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thebestofoneshots · 10 months ago

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Waiting For a Girl Like You | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L.. x S.B. x Gn!Reader (originally written as a woman but then I discovered I hadn't used any pronouns, and the reader was not particularly feminine, so it became my first official GN) Word Count: 5 k Warnings: None Prompt: Unbeknownst to many, your birthday has always been a quiet affair, you don't often celebrate it and you certainly weren't expecting for things to change the moment you met those two, enimagtic boys on your Creative Writing course. You could have not been more mistaken.

I got two requests a couple of weeks ago and I could not fulfil them on time for the life of me. Dear @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl sent me similar requests about a certain birthday fic and first of all, Guys your birthdays are on the same day, How cool is that!?! Second, I'm so sorry I took so long, but it's finally here!

I decided to combine the prompts since I thought it would be really cute for the story, and this is what I've come up with.

Hope you enjoy, darlings! I'm wishing you all the best! xx Lils

Written for @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays so far. Back in your hometown, it was the same day as a special celebration of the discovery of the mines and they held a huge, town-wide party for it. The party was great, a fair, balloons, cotton candy, everything great, everything kids loved. Unfortunately, it was so good that people tended to forget about your birthday since they were excited about Mining Day.

Of course, people close to you remembered (your parents), but even though you had told your friends plenty of times that your birthday was on the same day, it had slipped their minds a good deal of times. You tried to make parties and people would prefer going to see the guest singer invited to the festival. You'd make them the next day and they were too tired to come.

Eventually, you just gave up on celebrating your own birthday and decided to join the rest on Mining Day, enjoying the candies and everything in between. It might have not been your special day but it was a special day and that was as good as you’d get. Or so you thought.

When you moved to London for university, you didn’t even think about telling your friends about your birthday, and they hadn’t asked either. That was until you took that Creative Writing side course and met them. You had been on time but the room had been filled to the brim with students, and there was nowhere to sit. You’d huffed and were about to leave to ask for a chair from a different classroom but when you turned around you bumped into the prettiest person your eyes had ever laid eyes upon, piercing grey eyes, long wavy hair, and features so elegant he looked royal.

He smiled, such a pretty smile. “Hey, you were going for one of these? I brought extra,” he said as he pulled one of the chairs up to signal what he was talking about.

“Yeah,” you said shily.

“Cool, come along then,” he said and you moved out of the way as he moved with the chairs. He moved his chairs all the way to a table where there was another stunning person sitting down. “What’s your name, Luv?” You replied with your name, soft and polite. “Pretty,” he said, flashing that same smile your way, meaning both you and your name, not that you knew. He accommodated the chairs, one next to each other, wiped his hands on his black jeans and then extended his hand to you. “Sirius Black.”

You shook his hand and then the other boy’s warm smile caught your eye. “Remus Lupin,” he said with his hand extended as well. He had scars all over his body, but it didn’t make him any less handsome. Were you curious about them? Of course, you were. Were you gonna ask? No way in hell.

The boys had met each other at a boarding school in Scotland and had moved to London recently. Remus wanted to take a lit class and tried to convince his friends to join him but Sirius didn’t love the idea of a class where he’d have to read and analyse books, so he suggested taking something more on the creative side.

Remus found the Writing Course and Sirius had been more than happy to join him. You and Remus actually had a lot in common, you discovered as the class went on. You had both read a lot, and you veered towards the same authors and storylines. You had an insane passion for Oscar Wilde and he loved Mary Shelly. You sometimes wondered if he liked her so much because of the way she described the Fiend, you truly hoped that wasn’t it, because while you could see how Rem would relate to the monster, you hated the idea of it, since you considered him absolutely stunning.

Days had gone by, and while you always sat with the boys and hung out with them every time you saw them at school, you hadn’t really seen them outside of it, that was until you got a group assignment and Sirius was quick to place his arms around both you and Rem and claim you as his team.

Remus scribbled your names on a piece of paper and handed them over to the teacher before she assigned each of you a different subject for your story. You got fantasy. The boys seemed to be diverted when you started talking about mythical creatures and wizards, and you assumed it had something to do with an inside joke they developed through the years of knowing each other.

They invited you over to their apartment that was just next to a corner cafe cleverly named “The Corner” and you had stopped by to get something for you and the boys, since you weren’t sure how long it would take and were now waiting just outside the door to their apartment complex.

“We’re coming, Sweets,” Sirius’ voice said through the speakers as the door buzzed open to let you in.

You used your shoulder to push inside and carefully moved the carton with the three coffee cups inside as you entered, your backpack strap got caught in the door and you were forced to turn around to and you opened the door again, placing the paper bag with fresh bread on your mouth to free one of your hands and pulled the strap free.

When you turned around, you were shocked to find a smiling Sirius right in front of your face. “You shouldn’t have bothered, Luv!” he said and extended his hand towards your mouth, taking the paper bag and then the carton with the coffee from your hand.

“I wanted to,” you said simply.

Sirius and you went up the stairs, Remus was waiting by the door and the two of them welcomed you in. For an apartment belonging to two boys, it was surprisingly neat. Remus had arranged his coffee table with a few cushions over the rug so you all could sit together, he had a couple of pens and pencils, his notebook and a stunning Remington Typewriter.

You almost walked straight to look at it when you spotted it on the table, “This is her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said as he sat beside you. “Wanna try it?”

“Can I please?” you asked, you had a Brother one at your apartment, and you adored her, but Remingtons were classics. His was from the 50s and it looked brand new. Rather than responding, Remus placed a paper through the platen and pushed it towards you.

Since you didn’t actually have a plan to write something, you just typed the boys’ Name and then yours, right at the top of the paper.

“What are we going to write then? Any ideas?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about wizards?” Sirius asked with a smile.

“But do you want to?”

He chuckled, “Of course, Sweets, we’d love to go for that.” He reclined his head on the sofa. “We’ve actually discussed it, and we have some ideas, don’t we Moony?”

Remus shot a look at Sirius, who winked in return.

“Yeah?” You asked as you turned your gaze to Sirius. “For the plot?”

“Mhm… hear me out. It’s a hidden school for wizards, you get there by taking a secret train hidden at King’s Cross. The school is full of magic and mysteries and ghosts and other magical creatures.”

You frowned, “I don’t know… it sounds a little too surrealistic, doesn’t it?”

Sirius laughed at your statement and Remus threw pillow towards his face, you squirmed in your seat a little uncomfortably and then Rem placed his hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay, Dove. We don’t have to go for Sirius’ idea.”

“But he said you wanted to write about it too…”

“I’ll be happy with whatever we make. I know with our writing skills and Sirius’ creativity we’ll make something brilliant.”

You pulled out your notebook and checked the list of ideas for the story you had to write. It had to be at least 50k words and you had three weeks to finish it. So the three of you would have to get writing as soon as possible, which meant you had to define the story and you had to define it fast. Most of your ideas were either unfinished, not doable in such a short time or had the opportunity to be integrated into Sirius’ magic school.

“Okay, tell me more about your Wizard’s school.”

Sirius smiled, threw a look at Remus –a satisfied sort of look– before turning back to you, “Okay, so the name is Wartshow: School for Wizardry and Witchcraft, and–“

“Doesn’t Witchcraft and Wizardry sound better, though?”

Sirius licked his lips and smiled. “All right then, Wartshow: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” You wrote it down in your notebook.

“It’s the story about a boy, a boy that thought they wouldn’t be able to assist even though he was a wizard.”

“Sirius,” Remus said in a warning tone.

“Shut up Moony, you’ll kill my inspiration.”

“Why did he think that?” You asked.

“Because he was bitten by a werewolf when he was 4.”

Remus scoffed and stood up, “I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“He’s not a fan of my story,” Sirius said. “He says the main character is not a hero, but I differ.”

You hummed in response. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Re- Andrew,” he said, “Andrew Renault.”

“Renault? Is he french?”

“No, I don’t– he is not.”

“Okay, then we should go for a more English name, like… Remington?”

“Andrew Remington? Sounds posh.”

“As if Sirius Black sounded less posh,” you joked and he scoffed playfully at you. He continued listing his ideas, telling you Remus’ story although he had changed the names of almost everyone. “Will there be dragons?” you asked after he had laid out the basic idea.

“Dragons? Those are dangerous!”

“Of course they are, but it’s more exciting than the…ugh” –you checked your notes– “boggart monster you mentioned.”

“Dragons are definitely more exciting than Boggarts,” Remus said as he sat on the floor next to you. You couldn’t help but notice his scars, perhaps Sirius had used those as inspiration for Andrew.

