#i just love this fit so much its stupidly funny

[hershelwidget]

i dont think we think about this enough

??????????

WHY did tweak and inkling make this before it appeared. what on earth was the purpose of this thing before ?? did they sit down together and say “hey. what if we have to fight a squid.” and then made the single funniest thing i’ve ever seen in this show

i’m not complaining though. he slays an ungodly amount in this thing i’m just confused really

here’s more

sorry the netflix stuff gets in the way, might get clearer images later

i have DEFINITELY drew this before with my old inkling design so i might try that again

[awritesthings1]

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

-

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

-

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

-

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

-

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

-

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

[cardiacass]

Getting real sick of your tsundere shtick here man like u just started living for yourself maybe learn to party?

Look at him struggle.

Anw imagine him just learning to let go of the constant need for control. Like the Strawhats kinda bullied him into that already but it would be so funny seeing it reflected when he’s with the hearts. Bonus headcanon being: all of his crew are older than him (minus Bepo), and are basically waiting for the prime opportunity to mother him.

Law asking Penguin Bepo and Sachi to look after the crew during wano celebrations. Law seeing it as a logical step because he’s still recovering from the battle, he can’t keep an eye out for everyone. Them taking it as an absolute sign of trust because it means Law might actually get drunk and let himself go (in the presence of everyone else) for once.

Jean Bart, once a Captain himself, egging Law on to make a celebratory speech. Like yknow, they really made it this far and everyones alive (especially post-dressrosa-suicide-mission Law). Law not knowing how to express verbal gratitude in any degree and becoming wild eyed and flustered, looking back at Jean Bart for…direction? Assistance? He suddenly looks 16 again.

Ikkaku finally finally challenging her younger brother to a drinking match- Law abiding partly because of guilt (they almost lost him forever) and partly because he really needs some alcohol in his system. She lets him win, and gets rewarded with a rare cheeky smile.

Cilone and Hakugan start a game of poker with the other crews. Law coming in to scold them about “being too chummy with the enemies” but getting roped in anyway. He ends up losing and gives away one of his rare commemorative coins. (Its worth a lot if you find the right collectors! He swears!) Cue sulky drunk Law. Cilone drags him away to grab some water which Law stubbornly rejects in a fit of “Imnotdrunk’nstopbabyingme…” Cilone spikes his next drink with water.

Drunk Law being more affectionate + irresponsible with his powers. Queue Law teleporting alcohol away from crew he thinks are “getting in over their heads”. Uni becomes a victim and tries to manhandle the drink back. After an entanglement of limbs and Uni yelling “you have no right to take that from me! We almost lost you again!” a flustered Law hands him back his drink while mumbling “M sorry…I..” and letting Uni hug him.

Penguin finding them and laughing at an exasperated Law. Penguin joining the hug because when else can he be stupidly affectionate with him? Law squacks in protest but doesn’t move away.

Sachi finding them and going “heyyyyy no fair!!” and trying to join. Law becoming overstimulated and teleporting away. He finds Bepo, of course, and starts pouring his heart out. How he feels undeserving of all this, how he doesn’t know how to repay them, how he wishes he can tell them how much he loves them in kind. Bepo lets him ramble while steadying him with a soft but sturdy hug. He lets Law even out his breathing and tells him “I don’t think love can be traded like money captain, we just love you a lot?”

Law hears echos of Sengoku’s words and starts sniffling into the bears fur. Sachi eventually finds them to get his fair share of celebratory cuddling. In the comfort of his closest crew, Law finally cries.

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Moving in Together: A Shadowgast rec list

This week, we have cohabitation!  Check under the cut for 13 fics that feature Caleb and Essek moving in or living together, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

I was the match and you were the rock by glittergarbage (70470, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek, a new researcher to Nicodranas, is financially cut off from his den and is in search of a roommate. He comes across an ad by a male professor in his 30's that looks like a good fit.

Reccer says: The "and they were roommates" trope is so brilliantly done in this fic! As a bonus it is a fantastic slow burn.

Just the Essentials by ThreeGremlinsInATrenchcoat (6684, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek wants to read a book in peace and secret and Caleb is trying to figure out why. Just both of them being very cute with language shenanigans.

Reccer says: It is domestic, funny, very well written and sweet. I also just love the language shenanigans and Essek being the worst liar ever.

Harvest Close Harpins by Beauteousmajesty (1770, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek coming home after celebrating the Harvest Close festival.

Reccer says: They are so sweet and domestic in this!

Keys to the Castle by Anonymous (51812, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb gives Essek a magic key that lets him access the Tower from anywhere in Exandria. Except it's not a tower, its a cottage. And it takes them a stupidly long time (affectionate) to be honest about their feelings.

Reccer says: Very cute and domestic slow burn, with a pinch of misunderstanding for spice

Troublemaker by SaltCore (1309, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb’s newly adopted kitten gets her claws stuck in Essek’s yarn.

Reccer says: It’s so cute!

learning all the old things by hanap (1353, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek cooks for Caleb.

Reccer says: I liked it!

little labels (I love you) by royalgreen (409, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek and Caleb are being sweet, domestic, and drunk at their house warming party.

Reccer says: They are very soft and sweet together.

Organizing: Before and After by sansrecourse (1255, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is unused to sharing a space.

Reccer says: Domestic fluff!

A Pretty Facade by Chiaroscuro (18733, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: None

Caleb and Essek buy a house together. As friends.

Reccer says: It’s so sweet ahh

[Name], The Wonder Cat by Professor_Rye (10020, General) Reccer's Content Notes: None

Caleb and Essek get a moorbounder together and work on training it. Several names are worked through to find the perfect one for it.

Reccer says: Just the whole thing honestly. Very wholesome and sweet and a good pick me up.

and i never will be by burningafterdark (burningdarkfire) (3200, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Banter after dinner leads to Essek domming Caleb.

Reccer says: It’s so domestic, hot and intimate. I love their D/s dynamic in this with Caleb being needy and hungry.

You'd be surprised what your own hands can make by Technojuicebox (6329, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Slowly, without speaking of it, Essek moves in with Caleb. Featuring knitting.

Reccer says: I love Essek knitting for all his friends and the world building of Dynasty lace knitting!

And the following fic received two recs!

a sort of beacon where there used to be a dull roar by wordonawing (8781, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

After narrowly surviving an assassination attempt, Essek moves in with Caleb for a time to recuperate. Several thousand words of delightful pining and idiocy ensue.

Reccer 1 says: I liked it!

Reccer 2 says: There's so much thought put into all their interactions

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with older favourites!

[just-some-random-blogger]

hello!! would it be possible to request a daemon/reader inspired by ‘wildest dreams’? like they’re in a secret relationship or something,, the lyrics just really fit with him i think🤭 thank you<3

Red Lips

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The prince had a taste for things he couldn't have. Whoever knew he'd see the day he'd have to work for something to get it.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, i made up yn's house, enemies to lovers lol jk emenies to enemies, angst?, daemon annoying af, pining, typos, etc.

A/N: i put the second part of your ask below the gif cos i wanna see his goofy face when i get notes T_T and nah you're so right i love this song as a prompt. i think slay. i wanted to write while listening to wildest dreams (taylor's version) but i was jamming too hard T_T also nonnie, i tweaked your req like a lot T_T cos i was focusing on the music to much and the music told me make it angsty just a lil bit ig idk if its angst at all tbh. if anything its taylor's fault ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i hope you like it <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

"Hello, bitch," he mutters, smiling, as his fingers trace the rim of his cup. I release a sigh at the unfortunately familiar sound. Suddenly, the open air was ruined by the foul scent of dragon.

I turn over my shoulder, raising my brows, "funny of you to address yourself, ser."

"Prince," he snips in correction, leaning in against my hair.

I side eye him, "no actually, I take that back. I'm horrified," I look out to the field where lord what's-his-face, was standing, telling a story about himself on his nameday; it didn't make his story any more worth listening to though. Surely the people were only listening out of pity.

"You should have the maesters check your sanity."

I turn to the wretched muggins, who downed his drink and chucked the cup over his shoulder. I away not wanting to burn my eyes more over the sight of his repulsive topaz tunic and stupidly long hair, "what was it they said about your kind?"

He scoffs a dry chuckle, "my kind?"

"Flip a coin and you'll determine if they're mad or not.

He chuckles louder.

I wave him off, grimacing at the sound of his laughter mixed with celebrant's, "you should go and do that. I'm sure your brother broke the backs of enough serfs to get a coin for youself"

He mumbles something in High Valyrian but then he cuts himself off when lord what's-his-face, who thought standing on his chair was a good idea in all his drunkenness, falls over on his back, making everyone gasp and circle around him.

I eye the felled man in annoyance, lips curled in disgust as the oaf beside me cheers, clapping his hand, "now that's festive!" He turns to me, "I'm sure you'd know nothing about merrymaking whatsoever with how high that stick up your arse is."

I offer him a pulled smile, bowing mockingly, "Prince Daemon."

