots on his arm, tensions he didn’t even know was there. He didn’t flinch nor move, though his fingers at the keys stopped for a moment, especially when she rubbed her palm over his clothes to ease even more of the tensions within him until he felt nothing less than jelly.

“What are you doing here?”

A snicker out of her proved she didn’t take that as much offence.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to visit?”

“At this time of night?”

“Not like it’s any trouble, or the first time.”

“Last time, it was an emergency. I told you not to take cabs this late.”

“Tim, I’m fine. I just wanted to stay over.”

“And you’re welcome to, but you should have called. I’d have picked you up.”

Even if she called at five am asking him to take her out of town to pick up some paint or whatever just five minutes after his head would have hit a pillow, he’d do just that. She knew that right?

“You want me to come here less often?”

“No.” He leaned back on his chair, tipped his head up so he was seeing her face so gracefully smiling down at him. Immediately the sting on his eyelids that have long pained him since midnight have gone out the window. And with a smile, all else was as soft as the cloud at the end of some metaphorical window. “Stay. But come over when it’s still early.”

“Fine,” Y/N said. “I will.”

As if she heard his wishes for her to never take her hand off his shoulder, she listened. And she just stood there, silently at his side watching him go on about things she didn’t even understand. Or perhaps he wasn’t giving her enough credit. Either way, it was boring as hell.

Her finger tightened.

“What are you doing?”

“Just…” he shrugged. “You know. Work. You wouldn’t be wanna hear about any of this.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Just as he began to internally whine when she finally let go of her hold, to say he was soothed enough to close his eyes and just feel how wonderful her fingers felt, tangling themselves into the mess of his hair and drawing it to the back of his head, he didn’t want to be so obvious with his shivers, which were definitely there.

“But whatever that is,” she continued. “I promise you it’s nothing worth losing hours of sleep over.”

“I know I should listen to you more often, but trust me, I really have to get this done.”

“Really” she sneered. “Tonight, tonight?”

“Three hours ago, in fact.”

Telling her all this would be as useless as outrightly pleading that she leave him alone, which he definitely won't do, and she definitely won't listen to.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me work?”

“If it puts any pressure on you to just leave it and come to bed, then yes. I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want me to get a chair?”

“Don’t. Stand there. I dare you.”

“Watch me.”

Another run of her fingers through his hair and already he lost his streak of thought.

And it would have been all too painful if he went on to fight back that sneer, which he hadn’t realized had been there at all until he had to. Leaning towards his screen, fingers on the keys, he tried, with all his might, to just get this all done. Then he can stop dragging her along this nocturnal hell she’d come to adapt from him.

He kept working, and for a few minutes, he actually did get lost in it, even when he felt the back of his head being toyed around with her tying little braids over his neck, his bangs, the strands of hair that had grown too long. Hand over his mouth, he just glanced up through his side eye, and with her too engrossed on the braids she didn’t see him stop tapping altogether and watch her move.

Something he hadn’t expected, his whole body didn’t expect, or at all foresee even with the kind of intimacy he was used to, was when her hands that touched his neck, first with her measly tips of her fingers and eventually with her hands, had trailed down his broad shoulders, squeezing at the muscle and bone.

And her gentleness, the same that catered to wounds and held him like a faint, thin blanket would fall onto his skin, every hair on him raised, every part of him stiffened.

Every part of him stiffened. Not one left out.

She just went on. And on and on and on. Fingers down the sides of his neck, leaving faint white trails and nail marks down his shoulders and all the way back up his ears. His breath caught so short, every muscle in him so tense at the same time so awfully relaxed he might as well have fallen to the ground.

The thought of work didn’t dare cross his mind for a second after that. So what if he loses half a million tomorrow?

Those same hands, now squeezing the sides of his arms, were reeling him in like a caught salmon. Nothing else would have drawn him in so much, not even the devil himself. His fingers left the keyboard.

And just as he leaned back enough to startle her, Tim grabbed her wrists, pulled them across his neck so she was embracing him. Her stomach against the back of his head, and her face, like a bright yellow star smiling down at him from miles above, was looking directly below. Her smile was incomparable, even more so when she drew her hair back and the light allowed him more of her he never would have forgotten about anyway.

And he smiled back, made sure she couldn’t draw her arms away, then when she dipped down, his mouth met her cheek. She wasn’t bothered at the slightest. It only made the stretch on her cheeks from her smile more apparent.

Her hair, the sweet strands of daisies and lemon, pressed up against his skin as she leaned down, her face almost all the way down his shoulder. He held onto her arm as if to urge her to stay, to go further against him, to stand even closer so he could have even more of her than he already has, than he possibly can.

Tim stuck his nose against her scalp, just beside her ear, and breathed in. It tickled her enough to flinch, but not enough to let go of his tight hold.

It was mistake enough for him to open his eyes and repress all the other senses he had, the senses that mattered if he wanted to have her even more, he had to look onto the screen that had gone black, where it was no more than a dark mirror, one that stared back at him so painfully haunting.

He stared at her, holding him so intimately close, face stuck to his cheek and her lips leaving trails of her gentleness against his flushed skin. He stared at himself, and how he could just allow her to do all that and more, and not move so much as a finger, how he’d let her do anything to him, hurt him even, so long as she wanted him to.

How cruel she was, and how cruel he was to himself, to let her kiss and hold him like this, when they were supposed to be just friends, best friends, knowing how he felt, knowing how she affects him. How cruel of this world, and how he let those cruelties allow to consume him too much, rid him of any rational thought that when he wakes up that very morning and have to face the world again, she might end up choosing one of his brothers. How cruel it all was, for the world to let his hopes up, and for him to just let it. Allowing himself, and all others, to haul him straight to an inevitable world of hurt, and how for a few minutes of consuming bliss, having her so close to him that he could smell her hair and taste her skin, he was heading straight for that hurt himself.

Best friends don’t have boundaries, or lack of there is, like theirs. Which made all this even more painful. Best friends don’t hug and kiss and squeeze each other’s shoulders the way she just did. He should push her away, go back to work, let her sleep on his bed while he works away the night, and all this would be gone.

But all he did, regretfully, was close his eyes, eased into her like she were a bed of daisies and tulips and lilies, flowers without thorns to possibly stab him. Her lips, so gentle and soft, pressed themselves against the tip of his forehead and he felt her smile.

He kissed her wrist. Maybe it was a step too close, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He’d get lost in her and tomorrow he’ll never find a way out of it, out of all this mess, but he’d have brought it to himself. For these slow-moving minutes, it might not even be worth it. But he could convince himself that it was.

“Go to bed,” he whispered, far too intimately against her ear. He felt her stiffen. Did he have to whisper? No. Was it intentional? Perhaps.

He got a giggle out of her, a tug on his hair, and even more squeezes on the spaces between his shoulder and neck. This was getting way too touchy. Even for them. She hasn’t touched him like this in years.

And still, he allowed her to.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won't.”

The way her arms slid off him, even that felt so wonderful, against the clothes on his chest and the skin that seeped out his collar. His hands were reluctant to let her go, even to his own subconscious, and he only knew because the air never felt colder than when she’d fully withdrawn and no longer could he feel the heat of her chest pressed against his back.

He didn’t look up from his screen, but the work had long passed his head. He stared at it, everything this blank that couldn’t even be drawn, and let the silence overtake all thought.

.

You:

It was greatly inappropriate in just about every way imaginable.

Was it wrong to hold him like that, when not even you could talk yourself out of your own tempting voice and letting your nails dig into his shoulder, and lean in so your lips would reach his skin? Was it so over the line, a line you drew yourself that had long been vulnerable to a few slip ups?

Perhaps it was. Perhaps you were wrong that he might still want you the way you wanted him right then. Perhaps he did just want to stay friends, forever, and what you did might have been the end of all that. Start another fight, ignore each other for another few weeks.

You won't allow that. Not after your last fight, when you finally had it in you to tell him about Jason and it turns out, he already knew, the days and weeks of silence that followed after might have been the hardest to climb out of. For both of you.

But as it always has, it all fell right back into place. This place. This comfort not even the fuzz of a carpet laid in front of a nipping fireplace could give you. This place in his bed, and how you could just lay on it without a single shift in the air. How easily you just took off your prosthetic and showed him the worst parts of you, the worst parts you thought of yourself, and how he didn’t see them as the worst at all.

You truly did not deserve this kind of forgiveness, this kind of place with him, when you’ve had your share of mistakes just as much as he did. That silence that followed after reassured you that you cannot, even if you desperately tried to, live without Tim.

You laid on his bed, stripped to the thinnest clothing you had on and settled under the sheets. It wasn’t long before you heard him shut off his laptop, push back his seat. And with you facing away to the other side of the bed, you saw the lights turn off, then he got into bed beside you.

Then your eyes were on the ceiling, for you just couldn’t have the strength to face him, not when he was that close, and not when you, of all times, had doubts to go through with what you truly wanted. And what you wanted was him. After all that chaos, all that betrayal and hurt, was it right to give this one last try?

Tim was looking up at the ceiling as well, hands over his stomach. He was just as stiff as you.

But as easy as it was to forgive each other, it all molded back into this state of rightness, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be. Nothing to change. Nothing was supposed to change.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

His voice, even as a whisper, sounded a lot clearer with the lights off somehow. All you could see was the ceiling. You couldn’t even see his face.

“I’m sorry about everything…”

Some kind of click, but not even that could be heard. You just felt it. Somewhere. There was something about the air that was this sudden gust against your skin, up your face to let you know, much like a slap would remind you, of where you were.

“I’m sorry about… everything else...” he said.

Why wasn’t he turning over his stomach, falling asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow just like he always does? Why was he still talking? Why was he still wide awake?

“You should sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

That was, in all honesty, the first time you’ve ever heard him say that and sound like he genuinely meant it.

“I’m not, either,” you said. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Maybe we should at least try to sleep.”

“That’s big of you to tell me that.”

“You’re the one who came all the way here,” he scowled.

“Fine, then if you don’t want me around-“

“Dude, come on

The snort that came out of your nose was not pretty at all, but neither was his own laugh that followed, one made even more resonant and mesmerizing to listen to with the darkness and the silence and how the only thing you could feel was how your toes were touching under the sheets.

That pulled you on your side, facing away from the boring ceiling and at the beauty that was Tim, how at the same time, he turned to face you as well. Hands tucked under your head, and his grabbing hold of the sheets, you were looking at him too obviously engrossed with that mistiness of how undeniably in love you were with him, even without so much as a touch out of your finger. You let your eyes do the touching. And with the way he looked back at you, you’d never seen a sight as perfect as his eyes. Even without much light, even with the details barely seen. You just knew he looked beautiful.

“So now you want me to come over at night and bug you at the expense of the company.”

“The company can afford the expenses,” he shrugged.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Kind of unfair how I’m the only one to visit.”

“Your studio doesn’t exactly scream office workplace environment.”

You shoved his shoulder, right where the healing bullet wound was, and you heard him hiss. “Ass.”

“You're an ass.”

His laughter again. It was so easy to fall into and keep your silence just so you’d hear more of it each time.

He was closer to you. Somehow. Between his exchanges and the distraction of his own voice, he’d inched himself even closer. Near enough now that you could see his lips and how his breath tasted.

You just kept smiling, like it just couldn’t wear off even if you tried, and slowly you reached for the collar of his shirt, thin against his hot skin. And with that you found him staring down at your hand, watching you do just that.

“I’ll go to your place,” he sighed. “Take the work home. I’m sure they won't miss me.”

“Tim, I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

You laughed and pushed your face against the pillow, which grazed his nose against your ear.

“Would you like that?”

“Hmm?”

A strand of your hair had fallen over your cheek. He brushed it back before you even had time to notice it was there.

“Me? Coming over to your place a lot to work?”

Your lips were dry. Your fists were not. You shouldn’t be nearly as relaxed as you are right then.

“Of course…”

“No, I mean…”

He moved, so much closer to you, then his hand was on your arm. The one right above your waist.

“I mean everyday… or at least, a lot of the time.”

His thumb, brushing over your skin. You never knew a sensation could be so addicting.

And your voice, snatched out of your throat. You never knew such a thing could happen after just a sentence.