“Okay, so we’ll add dragons. What if there’s a dragon in the dungeons?”

“No, in the dungeons there are snakes,” Sirius said as if it were a fact. He had clearly thought this out.

“Okay… what about a secret room in the castle that has dragons? It’s magical, right? It could be bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS.”

“The what?” Sirius asked, confused.

“The TARDIS! From Doctor Who?” you said as if it were a fact, he still looked confused. “You do know what I’m talking about, right Rem?”

“Is it a book?” he asked.

“A book? How do you even call yourself Brits if you don’t know about Doctor Who? That’s it, Sunday, my house, we’re watching a marathon.”

“Whatever you want, dove,” Remus said and handed you a piece of chocolate.

“So, going back to the story. A room that’s bigger on the inside. Like a… Chamber of Secrets?”

“Sirius,” Remus warned again.

“It’s what she said!” Sirius said defensively.

After that, you finished plotting the small story in between the three, even with the slight reluctance you detected from Remus, you got around to defining all of your main characters, the challenges they’d go through and the resolution of the story.

“By the way, tomorrow is our flatmate James’ birthday,” Sirius said as he closed the notepad he’d been writing on. “Wanna come to the party?”

“I don’t think I’ve met James, though.”

“It’s fine, he’ll love to meet you I’m sure,” Remus said. “When is your birthday?”

“I–“ you hesitated, “I don’t really celebrate it.”

“Why not? We should definitely celebrate the day you were brought into this world,” Sirius said.

You smiled, Sirius could be the sweetest sometimes. “I don’t do parties…”

“Because you don’t want to?”

“No! It’s just… long story, don’t bother yourselves with it.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Sirius offered. “In exchange, you give me your birthday, how about that?”

You laughed, Sirius wasn’t the type to care too much about things, so you walked towards him and whispered the date in his ear.

“Now yours?” you said as he leaned closer to you.

“It’s all real, we are magicians from the school in our story,” he whispered.

You laughed. “I thought you’d tell me a real secret, should have known,” you added as you shoved him, he just laughed and shrugged in response, as if he was saying it’s your loss, for not believing his lie.

After that day, you hung out with them almost all the time, be it to watch movies, to continue that Doctor Who marathon, or to hang out with the boys on their birthdays. In fact, it was almost odd if you didn’t see each other in more than a couple of days, since they would find almost any reason to meet, Sirius would call and say ‘Hey, there’s a new movie I want to see, you coming with us?’

Or Remus would leave a note on your mailbox telling you to come with him to a library later that day since he had just finished the book he was reading and you were always the best at finding the right books.

So. of course, you thought it was odd when, on the morning of your birthday, you called their apartment and got no response. Now you weren’t expecting a grandiose party, you weren’t even going to get a cake or anything, but you wanted to see them, maybe go out for dinner, or have a cinema night. You rang them again and still no answer.

You sighed and walked towards school. You didn’t have that creative writing course today so you weren’t expecting to see them there, but perhaps on the lunch break, you’d find them in your usual spot.

Your classes were rather tedious, an old professor that spoke very quietly and you had to sit at the very front to even hear him, and then another professor who almost always went over the same thing you’d seen in the first class. Always, round and round the same thing, with nothing new. At least you’d have a class with Professor Almain before lunch. It was your favourite class of the semester –aside from the writing course– and so far, you thought it’d be the highlight of your day.

But when you got to his classroom, the room was empty and there was a short note on the board: Professor Almain is indisposed today. Study Chapters three and four of your book, you’ll be discussing them next class. The note was signed by Tobby Klein, his assistant.

You sighed and sat down on one of the chairs, sulking as you took out the book mentioned and started to read. Someone else tried to enter the room a few minutes later, and when they realised there would be no class, they left the classroom instantly. Perhaps they had something better to do, you didn’t.

You had taken that class as an extracurricular, so you barely knew the students in it, and your classmates were in a class you had taken online, so you couldn’t exactly go search for any of them. You could have gone to the library, but it also seemed unnecessary when you had a perfectly quiet classroom all to yourself.

You were about halfway through the chapter when you heard someone knocking on the glass window. When you turned you spotted Sirius waving his hand at you with a bright, pearly smile. He looked as dashing as ever. It was ridiculous how pretty you still thought he was even when you saw him all the time.

He entered the room shortly after. “What are you here all alone?” he asked as he pulled a chair next to yours and pressed a short kiss on your cheek as a greeting. Sirius did that all the time, you’d assumed it was because he was half French.

“Class was cancelled,” you said as you pointed to the board. “Had nowhere to go. Aren’t you supposed to be in class too?”

He hummed in response. “It’s that stupid advanced maths class Moony convinced me to take, I was falling asleep and asked to go to the bathroom to throw some water at my face when I spotted you.”

“You should go back.”

“To maths? Rather than staying with you? Yeah, right!”

A small smile appeared on your lips as you stared at him while shaking your head in disbelief. “What if you fail, though?”

“I’m not going to fail,” he said with a shrug. “Moony can tell me what it was about later. Wanna grab something to eat? My treat.”

You nodded and pulled your bag from the ground. “I was actually going to invite you guys over tonight,” you said as you opened the zipper and placed the book inside the bag, “I mean I’m sure you don’t remember, and I don’t really want to make anything big but–“

“That today is your birthday?” Sirius asked.

You turned to him in shock, “You– you…”

“How on earth would I forget?” he said with a smile. “It’s the day my best girl was born. They should make a fucking parade for you.”

You felt your cheeks warm at Sirius’ grandiose attitude. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and offered his hand. “It feels like a day for ice cream, want some?”

You nodded and he dragged you towards the parking lot, his hand not leaving yours at all, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest since you suspected he had a thing with Remus, but it was almost impossible when he looked at you with his stunning grey eyes.

He took out the helmet they’d gotten you when they started offering to take you on rides from Moony’s bike and handed it over. It was a full-face black helmet that matched the one the two of them wore almost perfectly, but while Moony’s had a half moon and Sirius’ had a star, yours had both.

It had been Remus who added the matching moon, and Sirius –who instantly got jealous over it– painted a star right in the middle, he was exceptionally good at painting, sometimes you wondered why he didn’t study art. Then again, you weren’t sure what exactly they were studying, since they had taken classes from more than four different degrees as if they had only picked the few classes that they were interested in.

You took the helmet in between your hands and hopped on Sirius’ bike. He drove you to the small park that was just a couple of minutes from the school and got you your favourite ice cream from the small ice cream shop James had discovered a while back.

“So, about tonight?”

“Moony has a thing,” Sirius said with an apologetic smile. “He has a big presentation tomorrow and he’s working on it with his team tonight, they’ll be using the rooftop of our apartment for it, I believe.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment.

Sirius bit his lip, “Why don’t you come over?”

“I wouldn’t want to be a distraction, I mean–“

“I don’t have to work on any projects,” Sirius said. “We could play chess, watch a movie while he finishes and then we order something to eat.”

“You– do you really think that’s a good idea?” you asked, uncertain, as you brought your ice cream to your mouth.

“For sure,” he said. “We could get a cake and–“

“No cakes.”

“But you like cakes!”

“Not on my birthday.”

“That’s ridiculous! You have something on your face.”

“Where?” you asked.

“There,” he said as leaned his finger close to you and smeared some of his ice cream over your cheek. You gasped in shock.

“Sirius!” you admonished.

“Yes, Luv?” he responded, as if you had just called him.

You used the napkin wrapped around your cone to clean your cheek, “That was uncalled for.”

“I don’t know about that, your cheeks looked like they needed some ice cream,” he said while trying, and failing to hold back a smile, he pulled a napkin from his pocket, much like a magician would do, and handed it over to you. You were about to take it from his hand, but he shook his head and wrapped his fingers around your chin and turned your head to the side softly. “Allow me.”

He took longer than needed while whipping your cheek, but he didn’t exactly want to pull apart, and you didn’t want him to pull apart either.

“There you go.”

“It’s sticky now,” you teased.

“Nothing can keep you happy, can it, Sweetheart?” he said dramatically and wrapped his arm over your shoulders and leaned his head on yours.

You just laughed. Sirius convinced you to skip the next class and stay with him at the park and then took you home.

“Want me to pick you up?” He asked as you got down from the bike. He had propped the small side stand down and was leaning on the handlebar. You could hardly believe he had driven you all around looking that handsome, with his leather jacket, and high boots. Sirius was pretty all the time, but sometimes he felt more like a fictional character than like an actual human.