The twat does not get the hint and follows after me when I walk away. He places his hands behind his back, "what's say we steal the bloke's mounts and ride off to the city?"

I roll my eyes at him, "good luck with that. I wholly express my wishes for you to fall just like him and break your spine along the way."

"Hmm," he says, grabbing a drink from a random person, who was about to protest but then bit his tongue upon seeing the thief. Daemon downs the liquid and throws the cup away haphazardly, "sounds like something you want."

I turn to him like face twisted with incredulous annoyance, "I would want nothing more."

"For yourself," he leans in, grabbing my arm, making me growl at him, "I can break your back if you want it so bad."

I pull away from him, grunting and groaning as I did, "qogralbar hen, doru-borto."

Also know as fuck off, stupid, in his very own mother tongue.

Daemon laughs as I walk away, gathering my skirts tightly in anger. He follows still, like the irritating fly that he is, "I'm honored to have gotten you to learn my language, gevie riña."

The sound of his boots crunching against the rocks riled me up twice as much when I could hear him fucking breathing behind me. I shoot him a glare, shoving him away from me, which he evades, "stop following me, Daemon!"

"I'm not following you," he lies, pursing his lips plainly, brows raising.

I stop in my tracks, "fine then! where are you going?"

"Wherever you're going."

I rip out a sharp, exasperated huff through my cheeks, wiping my face in annoyance, "I'm not in the mood for your games today."

"Tonight then."

"Pah! You've clearly need help," I scoff, storming away, far enough to reach the lake nearby. I am fooled that I am alone because of how he silently trials behind me in his momentary silence.

I stop in my tracks when the fucker kicks water towards my dress.

"You're the only one that can help me."

"WITH WHAT?" I snap, digging my heals into the ground as I turn to him. Daemon stills, hair blowing back with the wind as mine flies onto my face, "what makes you think I would ever help you, cretin?"

"You owe me," he mutters, walking forward, "you cannot think to kiss me and pretend like nothing happened."

"Why would I owe you?! I did not kiss you, your grace," I shake my head, "you kissed me!"

Daemon's lips quirk as he counters, "you were the one that was drunk, not I."

"Then leave it at that!" I shriek, "you'd get away with so much more if you used that excuse!"

"I will not excuse a lowly troll such as you for committing treason."

"Treason?!" I scoff sharply. I turn away from him, crossing my arms, "you are, by far, the most dramatic-"

"YOU MAKE ME ILL!" he barks, grabbing my shoulders. I jolt at his actions. He seethes, "YOURE FUCKING KILLING ME!"

In all his life, through our family's feuds, and our childhood hatred, he never once touched me, thus my perturbed reaction. My breathing becomes strained, my heartbeat was racketing in my ribcage.

"I am slipping into madness-" he continues, "-because I cannot get you out of my mind!"

If my pulse was not quick enough before he said that, it was surely quick now.

I take in the sour expression on his face, lifting my eyes up to his stupid eyes, stupid nose, stupid jaw, stupid- ugh! How did anyone ever think that he was handsome? There was nothing at all pleasant about this- this- this fiend! This- this ninnyhammer! This-

Daemon crushed his lips against mine.

Time stopped, as so did my breathing.

He was warm, as were his palms that found my cheeks.

And he smelled good, gods, he smelled so, so goo-

I shove him away. I heave arudously.

What the fuck am I saying?

Daemon was heaving too.

My mind is spinning. I cannot believe I allowed myself to think what I did.

"I cannot get that night out of my mind," he breathes heavily, "I must," he points, "have you," he noted, "I will die if I do not."

I gulp the bile rising up my throat. My lips curl in disgust. I wipe my lips with my wrist, "then perish."

[felinecryptid]

Helo ji thoda chaipunk milega?

Plij.

-apka naya pankha

Two hearts in a chest, it's ours

Pav stared at the clock, its second hand seemingly ticking slower and slower every dragging second, trying to keep his heavy eyes open.

There wasn't any villain out last night, no, nor did Hobie crash his precious beauty sleep, but this teacher was not making any sense with his stupid fucking chemical formulae for finding the mass percentage of whatever new substance he was talking about this time and Pav was wishing the fan over his head into falling on him.

His eyes drooped, as he sat with head balanced on his hand, in the semblance of a posture of utmost attention. Maybe he should just sleep, it wasn't like the teacher was going to notice anyway-

THUNK! came from the window on his left. He startled out of his seat, nearly tripping on the strap on his school bag, cursing under his breath and turned to see the offender.

There was nothing on the window sill. But Pav knew better than that. He stood up, pretending to look for his pen, and glanced over. Sure enough, the dark wicks of a certain spider punk was visible just below the sill.

"Excuse me sir, may I use the washroom?" Pav raised his hand. The teacher didn't even look at him as he nodded his yes, busy writing down measurements of fuck-if-he-knew, and Pav booked it out of there.

He turned left to the stairwell instead of right to the washrooms and descended down where the faulty surveillance cam overlooked the landing and the tiny window between the second floor and third floor. That cam worked in fits and starts; a red light indicated if it was working. To Pav's rare luck with it, there was no red light to be seen and he quickly vaulted out of the window, coming almost nose-to-nose with Hobie.

"What the fuck Hobie, why are you lurking like that?" Pav whisper-screamed, heart thudding mile a minute from the proximity. He could see Hobie's individual eyelashes from there. Pav's face heated up and he was thankful for the fact that a blush wasn't easily visible with his skin colour.

"'m not lurkin', mate, you're jus' distracted," Hobie replied with an easy smile, making Pav's stomach do funny somersaults. It was a common occurrence, and Pav tried his best to not let it get the best of him. With questionable success, because he frequently found himself daydreaming about Hobie, how his hair would feel through his fingers, the way his lips moved when he talked in that stupidly cute accent of his, the feelings he got with Hobie's arm around him. This was accompanied by doodling hearts around their names at the back of his notebooks, like he was not scared of the consequences of his teachers discovering the said artwork and calling home.

"Shut up," Pav said, his face still warmer than normal, because they hadn't moved apart for the entire duration of Pav's inner train of thought, much to his secret delight. "Why are you here at my school? Someone could have seen you!"

"I wan'ed to see my favourite li'l swot, so I came," He leant in closer, his voice deeper, "Can't I do tha'?"

Pav swallowed unconsciously. "You definitely can, but I have to get back to class, we're starting a new chapter."

"C'mon, love, you looked like you were moments away from conkin' out."

"I wasn't, I would never sleep in class."

"Mmhm, and 'm the next prime minister o' the Great Britain," Hobie sniggered and Pav punched him in the arm.

"I wasn't going to sleep, the class is just so boring!"

"All the more reason to skive off, I promise to not drone on and on to bore you to sleep," Hobie side-eyed him, the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin and Pav was gone. "What say?"

As if Pav could ever say no to Hobie, as if he could ever bore him, like Pav didn't feel like a live wire, humming with electricity when they were close, very close, and he could swear something was gonna happen-

TRRRRNNGG! The discordant bell rang out though the corridors of the school building and the miniscule space they had between them, widening until they were centimetres apart. Too much apart. The distance between them felt like a chasm of longing but. He could fix it. He could skip the rest of the school day, even though Nandan would ask him where he disappeared off to.

Hobie looked at him, eyes filled with an emotion Pav dared not to name and a hope that he'd say yes. Pav was glad to not disappoint.

"Let's go."

___

this isn't very long but i wanted to get it out of my brain before i got too busy to post again

i might continue this later but hope you like it, ravi✨✨

title (translated) from itni si baat hai by arijit singh

(goldenpunk playlist i made)

[ryuichirou]

Replies

More replies!

Starting with the one about the Tweels/Idia drawing from yesterday…

Anonymous asked:

HE LOOKS SO SCARED ITS SO FUNNY

HE KNOWS THEY’RE UP TO NO GOOD  I feel like it’s been ages since my last terrified Idia, it’s so fun to draw him like this again

Anonymous asked:

Idia is returned to Azul no less that five hours later than when Azul asked for him when it should’ve been ten at max

Honestly we’re lucky if Idia is returned to Azul at any point at all lol Maybe the Tweels will enjoy his company way too much~ Just kidding, of course they’ll return him to Azul, these two are hilarious together.

Anonymous asked:

Nagito, my beloved ♥️♥️

Yeah, him! <3 I really enjoyed drawing him again.

Anonymous asked:

If Lilia is Catherine and Azul is Katherine, then who is Rin?

Unfortunately, Anon, I don’t have a satisfying answer for you: we don’t know much about Rin :(

Maybe it’s some weird version of Ortho…

Anonymous asked:

Actually, the Catherine AU with Idia reminds me of the Me! Me! Me! music video by Daoko and Teddyloid. Go figure.

Oh god lol yeah it certainly fits Idia, this otaku hikki boy… For some reason this is surprisingly easy to imagine.

It’s actually perfect 😭 Poor Idia is a victim of a vicious hot anime Lilia’s attack, that’s what you get for neglecting your partner.