“All those nights at the office, when I should have spent all that time with you, or even just answer your calls…”

Your own hand was against his chest now. It wasn’t pushing him away. It was just there, touching him. And you wouldn’t let it slip.

“None of it was worth it…” Again, his fingers brushed back your hair, but even after he did, he went on to hover them over your cheek. “And I was stupid enough to choose something else. But I should have chosen you. Always. Just like you’ve always chosen me.”

You swallowed and hoped it worked for the tears as well. “Tim, that was a long time ago-“

“I’ve never regretted anything more…”

Everything had stopped, even your own breath. You never thought so much could be caught at your through, especially all coherent thought. This cycle of a life, how it had all boiled down to one mistake. Finally, it came to a full circle.

“Are you okay with that?”

To have you all day? The way it was supposed to years ago? So I never would have had to lose you in the first place?

With the whole of my heart, definitely.

“I’d like that…” you said. “Very much.”

You didn’t even care if he felt you cry, with his hand over your face. This sense of security that wasn’t false in the least, this curtain you can always hide behind and fall back to when the world constantly would pull you down. It was his touch, like that very moment, that held you so gently not even a kiss from the kindest butterfly, trusting you with its fragility as it lands onto your skin could possibly compare.

You love him.

You love him.

You love him.

You cupped his face, just as his other arm snaked below your head so he was pulling you so deathly close. His strong arms now around you, encasing you in him, the way you always sought out to be held. Only with him did it feel so right. To move closer, to have your limbs tangled, to exchange breaths and look into each other’s eyes and see everything there was about him.

It took too long, possibly because all this had come too much to process, even with it so long overdue.

The harps that played beyond the sky and resonated only to you and your ears alone, it was all the more apparent, all the more did the songs of angels sing to every sense they could possibly pick up. It took too long, just staring into each other’s eyes in such darkness when you weren’t supposed to see anything at all, when your lips met.

The softness. The crashing waves. The sweet, serenity of silk. And the blow of the strongest gust of wind. It was all that at once.

.

Tim:

This was everything his dreams have come to remember and continue to remind him every time he allows himself to sleep. Her lips, her soft, perfect lips. None of what he said was a lie. None of it was worth losing this. Losing her.

Everything, the whole room, the ceiling, the sky outside his window, the floor under the bedframe, the winds even with the still air. Everything. Everything moved. Everything was spinning. Everything was revolving around them. Everything moved but time, the only one that wasn’t frantic enough to keep moving, perhaps even move faster. He could hear the seconds tick away but none of that even made it past his ear drums.

Finally. Finally.

One hand on her face, the other on her waist, Tim pulled her even closer so he’d feel her heart beat, the only thing he wanted to listen to from then on. Everything was spinning but he couldn’t care less if it was a quake in the fault lines. He was there. She was there.

Their lips moved like two petals of a single flower, moving to the wind’s blow and so delicately touching, not enough to hurt but enough to show the sheer amount of want that had long been held off.

Like everything, the whole world, no matter how much his mistakes had sought out to destroy it, to destroy everything he’s ever wanted, it was all kind enough to forgive him, to forgive both of them. Even with a world so seemingly irreparable, they were back in each other’s arms, in a hold tighter than ever before. And he wasn’t about to let go for as long he was strong enough to keep holding on.

He gently pulled away, just to look at her in the eye.

Because maybe, this was all just for the moment. Maybe this was just the world’s way of letting him know what he’ll ultimately lose and miss out on. Maybe, all this was just to last for the night, and nothing more.

But that look in her eye was unmistakable. So was the way she tugged on his hair. I love you. I want you. I’m yours. That’s what she was telling him. And it was everything he ever wanted to hear.  

He kissed her again and rolled her to her back, lips pressing harder, fingers digging deeper.

This. He had her. She’d chosen him. Always and always and always. She chose him.

That spinning went on, everything around them, until the world was a blur not one of them could care less about. Everything his eyes set out to see that wasn’t her body, he ignored. The sound of her breathing and whispering against his ear, the feel of her hands roaming all over his chest. Nothing else but her and her alone. He pulled his shirt off, just as her teeth dug deep into his collarbone. Her. Her. Her.

All her clothes were on the floor. Her breathing turned to moans, which turned to screams when his hand reached down between her legs and drew the sounds out of her. Then it was his own sounds, sounds he never even heard out of himself until right then, at the sharp pain just as he was inside her. It was all too slow, rolling his hips in this pace he wanted to go faster and faster but even then, he took his time.

.

You:

In every way was it the most beautiful thing to have. To be one with him. You were one. You were beautiful. You were this infinite, untouchable being.

His teeth on your neck, biting down just to hold himself up from his own thrusts. Euphoric. Lights that flickered like strings and series. Then you tried to repress all that by kissing him. It only did so much.

You were lost, so deep into corners of rooms and halls not even the sharpest eye could find you in. This galaxy you could swim into, without a tie to confine you or a cage to hold you back. Your deepest, most carnal desires all bundled into this moment of want and eventual, satisfying end, which could only be such an end if you wanted it to be. And you didn’t want it to end. Even as you screamed his name like nothing could ever hear you. Everything in you tightened. Everything letting go of what so long was held back. All the while, your arms were around him, lips against his. He let go as well. Inside you.

Until the sun came to greet you, that night went on like it was otherwise endless. That night didn’t end the moment it was day. It ended when you say it ended.

A beginning and an ending, and only good things, as you hoped, would come after it.

And in between those wonderful sessions of love, you asked him to be yours. Forever. And a promise to no longer let go.

Lucky for you, he said yes.

.

Epilogue

Tim:

“Yeah. We can get rid of the couch. No one sits there anyway. Yes, everything goes on that side of the room.”

There were three men handling the couch. The other two were busy cleaning what used to be a cement wall and was now a glass sliding door that parted two rooms. The new tiles had just been set up, and all that was needed was furniture. Which wasn’t even much.

It was hard enough trying to ward her off with the dumbest excuses he could think of, but it wouldn’t have lasted longer than a week. Today, she comes over, with it being barely presentable. But he was too excited to hold it off even longer.

Y/N stepped into his office and almost broke the knob off after seeing the unfinished construction site of what used to be just his office.

‘What’s going on?’ She mouthed at him. He waved her to come over, and after carefully making her way across the dusty tiles, she kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You’re looking good,” he smiled.

“What’s all this?”

“Something that was supposed to be all done by today, but with the wiring problem, this is all the surprise will have to suffice.”

“Surprise?”

“Come on.”

Hand on her back, he led her to the glass door and stepped into the newly renovated room, one so bare and so empty, without a desk or a love seat in sight, she marveled all the way up to the ceiling.

“This,” he said. “Is your new studio.”

He should have pulled out his phone at the way her jaw dropped.

“My what?”

“I know what I said about working over at your place.” He held her waist, pulled her close enough so she wouldn’t shake. “But I wanted to do something for you. We can go both ways. Some days we work here and some, we go over to your house.”

“Tim, this is twice the size of my apartment.”

She probably hadn’t listened to a word he said, with her still stuck up on how high the ceiling was.

“Check out the best part.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small remote.

What was just a wall, which led to the outside, parted into two, separate doors, and it opened into a window looking down from so immensely high up the city, with the cars below the size of matchboxes and people of ants.

“I think I just pissed myself.”

Tim laughed, again, then pulled her waist once more so she could only look at his eyes.

“I just want to be around you. Every day. I’m not letting you out of my sight anymore.”

“You’re sexy when you show off how rich you are.”

“If you said that any sooner, I’d have bought you a whole island.”

Arms encasing him close, she kissed him so perfectly like those very same petals that would have wilted without their eternal companion.

“Now come on,” she pulled away too soon and he mewled. “You promised me a ride.”

All the way to the elevator, and even within, she never loosened her hold on his hand. And she led him up the rooftop like it was her who owned the place. And that smile was palpable, the one that beamed when he watched her pull him to wherever she wanted to take him. As they opened the doors up the rooftop, already the helicopter’s propellers were whirring. She’d call them before she arrived, of course. She was too excited to waste any more time.

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

Then they soared, to such heights unexplainable.

-----

MASTERLIST |  3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

-----

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[melofanish]

Hope In Starry Eyes

Summary: It's a perfect moment, TK decides, and that's why he's going to ruin it. He doesn't deserve perfect — not yet. There are a thousand other ways to do this, but as his fingers dig into the tendons of Carlos' neck, he feels a shadow of a barrier between them. And while he knows that it's probably all in his head, he doesn't want to risk the off chance that it's real. He's not ready to lose this. He's not going to let Carlos go.

"Listen, about the other blowup at the firehouse."

You guessed it, another S02E12 Coda/Fix-It

TK isn't a bad guy in here, he's just full of regret and remorse and guilt. And he wants to apologise.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Mentions of that fight, deep emotional feelings, loads of regret, remorse and guilt.

Characters: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Mentioned Gabriel Strand, Mentioned Owen Strand

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Difficult conversations, Mentioned pushing, Spoilers for S02E12, Carlos Deserved an apology, so I gave him an apology.

Word Count: 4524

Beta: The wonderful @lire-casander. This woman had re-read this fic so many times, I don't know how she didn't lose her mind. She's a queen who has held my hand through every up and down,, and I'm forever grateful.

Author Note: There are references and mentions of the fight, but it isn't explained in detail. It doesn't delve into TK's thoughts at the moment, only the aftermath and resulting emotions.