You saw a girl eyeing him as she passed by, and you couldn’t help but smile at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be lovely. At 7?”

He smiled, gave you a short wink, and put his helmet back on. “See you soon, Sweetheart.” He said, voice slightly muffled by the helmet before he drove off. You entered your apartment shortly after, and it took you a whole minute to recover. It’s not that you hadn’t gone out with Sirius plenty of times, but this one seemed a lot more like a date than all of the previous ones.

You took a snack bar from your pantry, went for a shower, and asked your classmates about the class you’d missed. A friend of yours told the teacher that you were feeling sick to cover for you and he said he wouldn’t count the absence (it was the first time you missed that class anyway), and you had always been rather participative.

After that, you grabbed the book you’d been reading and read until it was 7. The light outside had already gone out, and you took some chocolates you’d bought for Remus last week and placed them in your backpack, it was then that you heard the familiar honk of Sirius’ Triumph.

You walked downstairs and met him outside. He switched his band tee for a snug turtleneck sweater that fit him obscenely well and was still wearing his leather jacket. You had kept your helmet and put it on as you approached his bike.

“You smell nice,” you said as you sat behind him.

“You think?” he asked, playing dumb. “Maybe it’s the aftershave,” he added as he pulled the side stand up and drove into the street. You eyed him suspiciously, not that you could see much while he had his helmet on but you still did.

By the time you arrived at their apartment, you had forgotten all about your suspicion and were just leaning onto Sirius as much as you could, since the night had grown a lot colder than you expected it would. Sirius parked his bike just outside and the two of you walked the three floors of stairs to their apartment.

You expected to see James lounging around like he often did, but he was not there, and Sirius told you Remus was on the terrace at the top, doing his thing, so you walked towards the sofa while Sirius offered to make you a cup of tea.

“Remus bought the one you like,” he said, pulling out a box with the tea you had tried a while back. You had fallen in love with the flavour, but you never found it in the supermarket –it was from a small tea shop at Diagon Alley, so really, there would be no way for you to find it.

“Okay,” you said, “got milk?”

Sirius nodded towards the fridge and you helped him by pulling out the milk and some biscuits. When your cup was ready, he handed it over to you and took a sip of his own. He glanced at the clock quickly, so quick you barely even noticed and then smiled. It was that mysterious smile of his that told you he was up to something. “We should go see Remus.”

“What? I thought he was working on his project.”

“He probably is, but you haven’t seen him all day, I’m sure he wants to at least give you a birthday hug.”

“A birthday hug?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes! A birthday hug! We’ll bother him for a bit and then we come back and you tell me about that book you’ve been reading. The one with the character you said reminds you of me.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you said with a laugh as you nodded and followed along with him.

As you reached the top of the stairs you heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. Sirius was the one to open it first, but none of the lights they normally had were up.

“Maybe they went to do their homework at the Corner Cafe,” you told Sirius as you turned to him. Suddenly all the lights turn on, including candles and the hanging fairy lights at the top.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices sang.

You were startled, Remus and James were right in front of their small table, and there was a cake right in front of them. They had invited their friend Lily, who was dating James and with whom you were fairly close to. She was the first one to approach you.

“I can’t believe Sirius was the one to tell me when your birthday was, Luv! He used to forget mine all the time!” She turned to Sirius with an accusing gaze and then back at you. “Happy Birthday,” she added as she hugged you.

James gave you a short squeeze after and Remus wrapped you in his arms and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. Sirius joined the hug right after.

“You’re squeezing me, boys!” you complained in a laugh.

“It’s a birthday squeeze, deal with it,” Sirius responded, and pressed even closer.

“Remus?” you tried, he was the most reasonable one between the two.

“You heard Sirius, Dove. It’s the birthday squeeze.”

You must have stayed like that for at least a minute before either of the two let go of you, you were certain Lily had whispered something to James, but you were too busy basking on the wrath of the squeeze to bother. After that, you would have sworn the lights of the cake turned on by themselves as Lily walked over to you with it. They sang Happy Birthday while Sirius pulled you to sit on his lap, using the terrible excuse that there was no other seat available.

You had cake and then they handed over your gifts. A book from Lily and a chocolate frog from James, although he warned you not to open it until later. You didn’t know what that was about but decided to do what was told. Eventually, Lily said she had to go and James offered to walk her.

Although he said ‘I’ll fly you’ getting a look from Remus that you missed entirely. The boys had extended a pair of matts over the deck and you were all laying on them while gazing at the stars.

“It was lovely, thank you for the surprise,” you said as you looked at the waning moon.

“It was nothing, Luv,” Rem said.

“Remus was really eager to celebrate your birthday. We actually have a little present for you,” Sirius added.

“Really?” you asked, turning to Sirius.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“Open the frog,” Remus prompted.

You leaned forwards and sat on the mat, pulling the frog from the table and doing what told. Suddenly the Frog that looked like it had been made out of chocolate jumped and fell near Remus’ leg. You gasped and stared at the moving frog. It looked like chocolate, but it moved as if it were alive.

“What– did James give me an actual frog?”

“No, it’s chocolate,” Remus reassured and picked it up. The frog stilled in his hand.

You stared at it in disbelief, “Is this some sort of trick?”

“It’s magic,” Sirius said.

You frowned at him.

“Remember the story for our class? The one that we worked on together?”

“Wartshow, Andrew, yeah of course.”

“Well, It’s sort of real.”

“What?”

Remus pulled out his wand and handed it over to you. You stared at it, it looked like a wand, it felt like a wand, but there was no way it was magic because magic– “Is this some kind of trick?”

Sirius laughed and pulled out a different wand from his pocket, he whispered something and red sparks blew out from the tip. You swallowed and took it from his hands. Checking on it to see if there was some kind of trick, or cannon dust or something inside of it, but it was just a stick, fancy, but a stick.

Remus took his wand and with another set of words, levitated the small frog right in front of your face. You looked at it with eyes wide open and moved your hand all over it to make sure it really was floating, and it wasn’t some kind of invisible string trick. It was right in front of your eyes, and it was still too fascinating to believe.

“But… in our story, wizards couldn’t tell the non-wizards about their existence. It was meant to be a secret… I mean… Why are you telling me?”

Remus smiled, his hand searched yours and he leaned his head on top of yours and sighed. “Because we trust you,” he said while looking ahead, at nothing in particular.

Sirius searched for your other hand, making sure to turn it around and interwinning his fingers with yours. He placed his head on your shoulder. “Because we like you.”

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays, but this had been one of the nicest birthdays of them all, more so when your two crushes admitted what Sirius had meant by his words. That they liked you –romantically– not just as friends.

A/N: I am so, SO sorry for taking this long to finish your gift, but I made it a bit longer than initially planned to make up for it.

Hope you both had the most amazing birthday and that you're having a wonderous day today. Sending you lots of love, hope you enjoy this little thing <3

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anakinstwinklebunny · 8 months ago

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FATHERHOOD pt.1

TW: anakin being a dad; this part is shorter, prepare for sec part that is wayy longer, also I purposely haven't named the child, basing on the assumption that it could be easier to read (just feel free to name him however you want)

Being a dad was one of Anakin's favorite jobs, but also the most exhausting one. Yet, he wouldn't change it for anything in the world. He loved taking care of his little buddy, watching time slip through his fingers and witnessing his growth each day.

Despite this, there was an odd ache in his chest. It was a mix of pride and a sharp feeling of acknowledgment that his son was growing. Each new chapter brought different responsibilities, but also required letting go of those he once had, which he shockingly found missing

However, Anakin tried not to overthink it too much. Growing was a natural part of a human life, and it was something that happened all the time. He had no power to change it, and honestly, he preferred it that way. A little..just a tiny bit

His parenting methods were.. unusual to say the least. He often acted silly with his little boy, engaging in all sorts of playful activities together. In addition, Anakin pretended to understand the toddler's gibberish language, often having one-sided conversations that left others baffled. He claimed he understood his son perfectly and jokingly suggested that you should take some serious baby-talk classes.

Anakin, being a Force-sensitive individual, also didn't shy away from using his powers to entertain his son. For example, when the child would demand his attention while Anakin was relaxing on the couch, longing for the toddler's nap time to arrive so he could catch a break or spend some quality time with you, he would lift him off the ground with the use of the Force, eliciting giggles and shrieks from the child.

As time went on, you began to notice how Anakin and your son had become a dynamic duo. They shared similar facial expressions, curly locks, and identical blue eyes. Their father-son bond was truly a heartwarming sight.