Although to be honest it’s not just Lilia, it’s stupidly easy to picture Azul and Ortho (even the Tweels if you squint) in this role as well, I guess it’s just Idia being a passive loser otaku hikki boy lol

Anonymous asked:

i need to rewatch black butler bc i barely paid attention the first time, BUT, i always really liked joker... got any thoughts about that guy?

You know, Anon, I wanted to mention him in my post, but hilariously got distracted by the Mob guy 🤦 I’m sorry, this is embarrassing…

I think Joker serves his purpose for the story and I think he does it well; the way he cares about his troupe/family and wants to protect Doll specifically is sweet; and characters who are forced to do horrible things for the sake of the loved ones are always interesting to look at, especially when they don’t fully have a grasp of just how big is the scale of the “bad” that they’re doing. In that regard Joker is good! But on a personal level, I guess he just didn’t resonate with us much.

My favourite thing about Joker is that he is voiced by Mamoru Miyano…

[lpsgirl109]

INFO DUMP ABOUT X MEN OC SBN OW

AAAAAAAA OKOK

This is gonna be just the most basic rundown of all of them cause there's many and if I went in detail about them we'd be here forever

Alkali Ashford

Alkali was my first x men OC. Her ability is turning into dinosaurs. In her regular form, she has stripes and a tail, so she needs one of the camouflage watch things. She's besties with Kurt, but her arc is sort of opposite to his in the sense that while he wants to fit in and hide who he is, she wants to stand out and let the world know who she is. She's very fun I love her. Also fun fact this is the character that got me in trouble in that one rp server I mentioned a few nights ago, where they yelled at me because they decided shapeshifters aren't allowed only after I submitted her. They hate her because she's too swag for them to handle

Milo

This guy and the next character are basically recycled versions of ooold old OCs of mine. Milo has two water serpent things that he can control. He starts out kinda scared of them because, unlucky for him he has a fear of water due to almost drowning as a child. But overtime he learns to appreciate them

Marigold

Other aforementioned old recycled OC. Her mutation is physical in the sense that she has cat ears and angel wings, so she also needs a camouflage watch. However unlike Kurt and Alkali, she never really faced a lot of discrimination growing up because her mutation is considered beautiful by most (There's lots of angel devil comparisons with Marigold and Kurt it's so fun it's so fun). She's known Milo since they were kids because she is the one who saved him from drowning. They're dating now. Ew romance

Peter Maximoff

"Peg that's not an OC" yeah so I made an Evo version of Peter because I was STUPIDLY obsessed with this man in like 2021 idk what was wrong with me. Anyway he's the twins' half brother and I have yet to figure out what happened between Erik and his mom. He has a really dumb rivalry with Pietro its so funny

Ezekiel

Or Zeke for short. His thing is seeing and talking to ghosts. Lance recruits him to the Brotherhood for all of two seconds before Zeke befriends Kurt and jumps over to the X Men instead. He also dates Kurt later so i can live in my RogueKitty delusions but shhh

Indigo

These next few are part of the new mutant squad. Indigo's power is bringing drawings to life and she has a fun sibling relationship with Peter. They're also a little bit Too wiling to commit murder

Niko

Also a recycled old OC. He has a snake that sticks out of his back. Not much more to him yet, he just has a snake

Ozzy

Cool guy who turns into a fish person when in the water. May or may not have been inspired by Luca. Also for anyone who knows my habit of making Harry Osborn inspired OCs and naming them Ozzi. This guy is not one of the Harry clones, he came way before the raimi fixation attacked me and dragged me to hell

Markus Lang

Member of the X Men and one of the mentors alongside Ororo and Logan. He can turn into a dragon. He might end up dating Logan idk I think they'd be silly together

Gwen Ashford

Alkali's adopted younger sister who has rock powers. She's part of The Brotherhood and she is an absolute menace to society

Wyatt Elsher

This guy is able to turn into like a goop furry thing and I'm being so honest to god I based him off the fucking Transfur Outbreak game on roblox. Embarrassing. Anyway he was childhood friends with Marigold and lived in her old neighborhood, and I imagine initially his mutation was just becoming some sort of werewolf thing. Then he got sent to this lab place that claimed they'd 'cure' him but ended up fucking him up. So now he's goop. He also joins the Brotherhood and has a rivalry with Marigold

Harper

Regular ass human girl who Alkali meets at a party and falls head over heels in love with her. She also sort of adopts Kurt into her friend group after the mutants get exposed, seeing he's alone now and wanting to help him. She does guess he's also a mutant, but she's fine with it

Thats all of em!! It's entirely possible I'll make more soon, but this is who I got right now. I also have like the crumbs of a fic for these guys on wattpad but it has like one chapter that was written in 2021 and also features very shitty old art. If yall want it though I'll link it. I do plan on working on it again eventually

[degozarumyu]

just watched sevens ep 27 life is good my crops are flourishing

he is the character ever i love him so much,,,, peak episode my god

this image specifically bc look at all the bandaids!! and the leg on the chair he's so me sobbing also also his sewing supplies being kept in a dragias tin!!!!!!!!!!! shaking crying

he can sew... he can do calligraphy (the calligraphy on the wall saying the same thing twice too awaaaauaua)... he's stupidly good at sports and dueling hes so talented,, he can even backflip im so proud of my son for whom I am signing adoption papers as we speak

when he started crying cause he was lonely like ufyuagyuadgfjahsdgfkjhdsgkjsdhghf ysjdhfg haj !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!hwquirhciuwefodhiwechwoi yknow? insert that check out how hard i can cry image

but its funny after watching go rush seeing the 'there can only be one luke' thing bc. lol. gestures at luge duplicating himself

poor yuuga lol not even tall enough to fit in the frame

anyway idk what to call the second luke but he gives me brainworms even though he existed for like half an episode and then evapourated

i want to give him a nutritious sandwich and some fruit juice and then take him out for ice cream as a treat (also this image makes me wanna draw him as the shinji chair meme) (also also i wonder if all the models are handmade as well? or made from kits... pattern-seeking brain is once again looking for excuses to compare him and yuuhi lol)

your honour he is ballin

look at him go :]

this episode will fuel me at work tomorrow <3 why care about rude patients when u can care about yugioh <3<3<3

[faroreswinds]

To be clear. Xenoblade 1 has a lot of dumb looking optional armor (among both sexes) and Fiora struggles to be more than "MC's love interest." Blade 3 is definitely the least sexist of the games. I'd also like to point out Xenoblade X exists but I don't really have much to comment on its amount of sexism. Female character design wise game is reasonable for, like, 20 hours and then everything goes to shit (tho there's fashion gear so minus some antagonists you technically have to option to not dress the female characters stupidly). I dont remember X's writing being particularly sexist either, it's literally just the optional armor. But yeah, between the game's, 3 is probably your best bet. Most of its sexism comes from one antagonist being somehow both an incel and married. I will say Xenoblade 2's story DLC is pretty funny because you get to watch the storyboard artists suffer while trying to work around Mythra's terrible character design. Xenogears is a separate game, it was the first project the director of Xenoblade led. It doesn't have much sexism in its character designs, but it does have sexist themes (in the ew Freud and released in 1998 sorta way).

I will say Xenoblade 2's story DLC is pretty funny because you get to watch the storyboard artists suffer while trying to work around Mythra's terrible character design.

This has me particularly intrigued. I have no idea what it means, but I kinda want to know, lol.

But thank you for the great info! I really appreciate all your anons taking the time to explain Xenoblade stuff to me, especially after I threw a little fit. Haha....

Oopsie. But anyways, I still really appreciate it.

[wildlygay]

𝑅𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇 𝒮𝑒𝓂𝑜 𝒦𝓌𝑜𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎. :>

ok so im kinda obsessed with the fandom tobot right? And I see this cinnamon roll and personally he just shouts ex-secret little with a really supportive fren group :D.

(The smaller one with the headphones is semo. Rimo is the guy in the leopard print glasses. LOOK AT SEMO SKSKSKSKSKSKS. *Dies from cuteness in the background*)

(credit to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more  for the techcore divider.)

It’s obvious why he regresses c’mon folks. If you know his backstory you’ll understand.

Semo didn’t know he regressed, he just felt all fuzzy and before long he’s making grabby hands at Z so Z could pick him up and cuddle him.

Kitten regressor totally. 100%

His little age range is 3-7 (Youngest is 2 when he is stressed out.) 

A little cuddlebug, please give this boy hugs he needs it goddamn it. .

He has this adorable puppydog eyes and he uses it to get whatever he wants, (It doesn't work on Rimo thou but he still tries anyways.)

After eventually finding out he regresses via Z he got very embarrassed and made it his life mission to not have anyone else find out. But it all falls down when Hana weasels it out of him why he's been acting so weird one afternoon.

Hana tries his best to take care of Semo and when he's a kitten, he is constantly petting him, playing with him with cat toys, that sort of thing.

He can get triggered sometimes and remember bad memories he does not to remember and when that happened he'll just collapse in hana's room and just cry up a river. he'll cry until he's out of tears and just lay there with Hana petting his hair until he falls asleep.