I understand that this has caused a myriad of discourse and arguments, but please respect that this is my own view of it, and it's of my own projections and how I think I'd react and deal with it — me being Carlos in this situation.

~~~

There's a tension that lays heavy on TK's shoulders, tightening around his torso and constructing his breath with every step he takes. It wraps around his chest and squeezes the comfort and security that he should be surrounded with out of his very bones.

He's feeling the events from the day weigh down on his soul — the firehouse blowing up, the shift from hell — and going back to his own house is only adding to the stress. He shouldn't feel this torn apart about going home, but he is.

Every step feels like he's walking on eggshells; careful and timid.

He's come bare, bag and belongings left back at the now blown-up firehouse — the locker rooms hadn't been affected, but everything in the firehouse is being investigated. All he has left with him is his keys, and only because they were already in his pocket. He gets to the front door, pausing with said keys ready between his fingers, giving himself a moment to calm down.

To a degree, he knows he has nothing to worry about, that there's no need to freak out. Objectively, he knows that they're alright, he knows Carlos said he forgave him. But between the firehouse blowing up, and his own mind, he's been fried thin, feeling weary and left empty, and as he looks down at his own hands with every deep breath, he remembers how they laid across Carlos' chest, shoving and pushing, over and over again.

Knowing is one thing though, and feeling like he’s walking on thin ice around his boyfriend ever since his outburst is completely different.

Guilt simmers deep in his stomach, as a hot flush of shame runs through his veins, for what must be the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours alone. He's been having the same reaction and rush of emotions all day, every time he remembers what happened, what he did.

He can only imagine how Carlos felt. Pushed by a man that says he loves him. Shoved further and further away until he was cornered with the fire truck at his back. Forced to react, either to defend himself or to de-escalate the situation by using physical force. The fire crew, a group that he opened his home to, watching from far away. Their eyes following as Judd ordered him to leave.

He's starting to get lost in his head, thoughts running wild, the darker side of his mind taking reins, when he hears the beginning of a tune from the other side of the door. It brings him back to reality instantly, back to his feet planted inches away from the door, his hands shaking by his side, his keys rattling between his fingers.

He steps back and takes a deep breath — he wants to make sure he commits to apologizing this time — and allows the exhale to take off some of the tension. He repeats it once, twice and a third time, stopping only when he feels his shoulders slightly drop, and the frowns on his forehead ease.

He's as ready as he ever will be.

With a determined fist, he shoves the key into the keyhole, twists the lock and gets himself inside his house.

The door is barely closed behind him when the sweet smell of chicken spices and soft tunes of a Reggaeton instrumental song immediately reminds him that this is his home, and not just a house. And if he ever had any doubts, the sweet and soft smile that Carlos greets him with is the only reminder he could ever need.

"Hey, babe," Carlos greets him softly, easy words and comforting eyes calling out to him and beckoning him closer. "Hope you came hungry. Just put the chicken into the oven."

TK barely stops for a moment, the action involuntary as his legs carry him deeper into the safety and security of their home. His eyes glance over the dining table, taking notice of the full dinner set-up laid out, complete with the sweet scent of raspberry candles that Carlos absolutely adores.

"What's all this?" TK asks in lieu of a greeting. "You, you didn't have to do all this."

"If my boyfriend's firehouse is going to blow up in the middle of a shift, I'm gonna make the most of it."

TK looks away for a moment, cursing his own mind for not thinking that Carlos would have heard about the explosions. You keep getting hurt, his mind supplies, and it hurts him too. He takes a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away, and instead focuses on the fact that Carlos called him "boyfriend", with as much ease and confidence as he always had.

We're okay, he reminds himself. And yet, the guilt doesn't calm down. If anything, it rages wilder, the dinner and meal set in front of his eyes, both verbal and materialistic proof of his boyfriend's love laid out in front of him. He looks back up to face Carlos, only to find that he's focused on the cutting board, busy chopping away at carrots. He takes the last few steps forward, closing the distance between them, a million words on the tip of his tongue.

As Carlos looks up at him though, eyes sparkling and mouth set in a small smile, TK feels his own mind start to quiet down, and his lips move on their own accord, lifting up into a smile, his eyes drifting to meet the browns of his boyfriend's. He lifts a hand up, laying it on Carlos' shoulder, trailing the muscle up to the back of his neck.

"Hi," he greets, the word a soft breath in the small distance between them.

"Hi," Carlos smiles back.

It's a perfect moment, TK decides, and that's why he's going to ruin it. He doesn't deserve perfect — not yet. There are a thousand other ways to do this, but as his fingers dig into the tendons of Carlos' neck, he feels a shadow of a barrier between them. And while he knows that it's probably all in his head, he doesn't want to risk the off chance that it's real. He's not ready to lose this. He's not going to let Carlos go.

"Listen, about the other blowup at the firehouse."

Continue on AO3

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Rating the Films I've Seen This Term in University In a Completely Arbitrary and Subjective Fashion

Because I'm getting a degree in Film Studies. This is also a recommendations list go watch all the 8/10 or above ones. Also I'm separating these by which module of my uni course I watched them for, with recreational viewings at the end.

Film History:

The Immigrant (Chaplin) 8/10 the funniest and most down to earth Chaplin film I saw this term

Easy Street (Chaplin) 7/10 again very funny but didn't have as much to say imo

City Lights (Chaplin) 6/10 too long I'm sorry I got bored. Also not as funny to me

Strike (Eisenstein) 7/10 communism :)

Battleship Potemkin (Eisenstein) 8/10 communism plus the staircase scene very iconic

M (Lang) 4/10 you could literally skip the middle and you wouldn't miss anything

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (Wiene) 6/10 not my thing but if you like weirdo German horror shit then it'll be your thing. Nice stylisation

Grand Hotel (Goulding) 7/10 if you like old Hollywood glamour you'll like this. Lots of good supporting cast. Entertaining

Bicycle Thieves (De Sica) 8/10 fun and sad but not too sad, a lot of class commentary

Rome Open City (Rossellini) 7/10 based on true stories much much sadder still good tho

Contempt (Godard) 6/10 kinda boring, there's like four characters and barely two storylines, but interesting contextually

Day for Night (Truffaut) 7/10 more entertaining, tragic, big supporting cast, lots of storylines, interesting!

Young Mr Lincoln (Ford) 7/10 honestly better than I thought it'd be ngl

Game Change (Roach) 4/10 I don't care about Sarah Palin

Lagaan (Gowariker) 10/10 the 70 minute cricket match was so fucking worth it and ily if you have seen this. I have all of the songs stuck in my head

The Official Story (Puenzo) 5/10 I get it but also eh

Rojo (Naishtat) 6/10 history

Visual Cultures:

Persepolis (Satrapi) 8/10 brilliant animated work and beautifully adapted from the original graphic novel

American Splendor (Berman and Pulcini) 10/10 made me cry, is very hard to watch in some places, definitely doesn't shy away from difficult topics, again brilliantly adapted from the comics

Spiderman: Into The Spiderverse (Persichetti) 10/10 do I even need to tell you this

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World (Wright) 9/10 Edgar Wright can't write women but he can write a damn good film, go watch it if you haven't but you're on Tumblr so...

Theories for Film Studies:

Rear Window (Hitchcock) 8/10 love a story set in one room

American Psycho (Harron) 7/10 hey did you know that rich people can do crime and get away with it. Or maybe they can't.

Falling Down (Schumacher) 8/10 Joker before Joker. Unfortunately one of those films like Joker and Fight Club where certain men watch it and miss the point completely

King Kong (Cooper and Schoedsack) 1/10 it gets one point for the dinosaurs being cool

Bad Boy Bubby (de Heer) 2/10 I get it and yes it's a decent film but no you didn't have to do any of this actually

Bhaji on the Beach (Chadha) 8/10 girlboss

Paris is Burning (Livingston) 8/10 a good introduction to ballroom culture, there is however a lot of discourse surrounding the director and what her intentions were with making the film so keep that context in mind ig

Bamako (Sissako) 6/10 you need to know a bit of contextual stuff before watching and it's pretty boring but I guess it's kinda moving too

As Good As It Gets (Brooks) 9/10 every kind of prejudice is in this film, still slaps pretty hard tho

The Piano (Campion) 6/10 woman has piano and plays it. yeah

Film Analysis:

Rebel Without a Cause (Ray) 6/10 I had to write an essay on this so it's kinda dead to me but it was alright. Amazing cinematography.

Touch of Evil (Welles) 5/10 sorry Welles this kinda sucked ngl

The Shop Around The Corner (Lubitsch) 9/10 very fun very cute again it's the ensemble cast which did it for me I love them yes yes

Blow Out (de Palma) 9/10 absolute banger film tbh very interesting and made me feel emotions

La Mala Education (Almodóvar) 6/10 kinda cool kinda confusing I get what they were going for. Also the guy from Y Tu Mama Tambien is in this which is cool I love that film...

Recreational Viewings:

The French Dispatch (Anderson) 10/10 fuck yeah I even wrote an editorial piece about it. Beautiful and amazing

Passing (Hall) 5/10 it didn't make me feel the emotions I think it wanted me to feel. It felt quite empty but not in an existential way? I understand the importance of it and the Point of the film but it just didn't resonate

Seven Samurai (Kurosawa) 10/10 I understand why people call this the best foreign language film ever. It was insanely long (3 and a half hours) but I loved every second. A masterpiece.

[zephyrcove]

Prompt: James and Lily at Slughorn's shit party and then they sneak off to snog cause James is irritated and Lily is annoyed about Snape

>3 ILYSM

THANK U FOR THE PROMPT!

read on ao3

“Right then, have fun at your boyfriend’s party Evans!” Sirius called over his shoulder as he left the two of them outside Slughorn’s office, strutting back down the stone hallway whistling a muggle rock song. Having insisted he ‘needed the exercise’, Sirius had escorted them to their party for no apparent reason other than bothering her.

Lily narrowed her eyes at his retreating form and held up a half-hearted middle finger as James chuckled lightly beside her. His warm hand came up to caress hers, pushing down the offensive finger and gripping her palm so they were holding hands. She let out a huff as she stepped closer to him, took his other hand in hers, and tilted her head up towards him, resting her chin softly on his chest as she pouted. 

“Come on love, can’t be the teacher’s pet and not show up to his exclusive dinner. You’re practically the guest of honor. Plus I’ve got to go in and remind Sluggy that you already have a boyfriend. I hear he’s very handsome and good at quidditch AND completely age appropriate.”

“Mm, and humble too,” Lily mumbled into the fabric of his dress robes, feeling his laughter rumble in his chest as he brought a hand up to stroke the back of her head, careful not to tousle the half updo she had coiffed her red curls into for the party. Pressing a kiss to her hairline, James pulled back and tugged on their joined hands, leading a begrudging Lily into Slughorn’s expanded office.

Passing under a sheer drapery, the couple entered the warmly lit room bustling with party-goers. Before the fabric had even settled behind them, shuffling footsteps brought Professor Slughorn to their side.

“Miss. Evans! Thank Merlin you’re finally here. I love getting a moment to chat potioneering outside of class, but it's so terribly dull without a worthy conversationalist such as yourself.” Slughorn resituated the small hat on his head before his eyes fell on James, smiling patiently at Lily’s side.

“Ah, and of course Mr. Potter, good to have you here as well. You are also not too shabby at discussing potions, must be the genes! You’ll have to give your father my regards of course, let him know his products still have my stamp of approval”

James chuckled politely, ruffling his hair and assuring the rotund man that he would pass along the message. “If you don’t terribly mind Professor, I’m going to steal Lily away to grab some refreshments.” 

“Of course, of course, help yourselves! Eat, drink, be merry! Miss Evans–– I expect you to circle back to me later this evening so we can have that scholarly discourse!” Slughorn gave her a mock stern look before returning to his jolly smile.

Lily nodded and smiled back at their teacher as James gave a small wave and began leading her through the room towards a table of hors d'oeuvres. The two of them piled up their cocktail plates with finger food, poking fun at the slightly pretentious offerings as they went along the small buffet, and Lily’s slender fingers darted out to steal the last puff pastry from James’ plate. She popped it into her mouth when he turned back from reaching for the mini tarts and he scoffed playfully at her, eyes glinting as he snatched a fancy looking mince pie from her stack. 

Moving away from the food spread, the couple stationed themselves at one of the high tables draped in mauve fabric and munched on their snacks.

“Lil, I’m going to grab a spot of butterbeer, need a drink?” James slid his plate towards her for her to guard and she smiled back at him.

“Butterbeer sounds brill, thanks.”

He leaned in to press a quick peck on her cheek and headed off, “Back in a mo’!”

As she waited for James to come back with their drinks, Lily took a moment to observe the event. She hadn’t really wanted to go tonight, having been to so many of them over the years and now having a much better option for spending a Saturday evening, but she had to admit there was a certain comforting ambiance to the warm tones of the evening. The firelit room held passionate students and talented witches and wizards and this mix of people was something special and fleeting, especially as graduation approached. She stood leaning her elbows on the raised cocktail table, taking small bites of her tarte and allowing herself to feel the bittersweet reminiscing that had accompanied all of 1977. 

She was shaken from that feeling as she sensed an uncomfortable burning into her from behind. Fisting her hands on the tablecloth, she stood straight, preparing for the worst. Severus inched closer, surrounded by fellow Slytherins and giving her the most confusing look of disgust and concern.