Anakin had a charming habit of buying clothes that matched not just his and the boy's outfits, but also yours. This was particularly noticeable during Halloween;

You couldn't help but giggle as Anakin stepped into the kitchen. A smile spread across your face as you set your eyes on him, carrying the little boy on his hip.

Anakin was dressed as Linguini from Ratatouille, while the toddler adorably donned a Remy costume. His chubby cheeks puffed up as he clung to his father, making the sight irresistibly charming. It was, without a doubt, the cutest thing you had ever seen today

"What do you think? Pretty adorable, right?" Anakin asked, a proud smile lighting up his face.

You pointed to the little one, a playful tone in your voice. "Him? Absolutely."

Anakin feigned offense, narrowing his brows. "Hey, hey, hey... what about me? I put some serious effort into this costume, you know," he protested.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his expression. "You're both cute," you reassured him with a grin.

Anakin smiled, his eyes showing a hint of satisfaction at your confession. His hand gently gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. He paused for a moment, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just cute? Not unbelievably charming and irresistible?" he asked, feigning mock offense.

A huge smile spread across your face as you replied, "Whatever you want to hear."

Anakin chuckled, his sly smirk growing wider as his gaze moved to your lips. "Oh, I know exactly what I want to hear," he stated, a hint of arrogance in his tone. "I want to hear you say that I look insanely handsome, irresistible, and devastatingly attractive in my Linguini costume."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful retort slipping past your lips. "Someone's a bit too full of themselves," you commented, unable to hide a smile. Meanwhile, your little son wriggled in Anakin's arms, reaching out to playfully pull on his curly locks.

"Ow, Remy," Anakin winced as the small boy's tiny hand tugged at his hair. He gently pried the little limb away. "Now, c'mon," he continued, a smirk still lingering. "If you're too shy to admit the truth, then at least wear this." With that, he produced a neatly folded costume, holding it up for you to see.

"No, Ani, I have to—" you began to protest, but he swiftly cut you off, his expression firm and unrelenting.

"No buts," he asserted. "You're coming with us, sweetheart. That's final. I'm not taking no for an answer. We're going out as a family, and that includes you." He held up the costume "We need you, Colette."

You sighed in defeat, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Fine..."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune @divineani @erosmutt @emmaloo21 @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 4 months ago

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I've been reading your Erikar posts and I think that they work really well with the idea that moirallegiance really doesn't work the way it's "supposed" to. It's framed in-universe as a very one-sided "stable person pacifies dangerous person" deal, but both Erifef and Gamkar, which are basically platonic ideals of that concept, failed independently because of how unstable that dynamic is -- one person is worn out doing all the emotional labor and the other is not interested in being pacified. Whereas the meowrails, despite also being framed as a "classical" moirallegiance, are much more clearly two-sided, as both parties consistently help, listen to, and advise each other, and the relationship is consequently much stabler and more enduring. I love the way you frame Erikar because it works really well with this by showing both parties taking and giving "pacification" and support in turn, instead of one shouldering all the work.

Yeah! I think this is a good way to talk about something Hussie likes to do that I'm a huge fan of, which is: unreliable narration. This unreliable narration has garnered Hussie the reputation of being a "troll" or even flat-out "wrong" about HS, and I find both of these to be very unfair because the use of unreliable narrator is both deliberate AND thematically fitting.

As part of Homestuck's post-modern stylings (and I mean post-modern in the literature sense, not vis. art, though it has shades of that too), it plays heavily on the ideas of narrator-as-character, author-as-character, metafiction, and we-all-know-it's-a-story-itis. Hussie himself, even in his external commentaries (Formspring, Tumblr, Books, etc.), is fully aware that his additions add to the metatextual texture of the work and change how it's interpreted - that, although his additions technically lie external to the "story" Homestuck is telling, they are also paradoxically part and parcel of that very story.

As a result, they deliberately play a character WRT Homestuck, both in- and out-of-universe, and this character is, by their own admission, buffoonish and oafish. It's really apparent in their book commentary, where they'll sometimes even drop the act, or "realize" they've dropped the act and hurry to put it back on (a standout moment is when he provides a very genuine, honest analysis of Vriska, before going "oh, wait, I forgot, she's literally my wife and has never done anything wrong ever in her life ever"). They also mention how their narrative voice sometimes works antagonistically to the characters, such as when it assures Vriska that she has no choice but to kill Aradia, subtly pushing Vriska towards that option.

Functionally, neither the narrator nor the author (and by that, I mean the caricaturized character of "the author" that Hussie plays) of Homestuck are entities that you can take fully at face value; they need to be challenged and interrogated as much as any other character, have their motives dissected, have their blind spots pointed out.

And why would this need to be the case? Because that's literally one of the main thrusts of Homestuck: malicious entities (in HS's case, LE, Doc Scratch, and Caliborn, who at various times struggle with Hussie for control of the story, before killing him and wresting it away entirely) will attempt to write the narrative. They'll push their version of events, their politics, their biases, their philosophies. They'll try to change the story to suit them and perpetuate their own power and ability to enforce that power. And you can't let them win.

Hussie-as-a-character/narrator himself is not particularly malicious, and, as the narrative prompt serving as Caliborn's guide, is even ultimately sympathetic, expressing that kids need to grow up and mature, achieve self-actualization, emotional catharsis, etc.

However, as a result of his oafishness, he has a tendency to play to the characters' worst instincts, to pick favorites among the cast. The most blatant example of this is his "love" of Vriska, which - contrary to popular opinion - isn't "real". Hussie is not actually in love with Vriska; the whole thing started because - due to misogyny - people accused Hussie of only giving Vriska so much plot relevance because he was literally in love with her. Why else would a female character with an unpleasant personality be allowed to be important, amirite? And Hussie clearly thought that this whole thing was so ridiculous that he 100% leaned into it as a joke. I'm not here to litigate whether or not it was appropriate to do so, just to point out that Hussie's "love" of Vriska was always an artifice - an aspect of Hussie-as-character that he played up to highlight the fact that Hussie-as-character is an unreliable buffoon, and, by extension, that Vriska is not blameless and perfect.

Since this is the Eridan blog, I'd be remiss not to talk about him. Hussie's commentary towards Eridan is especially fascinating to me, because Eridan is one of he characters Hussie-as-character is biased against, in a similar way as he's biased in Vriska's favor. Thus, his attitude towards Eridan is very dismissive, both in the book commentary AND in the comic itself. "Gamzee: Indulge emotional theatrics" and "Jade: Answer this douche bag" come to mind. He also spends the vast majority of the Act 5 Act 2 book mocking Eridan for being sad and alone, with nobody to care about him and nobody who listens to his problems.

Now, the reason I call this fascinating is twofold: the first is that his commentary in the Act 5 Act 1 book has a WILDLY different tone: while he's still biased in Eridan's disfavor, he outright calls Eridan a "good character" alongside Nepeta, and offers genuine insight into his characterization and the powers of Hope - comparing him at one point to Dave if Dave took a much darker path.

So when his attitude changes from "he's a shithead, but fairly complex, I guess" to "he's a loser idiot that nobody likes LMAOOOO", you're supposed to notice that! You're supposed to question that, to wonder why he has a change of heart, why he's suddenly so dismissive of a character he was genuinely writing whole paragraphs about before.

And the answer is multifaceted:

He's playing up his buffoonish character, to let you know that he's about to be wrong as hell. Every time Hussie starts really amping up the Hussie-as-character persona, you're about to be in for an opinion that SHOULD NOT be taken at face value.

He's reflecting a common fandom opinion, because one of his favorite things to do as an unreliable narrator is to speak on behalf of another character or entity, highlighting the biases and blind spots in play - in this case, the audience's. Again, he's about to be wrong as hell, so he's doing this specifically to indicate that the audience members who believe this are also wrong as hell.

Act 5 Act 2 is when we get the one conversation in all of Homestuck where somebody (Karkat) cares about Eridan and takes his problems seriously. During this part of the story, Hussie goes COMPLETELY silent. This is incredibly out of character, as he usually can't shut up, and the commentary is usually dense, packed with words, without pause. Compare:

In those blocks of silence are contained the conversation Eridan has with Karkat where Karkat literally tells him "I know it's hard being you" and that Nepeta's rejection of him wasn't a negative reflection of him. In other words, Karkat cares about Eridan and takes him seriously, COMPLETELY contradicting Hussie-as-character's assertions that nobody does, so utterly that Hussie-as-character has to completely shut up during that entire sequence because he has no way of reconciling his stance with the evidence presented.