He got himself these cute little cat ear headphone clip ons that can make cat sounds (purring, hissing, etc) and he wears them every time he's a kitten. everytime.

Speaking of his headphones, he likes surprisely morbid music (Lemon demon, he is obsessed with lemon demon. Cabinet man and sweet bod is his favorites.) and he often tries to sing them with Z.

Hana is not the best babysitter, but he tries his hardest and the two are often seen cuddling on the couch.

Semo is obsessed with big fluffy blankets, a giant quaie that covers his whole body? He wants it. A pink blanket that's really soft to the touch? he wants it. no matter what color it is.

he can actually be quite picky with food, and sometimes doesn't eat entirely. Hana often has to ask semo if he's eaten yet.

The others eventually found out when Semo just sat on hana's lap infront of everyone and demanded cuddles.

They were supportive and now Duri spoils the hell out of semo despite hana telling duri SEVERAL TIMES not to give semo sugar. (hana learned this the hard way when he gave semo sugar and Semo just ran all over the house and hana was on the floor exhausted because Semo was so hyper.)

Semo has nicknames for everyone, for Rimo its papa. (*dies from cuteness again*) for Duri its riri, Hana its banana. (Hana has no clue where he got this from and just goes along with it lol) Dingyo its dolly because her hair reminds him of a barbie doll's hair he's seen at a window shop this one time. and im still thinking up of the other ones.

Ogong, as a older sibling is the best of taking care of Semo. Ondal and Semo get into mischief whenever those two are together.

Rimo melted the first time Semo called him papa and ever since he has encouraged this when Semo is regressed.

Semo has a ton of chewalenty that he sometimes hoards in random places in the house for safekeeping. To this day nobody knows how many he actually has.

Z is practically his surrogate older brother and he just has fun with semo 80% of the time. the other 10% is Semo asking for cuddles.

he is much more expressive regressed and can and will go into these laughing fits if he finds something funny. Also, he loves tickling. very happy baby <3

and to end this stupidly long post, here is a happy little mental image : Duri got a laserpointer from a dollar store and just uses it to distract Semo while he's watching tv.

[mrangeldevil]

ive been thinking about this way too long and im forcing everybody to hear me out

The 2010s Cinnamon Roll vs The 2020s Blorbo

both words have extremely similar meanings and intentions, but entirely different effects

the term ‘precious cinnamon roll’ was mainly used in the 2010s in fandom to describe someones favorite character (and is still used to this day but with much less frequency esp since its seen as a “cringy” word or a millenial word even though it was used in the 2010s which many gen z were definitely there to witness but i digress)

then the term ‘blorbo’ is also a word with the same meaning, a fandom word to describe someones favorite character, but this time it is the word for the 2020s and much like ‘precious cinnamon roll’ it will likely be looked down upon as an outdated internet slang in a few years (or maybe even by next year considering how fast the internet goes compared to before)

but while both terms mean the same thing, they come across completely differently. for one, ‘precious cinnamon roll’ is not only a lot longer but is a word that drips with sweetness, like something your grandma would call you, and is generally reserved for characters who are sweet in themselves. and while you can technically call any character your precious cinnamon roll, it is undeniably weird/funny when you call a character like Wolverine your precious cinnamon roll. its longer phrasing also leans in well to the kind of internet culture before, as in the 2020s things run a lot faster so a word that is easy and quick to say like “blorbo” makes sense. i also find it interesting that the term is generally also said as “my precious cinnamon roll” adding a personal quality compared to “the blorbo” which can sound more impersonal due to its phrasing.

now before i go onto blorbo i do want to mention that another thing both terms share is the idea of “!!!!!XD sO RaNdOm!!!!!” just different flavors of it. the 2010s used randomness in a way that involved using familiar things in unconventional ways but not too unconventional. cinnamon roll being a perfect example as using a random food to describe a fictional character is, very random. the 2020s meanwhile, use randomness in a way that makes everything feel like an elaborate inside joke that is completely incomprehensible. someone who isnt familiar to the internet can probably put together why people call things “precious cinnamon roll” pretty fast but how in the world would you understand “blorbo”? theres no way to tie the term to anything in real life, blorbo is a purely internet joke that simply cannot exist outside the internet because its basically an inside joke that we’re all in on

and that brings me to blorbo (also associated with scrunkly, scrimblo and the works): blorbo originated from this hellsite, being a term originally to parody fandom spaces. its a bit hard to describe but the best way to put it is, you make a post and it blows up and fandoms immediately keep naming a shit ton of characters you have no idea who the fuck they are so you just pick a random word out of your ass and you say “guys i do not care about Blorvo Blingblong please for the love of fuck stop saying it”

annnd thats how you end up with the term Blorbo. it is the definition of a stupidly elaborate inside joke that only chronically online people will ever get. and that perfectly describes the type of humor of the 2020s.

and the term itself has a very different connotation to ‘precious cinnamon roll’ while that terms connotation of sweetness is extremely obvious, blorbo is extremely vague and very much left to personal interpretation and its absolute randomness, while adding a funny factor that cinnamon roll could only wish to achieve, is undeniably very inpersonal as it was designed that way. it is designed to fit literally ANY character, its a throwaway name, you could use it anytime on anyone, Walter White can be a fucking blorbo if you wanted him to be.

now this isnt trying to actually pick a fight between these two terms, thatd be fucking stupid and if you did try to you need to get offline more. i just wanted to analyze these two words and how people use them.

im personally a fan of neither while loving both, cinnamon roll comes across as very ‘grandma’ and can have a fan-girl attribute to it that, as a masculine dude dont personally like but still find myself appreciating its use as it was the word i grew up seeing used in fandom and was pretty commonplace till 2019. i also appreciate how much more personal the word is, it conveys an overwhelming feeling of sweetness and personal investment and that is probably why some people still prefer the term. meanwhile blorbo is pretty gender neutral (albeit mostly used by girls it still has no gendered connotation) its a lot quicker to say, its an extremely funny word to say, and its the word that is the most popular now, but it loses a lot of the personal feeling that cinnamon roll had and is very reflective of the time period its from, its funny and quick for a moment till it becomes bland and meaningless in a year or so

idk how to end this off, this is just some linguist hobbyist’s rant about two stupid words but which ones do you prefer if you read all this way?

[waka-chan-out]

Just Once

Hanamaki Takahiro x fem!reader

non-canonical timeskip.

word count: 3.5k

content warnings: makki’s pov. honestly this is pretty much just friends to lovers fluff with some healthy smut thrown in at the end. technically unprotected sex but no attention is called to it.

based on this request

Makki was sure you didn’t even realize you were half asleep, so when he shoved your shoulder you nearly jumped across the room.

“What the hell?” you yelped. He laughed and stood.

“Not on my watch! Sit up. Come on. I got you.”

He dragged you into a seated position and grabbed a bright pink energy drink from the fridge. He flopped back down in front of you and held out his hand.

“Drink this.”

You saw what he was holding and snorted.

“Why?”

“So you can stay up with me, stupid. You asked to sleep over. I expect fully conscious best friend bonding time.”

You rolled your eyes but took the can anyway.

“I asked to sleep over, not stay up all night,” you said, popping open the can. You held it up to your lips and took an experimental sip.

“How is it?” he asked. You winced and shook your shoulders.

“It tastes like drugged up cotton candy.” You held it up to your lips, then hesitated. “Am I supposed to feel it as it goes through my veins?”

“You are, actually. It’s great.” He picked up his own drink and nearly spilled it on the carpet before taking a long sip. Using your logic, his was a deliciously metallic green apple flavor.

You moved to set your drink down but Makki caught your hands in his own.

“Oh, no you don’t. Come on. Open.” He sat up to between your knees and tipped the drink back toward your lips. “I can sip. You gotta chug.”

You made a muffled sound in protest but let the liquid fall past your lips anyway, grumpily holding his gaze as you drained a good portion of the can. He set it down beside you and shot you what was supposed to be an innocent smile.

“You’re an idiot,” you said.

“Indeed. Feeling more awake?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I’m sure I will once the heart palpitations set in.”

“I know CPR. You’ll be fine.”

He settled back onto the floor and resumed staring at the ceiling. You had bought him one of those little constellation lights for his last birthday, and since it was freezing outside they were the best possible substitute for stargazing. You laid down next to him, fingers laced on your chest. Quiet music came from your phone in the corner, virtually untouched since you arrived hours earlier. Matsukawa always joked that when you hung out together it was like you entered a void, completely impossible to locate until you were separated, and he was right. With you here, this was the only room that existed. You were floating around in space and would be sucked out into nothing as soon as you tried to leave.

You rolled over and leaned against your hand.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked. Makki didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to.

“Matsukawa,” he said. You scoffed.

“Why? Making a tier list of our friend’s eyebrows?”

“Hair, actually. His curls give him a pretty big advantage.”

“They are nice, I’ll give you that. But not nice enough to make up for his shitty personality.”

It wasn’t nearly as fun ripping into him when he wasn’t there to defend himself, but you both laughed anyway.