“Snape,.” Lily spoke tersely as he came up to stand across from her.

“Lily. No surprise to see you here, though I could do without your,” he sneered and looked away from her, “companion.”

“Who I associate with is no longer any of your concern Severus. I am not your concern.” She said his name as if it was venom on her tongue. “You made that perfectly clear two years ago.”

“Lily if you would just––”

“If you’re looking for an autograph, Snivellus, I’m afraid you’ll have to move along. It’s my night off.” James’ stony voice carried from behind her as he came up to her side, placing the two butterbeers on their table. His right hand came to rest protectively on the small of her back.

The disdain on Snape’s face looked almost painful as he cast his gaze back at Lily. Her eyes were cold and downcast, no longer deigning to meet his stare. He grunted as he hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms, crumpling the velvet of his slightly outdated dress robes.

“And besides that, I don’t believe Lily has anything to say to you so you should be moving on anyway Snape.” James wrapped his arm around her shoulders as his glare put a crease between his eyebrows.

Snape stood still but his shoulders slumped just slightly, his stare slightly more pained than it had been.

“Hope you enjoy taking out the trash, Potter…” Mulciber spat venomously as the Slytherins continued on deeper into the party. James’ eyes darkened and he moved to step forward, but Lily’s fingers gripped into his forearm and held him in place. Severus trailed behind the other boy and Lily glared at him, her emerald eyes glistening with pain and resentment. He looked to James and spat at his feet before turning to follow his housemates.

James and Lily both let out the breaths they hadn’t realized they’d been holding as the green robes disappeared in the crowd. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head before she pulled back. She glanced at the full cups of butterbeer and in the direction they’d left Slughorn before meeting James concerned, hazel look.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” James asked tentatively, leaving one arm looped behind her and picking up the butterbeer with his free hand. Lily took a deep breath before allowing the corner of her mouth to twitch upwards. She reached for her glass and clinked it against his, meeting his eye as they chugged down the frothy drink. He smiled his patented grin as he intertwined their hands and sped them towards the exit, stealthily avoiding Slughorn, who was deep in conversation with a willowy, older witch right by the door.

As they tumbled out into the corridor they both laughed breathily and Lily’s slingback heels clacked on the stones as they tore away from the office, still holding hands in the candle-lit hallway. Following James’ calculated twists and turns, tethered by her hand clenched in his, Lily followed until she was tugged abruptly into an alcove she hadn’t been aware of.

A single white candle illuminated the small room behind the tapestry, woven in Ravenclaw blue and blocking James and Lily from the main hall. Her back met the cold wall as James perched over her, his forearms pressed to the stones above her head. Their breaths mingled between them as they slowly inched towards each other and their lips crashed together. Biting her bottom lip gently, James coaxed a sigh from her and Lily smiled as she reached one arm up to wrap behind his head, fingers curling into his hair. James hummed against her mouth before moving downwards to give the dip between her neck and her shoulder some much appreciated attention. 

“James,” she breathed out as he nibbled lightly on the side of her neck. “James.”

He pulled away just slightly so he could meet her eyes, his face flushed and his eyes glinting. Lily brushed his cheek with the tips of her fingers and looked back at him, her gaze all-consuming. “I–Thank you.”

James chuckled and his glasses slid just barely down the bridge of his nose as he shook. Crooking an eyebrow playfully but with a sincere question in his eyes. “For what?”

Her eyelashes fluttered as he exhaled breathily against her cheek. “For… for coming to this stupid party with me. For not starting anything with Snape. For sneaking me away from the party. For… everything, really.”

Lily pressed a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, “You’re just my favorite person. So thank you.”

James wrapped his arms around her so his hands overlapped behind her back, pulling her tight to him. Her cheek pressed into his chest as she tucked into his embrace. “I lo––” he started but then paused and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t tell Sirius, but you’re my favorite person too.”

“Well I rather hope so,” Lily replied, cheeks flushed from the words not yet said and voice slightly muffled by James’ robes. “Wouldn’t want to be snogging someone in a secret room who only thinks I’m so-so.”

The rumbling in his chest was warm and familiar as he laughed with her sharp retort. James tilted her chin up with his knuckle and replied, “Nah, Evans. You’ve always been extraordinary.”

[hb-writes]

The Audit

Summary: It’s 1924 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara and Finn make their annual visit to their mother’s grave.

Inspired-ish by this request: Also do the family celebrate her mums birthday? I think it would be a nice occasion where they celebrate her birthday and it’s nice for the twins especially whilst the boys are away polly makes a thing of it. ( I know nothing like this happens on the show, but I think they should) xxx

AN: So while I don’t think the family would celebrate her birthday, and actually find it painful to talk about her most times, I could see Finn and Clara sharing a little tradition like I’ve written about below. It’s not quite what you’ve asked for, but I hope you still like it!

Featuring: Finn Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Shelby!Mother

-----

Clara’s mind was settled on approximately seven things aside from the path she walked along, paying more mind to the questions in her head than the cobblestones at her feet. Truth was Clara had little need to pay attention to where she was going. She was far more familiar with the cemetery and it’s surrounding landscape than she was comfortable with, having buried far too many in her relatively short life. 

“You’re late.” 

Finn flicked his cigarette away, startling his sister as she glanced up from the pavement. He pushed off the pillar he’d been leaning up against, the entrance a sad excuse for a welcome, composed of no more than two crumbling stone columns and a rusted wrought iron gate.

Clara pulled her coat tighter, frowning as she stepped closer to her brother. “Tommy came back early, said he wanted me to go through some things with him before the… I suppose it doesn’t…” Clara took a breath and met Finn’s eye. “I’m sorry.” 

Finn shook his head, closing the remaining distance to pull her into a hug, his chin easily fitting over the top of her head. They hadn’t seen each other for a stretch of time, both of them overly occupied by the vastly different bits of life that customarily kept them apart, the Blinder duties and generally reckless adventures for Finn, and the Shelby Company Ltd. duties, and school, and family business for Clara. It was the recklessness that usually brought them together, the pair accustomed to passing at least a few evenings a week up to nothing particularly good. But with half the family locked away, they’d all had to step up. While Finn found getting up to nonsense revitalizing, Clara had been too busy for it, and far too tired aside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he offered, settling his arm around her shoulder as they walked the familiar route from the entrance to their mother’s grave. “At least it’s not raining again this year.” 

Clara allowed herself a light snort, conceded a small smile as she leaned into her brother because there’d been more rainy cemetery visits over the years than not. Clara knew her brother didn’t care for the annual trip quite as much as he used to, had an inkling that he found it a bit asinine now compared to when they were kids, just a couple of orphans grasping onto a handful of wispy memories of a woman they knew very little about. That described them even still. 

If Clara was being honest, she found it all a bit silly too, but the ‘do we or do we not?’ of the occasion was never a discussion between them. The only discourse they ever had on the subject, always initiated by Finn about a week ahead out of custom, was in establishing a time they’d both be available on her birthday. 

It had been nearly ten years now that the twins had been coming to their mother’s grave and although they’d never told the others, never asked for a sibling’s accompaniment or gave a hint as to what they were both doing sneaking off on their mother’s birthday, Clara had a feeling they all somehow knew. 

It was why when not an hour before, as she grew antsy, repeatedly shaking out her wrist to check the time while she sat perched on the edge of Tommy’s desk, something shifted in him. Tommy simply asked his questions about the books and let her go, wordlessly accepting her answer of ‘out with Finn. He’ll bring me home’ when he asked where she was heading off to. 

Visiting their mother’s grave usually felt a bit like ringing in a new year but with less of the flair and celebration. Maybe an annual audit was a more apt description, seeing as Clara and Finn kept a ledger, a nondescript notebook stashed in the nightstand of Clara’s bedroom at the Watery Lane house, accessible to them both, though Clara would argue that Finn had more access to the archive now than she did, being as he stayed over on the lane much more often. 

Still, neither of them was likely to touch the book between visits to the cemetery, more likely was it that the ledger passed their minds only in the week or so before their mother’s birthday, and even then, neither of them was apt to do more than think on what they’d be marking down, mentally preparing themselves for the occasion, ensuring things went smoothly. 

The book came with rules, a certain etiquette that went unspoken between the two of them from conception to practice. The implicit secrecy of the whole thing, and the way they constricted their documentation to a particular day and place had been precedents set from the start. They’d only write while at the cemetery, while in their mother’s supposed presence, and there were limits on what was documented, the format decided nearly a decade prior, each of the entries nearly identical in configuration though the content varied. 

Finn and Clara recorded what happened in the preceding year, took an audit between the two of them of anything new they learned about the woman, and made a few promises to themselves and each other, intentions expressed just between the two of them. The words held no true pressure for realization, just an assurance of support from the other in the case they chose to move forward. 

This year felt different to them both as they’d prepared though, a bit forlorn and detached and impossible, what with Arthur and John and Michael and Polly locked away, and Ada in America, and Esme and Linda barely speaking with the lot of them, allowing the twins a bit of connection for little more than the sake of the babies, and on the order of their husbands. 

Clara had, on a fair few occasions, pondered what their mother would think of their situation, of Arthur and John locked away, of Clara feeling a bit that way herself while her twin brother was left to flounder, feeling lost and redundant as Tommy did what he did, all of his moves in the name of the family he’d allowed to take the punishment for his sins, and all while Ada played at being a neutral party from a continent away.

They went through the motions without discussions, Finn helping Clara to settle the blanket she always brought and taking a sip from the thermos of nearly cold tea while she found the pen and the appropriate page. 

“Shall we review?” Clara asked, glancing at the page as she marked the year at the top in bold loopy script, 1924. 

Finn took his time with another sip, prolonging the silence with an exhale and with the pen held still against the page Clara trembled, taking no care to pretend that it was only from the cold. 

“She’d be ashamed,” Finn finally said and though Clara nodded, she wasn’t entirely sure of what her brother meant. There was far too much she could be ashamed of. 

Would she be ashamed that her sons and sister-in-law and nephew were criminals of the worst sort? Murderers?

Would she be ashamed that her once sweet, doting Thomas had ordered it all and let the others take the blame? 

Would she be ashamed of the twins? Of their lack of action in the face of the others’ plight?

Despite wanting to fight Finn, despite wanting to say that they didn’t know their mother well enough to say how she would feel, or that they didn’t know Tommy’s plans well enough to decide either way, Clara knew Finn was a bit right, so she swallowed her retort. No mother would wish this for her children, or at least, Clara liked to think that their mother would never wish for this.

And anyway, Clara often questioned those very things herself, pondered if she had put up enough of a fight to Tommy, analyzed at length whether she and Finn and Ada had been too forgiving of it all, but then she thought what choice did they have? Tommy was all they had now, and even if Polly hadn’t been locked away in Winson Green or Ada hadn’t gone off to Boston, Clara didn’t know if she was capable of not forgiving her brother. 

She hoped a certain part of her mother would be proud of her, proud of the advanced education she’d received, proud of Clara’s love of stories, and content with the kindness and loyalty she showed to her family, despite it all. 

Clara took a sip of the tea, grimacing as the cool liquid hit her tongue. 

“Did you learn anything new?” she asked.

Clara hadn’t. The information about their mother, the little anecdotes, usually came so organically, in moments when one of the twins reminded a sibling of some long forgotten trait of hers or when someone was feeling just the right bit of nostalgic, but it had been a busy year, filled with the death and misery and arrests, and very little else. 

Finn’s answer came with the slight shake of his head and Clara felt the same difficult swallow as her brother, her eyes growing wet though she’d told herself she wouldn’t allow it. She’d be strong for Finn today, and for Tommy and Ada and John and Arthur, too.  

Clara took care as she set the thermos down, a small whimper breaking when Finn took her hand. “She’d be proud of you though.”

Clara coughed and cleared her throat. 

“Proud of us,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Something in Finn’s face shifted though he kept his hold on both her hand and her eyes. Clara knew Finn didn’t truly believe it. The sentiment barely registered with him, and she knew that her brother thought that if he had just run a bit quicker, or shouted a bit louder, he could have saved Arthur and John from the current reality. She knew it because despite everything, she similarly held onto the imprisonments, John’s and Arthur’s and Michael’s, like they were her own, like she’d been the one to put them in the cell even if she’d been innocent aside from serving as a bit of fuel to the fire.