Now, Hussie-as-an-actual-person is completely aware of what they're doing, or else they couldn't do stuff like this so consistently and so precisely. So I want to be very, very clear that this is not Hussie "not understanding his own story" or whatever BS the fandom likes to say in order to cast Hussie as the villain. This is masterful usage of unreliable narrator, like, I'm genuinely impressed.

By acting a clown and insisting that nobody likes or cares about Eridan, the audience is MEANT to glean from the text:

That Karkat is clearly an exception, and he quite likes and cares about Eridan,

That those who are dismissive towards Eridan and treat him purely as an object of ridicule are Wrong as Hell,

That maybe it's not a good thing for us - both audience, author, and characters - to be so quick to judge and dismiss others just because they're annoying and nasty - that doing so can have dire consequences, as we see with how Eridan's story plays out.

And I'm not kidding when I say that we have to be constantly fucking vigilant, that there's very, very little that can be purely taken at face value. Not long after this is one of Karkat's memos, where he attempts to warn his past friends about all the murders, only to dismiss past!Gamzee by saying that current!Gamzee going crazy murderclown "barely even concerns [him]." Hussie then notes in the commentary - and not for the first time - that Karkat has a Problem(TM) with not seeing past/future versions of people as contiguous with their current selves, which he does as a defense mechanism so as not to confront his own feelings of shame and self-loathing. Hussie then proceeds not to comment on the following:

CCG: YOU ARE DEAD TO ME CCG: PAST YOU, PRESENT YOU, FUTURE YOU CCG: AND ABOVE ALL, UGLY SCARFNECKED DOUCHEBAG HIPSTER YOU CCG: WAIT I FORGOT, ALL OF THE YOUS ARE THAT YOU

Hmmm... interesting. I wonder why Hussie points out one of Karkat's running character traits, just to "forget" to notice when an exception happens directly after? I'll let this one be an exercise for the class.

So to tie it all back to your ask: why is the exposition on troll romance done the way it is? What are the narrator's motives? Hussie even outright states in the commentary that Kanaya/Tavros/Vriska, which is used as an example of an auspicetism, isn't even a real auspicetism, as Kanaya feels no need to commit to it, and at most is putting out mixed signals - it's just used as an example because it's the closest thing we've seen.

Well, the answer I've arrived at, personally, is that the troll romance explanation is as flawed as it is because the narrator is taking on Karkat's point of view. A movie poster on Karkat's wall, the troll version of Serendipity, is used and namedropped as the ultimate expression of meeting your soul mate in every quadrant - as well as the assertion that "every" troll believes that there ARE destined soul mates for every quadrant, which Karkat definitely believes, but isn't a sentiment necessarily shared by everybody else. Moreover, the explanation ends with a tirade about how Karkat tried to explain quadrants to John, who didn't get it because "he's an idiot".

I'm not saying that Karkat is literally narrating here, just to be clear - I'm saying that the narrator (Hussie-as-character) is relaying factual information as processed through the lens of Karkat's biases, and, as a result, we can't take the explanation at 100% face value (though we can't discount it as entirely untrue, either). It's not so much that "real" moirail pairs work because they're doing moirallegiance "wrong," but that Karkat's view of moirallegiance is simplistic, idealized, and flawed, and we see this play out when he's bitter about his breakup with Gamzee because Gamzee stops "needing" him to keep him calm, even after Karkat has failed to be kept calm by Gamzee in return.

The more I look into Homestuck, the more that I'm genuinely impressed by the way it handles its writing. I hope this was interesting to everyone, too. I feel a little like I'm peeling back a curtain, or opening up a clock to reveal all the little cogs and wheels.

No, you can't trust Hussie as the narrator, but that's on purpose, and it's on purpose because why do we trust narrators? Why do we assume people telling a story are unbiased, benevolent, and have no ulterior motives? Why do we let idiots, assholes, predators, and monsters get away with their version of the truth, when a little scrutiny will have the whole ruse fall apart? Why do we let people tell us not to care about other people, why do we let them tell us that it's okay to be cruel to acceptible targets, why do we let them go unexamined?

And how about the stories we tell ourselves?

#homestuck #eridan ampora #karkat vantas #gamzee makara #vriska serket #writing #unreliable narrator #postmodernism #post-modernism #homestuck is good actually and hussie is an incredible writer

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agi-ppangx · 2 years ago

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💭right person, wrong time (100 followers special)

“you should definitely go,” chan said quietly, his voice strained and filled with misery. you didn't say anything back, quietly fighting the tears angrily wailing in your eyes.

you two were lying on the beach, listening to waves hitting the shore. the sea was restless that day - as if it sensed your mood. you were cuddled with him on a small blanket you took from the car, surrounded by his cologne, the scent you knew all too well and loved even more.

you'd just told him about the offer you received a few days before. you were given this huge opportunity which could possibly change your entire career for better. though there was something that made this whole thing a bit less exciting. yes, you got into a one-year program for aspiring scientists, but it was taking place in canada. but who would reject such a great opportunity to finally spread their wings? who would even question whether to go or not? well, that would be you. of course, it was huge and it could quite literally change your whole life - better income, bigger knowledge, more opportunities to work with respected scientists in the future. but then there was chan.

you two met almost five years earlier. you were friends with felix, who happened to be chan’s friend as well, so it was natural for the two of you to meet up at different occasions. and the bond between you grew and grew. he would help you to figure out how to write an essay for a particularly mean lecturer even though he knew shit about the topic. and he would always bring you snacks and coffee for your late study sessions, helping you to write and cut the flashcards and proofread your drafts to check if there are any typos and grammar mistakes. but you two would also enjoy mundane activities such as going to the movies or cooking together. you would spare shy glances at him when he wasn’t looking just to admire him. in the meantime he shared his love for music with you, creating you various playlists for different occasions and playing piano for you. he'd never told you before, but with you he felt safe, as if any worries in his life disappeared when you approached him, you were his haven. and over the time you realised that you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore - his shiny eyes, soft smile and unique worldview made you fall in love with him too. of course, you hadn’t figured it out in a few days, you simply couldn’t. but after what seemed like eternity you both sorted things out in your heads and a week ago you finally talked about it. and when you thought that everything in your life was coming together the offer came and you started questioning every single decision you have ever made. you thought about how are you going to tell chan about it - you knew he would be supportive, of course he would. and you loved that about him. but deep down you were hoping, just a little bit, that he’s going to be selfish this time, that he’s going to tell you “please stay here with me”. but he simply couldn’t, he knew this was too big for you to let it go.

“you do want to go, right?” he then asked, there was panic in his voice at your lack of response. why was he panicked? “i guess so…” you finally mumbled, not sure at the moment. all you knew is that you wanted to be where you were right now - in chan’s arms, surrounded by his warm body and this pretty cologne.

“what do you mean? i mean, you love your job, it’s a great offer. i’m pretty sure not everyone got it” he spoke again, trying to help you, convince you that this is what you should do right now. in reality he tried to convince himself, not wanting to say anything that could discourage you from going. of course he wanted you to make your dreams happen, your happiness was his happiness. but why now?

"sure, i love my job, i just… now i wanna be here, with you," you mumbled, cheeks rosy. suddenly you felt embarrassed, because who on earth would put a boy over a great career?

but chan wasn't just a boy, he was a person you could quite literally see your future with. it didn't matter that you weren't really in a real relationship yet, you both knew it was just a formality now. "hey, yn, i'm not mad that you're leaving now. i want you to be happy and i know this is gonna make you happy, yeah?" he whispered, his voice getting weaker and weaker with every word. you suddenly got up, breaking free from his warm embrace. "you know what would make me happy now? being here, with you," you shouted, angry tears welling in your eyes. "going to the convenience store at 2am to buy some snacks, watching a new movie on netflix and cuddling on a sunday morning. you would make me really happy now," you whispered the last words, feeling defeated. what was the point of lying? he knew how you felt towards him.

the tears started falling down your face and you started to shiver from the cold wind. chan didn't waste time, he got up as well and brought you to his chest, hugging tightly, and started rubbing soothing circles on your back. he muttered sweet nothing into your hair, kissing your forehead from time to time. but you couldn't calm down, not now. you wanted to let out your anger and misery, wanted the whole world to know how deeply hurt you're right now. you wanted to scream on the top of your lungs at whoever was up there, cursing at them for putting you in this situation.

but you sobbed into chan's chest instead, desperately clutching at his hoodie. you were like a porcelain doll, fragile and defenseless.