Makki considered your words for a moment. In all honesty, Matsukawa would place pretty high on all of those lists. A humor list too. And probably an overall looks list. He was certainly the more popular in high school, and had only come more into his own since graduating.

“You know, I always thought Matsukawa was the better looking of the two of us.” The words slipped out before he could even consider stopping them. He froze and turned to you. To his surprise you were studying his face with the interest he might have expected from a doctor and their patient. When you didn’t respond, he realized he was nervous. Why, he didn’t know, but he really, really needed you to respond.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he breathed.

“Issei is handsome,” you said. Well, fuck.

“Good, good. These years of insecurity were warranted. Good to know.”

You smacked his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up while I speak to you.” He laughed but held his tongue. You continued. “Issei is handsome, but you are too. Just in different ways. Neither is better or worse.”

He stared at you stupidly. “Thanks?”

“Don’t say it like it’s a question! I’m being serious.”

“I can tell. It’s just a funny compliment to get.”

“Well, think about it. The sunrise is beautiful. The sunset is beautiful. Two things can be totally different and equally lovely at the same time.”

He gazed at you, face scrunched and unable to decide between confusion and understanding.

“Do you get it?” you asked

“Yeah, yeah. I think so.” He paused and considered what you said. “So, which am I?” You made a face.

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“It’s your metaphor!”

“You’re sunrise, dummy.” You ruffled his hair. “I thought you’d get that.”

He smiled. He could work with sunrise.

“So, which do you prefer?” he asked. “Sunrise or sunset?” You huffed a laugh and your eyes fell to the carpet, where you had started playing with a loose string.

“I try not to play favorites,” you said. He watched your face carefully. A small smile played on your lips, the same one that always appeared when you were alone with him. “But there’s a reason I don’t drag you outside as the sun is going down.”

He stared at you, and you stared right back. An unexpected but deeply familiar feeling settled in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he swallowed hard and returned to laying on his back. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for being honest.”

“I know. But for my own sake, thanks.”

Makki could feel your eyes scanning his face, but he kept his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“You know, you’re good looking too,” he said.

“Yeah? You come up with a fancy metaphor for me?”

He snorted and turned onto his side again. Your lips were curled into the prettiest shadow of a smile and he could feel his mouth going dry.

“I’m not good at talking like that. But you’re just so familiar.” He reached out and absentmindedly traced his fingers over the back of your hand. He tried his best to not look at your face, because he could feel his heating up and the warmth was making it hard to think straight. He stilled his hand and laid it on top of yours as was finally able to piece his thoughts together. “You feel like home.”

When he finally looked at you your lips were parted in surprise. He hadn’t expected that reaction. Was what he said been that outlandish? You had been friends forever. Of course he felt like that around you.

“Thank you, Makki,” you said. His mouth twitched into a smirk.

“You don’t need to thank me for being honest.” The repeated phrase forced a laugh out of you, but he couldn’t quite place the look on your face.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“You just did,” you teased. He rolled his eyes and scooted closer to show he was serious.

“Okay, okay,” you said. “Shoot.”

“Why don’t you call me by my given name?”

You scoffed.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not true! There has to be a reason.”

“It feels too special. I don’t want to use it like that.”

“You use Mattsun’s!”

“Yeah, well.”

He frowned, amused, and leaned in closer. You wrinkled your nose and tried to back away.

“Well, what?” he asked.

“I don’t know how to explain it! It’s just different. Too intimate.” You said the last part quietly, like you didn’t want him to hear it.

“So why can you use his ‘intimate’ name and not mine?”

“Because it feels different with you.”

“Why?”

You were staring at him, an apprehensive look on your face. He paused, and the new information finally clicked. Oh.

You both hesitated.

“Do you want me to say it or do you get it?” you whispered.

“I think I get it?”

You blew out a frustrated sigh and covered your face with your hands.

“Don’t say it like a question!”

“Fine, fine, fine. I genuinely think I get it but I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

“So you get it but you’re not going to do anything to show me that you get it?”

“See? You get it.”

“Makki!”

“What? You know I can’t turn it off.” He grinned. “It’s like an impulse.”

“You’re an impulsive ass?”

“I am. That’s why we fit so well together. You’re an impulsive ass tamer.”

You let out a surprised laugh.

“And what does that make Issei?”

Makki waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, forget about him. I wanna focus on us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, us. I’m still on this given name bullshit.”

“God,” you groaned. “Can we move on to another topic?”

“Not until I’m sure that I know what I think I know.”

“Hanamaki Takahiro, I am going to end your bloodline.”

He perked up and pointed at your face.

“Ah! You said it! Now just say it on its own.”

“Hanamaki.”

“Fuck! No. Not that one.”

You stared at him seriously.

“Just try it!” he begged. “Then I’ll stop bugging you.”

“Forever?”

“Hell no, just about this.”

You groaned and rubbed your hands over your face. You took a deep breath and set your jaw.

“Just once?” you asked.

“Just once. Unless I want to hear it again.”

“If you’re going to be weird I’m not going to say it!”

“Fine! Fine. I’m shutting up.” He motioned like he was zipping up his lips and handing you the key. You laughed and pretended to take it, closing your hand into a fist and laying it between you.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath. He pretended not to notice the way it faltered on the way out. You looked him seriously in the eye.

“Takahiro.”

Shit.

He expected it to feel silly, so much hype up for something incredibly stupid. But it wasn’t. It felt a little too good to be silly. It felt really good. It felt right.

He held out his hand. Your brows pulled together until he pointed at your hand, then his face. You let out a ridiculous laugh and held two fingers close to his mouth, pretending to unzip his lips again. He caught your hand before you could fully pull it away, cradling it against his face.

“You know, that’s the prettiest anyone has ever said it.” He didn’t register the words that were forming until they were out and he was cringing, waiting for you to tell him to fuck off. Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Don’t be embarrassing.”

“What? The more you say it the less strange it feels for both of us.” He scooted against the ground, bringing his body even closer to yours. “Do it again.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Takahiro.”

Fuck.

You sat in silence. You stared at each other, unwavering and perfectly comfortable, neither of you making any move to turn away. Makki broke the silence with a sharp breath.

“Can I try something?” he asked. You looked apprehensive but he went on. “If I totally misread the situation that’s fine, I won’t be offended. Just, can I?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t care.”

Well, shit. He was suddenly frozen.

You know what? No. You were one of his best friends. If he fucked up, you’d tell him, then you’d laugh about it, and best of all, you’d never ever tell Matsukawa. That was the kind of friend you were. You were perfect. You were his.

He pushed up on his elbow and leaned over you. He could see your eyes widen in surprise, then settle back into something nervous but not apprehensive. He was so close to you. At this distance he could feel every pull of your breath against his face. God, he could do this. If worst came to worst you could laugh about it and return to being best friends. He might die as he did this, but if he was honest, he was more likely going to die if he didn’t.

He reached up and ran a hand through your hair. Then, he cupped the side of your face, leaned in, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment he panicked because you didn’t move. You were frozen against him, and he had fucked up so horribly he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to laugh it off.

Then you weren’t frozen and there was a hand buried in his hair, and he let out the most relieved sigh of his life.

He swore he could feel you smiling as he finally let himself move, lips shifting against yours like they had always been there. You fit against him so perfectly it almost surprised him, but only almost. You had always been in sync, ready to back him up with a joke or laugh or the end of a snarky comment that he couldn’t quite get out. You were his other half and it only made sense that your lips were made just for each other.

He planted a knee on the ground between your legs and propped himself up above you, shivering when your hands ran down his sides.

Makki knew he was a good kisser, but with the responsive, welcoming way your mouth moved against his, he became painfully aware that he had never experienced a truly great kiss until now. He felt your tongue nudge his lips and he parted them, letting you deepen the kiss. You tasted like the stupid cotton candy energy drink and the sweet, familiar breath of someone that he adored.

Your fingertips danced along his abdomen, then his hipbones, finally coming to rest just slightly dipped under the band of his pajama pants. There was no longer the hesitance of friendship in your hands, and when he cradled the back of your neck, he realized the feeling was affecting him too. You were trembling, and so was he, drunk on the feeling of a familiar but entirely new body. Playful touches couldn’t compare to harsh fingers grasping at whatever skin they could find, eliciting small sighs and dizzying gasps.

He dipped his head down and planted kisses along your jaw. Your hands closed into fists and you tipped your head back, letting his tongue move down to you neck. He might have been leaving hickies. He honestly didn’t know. All he cared about was absorbing as much of you as he could as quickly as possible.

You brought up your knees so he was sandwiched between your legs and he shuddered. He thought the kiss would be enough. Hell, he didn’t even think you’d receive it this enthusiastically. But he could feel that he was turned on, and you were definitely going to be able to tell if he didn’t slow down a little. He brought his lips back to yours and tried to lower the tension, ease up the pace, but then your legs were wrapped tightly around him, forcing him to grind against you.

Oh, fuck.

You grabbed his face on either side and licked into his mouth like you were trying to own him, and jesus he was starting to believe you did. His arms were braced on either side of you, desperately trying to keep him from completely melting, but it wasn’t working at all.