Clara put a dash beside the spot she’d designated for the new information and jotted out a few lines below. 

“I think this covers the updates.” Clara turned the book towards Finn. “Is there anything...?”

 Finn shook his head as he glanced at the information she’d inputted, the neutral bullet points that described the past 365 days honest enough though they were far from agreeable. 

“Goals?” Clara asked.

Finn scoffed as she said it and fished out his pack of cigarettes. “You mind?” 

Clara shook her head, watching as he lit the cigarette and took a long draw from it, scoffing again as he looked at her. 

“You know what I wish for?” Finn said, using his cigarette to point at her the same way Tommy often did. “What I long for?” 

Clara shook her head. 

“Nineteen fucking fourteen,” he said.

Clara felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought. 1914. Things had been simpler then, lighter, but Clara only remembered 1914, and the tenderly memorialized years that care before it, like mere glimpses of a distant life. She remembered bedtime stories and the one-off moments that had frightened or surprised or somehow otherwise wormed inside her psyche but she’d not give up the decade between just to go back. 

“I’ll just take having everyone home,” Clara answered. 

“That all?” Finn asked, shaking his head at her. “Can’t believe it would be. I imagine you’re wanting highest marks and employee of the month and a new horse an--”

“That’s what’s most important,” Clara answered, nodding a few times to settle it in her mind. “Fuck the marks and Tommy’s accounting ledgers. I’d just like them all home.” 

Finn smiled. “And I’d like for them to take us seriously for once,” he said. “It’s only Esme who ever really listens.”

“Yeah, cause she’s not an idiot,” Clara said. “And cause she’s nearly the youngest in her own family. She knows what a shit hand it is.” 

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t know much about that,” Finn said. “It’s you who’s the baby.”

Clara shook her head, a smile on her face despite the words she offered. “Fuck off, Finn.” 

Finn smirked at his sister. “Come now, Clara. We’re sitting on mum’s grave, on her birthday of all days, and you’ve gone and cursed twice in less than a minute. What’ll she think of us?”

“It’s been quite a fucking year, Finn. I think she’ll understand.” 

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Quite a fucking year.” 

Finn watched, quiet as his sister etched two words into the bottom of the page, the twins’ wishes for the next year summed up with two simple words, home and respect. 

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

-----

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ @ohhersheybars​ @pollyrepents​ @unicorndetective22

[psychedelic-ink]

This is my commission for @smol-fatale ! Sorry for the delay, I had to work on this a bit longer then I anticipated since the ones I wrote before never felt right :’) Thank you so much for commissioning me and letting me post it! I hope you enjoy this!

Pairings: Chiara (OC) x Sanji , Zoro x Sanji (established relationship) , Sanji x Chiara x Zoro (implied) 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: After Chiara sacrifices herself and gets injured, Sanji is angry that she would put herself in harms way without thinking about the consequences. 

Commissions | Ko-Fi

Chiara gritted her teeth as her eyes darted between the marines who surrounded both her and Usopp. Honestly, they were just supposed to get a couple of supplies and return to the ship, it wasn’t supposed to be a life or death situation. Sure, maybe she was over exaggerating, this wasn’t the first time they were surrounded by marines but the amount of the soldiers just seemed to be unend this time. How long were they supposed to fight these fools? 

Quickly her gaze went from the soldiers and to Usopp, she could tell that he was thinking the same thing as her. The sniper sighed and pulled down his goggles. He shot a quick glance at her. 

“Let’s try to make an opening,” he said as he pulled out his trusty slingshot. “And run for it when we do.” 

“Aye aye.” 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

Chiara groaned as she felt herself being laid on a bed. By the smells alone she could tell that she was in the sick bay. Feeling two hooves holsting her shirt up, Chiara tried to remember what had happened. The last thing she remembered was fighting a shit ton of marines with Usopp, then...a bullet shot, but it wasn’t aimed at ther it was aimed at the sniper. 

“What happened, Usopp?” Chopper’s worried voice reached her ears. 

“W-We…” he stuttered, sounding equally distraught. “We were fighting marines, I don’t know how they found us but there were so many of them...one of them fired and she pushed me out of the way.” 

“Did she get cut anywhere, do you know?” 

“It should be just the bullet wound.” 

Oh, so that’s what happened. 

“Alright, you can leave Usopp, I’ll let you guys know when I’m done.” 

Chiara felt Chopper put something plastic over her nose and mouth, her eyes fluttered as she was lulled into a deep slumber. 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

When Chiara came to her senses, her whole body ached. Tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, her eyes darted to the bedside table in hopes to find a glass of water. But in addition to finding a pitcher full of crystal clear water, she also found Sanji sitting next to her. He hadn’t noticed that she was awake, his eyes were glued to the side and he was shaking his leg furiously. He bit his bottom lip and Chiata recognized the signs of withdrawal. Has he been here long enough to crave a smoke so bad? 

“Oh you’re awake.” 

Sanji noticed her gaze on the pitcher and quickly filled her a glass of water, he helped her straighten up and placed the glass on her chapped lips. Normally, she would’ve just snatched the glass away from him and done it herself, but her arms felt too weak to actually do such a thing. 

The water was soothing as it went down her throat, with big gulps Chiara finished the glass in seconds. Sanji placed the glass back on the table and held the pitcher. 

“Do you want another glass?” 

“No,thanks.” 

Sanji removed his hand from the pitcher and started to tweak at the ends of his shirt. Chiara could sense something was off, but to be honest something always was off when the two of them were alone. She could tell there was something bothering him, something that he itched to just say. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked instead. 

“Better.” she replied simply. 

“Good.” 

“Just spit it out Sanji.” 

This seemed to take him by surprise. His only visible brow was raised as his eyes widened. The cook sighed and leaned back into the chair, scratching the back of his head, he stared at the ceiling. 

“Why did you jump in front of a bullet?” 

Chiara, her eyebrow raised with visible confusion, shot him a puzzled look. Sanji was unaware of this as he continued to stare at the ceiling, his leg still bobbing up and down. 

“I didn’t jump in front of it just for the fun of it you know,” she replied, slightly agitated. “If I hadn’t done that Usopp would’ve gotten shot.” 

“How is it better if you get shot?” 

Sanji had lowered his gaze back to her. Her eyes were cold and pierced through her. She started to sweat and her pulse quickened. Chiara was surprised that her body reacted so strongly towards a look, especially a look that Sanji gave her. She swallowed. Her mind scanned along all the things she could reply with and none of them felt like something the cook would be happy to hear and none of them held any consolation. But lucky her, Sanji continued to talk. 

“You shouldn't just sacrifice yourself like that,” his voice now raised a bit. “Usopp’s body can handle it, you’re a wo—” 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Chiara cut him off before he could finish. “I am so sorry Sanji,” she snapped rolling her tongue. “I’m not going to let one of my crewmates get shot instead of me because I’m a “woman”.” 

“You could’ve died!” he snapped back, his brow visibly twitching with anger. 

“Usopp could’ve died too!”  

“He should’ve been protecting you, not the other way around!” 

“What do you care, just leave me alone.” 

Chiara’s voice had grown eerily low, almost like a whisper. She sounded cold and her words were like weapons. Sanji had visibly stepped back with that, his leg finally stilling as he got up. He didn’t look at her, turning around, his heart felt heavy in his chest. 

“Fine, get well soon.” 

Chiara let her head fall back against the wall, staring at the sealing, tears stung the corner of her eyes. Why did he have to make everything so complicated for her? She was confused, confused as to why she felt so hurt, so angry. Whenever they were alone she ended up feeling so undeniably naked and bare in front of him. She had no right to feel this way and she certainly had no right to make Sanji feel like that as well. 

The door closed and she let out a long sigh. 

When was everything going to stop being so complicated? 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

After the incident everything was pretty much normal except for Chiara’s and Sanji’s relationship. Their friendship was already on thin ice but after their discourse it seemed like even that fell under water. They never talked, only if they had to, no one really seemed to notice but Chiara’s mental state was suffering. Despite being angry at the cook’s misogynistic words that she should be protected just because she was a “woman”, she did miss talking to him. 

Sanji had seemed to crawl into a shell as well, he seemed more dependent on Zoro. Sure, he would still flatter the females of the ship with countless desserts and sweet words but something was off in the way he did it. Chiara saw the two men fade into the back of the ship and converse for what seemed to take hours. Chiara was curious but then again she couldn’t really say anything. But the fact that she could so clearly feel Sanji’s distraught made her feel even worse. 

The days continued to go on like this, Sanji avoiding any kind of contact with her and her doing the same, only looking at him when his back was turned or during combat. He didn’t seem to notice any of it. It seemed like he was only focused on not bothering her in any way. 

And now Chiara sat among Nami’s tangerine trees, listening to the leaves rustled and taking in deep breaths of the citrus smell. She was trying to clear her mind, if such a thing was possible, and maybe try to figure out a way to fix everything. 

“Hey,” 

Chiara jolted and turned her head towards the voice. Zoro appeared between the leaves, he had a gentle smile on his face as he stared down at her. Chiara pulled her knees close to her chest and averted her eyes with a pout. She heard Zoro sigh and sit down next to her, cross legged. 

“You can avoid the cook forever you know?” he said and she could feel his gaze staring into her soul. 

“I know that,” Chiara mumbled. “I just don’t know how to talk to him, he makes me so angry.” 

“I get that, he pisses me off too.” 

Chiara shifted her gaze to Zoro, she was curious as to why Zoro was actually here, talking to her. To be honest Chiara always admired the swordsman and always felt some sort of closeness, she couldn’t quite name it and opted to call it an admiration of strength and level headedness. 

“He was really worried about you,” he continued, locking his dark eyes with hers. “I don’t agree with what he said, but believe me that he wasn’t trying to upset you.” 

“Well yeah I know that much,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But does his intentions really excuse his weird ass behaviors?” 

Zoro chuckled, “Well...no but you two could at least talk about it. You two might seem opposite from each other but you’re more similar to him than you think.” 

“Is that so?” 

Chiara’s mind faded into her own thoughts. It didn’t seem like Zoro was going to elaborate on what similarities they had. Maybe he wanted her to figure it out on her own? Or maybe he just wanted her to talk it out with Sanji. Chiara didn’t quite know how that conversation would go but then again she trusted Zoro and his views. If Sanji was bothered about the situation enough that Zoro felt like he had to intervene, the situation really must be dire. 

But then again she really wouldn’t know what to say so she decided to be straightforward. 

“What should I say to him?” 

Zoro thought for a bit as he looked off into the distance, then shrugged. 

“Just be honest.” 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

A week had passed since her conversation with Zoro. Chiara really wanted to talk with him but her overthinking and the fact that Sanji was avoiding her, as kindly as he could, made it difficult for her to catch him alone. 

Finally as a last resort she decided to ambush him while it was his turn to be on the lookout. She climbed up the crows nest as silently as she could, and gently creaked the door open. Chiara couldn’t help but smile when she saw Sanji looking out with a soft blanket around his broad shoulders. 

He flinched at the sound and turned around, Chiara couldn’t tell if he was relaxed or nervous to see her. 

“Hey,” she began, closing the door after her. “Whatcha doing?” 

Sanji gifted his gaze back to the window and continued to watch the horizon. 

“Lookout.” he said nonchalantly. “You?” 

“I…” Chiara quickly made her way and sat down next to him. Sanji stiffened but didn’t oppose to the fact that their shoulders were touching. “I wanted to talk.” 

“About what?” 

“Us.” 

That seemed to snap Sanji out of his trance. He looked at her, wide eyed and his eyes quickly scanned her features as he tried to understand if she was serious or not. His over the top reaction made Chiara sight and contemplate whether Sanji was ready or not to have such a conversation. Her eyes fixated on the floor she attempted to get up. 

“You know what, never mi—!” 

Before she could fully stand up, however, a strong grip took a hold of her wrist and pulled her back down. Chiara let out a groan as she fell back to the ground right next to Sanji, he was looking at her with a piercing gaze, seeming much more calm than before. 

“What did you want to talk about?” 

Sanji let go of her wrist and Chiara took in a sharp breath, startled. She pulled her knees up to her chest and directed her gaze towards the sea. 

“I think we’ve been misunderstanding each other and... I want to stop.” Sanji stood in silence, prompting her to go on. “It’s just… I hate it when you act as if I can’t be strong because I’m a woman but in reality I am strong and it pisses me off that you can’t see that-” 

Sanji cut her off, “I know you’re strong, it’s just… I was worried and hate it when you do stuff without giving a second thought of what might happen to you.” 

Chiara wasn’t ready to hear how Sanji’s voice trembled. Her eyes wide, they shifted back to him. The cook was staring directly at her with a pained expression. A knot forming in her throat, she swallowed. She wasn’t the type to think about herself when someone she cared for was in danger and she never thought that self sacrifice could so easily hurt another. 

“I…” 

Chiara was lost of words, gazing into each other's eyes, they inched closer without even knowing. The blanket that Sanji had laid across his shoulders pooled to the floor, the ship gently swayed them, she felt as if she was put into a trance. 