"it sucks, you know? i-i really thought we could be together but-" you hiccuped through tears. at this point your head hurt, your eyes stung and you grew more and more tired. "it's okay, i'll wait for you however long you want me to" chan interrupted you, sensing your pain. it was hard for him too, knowing he has to set you free and let you spread your wings. how bittersweet, chan thought. he was willing to wait for you, but god, was he impatient by nature. he wanted to kiss you hungrily, clutch into your clothes and never let go. but now it would only broke the two of you even more and he was not letting it happen.

you stayed like this for a long time, over the time your broken sobs stopped, but you didn't let go of chan, clutching to him like a koala. he was quiet, running his fingers through your hair.

"i don't want you to regret going, yn" chan spoke suddenly, his voice barely above the whisper. "i don't mind waiting, i just want you to go there and make your dream come true, 'cause seeing you happy will make me happy." you sighed and finally looked up to make eye contact with chan. "you know i love you, right?" chan was caught of guard by your words, but he smiled nonetheless. he nodded and placed a soft kiss on your temple. "i will come back and when i do i'll make sure to compensate you this year," you exclaimed, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it.

a few days later chan accompanied you to the airport. you didn't want to let go of his hand, as if he was going to disappear as soon as you do. but the time didn't stop for the two of you and you had to say your goodbyes. "can i kiss you?" chan asked you and you looked at him. "not now. if you do, i won't go anywhere." he only smiled sadly at your words but nodded his head. he understood. with that you pecked his cheek instead and let go of his hand with tears in your eyes. "see you soon, chan" you whispered. "see you soon, yn".

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

#skz #stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids headcanons #stray kids x reader #skz au #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan x you #skz chan #bang chan fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader

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thatiranianphantom · 12 days ago

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it used to be mine (but now it's yours)

“You ruined me.”

He is supposed to be at the Ozdust with Glinda. That’s what he’d said, taciturn and without looking at her, during their sole interaction that day.

He’s been like that with her, recently. Not that she’s ever thought of them as particularly close. Not friends, per se, just…two people united by their shared loved one. Two people, if she were being a bit more honest, with what seemed to be a constant, crackling energy between them she’d never been able to explain.

Not since the lion cub…and that day at the swimming hole near the poppy farm. Sitting on the edge, watching the muscles ripple in his shoulders, filled her with this strange heat she’d never felt before. And then that night, around the fire, where his eyes kept catching hers, the light reflecting this strange gaze in them, something that looked like…longing.

But it couldn’t have been, could it? Not for her. Entirely wishful thinking, something she had tried very hard to push down. Made easier by the fact that he seemed to be resolutely ignoring her lately.

Not now, though. After he’d pounded on her door, he’s standing in the doorframe, eyes ablaze, chest heaving as if he’d run here straight from the docks.

“You ruined me,” he tells her, and Elphaba is smart, one of the smartest in her class, thank you very much, but she cannot for the life of her figure out what he means.

He blazes into the room, stepping immediately into her side of the huge suite.

“Fiyero, shouldn’t you be at the Ozdust? With Glinda?” It hurts, it physically hurts to say, but it shouldn’t. He’s not hers. He will never be hers, and the moment with the lion cub…it was just that. A moment.

Handsome princes don’t take up with antisocial green girls. He’ll marry, if not Glinda, someone equally beautiful and perfect, and she is not that girl.

He gives a hard nod of his head. “That’s the point. I was supposed to be there. With Glinda. I was supposed to be there, Elphaba, not here!”

Elphaba cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “Then…why are you here? An hour after you left, looking like you just ran all the way?”

He looks at her incredulously, as if she’s ridiculous for not knowing. “I told you, Elpaba! Because of you!”

“Because of…me?”

He nods again, as if she’s finally getting it. “You! I was…” he breaks off, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I was fine! I found pretty girls, pretty guys, anyone I wanted! And it was always fine!”

“I don’t want to hear this.” She doesn’t, she really doesn’t. She has no urge to hear about all the people before, all the people there will be after, how easily it all comes to him.

“No!” he seizes her by her shoulders, and suddenly she’s gazing into blue eyes and her heart is pounding.

“It was fine, Elphaba. I danced through life, and I never thought about it. I never thought…until I met you.”

If possible, her heart picks up more. Until I met you.

“I met you, and I…now everything is different!” He drops her arms and she feels the lack of warmth suddenly, feels just the tiniest bit emptier.

“I met you twice, two goddamn times, Elphaba, and you ruined me!”

Fiyero paces, makes his way between Glinda’s section of the room and hers, and if it were any other time, perhaps she’d see the irony in it. As it is, his words turn over and over in her head.

Until I met you.

You ruined me.

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she reaches out and grabs his hand. Like that day. Like the day things changed.

It calms him a bit, and that releases something in her. He stares at their joined hands and is silent for long moments, so long that she thinks perhaps he’s done, perhaps he’d just leave and they’d never speak about this again. But then he gives her hand a little tug, and she tumbles the short distance towards him. His other hand lifts, tracing over her hairline, down her cheek, and she’s sure he can hear her heart by this point, how loud it’s pounding.

“I don’t think about it anymore, Fae,” he whispers. “Any of it. Glinda, the Ozdust, that dance through life…I don’t see it anymore. I don’t see it, because all I see is you.”

#My fics #Wicked #Musicals #Movies #elphaba thropp #fiyero tigelaar #fiyeraba #If I put this much effort into my dissertation maybe it'd be done by now #even just half the effort I put into fic #ramblings of an unmedicated adhd brain

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faggot-greg-house · 1 year ago

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house is autistic i will accept no criticism

i have so many thoughts about house and autism. this might be the most unhinged post on my tumblr yet but here we go so house had the illusion of normalcy forced on him from a young age. i dont think thats like, full canon, but house talks about how his father abused him on more than one occassion and talked about how he was never satisfied or happy with house no matter what. so i truly dont think its a far reach to say that he would not have tolerated a "weird child." the thing that i think, though, is that all of his actions are a response to the fact that he's not particularly great at masking. he's afraid if he lets people close to him he won't be able to hide the fact that he's "weird" (aka bad). he intentionally pushes people away with his weird creepy comments and being an asshole and that's both him masking (if he's aggressively mean all the time no one will bother to look further) and a way of coping with the fact that he cant mask. the more he pushes people away the less likely it is that they'll see that he cares about things and that he's not "normal" like he's always been told. i also think that as the show went on, he got less and less concerned about masking. he constantly stims, he hyperfocuses and burns out, he panics about change, he treats his fellows a lot more like family. once he got to a point in his life where his "weirdness" is not something he can be ruined for (he's tenured and he has people who will fight for him) he found himself a lot more able to be aggressively autistic, even if he struggles with it due to trauma.

a huge Autism Moment in the show for me is when foreman quits and house fires chase. house has been afraid his whole life of showing who he actually is, as mentioned. his fellows, though, are his People, they knew all of his shit and they never ran awayy from it. they didnt question who he was and what he knew, only his methods, and they were willing to fight back against him (something he's shown he loves). but then foreman quits because he "doesnt want to be like house" and this is house's worst nightmare. this is exactly why he had normalcy beaten into him, because being weird only makes it that people will run away once they know you. he dared to let people see a bit of who he actually is and how he thinks and acts and foreman essentially said "i cant stand to be like you." on top of that fear, his team became Different. he doesnt know if chase or cameron thought the same things as foreman, if they were also judging him or hating him for being autistic. it sent him into fucking panic mode because how is he supposed to trust them when he doesnt know if they agree with foreman!!!!! and even if he could, the team is Different and its for a reason he cant control and he cant just go back to normal. his method of interviewing his new fellows also shows this - how is he supposed to be able to tell if someone will be okay with who he is and if they'll work well together based off a short intervew where he's almost certainly masking the whole time???? anyway. to end this absolutely unhinged post ive put together an inconclusive list of autistic traits and actions from house, and i want to say that so much of this is him being written off as an antisocial eccentric genius and, while he is an ass that cant be debated, it clearly runs deeper than that!!!!

he doesnt understand how ppl feel (he repeatedly talks about how small talk is like a guessing game for him and he doesnt know what to say)

he doesnt like to be touched (for a lot of the show people just do Not touch him, wilson excluded)

he stims constantly and he needs Sensations

he's blunt, rude, somewhat monotone, etc

he has a hard time making friends

he has a hard time saying what he feels (he'd rather joke or be mean than analyse his emotions)

he has a routine that he Sticks To (even thgh its not exactly the same because of patients etc, he goes to work late, he talks to the same people, he sits in his same office. he's shown coming to work sick at one point and he doesnt rly go on vacation. plus when cuddy took his bloodstained carpet it was such a fundamental change to his life that he couldnt deal)

he notices Everything (yes ik this is a sherlock holmes thing but consider sherlock holmes - also autistic)

he has a method and train of thought that works for him and he is unwilling to break from it (he's shown at least once stopping the fellows from writing on his whiteboard, and after he loses the og three he continues trying to hold ddx's because its how he Thinks)

#hate crimes md #house md #gregory house #james wilson #child abuse #wrote all of this first in a discord channel so if it looks absolutely unhinged that's why #also im autistic and if you disagree with me thats ableist #autistic greg house #my thoughts

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skimmoons · 1 year ago

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I was thinking about the Percy Jackson TV show and it just occurred to me that a few of the changes they made in season one, even though didn’t exactly please me, will allow the following seasons to be more book-accurate and in depth.