He was distantly aware that he was hard, but he didn’t think about it until one of your hands had left his face to paw at him through his pajamas. He gasped and felt you smile into the kiss, rubbing your palm up his length, nearly able to wrap your hand around him through the thin fabric. He pulled away from your lips and looked at you seriously, or as seriously as he could when his brain was actively trying to vacate his skull.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You ground your hand harder against him.

“Getting shy on me, Takahiro?”

He let out a shaky breath and shook his head. You stared up at him with a smug smile and he had the urge to kiss it off your face.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. You smiled and pulled him down by the back of his neck.

“Make me.”

He cut off any further comment by connecting your lips, trying to fight off a grin. You managed to maneuver the front of his pajamas down and he gasped as the cool air hit him. He braced himself against the floor with an elbow and you used the moment of surprise to wrap your legs around him and lock his hips against you.

He ground against you once and was met with the sudden, dizzying realization that you weren’t wearing anything under your loose pajama shorts. He filed that information away for later, when he could sit down and ask himself just how many times you had laid beside him like that. One of your hands gripped his hair tighter as he pushed himself against you once more, trying to give you the opportunity to take the lead.

“Jesus,” you said suddenly, reaching down and taking hold of his length. “Just fuck me already.”

That sentence alone could have killed him, but his train of thought was derailed as you lined him up between your legs and held onto his shoulders, begging him to get closer. He readjusted his forearm on the floor above your head and pushed inside of you with one fluid motion.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. He tipped his forehead against your face, trying to regain some semblance of self control as he withdrew and thrust forward again. The way you groaned and dug your fingertips into his back made that nearly impossible.

He set a slow, grinding pace, letting himself swim in your quiet moans before silencing them with a kiss. Your hands moved back to his hair, holding him close as your tongue met his. The motion felt so natural that he barely registered that you had only kissed for the first time a few minutes ago. It felt like you’d been his forever.

You broke the kiss but Makki kept his face pressed against yours.

“Takahiro,” you sighed. “A little faster.”

He nearly lost control of his body as he obeyed, quick breaths leaving his lips involuntarily with every movement. Your moans were driving him crazy. He wanted to taste them, drink in every bit of you until you were shaking beneath him. He captured your lips in a kiss again and shifted a hand between your legs, circling your clit as he continued thrusting into you.

The sound that left your throat was muffled against his lips, but he swore he would never forget it. Your breath was quick against his skin and the kiss became messier with every motion. One of your hands flew around his bicep, like you were trying to anchor yourself as he continued pushing into you.

Fuck, Makki was close. The harder you panted, the tighter your grip on him was, the faster he hurtled toward the edge. You were moaning into his mouth, and his fingers were moving faster between your legs, and his arm was cramping just a little bit from holding himself above you, but then you were breaking the kiss and your back was arching and holy shit.

Makki’s hips stuttered and he let out the most embarrassing, full-bodied groan he was capable of. He had to snap his other arm up to avoid collapsing on top of you. He stopped moving and basked in the little shocked breaths that left your body, even after you had stopped shaking. He rolled off of you and closed his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he said. Laughter cut through his words, but he could tell you were having the same problem as your chest heaved. He could see you rearranging your clothes out of the corner of his eye. You paused while readjusting your shirt.

“Makki, you gave me a hickie,” you said. He shoved your arm.

“You don’t get to call me Makki after I just made you come.”

You laughed loudly and flicked his head. He continued staring at the ceiling until he felt you turn over and lay a hand on his chest. He looked down and you were studying him, an amused expression on your face.

“Think Issei will know something’s up?” you asked.

“Of course,” he said. “He notices everything. But deny till you die, right?” You smiled and he pressed a long kiss to your lips, relishing the feeling of your breath dancing over his skin.

This was the only room in existence. You were the only person in the universe, and yours were the only lips he had ever kissed. Nothing mattered besides you and him, right now, exactly where you were supposed to be.

[startanewdream]

Written for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily Prompt #7 (Ice cream + "I don't want anybody else touching you like I do).

Tumblr exclusive at the moment because I don't have a title and the 'happy ending' part of the 'angst with a happy ending' was lost somewhere.

Rated M.

I will love to hear your thoughts about this!

_______________

I.

She is at the end of her round, going towards his cabin—her friends’ cabin, though Lily knows exactly who she is hoping to meet there—when she hears it.

‘—and Potter, what a waste. He won’t ever join him.’

‘We should just wipe him away. Blood traitor, muggle lover—’

‘You mean mudblood lover, Severus?’ Avery’s voice is tinted with malice and there are snickers around. ‘Potter and Evans seem pretty close nowadays. Do you think she gives him everything she denied you?’

‘I would never filth myself,’ comes Snape’s cold reply. ‘If he is tainting his blood, all the worse for him.’

Taint his blood. Is this what Lily’s presence does to James? Is she putting him in a danger he didn’t need to be just by being closer to him?

It’s Snape’s words and she shouldn’t listen to him—the days where she would hear him, would admire him, are long gone—but when she finally reaches the cabin (when James grins at the sight of her, bright and warm, and her heart skips a beat and Lily has to smile back), she sits away from James.

‘Anything wrong?’ he asks, familiar enough to read the tension on her face.

‘No, all normal,’ Lily says, and it’s the first lie.

______

II.

It’s summer and everyone is out of age now and apparating makes things so easy that Lily finds herself less and less at home during that break.

She tells herself it’s because she is avoiding the presence of her sister’s annoying fiance; she blames the fact that Dorcas has a beach house and it’s so much better spending days swimming and tanning; she even goes introspective to blame the pressure of the war looming over them in a way that means she needs to enjoy the last summer break before real life gets them.

But she knows the reason is James.

She finds herself gravitating towards him, unable to resist that attraction even as she knows how dangerous it is for him. Once or twice Lily thinks of telling him about it, of warning how he is stupidly raising his stakes by being near her, but she gives up only for the fact that this (might drive him away and she doesn't want it, not really) would probably just make him want to be even closer to her.

And they are already alarmingly close.

Once Lily would have been repulsed by that idea, but one year later everything has changed—James has changed—and everything about him appeals to her. The way he cares for everyone around him. The way he smiles patiently whenever he is explaining something. The way he grins as if to invite the world to share a great funny joke with him. How he runs his hand through his hair when he’s nervous. How he is so expansive that he seems to occupy any room he is in. How he loves flying, even more than Quidditch, and how relaxed he seems when he is on a broom. How he talks to her, taking it seriously when she needs to and making a joke when things get too serious. How he opens up about his own life and doubts and listens to her.

That would make them friends, really good friends, but then Lily’s heart would not stop racing when he’d touched her hand, or when their knees would bump while sitting closely in the library and then she was forced to note all the physical aspects—the muscles of his arms, the shape of full lips, the line of his jaw, the hazel kaleidoscope of his eyes and how fit he was—and give up any belief her feelings were limited to a friendship.

She fancies him, okay.

Except it’s not okay, because it’s dangerous and by now Lily is positive that James knows it too. Everyone knows it.

They end up together, just the two of them, a lot during that summer. It takes Lily a few days to realize it’s not a coincidence that her interests never align with those of her friends—if she wants to swim, somehow it’s only her and James in the sea; at night, even though it’s still so warm, they are the only ones who venture into the pool for a midnight swim, while the others stay stubbornly indoors.

When Lily suggests going to town to grab an ice cream, somehow James is the only one who is in the mood for it, despite the heat.

It’s not on purpose from his part—at least that’s how Lily sees it—but he isn’t refusing her company either and neither is she refusing his, so James’ boldness flourishes that summer. It’s not cocky as it once would be, it’s just a quiet acceptance that something is finally happening between them as if he never stopped believing it would be possible. Lily feels it when he throws his arm around her shoulders when they are sitting close, almost absently, almost not noticing when Lily lays her head over his shoulder; it’s there when he openly gawks the first time he sees her in a swimming suit, only to be nudged in the ribs by Sirius and then complimenting her ('good thing you wear robes at school, Evans, or there wouldn’t be much schoolwork done'). It’s definitely there when he intertwines their hands, pulling her to the sea with him.

And it’s there when they are sitting closer than they would need for a bench so wide, watching seagulls flying over the sea, each one holding an ice cream.

‘Chocolate chips with chocolate cover and chocolate sprinkles,’ James teases. ‘I think you have an addiction, Lily.’

‘Guilty,’ she replies, not ashamed at all, proving her ice cream and very aware of how James is staring at her. ‘It’s better than asking for vanilla ice cream.’

‘Hey!’ He would look deeply offended if not for the grin on his lips. ‘I’ll let you know vanilla is the best flavour.’

‘Never took you for a vanilla guy, James.’

‘What would take me for? The adventurous gorgeous type?’

Lily laughs, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to lie to him and deny it.

‘Attractive mysterious type, then?’ he insists. ‘Handsome scoundrel?’

‘I notice your beauty is enhanced a lot.’

‘My beauty? So you admit that I’m beautiful, Evans?’

‘Do I need to? You seem to already know it.’