Then Chiara felt Sanji’s lips. 

It was soft, tender and full of love. Then Zoro’s words echoed in her jumbled up thoughts “just be honest” , the swordsman wasn’t talking about being honest with Sanji but to herself. She felt so afraid to be vulnerable in front of people, in front of them for the longest time. But truth be told, maybe she had fallen for two men instead of one. 

Sanji’s the one to break the kiss, his gaze immediately shifting to the floor. Chiara could read the traces of regret all over his face. 

“I’m sorry.” he quickly muttered, his fingers ghosting over his lips. “I wasn’t supposed to do that.” 

“It’s...okay,” she took in a shaky breath. “It was nice.” 

“Do...do you have a crush on me?” 

The question caught her a bit by surprise but she couldn’t help but smile at his shy tone. A hint of pink decorated his cheeks. 

“I do but...I’m a bit confused since it seems I might like Zoro as well.” 

“We actually talked about that.” 

Chiara shot Sanji a confused look, the cook was quick to explain what they had been discussing with the swordsman and apparently they had been discussing it for a while. Zoro liked her too but wanted both Sanji and her to work it out before they proposed anything. Chiara was both happy and worried. She didn’t want to disturb their already established relationship and...to be frank she felt like she was a mess. Way too much to deal with. 

“I don’t want to come in between you two,” she voiced out her thoughts. “I don’t want to disturb anything.” 

“You won’t.” Sanji replied, quickly. “We both care for you Chiara. Both of us and you care about both me and Zoro right?” 

“Y-Yeah.” 

Sanji pulled her into an embrace, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. 

“You don’t have to answer right now, we can talk to Zoro before you decide anything.” 

Chiara nodded, happy that she could talk to both of them. After weeks of silence from Sanji, they were finally talking again. Realized that there was something more to share then friendship. 

Chiara was excited of what the future held. 

[sunareii]

petrichor — rintarou s.

suna rintarou x fem!reader

sypnosis: suna was grown to hate everything within the castle or most likely everything else but when a simple commoner came into the picture.. well.. tags: royal au, TRAGICALLY RUSHED ENDING, fluff and a little angst sunareii is writing . . . this has been in my drafts for almost a month and decided to finish it despite hating it halfway but since it was already in 3k words i had too. i'll proofread this later, i'n tired and in need of shower

word count: 4.3k

suna was never fond of big parties or parties in general, there were countless of times where he told his parents, the king and queen, that there are no need to have some lavish gatherings for something so simple as his own birthday

the two majestys however couldn't fathom of how could their own son that they raised isn't accustomed to the events they hold yearly despite the fact they've been doing that before he was even born

well, maybe because they aren't the ones who practically raised him, the long-time servant of theirs took genuine care for him as a child and as a adolescent more then his parents could possibly give.

suna was never fond of big parties or parties in general, there were countless of times where he told his parents, the king and queen, that there are no need to have some lavish gatherings for something so simple as his own birthday

the two majestys however couldn't fathom of how could their own son that they raised isn't accustomed to the events they hold yearly despite the fact they've been doing that before he was even born

well, maybe because they aren't the ones who practically raised him, the long-time servant of theirs took genuine care for him as a child and as a adolescent more then his parents could possibly give.

he could only frown as he hears the heavy doors swung open from his upstairs bedroom, which was seven floors away from the ballroom where the celebration was being held. at that point he doesn't even desire to celebrate his date of birth if it were to be as mediocre as this. royal gatherings are always so extravagant, too extravagant yet so uninteresting and repetitive, why even waste the time and effort someone worked hard for?

suna rolled his eyes as he finally reached the ballroom and sat down on his own throne. the entire room was covered in gold decorations, chandeliers that only ever bright in a occasion such as this, the guests wore ravashing gowns and suits with silver rings as if they're the host(tess). a few rustles can be heard from the guests then the enormous door slam shut everyone became silent and the day begins but first a long unnecessary speech from the king.

'is the twenty foot tall entrance mandatory for every palace is there?'              he thought to himself

ting ting ting ting

his father who sat beside him created a noise, loud enough to get everybody's attention with the use of his steel fork and well-made glass just for him. suna grunted silently at him before the king stood up and spoke "welcome and thank you all for coming, we are incredibly delighted for you to be able to come at our only son or as you may know prince rintarou's seventeenth birthday"

suna could feel his father eyeing him in the side as if saying that he should have been the one to speak at that moment, but then why would he be taking responsibility when he didn't wanted this party to begin with

suna shifts his body on the seat uncomfortably as his father continues his fabricated discourse. no, suna was certainly not happy of them coming, how many times does he have to say it? the prince gawped at every side of the room to see many familiar faces, he could only deadpan repulsively—if that's even a thing—the guests looked far too chummy in spite of not even being in a deep relation with his family. suna wanted nothing but to run away from everything.

"yer look down in the dumps for your birthday" atsumu started to babble, his booming of a voice resonates moderately at the empty halls, the only hall that's completely clear, no noisy pigs or bodyguards whatsoever

"yeah, atleast you don't have to share your birthday with this idiot" osamu groused eating the pudding he unquestionably slipped with him, "hey! where did ya get that?" ginjima asked, suna wouldn't confess this to anyone but he particularly like time like these where he doesn't have to use any baffling mannerism along with some close acquaintances that couldn't care less of how he talks.

however unlike the three close acquaintances he doesn't have any brawny accents, suna sighs deeply before looking at them in the eye, "isn't it obvious, the parties get boring overtime, not like it was already boring to begin with" he explains

"and the champagnes got old too, don't they have anything else to drink?" ginjima questions "what's a champagne?" atsumu bewildered "i like parties, one of the only times i get 'ter eat delicious food" "yeah, cause ma puts ya in a healthy diet especially when you started sneaking in some baked goodies from a commoners bakery" osamus twin said who got sunas senses and attention all to atsumu, unbeknownst to him.

"how'd ya find a way to get out, we literally share the same room"

"ever found out yer a deep sleeper?"

"so ya ran away at night then!"

"i wouldn't say 'ran away'"

"the bakery is open even after hours? "

"nah, i made a deal with the baker, he's a good man i'm tellin' ya"

"do you have a royal guard with ya? ya could have been killed not that i would care but— "

"unlike you 'tsumu i am an independent prince, thank you very much!" "and yer exchange his food for what?"

"golds, hundred of them if you have to ask"

"like ma and pa would let ya have that much"

"who said they let me have 'em in the first place?"

"... you didn't!"

"i did!"

"i'm disappointed osamu, thought yer were the better twin" ginjima shakes his head in dissatisfaction.

"see, 'samu? you're a disappointment, snitching in some riches from ma when you possibly know better! just wait 'till aran and even kita hears about this!"

"what'r ya? a tattletale little brat!?"

"let's go back there so i could tell ma ya've been stealin and get yer ass grounded!"

"wait-!" suna cuts in as the blond twin stood with his left foot forward ready to disclose information and see his brothers downfall.

"what is it suna?"

"... you look stupid today" suna says before walking away, leaving atsumu rather astonished in a way. "told ya green tunic doesn't suit ya"

"the least you could do is give lady shiozaki a bit of courtesy" his father taunts at him, pointing at him as if accusing him of something vile, take osamus thieving for example. suna knows that by courtesy he meant kiss the top of her hand, his face grimace at that as his father puts his finger down looking at him with a offended look,

'it's my birthday, if anything they could kiss my— '

"rintarou!" his father shouted in rage, even the platters and cups on the table that laid so still tottered from the kings petty action

"you— you ungrateful child!"

"what did i do?" suna questions, his face stays in a blase even when the royal whatever is about to erupt like a volcano after years in the waiting line

"rintarou, my dear.." the mother finally has spoken through all the sore talk of a father and his son. "you're way too nonchalant but heedless" she says softly like a woman singing a lullaby to her baby, but suna is no baby

to make long story short, the father could only threw a fit as he watched his son, nod at his complaints with an expected apathetic look that irked the king of a guy even more than before, provoked he sends suna to go to his room and lock him there 'till he learns his lessons 'cause you know, parenting 101 logic and stuff.

they wouldn't know but suna is peeved at all completeness and abundance of insignificant orders, sweet cakes that now tastes like stale bread and bogus geniality that even he, had done formerly to many suna would have fought him if he wanted too but he just couldn't bring himself to do it because of hallow reasons

but that didn't matter, he watches from outside as he sees his father soothes himself whilst with his wife brush his hand, trying to cool him down most likely. yes, instead of being in his bedroom he's out there off the foot of the castle grounds. unfortunately for him though, he didn't had the chance to grab any lantern's or candles for him to use as the sun plummet and the blue moon had took a rise.

'now what' he says to himself, there were barely even stars to guide him his way tonight but only the dusky moon ray could help him. he figured it's enough to accompany him for the night since he didn't have any sort of options. he walks forward to southeast with the knowledge that it has the nearest town he could go to before sunrise, atleast he hopes so.

he trails down the bulky grounds of the forest, allowing the eerie sounds of calm or danger to surround him. now's the only time that he begun to contemplate what will he do once he gets to his destination, start a new life maybe or go back after.

'no, i'm sure father eh.. knights will come fetch me soon after they realize i was gone, sadly.. '

the dark element of the skies covered the rain to watch for, thus suna's taken by surprise, the forest surely didn't have any hut or any of the kind, so he lets the droplets patter around him, from his hair down to his chest the raindrop go.

he sits down by the old tree that slope downward, he exhales deeply from frustration, 'i couldn't even go as far as this, the guards probably notice my absence by now and—’  his thoughts were cut off short by a flicker of light coming from behind him.

"there it is! i knew you'd be here!" then came a voice, a figure in the distance not too further away from him moves around in the trees that seems to almost close at them.

"is someone there?" the feminine voice say, the voice sounded silvery-like perhaps fluttery is a better word for it. the girl pulls out her lantern to suna's spot where he sits, the rain grew cold and strong as minutes passes, wind brushed off their exposed skin fiercely. "why are you here all alone, it's dangerous here of all places!" she shouted as she runs towards him not letting the frightening storm throw her body down. "are you okay?" before he could even answer, a tree not that far infront of them went down,falling onto the grass, without letting him answer, she immediately grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the woodland where all sorts of danger could occur

he wakes up with shivering bones, his blanket or what seemed just a rug to him gave him little heat from the cold he was exposed in. "are you awake?" a voice asked in worry, his eyes fixated at the woman infront of him wearing simple dress, length just below her knee along with a stained white apron holding a small basin

'is there two of her?'

he thought as the sight of her doubles suna attempts to stand up but the heat burns his skin all around his body. "you shouldn't stand up yet!" she exclaimed, rushing towards his side, setting the basin to the ground, dipping a piece of cloth before placing it ontop forehead, "you shuld rest then —" her words couldn't be heard anymore as suna could only faint.

subsequently, the fog that enveloped in his head has eased, he's fever isn't gone but he surely gotten better by just a few hours and yet the rain hasn't ceased

"What.. where?" he murmurs rewinding everything that happened the night before. suna finds himself in a strangers house, the living room is combined with the kitchen, no doors or walls to separate both rooms. the living room doesn't have a big fireplace where he used to keep himself warm in during the cold season, there is nothing much to be seen in the kitchen just a few plates and condiments and then a table with a flower vase ontop right by it, suna assumed that that is already the dining area.

he's at the couch with the blanket and wet cloth draped over him, the bowl of water is still beside the him, suna manages to move his arms to take care of himself. just then the door infront of him swings open revealing the same person he saw before, her tangled hair in loose braids that's pinned behind her head, a bit of her hair sticking out of every direction. regardless of her poor housing and clothing suna thought she was pure and alluring

"hi" she greeted rather bashfully

"hello" suna said back with a blank expression

"are you feeling better?" she inquires as she puts the basket she was holding down on the table "better thanks to you" he answers earnestly, she smiles "dont mention it"

"you must be hungry" she says, a bit like a whisper, she starts grabbing the pan and eggs from the basket, getting the stove ready. "no, no. you've done enough, i'm not really that hungry" he claims intensely, but the sound of his stomach grumbling contradicts what he had just said.

she giggles silently before continuing  what she was just doing. the sound of sizzling and occasional water splash engulfs the room, suna proceeds to treat himself 'till when she have finished

"say.. what were you doing out there in the wilds, all alone in the night?"she inquires hesitantly as plates clatter around the kitchen "did you run away?" she asks more

"sort of.."

"here" she says handing him his plate with eggs, bread and pieces of grapes, 'that's a weird match of food' he thoughts but chose to not question it as she already helped him enough already and also because he doesn't have much choice