One example is the fact that we already have Luke’s background. We know why he left home, so now the show can actually SHOW us Luke and Thalia’s life on the road by flashbacks, instead of Annabeth telling the short version (how it is in the books). They can actually dive into Luke’s character and make him more three-dimensional, something that the series lacked up until the very last book when Rick had a “oh my gods I’m about to kill this character and I didn’t even give him a last name” sort of moment.

By fleshing out Luke’s character so thoroughly they can also give Thalia a greater importance than she had in the books. I was never particularly sold to her and Annabeth’s relationship because Annabeth never actually TALKS about her except for very few and brief moments during SoM. They now have the perfect excuse to show more of her (again, in those flashbacks about their time on the road) to build up her character so people will actually like her and understand why she is the way she is during book three. I’ve known plenty of people, including myself, that didn’t vibe with her during TTC for this exact reason: we were never given context about her. We don’t even know what made HER leave home until Heroes of Olympus.

Sally’s relationship with Poseidon being explored will make Paul even more important than he already is. For Sally to finally open up to a man again, to finally be able to love and trust someone other than Percy, is a HUGE deal now. Because we know she carried those unresolved feelings for Poseidon for the longest time and meeting Paul is what finally makes her let go of him.

I also think the show is building up the gods little by little. At first it would seem like they’re all bastards that hate mortals and should be guillotined, but then we get Hephaestus helping them because he wants to be different. Then we have Poseidon helping out Percy even though he wasn’t asked (in the books, Percy prayed before jumping from the arch) AND even helping out Sally by giving him an extra pearl. We will probably have, through flashbacks, Athena guiding Annabeth when she left home, and Hermes wanting to help Luke escape his fate is already a big deal. Instead of first seeing the gods as perfect creatures and later finding out they’re just as flawed as mortals, we’re doing the opposite: at first we think they’re trash and understand Luke, but little by little we are shown that, flawed as they are, most of the gods still try to do their best for their children. Except Ares, the little fucker.

All this long ass post to say: maybe we shouldn’t criticize the show so harshly before being able to see the bigger picture. Maybe we should give them some grace and time to cook.

Also: I know some people think they're being too forward with Percabeth, and to those I say: reread the books and use your critical thinking skills. But that's a subject for another post.

#percy jackson #pjo #percabeth #rick riordan #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo disney+#pjotv #pjo series #just a few thoughts #still hate the way they lost the fourth pearl tho #it was super anticlimatic

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ficauthor · 11 days ago

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Valerie is so interesting text wise in the Danny Phantom cannon.

She was rich but now she's poor. All basically overnight. She wasn't even particularly snobby compared to the other a-listers. but we watch in an instant how the life changes affects her. Her rapid decline in financial and social status was bc of a ghost dog. but overnight we also see her friends of many years reject her bc she cant go to a concert.

she takes it on the chin but seriously oof. that pain of her friends all ditching her must have been brutal its a huge display of her kindness that she continued to care about them even with that betrayal.

she's extremely socially adept, and very good at leveraging it. enough to trick Tucker into telling her details on ghost hunting.

She works at her local exploding McDonalds as a mascot. At any moment that place could blow because of its C4 sauce but she stays anyways because she's a hardworker, and is trying to help pay the bills.

Now she hates all ghosts because all of her life being ruined is because of one specific awful day. Vlad who's (and i can't stress this enough despite everyone knowing it) a ghost uses that very real trauma to gaslight her into trying to kill her boyfriend. she doesn't know its him but still. she tried to kill him and she's still likable/ nuanced/ complex enough that i can't even be mad.

she'd so caught up in protecting Danny that she doesn't know that she is trying to hurt him.

She also does it bc she believes it protects her dad. Her dad is a security officer he can protect himself but Valerie loves so fiercely it doesn't matter. she loves to her own detriment i'd argue.

in that alternate future we see her working with her dad to protect all of the town from Dark Dan. She never stopped trying to help people. Her number one priority is to always do what she thinks will keep people safe.

She'd very misguided about ghosts but considering the information available at the time it makes sense why she believes that ghosts are all bad.

.She's kind and smart and resourceful but always terrified. it's really easy to see that the way she goes about protecting including her motivations to do so, is all fueled by the fear that anyone's life could be ruined like hers was.

She's so caught up by it all that she breaks up with Danny because she thinks it is best for his wellbeing. she doesn't want his life ruined like hers was. she doesn't know that his was already turned upside and she's trying to make sure harm doesn't befall him.

Her entire life was twisted on its head bc of ghosts just like Danny's was. But circumstance lead her to try and kill them all. She's always in a state of survival juggling side jobs school and vigilantism.

She dated Danny for like a week tops and he became so instantly smitten to such a strong degree he ignored the murder attempts. He was so in love with her he wanted to give her a dorky old fashioned promise ring. he liked her that much! and it was all while she tried to kill him as Phantom! imagine how loveable you have to be for a person to disregard the murder attempts and somehow ignoring it is the correct thing to do.

The show makes it very clear that Valerie is one of Danny's biggest threats. More than Skulker, or Vlad or any of the normal ghost rotation. Not just bc he didn't want to hurt her either. she is genuinely so skilled motivated and quick on her feet that it gets Danny in trouble when they fight. seriously the way she learned the tech from Vlad in no time is majorly impressive. the way she adapted to technus' tech demonstrated a huge display of power and strength (in the Dark Dan timeline she's most likely the biggest factor in protecting the city from him. there are other people working to fight him but she's so powerful that it takes his worst weapon to take her down)

The way she foils him is so interesting. Danny is also often prone to try and shoulder the burden alone but he still always has people in his corner. that's why he turned in Dark Dan in that alternate timeline. the removal of his support made him lose his humanity.

But Valerie doesn't have that support system like him. yet it never consumes her like it does him. she is so interesting! it's just such a shame that the show never got a chance to expand that further.

#danny phantom #valerie gray #she'd honestly one of the most interesting secondary/tertiary characters in the series #id kill for more valerie centric episodes #and also valerie centric fics that really understand her nuance #valerie is so interesting her constant flux in knowledge means she's so dynamic.#its drives me up a wall that some fics dont understand how kind and loyal she is as a person #rambles and babbles #my hope is that if we get more comics we see more of her.#she's so morally complex that you can't look away #you never want her to hurt danny or the other ghosts #but she's so compelling and her reasoning is so strongly reasoned that you almost want her to win anyways

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year ago

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Sojourn In The Sun

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff; Angst; Canon-Compliant; Contains Manga Spoiler; Satoru & Reader Are So Cute, So Honest And So Kind-Of-Happy With Each Other Here– I Love Them!; Silly Jokes Are Their [& My] Coping Mechanism; Takes Place Between JJK 221 & 236.

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

"You. Baked. This. For. Me."

"No, Satoru. A stork flew in through ths kitchen window and dropped this bloody cake on that table."

"But don't they deliver babies or something? Plus, isn't that window a tad too tiny for such a big bird?"

"I guess, the stork must've dropped you on your head while delivering you to your parents, you know?"

A beat passes in response to your remark, before Satoru erupts into a fit of chortles and you shake your head with a huffed chuckle. Getting up from where you were hunched over the countertop, nibbling on an omelette and scrolling through your mobile, Satoru watches your face gleam in fondness in the late morning light, as you amble over to him.

Very messy hair. Ratty old clothes. Sleepy yet shiny eyes— His cheeks hurt from the sheer joy bubbling in his chest at this sight before him.