‘I enjoy hearing you saying all the same,’ he says, and though James shrugs easily she can sense the shift in his eyes, the nervous glint there. ‘That means we would make a beautiful couple.’

‘We would,’ she whispers, still not wanting to lie.

She turns back her attention to the ice cream, already melting under the scorching sun. It makes a mess, and James laughs as she tries to lick the ice cream out of her hands, but then his laugh dies and she watches him swallow slowly, reacting. He always reacts to her.

She licks her lips now, and he also watches this movement, the grin on his face replaced by concentration—no, determination, a fierce look and Lily knows what James will do even before he raises his hand to slide his thumb at the corner of her mouth.

‘You missed here,’ he says, and though he must have wiped off the ice cream already, his caress remains.

His eyes are dark now, even under the sunlight, and he registers how Lily hasn’t stepped back, how she raises her head just the slightest to get closer to him. His gaze strays to her lips, Lily blinks, and then James looks back at her.

‘Lily,’ he says, and it’s a question.

‘James,’ she says, and it’s the only answer she can give him.

His lips find hers and in the bright darkness that surrounds Lily when she closes her eyes, she can see everything in colour. The white of his taste of vanilla. The green of his perfume that reminds her of early mourning in the woods. The brown of his skin as he pulls her closer, one hand holding the back of her neck and the other hand finding hers, locking their fingers together. The red of her blood pumping furiously through her veins, so loud and unstoppable.

And she sees him, messy dark hair, hazel bright eyes, her own sun.

But when they break apart, when she watches him keeping his eyes closed a second longer—savouring it, remembering it—, all that comes to her mind it’s the warning.

Taint his blood.

Her smile falters.

‘James,’ she whispers, all warmth of the day gone, hating everything but herself so much more when he opens his eyes and they are filled with hope. ‘This doesn’t mean anything.’

And this is the second lie she tells him.

___________

III.

Summer is over as far as Lily is concerned, but they still have two weeks in which she forces a smile up to her lips that doesn’t fool anyone.

Everyone knows something happened, though no one knows exactly what, and Lily feels too tired to pretend everything is normal. James barely acknowledges her when they are in the same room, and in the few occasions their eyes meet, there is nothing of that familiarity that he once thrived to share with her. He looks confused and hurt.

Lily could deal with the confusion but she is powerless against the hurt. She is the one who damaged him after all.

Their friends are mostly adamant in letting them deal with the situation, one notable exception being Sirius Black, but Lily didn’t expect anything less from him. He watches her rather resentfully in the first days, and Lily starts looking for excuses to avoid attending the events she had carefully arranged with them (with James, sitting by the edge of the lake, holding a scroll against his back as they wrote everything they would do, laughing and planning and hoping).

The summer days are hot, unbearably hot, and the breeze that comes through the window of her room isn’t enough. She could cast a Cooling Charm, but her wand is far away and the fact that she can cast spells outside school has lost its appeal now. She doesn't even celebrate when her school letter comes with a badge attached to it.

Most of the time Lily just stares at the ceiling of her room, finding patterns in the painting that aren’t really there, too strained and too tired to avoid being even more strained—her mind keeps replaying the moment James leaned closer, the brief moment his breath tingled her skin and the softness of his lips over hers, and Lily has no strength to avoid it. She is addicted to it, to the one thing she had a taste of and cannot have again.

Five days into hiding (she is hiding, Lily won’t deny it), her sister knocks on her door to tell her unceremoniously that one of her freak friends has come to visit her.

‘Hurry, I don’t want Vernon finding him when he arrives,’ Petunia tells her, and Lily ignores her completely.

Him, she said. Him, Lily thinks, and her mind conjures James sitting on the couch of her parents’ living room, a grin on his lips as he charms his way with her parents (he charmed her, Lily doesn’t see what challenge her parents would present), accepting a cup of tea and looking around trying to understand all the muggle contraptions in that muggle house—

Muggle lover. All the worse for him.

She rushes downstairs, her heart pounding on her head, her mouth dry with the excuses she will have to present (go away, just go away) but it’s not James after all.

Sirius looks even more out of place than the James she imagined inside her head, standing with his arms crossed in that pastel living room, and with an unhappy grimace on his lips. He turns at the sound of her, his grey eyes burning disapprovingly—and then, as he stares at her, his expression shifts.

‘You are a mess, Evans.’

Self-consciousness washes over her, and Lily runs her hand through her hair—or tries to, because it gets stuck in the knots of her messy braid. She knows she hasn’t changed clothes ever since she woke up, though it’s nearly midday, so she does the only thing she can: she presses her lips, crosses her arms and tries to look unfazed.

‘I wasn’t expecting a visit,’ she says. It’s summer break, she can do nothing all day.

‘I didn’t even mean your appearance. It was more your… aura.’

‘Aura,’ she repeats, a tiny part of her finding this amusing, but Lily can’t muster strength enough to break a smile. ‘Very mystical, Sirius.’

‘That’s me, master of occult arts. But in this case, I just needed to look at you. You—you look miserable.’

‘Thanks. If that’s all you wanted to say—’

‘Oh, no, I came here to give you a piece of my mind about how you broke my best friend’s heart, but you look somehow worse than him. What’s going on?’

Lily shrugs. ‘Nothing.’

‘So you just decided to play with his feelings and ditch him the moment he corresponded?’

His words are a poison that crawls through her skin, entering it slowly but certain; Lily feels it reaching her bloodstream, spreading through every part of her body, until the poison finds her heart. She thought she was oblivious to pain after the last days, but she was wrong.

‘I wasn’t playing with his feelings,’ she whispers, her voice hoarse, so close to breaking.

‘Then what? I thought—everyone thought—you fancied him too. Merlin, Evans, that boy was in love with you.’

The worst part is that Lily knows it. It was not a play to James, it never was. She saw it in the way his face lighted up at the sight of her, how eager he was to become friends once Lily first extended her peace flag. She saw how his eyes always looked first for her in any room he entered, how he’d find any reason to stay closer.

And she saw everything because she was paying attention.

Of course she was. One does not fall in love also if not paying attention.

‘I don’t know what to say, Sirius,’ Lily says truthfully. ‘I am sorry for all the confusion I’ve caused.’

‘Sorry is not enough.’

‘I know.’

Sirius watches her with something that borders on disappointment now. ‘You better find a way of fixing this, Evans.’

‘I—I don’t know how. I’m trying to keep my distance—’

‘And how is that helping you two?’

It’s not, Lily knows, and that’s the point. She can’t explain to James what is the problem and she is afraid that if she sees him again, if her determination falters her for one second—

‘We are going to have a party tomorrow night,’ Sirius says, his voice leaving no room for argument. ‘Dorcas’ house. It’s a goodbye party, we even invited the muggle neighbours. You’ll come, you’ll find James and you’ll talk. Fix this.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You better find a way, Evans, because that thing of keeping your distance? Well, Hogwarts letter came yesterday. Let me guess, you are Head Girl.’

Lily nods, not understanding where Sirius is heading with this.

‘Guess who’s Head Boy this year?’

____________

Lily hears the music as soon as she disapparates near Dorcas’ house. People, young people around her age, are walking towards the house and she joins the flow letting herself get lost in that stream of people, hoping it’s enough to not draw attention to her presence.

It’s useless. As soon as she crosses the doorway, Dorcas cries for her, her voice louder than the music, and then people look at her curiously.

‘Merlin, Lily!’ Dorcas cries, ignoring everyone in the room to whom that sentence makes no sense. ‘I thought I would need to invade the Prefect’s Cabin to see you again.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Lily says, accepting Dorcas’ hug, and using it as an excuse to avoid looking around. ‘I had stuff to do.’

It’s vague, it’s almost a lie, and Dorcas is on the edge of discussing it when Lily says she is going to get a drink, leaving the room.

When she reaches the kitchen, Lily considers that having herself questioned by Dorcas was preferable, because of course she runs into James at the first opportunity.

And of course he already has a company.

He is with his back to her, holding a bottle of beer in his hand while he talks with a pretty dark-haired girl. In another time Lily would find amusing how James obviously has no idea what he’s talking about—muggle rock bands, a subject that Sirius would fare better—, but she can’t break a smile right now, because she sees that James is trying.

That’s what he is doing with that unknown girl. He is making a real effort to keep a conversation, trying to understand what she is saying; he is trying to look interesting, to gather her attention.

Ten days, she thinks selfishly. We kissed ten days ago and I can’t stop thinking about it and you are flirting with another girl.

He must sense her staring; he turns around, and his eyes find her for a brief second before Lily bolts through the door (she is running, and she won’t deny it), grabbing the first bottle she sees on her way out.

Sirius must have lied to her (you broke my best friend’s heart), because James looks normal. Not hurt anymore, just… normal. Not like he used to like her in those first glorious days of the summer—bright and hopeful and awaiting—but as if she is just anyone else. Ordinary.