suna could feel her eyes analyzing him up and down while he eats, growing uncomfortable he stares back

"sorry, i haven't catched your name yet"

"oh.. its..  su..--hibiki.. katsuo"he answers the last minute, he knows that his palace is pretty popular in quite a few places and knowing from some prior experience the person infront of him could give him a threat for money or sell him for ransom which is very unlikely.

his white lie didn't go through and naturally she knew he was lying even so she played along just because.

"i'm y/n l/n, feel free to call me whatever hibiki"

the smile she sent him tug a string to his heart, feeling sheepish with the tense atmosphere around him, they shortly finished their meal.

"y/n, what were you doing there in the middle of the night?" suna asks, the rain slowly winding away as she opens the window from the kitchen side and suna does the other.

"hmm, i lost my house key"

"why would it be in the forest of all places?"

"well, i do pick fruits and berries from trees and such for a living, sometimes i help carry lumber from tree cutters" she explains, tiny droplets of water falling leisurely from her house roof, the rain had passed but on the flip side the clouds are still dyed grey

y/n inhales lively, taking in the good fresh air after the rain. "don't you just love the smell the rain leaves behind?" she asks avidly, suna doesn't know what to say and opted to stay quiet and whiffs the scent y/n was talking about

"do you plan to come back yet, hibiki?"

"uh, no, not really"

"great!" she beams with a smile before walking towards the front door and opening it for him. "you still haven't changed your... quite fancy attire from last night" her words trails down inaudibly as she looks up and down at suna's choice of clothing which was the same dress robe he wore from his birthday partyas

they step foot out of the house, the village is already packed with people. girls chatting, kids playing and men working. the place is productive and conscientious something that his palace guards lack, his bodyguards were anything but a bunch of old drunkards once they have their break and though they are some younger ones just a few years older than him that works as a protector but there's rarely any of them

"hey! daisy, who's that little fella with you?" a elderly man said as they reached a small bakery with great goods. "goro this is hibiki, hibiki this is goro, he owns the bakery shop and has the best one around here" she explains, "well, the others are certainly not all bad" suna has never heard of such a heavy accent before,

'and i thought the twins dialect was the worst'

"so what brings you here today?" goro asked with a deep voice, "he's kinda lost and doesn't have a spare clothes, i was wondering if we could borrow some"

"well of course! happy to lend some help for the new guy, my son has a loads of clothes to spare for a life time!" the mans voice was defeaning to say the least, "haruto can-!" as if his son had already heard him a small pile of clothes is thrown at the stairs that is built just at the side of their house

"here ya go! you can go change at the back room" goro says then another voice chimed in the conversation

"what's the occasion? wearing glamourous outfit in a place like this?" the son sneered as he stood at a narrow terrace attached to the wooden stairs. he looks down at mockingly mocking him for his appearance

"don't let him blow yer gasket" goro says reassuringly while patting his shoulder

"thanks" he deadpans but with a little more emotion than he used to display with his father.

afterwards, y/n gave him a little tour around places, he used to see this small town from his library window pane but diving inside upclose feels alot bigger than he anticipated. saying suna had fun would be an understatement, he feels something larger than just joy.

safety, vulnerability and mostly freedom. he wasn't necessarily held captive inside the castle like the backstory of every damsel in distress, the tables may have turned in this story, the prince who was trained with a sword have been the helpless damsel during the thunderous night whilst dearest y/n being his knight in just a dirty old dress. but what was he gonna do with his sword skills at the stormy evening? battle zeus?

needless to say he doesn't even have his mighty sword with him, how naive.

"when do you plan to go back?" y/n questions randomly at their peaceful stroll back to her residence, "i'm not too sure" he answers back hoping to change the subject.

"your parents are bound to notice your absence being the prince and all" she enunciated casually, suna stops in his tracks

"you.. knew?" he croaked

"from your princely outfit and the place i found you, i stick two and two together"

his mouth curved down in exasperation, his fist clench tightly, his nails almost digging his palms

"your royal highness, i request nothing of you than you might think, to be quite frank i didn't knew how to approach you first-"

"it's okay.. i'm not mad" he soothes with the softet voice he could master, the tight grip of his hands decreased and he exhales slowly to calm himself down

"i mean after today, i never assumed you were the type" and he partially knew his dishonesty was noticeable with just how he stood but he left that part out 'cause he couldn't handle the shame he felt

"are you going back though?" she fretted with a begging tone as if she doesn't want him to go

"do you want me to?" he teased

"no! i mean if you really need too"

"is it okay for me to stay at yours for a little while?"

"of course! you're welcome at my place anytime!" she immediately answered cheerfully

"it just feels nice to have some company again" she mumbles discreetly but suna heard it loud an clear.

and he did stay, longer than he should've, it's like he left his royal crown behind his bedroom and also like his parents have forgotten about him, he learned and loved many knew things such as wood cutting and though he doesn't have much experience but he's working on it

suna had insisted to work for y/n seeing as she was letting him sleep in her house unpaid. he surprisingly have very strong stamina. for most of the week, suna made sure to pay her back for her kindness and hospitality every single day regardless of her resistance

he felt butterflies in his stomach as he recollects the warmth he felt when she suggested him to sleep in the same bed as her and though at first he thought nothing much of it except the berth had little no space between them and he could feel her soft breathing beneath his skin, he possibly spent half the night admiring her face as disturbing as it sounds

oh, and the splinter he had by some means on his first try of using an axe, y/n was there for his aid although it was just a splinter he was bleeding alot. suna had enjoyable memories there and most of it was literally every interaction he has with herhe loves everything about her from her kindess to her boldness even

but of course, suna knew he would be found anytime by now

it was a nice morning whereas suna was alone in the house when suddenly the door bursted open harshly breaking it,

"your royal highness, we have finally located you, the king and queen are worried sick!" the knight explained, "you must return home immediately" he said grabbing into his wrist while suna resisted, "i dont want to!" suna keeps saying but to no avail, the guard buckled him up on the horse between two other guards

this knight was extreme loyal to his father and he follows his commands more than anyone else, suna would admit his father treated him more as a son and loved him more than him but he didn't wanted to leave just yet without seeing her for the last time knowing that he'll most likely forever be locked in the castleand despite suna having to take his fathers place sooner, the knight somehow had power over him.

"let's go back on the road, hiyah!"                                                                    the lead went up into the air before smacking onto his white horse, the animal hurriedly went west eith just one slap of the rope, suna looked back at the city behind him, many people crowded to watch the prince leave their home waving at him merrily presumbly knowing he was royalty all along

suna did wanted to see y/n for the final time however seeing her beside the audiences watching his leave was indescribable, he couldn't tell what she was feeling from the distance he was in but he certainly felt isolated again and so were she. the continuous sound of a horses hoof racing towards sounded annoying to him and he wanted nothing more but to dismount it

when he finally came home he was only greeted by his mother and a few other maid and butlers to welcome him back. of course, what did he expect from his father. suna went straight to his room without a word, his mind stuck to the question of how was she doing and how did the guards found out where he was, she couldn't have told them.. right?

that night is certainly eventful, when suna walks down the corridor to get a little fresh air only to receive a heavy news once he hears his fathers voice from the dining hall talking to his soldiers and it seems to him the king will send them for battle between another kingdom"but his majesty, the king you are aware that we'll also ambush a town with no involvement into this matter”

"they don't matter having to govern an extra land is even better, the decision has been decided the night before, you'll leave within the next minutes and go straight forward to invade the southeast!" he yells, his plan is rather reckless and is relying to brute strength. knowing his father, suna didn't say anything and hides back to his room

thunder strikes loudly ringing his ear as he tries to cautiously open the stable, he could feel the rain slowly dropping one by one by the second, grabbing his horse before he disappears away from the castle.

sad to say, the fighters on both sides have beaten him to it. even with the rainwater going down suna could still make out a bit of smoke from the town

he grips the lead tightly, it's almost unrecognizable, everything was demolished, burned down and he hopes to atleast see someone alive other than the soldiers who was ordered to fight

"y/n!" he screams piercingly and as if on cue lightning struck feets away from him, almost blinding him. instantly making a beeline to her house that was also gone and burned to ashes

suna dismounts his horse and started yelling like he'd lose his voice by tomorrow while also picking up the wooden pieces of the house

"y/n! goro! haruto!"

rather than the sound of thunderbolt like earlier he heard a gunshot that scares off his great horse away to the darkness

"wait-"

in his mind, he knew he was done for when he hears the rapid footsteps towards his direction, then it stops as the person halted catching their breaths but suna couldn't hear them stopping from the heavy rain that's almost drowning his ears. he takes a step back to turn around and face them only to see the face he loves so much

he may have did lost his voice and could only run towards her, their lips touching each other then and there and the place around them is not the most beautiful place to get your first kiss but when the two finally gets who they truly needed nothing else matters

[aredletterday]

change da world. my final message

I believe it’s been about two months since the discourse surrounding Freemance vs. Freehoun started, though I don’t exactly have a great grasp on the passage of time right now. I’ve spoken on this a few times already. Many of my posts on this topic have been born out of deep frustration, and I even left Tumblr entirely for about a week to calm down and gather my thoughts. I’m going to try to lay out a coherent statement on the Freemance discourse and why it has completely changed how I interact with HL content.

I also know that at least one vocal anti-Freemance blog has me blocked, and there are probably many more (which I honestly don’t care about because I blocked many users myself today), which means this post will most likely fall on deaf ears. That’s fine. I just need to speak. EDIT: This also seems like a good opportunity to plug the Freemance charity zine that might be happening?

I was first exposed to Half-Life in late 2018, played the games for the first time in March 2019. So I’m certainly not an original member of the fandom, but I’m not “new” either, per se--at least, not relative to many of the people who have flooded in from the popularity of Half-Life But The AI Is Self-Aware. 

It used to be so quiet around here. There was a new post in the tag maybe once every two or three days. When Half-Life: Alyx came out I had hoped it would revive older members of the fandom and maybe bring in some new ones, and it did--but was quickly overshadowed by the odd success of HLVRAI. I really can’t shy away anymore from the fact that I vehemently dislike most of the people in the HLVRAI fandom. I think a lot of these people are the ones who are starting and continuing unnecessary discourse because they’re young and don’t have anything better to do, or don’t know better (even though they should). 

It is canon that Alyx was around four years old at the time of the Resonance Cascade. It is canon that Gordon was 27. It is canon that Alyx is 24 in Half-Life 2, and, get this, it is canon that Gordon is 27. During the gap between HL1 and HL2, Gordon was in a place that is outside of the normal flow of time, and, therefore, didn’t age at all during that time. This is supported by eli_greeting.ogg: “... My God, you haven't changed one iota! How do you do it?”

Because Alyx was a child while Gordon was working at Black Mesa, I commonly see anti-Freemance people using the idea that Gordon interacted with a young Alyx as a reason the ship is not viable. While this is definitely a valid headcanon to have, it’s just that, a headcanon. In al_imalyx.ogg, Alyx says, “... My father worked with you, back in Black Mesa. I'm sure you don't remember me though.” This would imply that Alyx was such a minor presence (if a presence at all) in Gordon’s life, he wouldn’t even have a reason to remember Eli having a daughter. It could even go as far as to imply that he barely knew Eli. 

There is also a scene at the end of Half-Life: Alyx where Alyx sees the G-man and immediately mistakes him for Gordon. If she had met Gordon as a child, the fact that she can’t even remember what he looks or sounds like indicates it did not have any large impact on her. In fact, there are many instances in HL:A where Alyx speaks of Gordon like a complete stranger.

And, if you’ve played HL2 and the Episodes, you certainly remember many scenes with the Vances where Eli hints at the idea he would like to see Alyx and Gordon as a couple; several times throughout these games, Alyx also shows some degree of romantic interest in Gordon. I personally find this a strange and uncomfortable artifact of mid-2000s era heteronormativity, that’s something I’ll absolutely admit even as someone who ships Freemance. However, it’s something I think is worth pointing out.

So. Gordon isn’t a pedophile if he is characterized as being attracted to Alyx, because she’s a grown ass adult. Gordon isn’t preying on Alyx, because there’s no actual, canon basis for the idea that he was any more than vaguely aware of her existence before she was an adult.