It’s fair, all things considered. She couldn’t expect him to remain in love with the girl who kissed him then rejected him. But she sees it, clearly as day, what the future holds: James will move on whatever he feels for her (that boy was in love with you) and then he will do with someone else everything he used to do with her—that inviting grins, the glint in his eyes, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, so… intimate. Familiar. Hers.

He will share with others what used to be hers.

She leaves the house, in search of a quiet place at the beach to sit on, and looks at the bottle in her hands. Wine. Not good. She will take forever to get drunk on wine and afterwards the headache won’t even be worth it.

But it’s all she has and James is somewhere in that house flirting with a girl (that’s not her) that didn’t reject him and he has every right to do it. Even if it’s a muggle girl. Even if the reason Lily is not with him is that she is muggleborn.

It’s ironic and it’s sad, but it’s not the same. This is a one-night thing. It’s the end of the summer, he’s probably just looking for the last bit of carefree summer adventure as the single guy he is. They will just dance with each other, close together, enjoying their freedom, finding a secluded room, and he will touch the corner of her lips, asking, and she will say yes because that’s the only answer she can give him.

It won’t mean anything, but this time it will be true and this time James won’t get hurt by it.

Maybe Lily should do the same. Not to get even, but to start her own way forward. She can’t be harbouring her feelings for him—wasn’t that the point of not advancing things? Wasn’t that why she lied to him? (That kiss had meant everything)

She takes a sip of the wine, then another and one more for good measure, and she rises, almost colliding with him. Of course.

‘Hey,’ he says awkwardly, arms extended to steady her. It lasts less than a second, but his hands over her arms burn all the same, stronger than the heat any day of that summer.

‘Hi.’

He is looking at a point over her head, unable to meet her eyes, his hand lifting the hair at the back of his head and Lily remembers running her fingers through the strands of his hair while they were kissing, enjoying the fact that for once she was the one messing it.

‘Look, I’m just gonna say it, okay?’ James says in a rush, not as when he is excitedly talking about something he finds interesting. ‘I’m sorry for—for everything.’

Everything. What does it mean?

‘I am too,’ she answers carefully. He takes a deep breath.

‘I heard we are going to be Heads this year—I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking, really—and I don’t want things to be weird between us.’

Weird. Things were never weird between them before. They weren’t friends, then Lily barely stood him, then they were acquaintances, then they were friends, then they were flirting with each other and then they were so close to something.

But never weird.

Somehow this notion helps to clear the fog in her head.

‘I don’t want it either,’ Lily says, and there is no doubt in her voice. James seems to breathe again with her words.

‘Good.’ There is a moment of silence. ‘Can we forget everything and go back to being just friends?’

Lily steels herself. She takes a look at James’ face—his eyes are on her forehead now, almost meeting her eyes but not yet ready—, one last look to admire him in the darkness of the beach and she is not lying when she says: ‘We can.’

By the end of the night it will be a lie, though, and that’s number three.

___________

They are trying and because no one tries better than James Potter, they are almost achieving it.

They go back to the house, keeping a safe distance between them so no one could misinterpret it, but whatever their friends see in their faces seems to relax everyone. Lily and James are fine, they believe, they are over that weird thing between them, and Lily starts believing it too.

She can do it.

A bottle of gin finds its way towards her group and the music is exciting. It’s a party, she is on a party, and it’s easy to join Dorcas in the middle of a dance, and it’s even easier when Dorcas is replaced by a cute muggle boy who doesn’t look anything like James (that’s why it’s easier—it takes only one second for her to look for any similarity and find none and it’s so easy).

She wonders if that’s why James was talking to that dark-haired girl. If he was avoiding finding Lily in someone else too.

But that’s a bad thought, it’s not a thought of someone who’s trying (and Lily is, she swears), so she accepts his arms, let who-knows-his-name twirl her around the room, but when he leans in to kiss her, she laughs and diverts—she is trying, but it takes small steps, so she says something about getting another drink and goes to the next room.

That’s a mistake.

A big, big mistake.

She finds them sitting close together on a couch that should only fit one, joining some silly drinking game. His arm is around her shoulders, holding a glass that’s nearly finished; they are laughing and as Lily watches it, the girl leans closer to speak something in his ear, her hand playing with the curls of his hair as she speaks. It takes a full second, but he grins, turning to her and winking.

It could be nothing, it could be just some joke, but it’s not harmless, Lily knows it. It’s a flirt, and James has every right to do it; he is free and Lily has just told him they can be friends. Friends don’t get jealous. Friends don’t get their hearts ripped out with the sight of the other smiling happily at someone else.

Lily can’t do it at all.

So she turns away and runs once more (she’s getting quite good at it by now), sprinting upstairs in search of an empty room, somewhere where she can rest until she can breathe again, until she can rearrange her expression into something normal enough for her to come back to the party, find that blond guy who is not James and enjoy her summer break as he is doing right now.

Until she can pretend everything is normal.

‘Lily?’

His voice breaks the silence of that room—though Lily knows she would have heard it anyway—and it sends a wave of panic through her body. She is not ready. She can’t look at him and still keep her promise.

James doesn’t know about her troubles—he is trying after all, and he is so much better at this than Lily will ever be—so he walks towards her, takes a look at her face and kneels in front of her.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No,’ she says, unable to lie. He would see through her anyway.

‘I saw you leaving—what happened?’

‘I need more time. I can’t...’

‘Can’t what?’ She doesn’t answer. James sighs. ‘Are you drunk? Come on, rest a little, I will bring you some water—’

‘I’m not drunk,’ Lily says. Another truth. ‘I just need—I want—’

‘What?’

In answer, she raises her hand and lets her fingers comb his hair. He shivers, his breath catching, his eyes widening and he holds her arm to stop the movement. Nervous. Insecure. She can’t fault him. They’ve been there before, at the edge of something, and she accepted only to turn him away a second later.

‘What are you doing?’

It’s a demand more than a question, and Lily attends it. ‘I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do. It’s mine.’

Her voice is ferocious and unfair and Lily waits for his cold reply, the one she deserves—she has no right to claim any part of him—, but it never comes. Instead, James blinks.

‘Then take it,’ he challenges. Lily does.

Her lips crash over his, and this time is not soft or patient. It’s desperate and when she tastes the whiskey in his mouth, she understands the difference and gladly accepts it. His hands are everywhere—holding her waist, climbing under her skirt, running through her hair to pull her closer—but what somehow stays with her it’s the moment he closes the door and then they are alone and the darkness is their friend.

The darkness makes it easy, embarrassingly easy, for her to break the kiss enough to lift his shirt and for him to slide her dress down and for them to find their way to the bed. He holds her, his lips incessantly, and a part of Lily wonders if he doesn’t want to break apart for fear of what happened the last time he did it.

But the majority of her is too wrapped in the feelings he is bringing to worry about anything. She accepts him, accepts every caress he distributes openly, and returns it eagerly. She tastes the saltiness of his skin, feels every muscle of his chest—the ones she has memorized after so many days at the beach though she had only imagined how they would feel under her fingers—, presses herself closer to him. His hands are exploring her—he saw her at the beach too—and then his mouth replaces his hands and the moan that escapes her lips is true.

She pulls him up, tasting her own sweat on his lips—it was a warm day and it’s a warmer night—and her hands work on the button of his jeans. There is a moment of hesitation—he breaks away, his eyes boring into hers even as the darkness barely allows them to see each other—and then it’s gone. He pulls her last piece of cloth then stands up long enough to take out his last one and then there is only them.

Only Lily and James, except they don’t feel like two anymore. They are one and in the darkness, Lily sees those colours that are so James once more, fireworks whose sounds are moans and short breaths and names whispered so low that the other could pretend they didn’t hear.

But Lily hears it and it’s hers. He is hers for that moment and she is his.

She lied before (and now she knows it). She can’t forget him. She can’t be just friends. James is bright sunny days, cosy cold nights and she longs to share it all with him (she couldn’t, but her mind can’t recall why right now). She locks her hand with his, her nails burying into his skin, and Lily doesn’t want to let go.

He holds her hand, pressing it so hard that she can’t feel circulation there anymore, and then he cries her name, this time impossible to deny it. He called her.

It’s not the last time he will do it tonight. He presses another kiss to her lips—it’s feverish and urgent and somehow even more desperate than the first one—, rests his forehead against her catching his breath and Lily enjoys the moment, enjoys that pleasure and soreness that runs through her body, enjoys how her chest brushes against his as she breathes, slower each time, recovering.

Recover. As if she could.

James breaks apart, rolling to the side and for a moment there is silence, the music distant, the world distant until it’s not anymore, until the world seems too close and the air too heavy, not one breeze to refresh it. Lily thinks of opening the window—it’s already opened, the wind bringing the smell of the sea to the room—when she realizes it’s not the air that feels wrong.

It’s them. No, it’s him.

‘James,’ she calls, panic and fear trembling her voice, coldness spreading through her skin in a way that it should not be possible, not on this summer day.

She can hear him rising from the bed, grabbing his clothes.

‘Lily,’ he answers shortly, opening briefly the door and she can’t see his face. ‘I know, it doesn’t mean anything.’

And that’s James Potter's first lie.

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?