It’s well within your right to dislike Freemance--I’ve met people before this who just had a distaste for it, it wasn’t their thing, and that’s okay. What I don’t appreciate is this campaign to get rid of all Freemance content because… you personally think it’s gross? Because you personally have decided based on fanon and not canon that it should not exist?

The thing I think that’s really bugged me more than the specific problem of Freemance is the wider implications of this discourse, one of which being the worrying amount of infantilization of Alyx. People have denied doing this, but will defend their anti-Freemance statements by saying they’re “protecting her,” when she’s a grown adult. She’s 24 and very clearly capable of taking care of herself--for Christ’s sake, she literally kills fascists. She spat in the fact of a dictator. 

I also see a lot of people who hate Freemance turning around to ship Freehoun. Disclaimer: I love Freehoun. It’s up there equal with Freemance for me, I seriously adore the ship. The fact that it’s Freehoun isn’t what bothers me--it’s that people seem to look at a M/M ship of two white guys and go “this is progressive of me to ship,” but yet the M/F (notice how I don’t say “straight” because M/F couples aren’t inherently straight!) interracial ship is somehow gross, or heteronormative, or whatever other word has been thrown out there. Another thing I see is people casting Alyx entirely to the wayside in favor of Freehoun, or even going as far as to dislike her. That’s awfully familiar, isn’t it? The phenomenon of shippers hating a female character for “getting in the way” of their gay ship?

(Side note: I also am heavily bothered by the fact that I think a lot of new Freehoun shippers are coming over from shipping Benry/Gordon, and also the fact that a lot of people seem to think Barney and Benry are somehow the same, when they’re not, but I digress on that.)

The ongoing discourse has made being in the Half-Life fandom completely unbearable for me. I am tired. I can’t draw or write for it anymore. This was my favorite thing in the entire world, one of the only things keeping me going through quarantine, and now it’s just hardly worth bothering with. So this is most likely my final statement on this matter unless something drastic happens.

Freemance-critical and HLVRAI blogs will be blocked upon following me. I don’t care about being courteous anymore, I’m sick of interacting with you and gifting you my patience.

[elizabeth-234]

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Eighteen: Existing

Chapter Nineteen: A Phone Call 

As the weeks passed, Peter struggled in vain against the extra workload of his sophomore year classes. The balance between work, school, friends, and himself was everchanging, ever in threat of tipping off the edge of the proverbial blade. Though the latter was pushed to the side with increasing frequency and his bed was becoming more of a rare luxury much to his dismay.

The tub of tabouli, hummus, and carrots sat uneaten in front of him while Mike explained again why the discourse surrounding the new Firefly show was important to their group and the larger culture abroad.

“It’s a western in space, guys, how can you not like it? Plus, Nathan Fillion is working it. You know he’s damn charming.” 



“It’s basically a soap opera and you know it.” Midge said, arms crossed in front of them.

Mike sputtered and Ned stepped in before anyone else would get more offended. Still pouting his lips, Mike turned away from them and started shoveling down his lunch. Midge just sighed. Peter shifted in his seat wondering if he should say anything when Ned bumped shoulders with him.

“You okay?”

He forced a smile on his face. Ned waited for an answer, his eyes open and earnest. The expression made something in Peter’s chest ache. This bitter tug nestled down behind his ribs. Ned was dragged along in all of this. What started as befriending a lone boy in an empty classroom had turned into trying to gather intel from two of the biggest corporations in the world. Still, his friend was right there for him, ready and unfailingly patient with a smile.

“Want to hang out this weekend?” Peter asked instead of answering the question.

He wanted to do something. To have fun and get out of the house for once. His work shifts were pretty stacked up but it was worth it to rearrange them. Ned agreed if his answering smile was any indication.

“Yeah, dude. There’s this cool exhibit downtown about brainwashing. Maybe weird but it could be cool.”

“Sounds fun.” He said.

“Yeah, they get all these big companies to put something together. I’m surprised you know who didn’t do it. I hear Oscorp is holding one in the fall.”


Peter rubbed his chest. The cafeteria noise rushed toward him. All the laughter and words and echoes pressed against him, weighing down. His smile felt wobbly to him but hoped it came off as sincere.  

“We’ll have to check the one this weekend out.”

-

Ten hours later, Peter sat at his desk. His head resting in the crux of his arms crossed on the scattered papers and notebooks. He shifted in the chair and tried not to think about the coming week. The to-do list was somewhere in the mess under him. Every bullet point added another reason his headache was growing at an alarming rate.

One of the pages peaked out from under the curve of his elbow. The model car on it was dissected into the median and coronal planes showcasing all the guts. Why was he tinkering with it after all this time? No one would see it now. Red marks, newly etched into the paper some sleepless night would probably never leave this room let alone the top of his desk unless it was carried through the trash.

The thought of acknowledging he was finally abandoning the project left him gripping onto the papers tight in his palms. Even all these months later, Peter found himself tweaking their project and trying to improve upon it. Lee, the head intern, had said she was always available. Maybe he could email it over and then she could send it onto whoever her boss was? The chain of command wasn’t something he was entirely familiar with but eventually it had to land in his hands.

His phone buzzed.

Out of habit, Peter flipped it upside-down without looking to see who it was from. He tapped his finger against the wood until the sound stopped. He only just managed to sigh when the buzzing started again.

Phone calls were the worst. He hated answering the phone, hated talking over people and not seeing their facial expressions, and hated how goodbyes were always awkward. Above all he hated the way he could never talk in a coherent manner. Always felt like he was overstepping or worse in some people’s eyes, being too quiet.

Phone calls from anyone besides May were trouble. His aunt was in the living room so that meant it was bad. He could be expelled from Midtown or one of his friends could be hurt. Ned’s hands bloody. Julia’s heart stopping. Flash’s chest not rising anymore. Peter’s chest throbbed at the images. With sweaty hands he grabbed his phone off the desk and looked at the ID.

It was from an unknown number.

His thumb hovered over the green button as it rang but he didn’t answer.

If he didn’t answer it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. The worry barely concealed by his expression was better left unfounded. He kept reading through one of his source books on mechanical engineering but the words held no meaning. His eyes kept returning to the flip phone sitting all innocent inches away from his hand.

His fingers twitched and the phone rang again.

Peter breathed in deeply before flipping it over. He read the number over again. Tried to memorize the digits quickly as if they would hold some significance the longer they were in his mind. The ringing continued and continued for what felt like forever.  

His Uncle Ben came to mind. Without letting him linger for too long again, he flipped his phone open and pressed enter. The other side of the call was silent. There was no breathing or anything to indicate someone was there.

“Hello?” The crack in his voice echoed in his ears.

“Am I speaking to Peter?”

The voice was smooth - pristine in its cadence and rhythm. Unlike his own, the words were spoken with no hesitancy or irregular pitch. There never was, either. It was a voice Peter would recognize anywhere. Hearing them say his name now made him realize how much he missed them. It was a strange thought considering. How could he miss a voice so much?

He scowled. It wasn’t fair to minimize Friday to that of just their voice.

“Fr - Friday? I…How did you get this number?”

There was another pause. Peter wished he’d said something else instead of beginning with such a sharp tone. He could’ve asked how they were doing or greeted them with enthusiasm. Instead the panic from earlier manifested in more of a bark. Heat flooded from his neck up to his ears.

“I have scanned through the Stark databases and found this number on Boss’s phone.” He couldn’t help it. Peter laughed throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Friday’s silence was enough to confirm they heard but it didn’t dampen his smile.

This was Friday he was talking to. Peter couldn’t believe it and if the smile on his face was wide and almost made his cheeks hurt, he could almost forget about everything else.

“You stole my number from Mr. Stark’s phone?”

“Peter, as I said I scanned...”

“You did! Friday, I can’t believe it. Wait, is everything okay? Did something happen? Is … Mr. Sta- everyone’s okay, right? I mean you don’t have to tell me anything but is everyone…”

“Everyone’s fine. I’m sorry to have made you worry. I would also like to apologize for keeping silent. I called you friend once but haven’t acted in accordance to what constitutes that bond.”

Peter’s neck burned. Friday’s voice sounded as hesitant as Peter felt and he was glad, for once, he wasn’t in the Tower so they couldn’t hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“No need to apologize. I just assumed when I left…”

“That has no bearing on it. There were other factors. Some I can talk about some I can’t.”

“Is, is this why you called? What can you talk about?”

Peter imagined Friday was taking a large breath in from the gap between answer and question. His heart, already beating far too fast for a regular school night, increased its speed.  

“You need to come back to the Tower, Peter.”

His ears filled with cotton inducing a fuzzy ringing. It grew louder and louder until he found himself leaning his forehead against the desk. The phone rested where it fell on the table by his clenched hand. He scooped it up despite the trembling in his digits and brought the phone to his ear again.

“Friday?” He rasped out.

“You need to come back to the Tower. There are matters here that would… benefit from your presence.”

There were too many pauses in the sentence and a million phrases flowing through his mind in response. Following on his immediate responses were a plethora of images of the Tower. He conjured filled hospital beds, condemned signs, and most haunting, empty rooms. The worry gnawed at his stomach not caring about Friday’s reassurances. Something had to be wrong. Why else would Friday contact him? It had been months.

There was nothing more he wanted, but all he managed to say was, “I can’t.”

The pain it would bring was all too easy to think about. He’d had a taste of it at the finale internship presentations. The sheer amount of people buzzing with excitement was enough to dull the awkward hurt but Peter couldn’t forget how hard it was to breath once he was in the Tower again. The familiarity burned at his throat. What was a safe haven reduced to just some place he used to know had hurt more than he was willing to say out loud.

Friday wanted him to go back there after everything. No awards or parties would be there to distract. He would have to walk down the hallways and see the beautiful skyline only glimpsed at that height. He would have to see Mr. Stark.

What would he say? What would he do?

“I can’t work on the project anymore, Peter.”

It was devastating in its simplicity. A twist of the metaphorical knife Peter had never even felt embedded in his side. It was a rope taken away as his head sunk swiftly under water. All the progress he’d made even if he didn’t realize it, was gone in the moment those words were said.

Mr. Stark was clear. Final.

At the time there were a thousand words he’d wanted to say but then and now it didn’t seem right. Now, the sense of betrayal no longer stung because it didn’t matter that Mr. Stark knew all about the Weaver and Oscorp. In the end, no amount of explaining or conversation would fix anything because there was nothing to fix.

The steps he took through the door were some of the hardest in his life. His surreptitious glance back resulted in seeing Mr. Stark bowed and facing away from him. The frightened look crossing over his face before hardly seemed to matter in the face of those words. It told Peter all he needed to know. Peter wasn’t wanted. Who wanted to look after a confused teenager? His time there was over.

Or so, he thought.

Months and months passed and now Friday was on the other end like nothing happened. Was there an option besides declining?

He would have thought Friday didn’t know what happened but that was impossible. They knew basically everything that happened in the Tower. It could be some misplaced urge to help Peter. It didn’t make sense. Despite their reassurances, he couldn’t help but worry something was the matter and despite his caution, Peter was curious.

Still, he repeated the two words again. They sounded more like a plea than a decision.

“What you are saying is you won’t not that you can’t. I know you only have one job and the owner has already given permission. I’m asking with sincerity. I need your help…. We need your help.”

Peter took his time to exhale. He stared at the phone in his hands, tracing Friday’s number with his eyes.

He thought of all the reasons not to go back. But the latest realization barged forward. It was with surprising ease that Peter thought about all the help Mr. Stark had thrown his way. All of the encouragement and kindness he showed without Peter even understanding what was happening.

The question wasn’t if he wanted to go back. He would always want to go back. The Tower in a way had grown to be his home. A safe space he never felt drained from after being there. No one expected anything more than Peter could give and the peace of working there, flexing his mind and being with people who understood him was intoxicating.

He could admit to himself he wanted to say yes without thinking despite every reason to say no. He had to be cautious about this, he decided. Peter had to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt like before. That no one would get hurt.

“Friday, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Only when he knew could Peter go back. Only then would Peter step foot in the Tower again.

Enjoy!

Next Chapter Twenty: 

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns​ yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings.  He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her.  Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake​ for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4​ for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One  Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."