"Seriously, sweetness? Storks?" he asks, lifting his arm then dropping it to wrap round your shoulders as you reach him and snuggle into his side – only to catch hold of the hem of his huge sweater, and squeeze yourself into it, your tiny fingers clasping round his back as your head emerges at the top and you move to nuzzle into his neck, teeth biting cute little nips on the skin there.

If it was even two months back, Satoru reckons he would have been a hell lot stunned, seeing you give your affections so blatantly– that too at a place outside your shared bed, outside the darkness of the night.

But... It no longer is two months back. It is now. Not only in day, date, time. But also in the irreversibly mutated fashion the earth rotates on its axis everyday in the man's eyes. New experiences. New allies. New absences. New nightmares...— Everything's different from how it was before that chilly October night— Your husband deems it to be not an awful lot strange to see you too like this. The world is not the same as before; to survive, you too must change to adapt to the change, must you not?

Lips brushing your forehead once before dashing away, he asks in a soft yet humorous tone, "Too tired to give a reply, are we now, huh?"

"Not really," you hum, your words punctuated by a yawn you're quick to suppress; you resume, "I know only two birds which are said to be used in sending parcels and stuff. One, messenger pigeon– but they are too small to carry a cake like that. Two, stork– stories do say they were used to deliver babies – so I thought delivering a cake would be a piece of cake for them, heh!" You shoot him a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners into lovely half-moons, "Pretty funny and punny, ain't I?"

"Of course, sweetness. You are all three," Satoru is quick to agree with a nod— happy wife = happy life; plus, it's not like he's lying to you— A shadow of confusion falls on your face— Deciding to deal with it later, for the sake of the question weighing on his mind at the moment, the man repeats his ask from earlier, "You really really baked this for me?"

You return a nod, hints of a smile lurking in the shape of your lips.

"But why?"

Whatever happiness might've beginning to bloom on your features, it withers away– Your husband smacks himself internally for employing such a tone: So weak, so much so that it makes you peer up at him in concern he has only ever seen on you after a particularly bad mission.

So weak, so that it makes him hope you don't think him to be any less than 'The Strongest'— any less than being capable of standing beside you, protecting you, being worthy of you.

A pair of chapped lips plant themselves on his cheek. "Just because I wanted to bake a cake for you, 'Toru!" you explain with a giggle, albeit its subdued quality doesn't go past his eye, as you move a bit away to press a swift kiss on his other cheek; fingers drawing lazy patterns on his scalp and massaging the roots of his hair.

"You've always done too much for me and everyone else– Thought of returning the favour once, although I doubt it can ever match yours... Also, haven't you always wanted to eat a cake baked by yours truly?"

He has.

He so, so has.

Ever since the day you baked some muffins for him in the microwave oven of the school kitchen– him, a grumbling mess thanks to his all-too-familiar migraine and those old geezers– you, another grumbling mess thanks to your all-too-familiar insomnia and those annoying AF exams—

Satoru never imagined he could taste a sweet dish made by you ever again in his life, for the past ten years or so— given how the morning after that night you declared you would never bake again: "uff, that is too fuckin' tiring and boring!" and how every next time he came with a migraine to your door, you pointedly ignored his whining for you to bake him something, choosing to grab the warm and cold compress instead and give him a massage, following the manuals kept in stack-over-stack on your table—

Even during his teenage years, then later as an adult, the sorcerer has always missed your baking, but seeing you care for him in ways much too characteristically 'you'... he decided to pay no mind to such dumb wishes, he knows you'll never fulfill in this lifetime.

Except now you've fulfilled them and your husband doesn't know any response fitting enough to thank your efforts and thoughts through.

Throwing the cake a sideways glance, he brings his focus back to you gazing at him, to the eagerness reflecting in your irises. His lips tilt up into a smile, obeying a mind of their own.

"Blue velvet cake with white frosting... you sure do know how to make me happy, don't you, sweetness?" he muses out loud, carefully noting the warmth creeping up your neck into your cheeks and ears, "But, so much for a thanks... there must be another reason behind this, right?"

Feeling the tiny burst of air hitting him from your quiet exhale, Satoru lets you maneuver him towards the kitchen until he's leaning with his back against the marble island and you're nestling even closer to him.

A palm glides cautiously over the planes of his back.

Almost as if the man in front of you is a glass figurine–

Almost as if you're fine with him being a glass figurine.

So easy to read.

So easy to hurt.

So easy to care for with the gentlest of touches and softest of smiles, the look in your eyes tells every one of his six eyes– the innumerable chips and cracks in his very essence be damned—

You poke his cheek, a knowing twitch in your lips.

"You rarely ever cuddled me in bed before, yet now, every single night and day, I find you squeezing me with those arms and legs of yours..." Satoru's eyes widen. Your lips part in a fondly teasing grin. "Think why – really why– you hug me for warmth and don't hog the blankets; and you'll have your answer, 'Toru."

Birds shriek outside. Your mobile beeps thrice. Your omelette goes as frozen as poor Uranus on the countertop beside.

For the second time this cold day, the two of you break into laughter.

"And you'll have your answer, 'Toru!?!?" Satoru mimics you except in a soprano-esque shrill voice. "Who the fuck do you think we are, huh? A pair of lovers in some Shakespeare-y play, baring our feelings to each other in the soft glow of the winter sun, or some stupid shit like that?"

Another chuckle breaks free from your chest at his words; the grin on his face widening, he watches you take a long breath then say, "Nope nope nope! The both of us are way too uncivilised to play any role like in Shakespeare's plays — but Satoru~" you drawl your vowels out; his heart beats a little faster in his chest– "I can never be as unrefined as you, going as far as to keep your wife waiting, while you ask question after question– and not eat the cake and praise it, like a good spouse should, you know?"

"Oh, is it so?" The man inquires, brow raised, before warping with you in his arms to where the cake's kept, and cutting a big chunk with the knife kept, gobbles it all up in one go.

The tilt of your lips betrays the disapproving click your tongue makes.

A very content hum escapes Satoru. "Your baking's something out of this world–no, galaxy, sweetness. I hope you know–"

He stills, focus stolen by the letters and number a bit far on the table–

Satoru's gaze snaps back to you, only to find the same smile on your face– so simple, so devious– complicated and thwarted by the small expressive tremor of your lips; your gaze moving away from him to a calendar on your left and his right, the very same which stopped him—

Grasping your chin in his frosting-covered fingers, he drags your gaze back to himself, tutting, "You aren't any better than me, wifey. You too lack the same manners and etiquettes I do— So, now— c'mon, c'mon, c'mon–" he says, not unlike a broken record, playing the same section of music until he makes you cave in from the annoyance alone, "Wish your darling husband 'Happy Birthday 'Toru!!', give him a big birthday smooch, and be the courteous wife, you aren't really, but think you're— Now, go ahead, go ahead, go–"

"No."

"No?" Satoru echoes, holding back a weary chuckle. Or sigh. The man doesn't know which. You nod with that same stubborn determination of yours, he has happened to love-hate-tolerate over the years. "Yeah. No. I don't wanna. Wishing you can only solidify the fact that today is December 7th–"

"I think, the clock striking twelve few hours back solidified it–"

"Which will go on to cement the fact we're only 17 days away–"

"I don't think the fact needs any cementing. It's cast in stone–"

"Is there no way we can be happy, Satoru?"

Your question startles him into a momentary stun – not 'cause of the solemnity packed into every word of it – but because it serves as the mirror image to the question them cursed voices in his brain ask him in the warmth of the day, in the chill of the night, when he finds Yuuji sitting by himself with no spiky black hair nor bright orange hair next to him; when he catches the ashtray on Shoko's table filled with way too many cigarette stubs; when he wakes up to see you sitting in the dimly lit storeroom, a faded photograph or a childish drawing in your hand; when he looks at the mirror and finds the reason behind every pain his cherished ones have suffered, staring right back at him—

"There is," Satoru says, willing his mind to shut up for once, to let him say what he wants to say for once– the clock is ticking a bit too fast–

"Don't think of today as anything more than that it's December 7. Not how many days it's been since Halloween. Not how many days it'll be before it's Christmas Eve. Just focus on the fact it's my birthday, and everything will seem a hell lot better, even if it's only for a short time."

You peer at him attentively, before narrowing your eyes a bit. "Never took you as the kind to ignore reality, y'know?"

Your husband cracks an amused grin. "Still, standing in the middle of a warzone and actively ignoring it is cooler than running away from it, isn't it?"

"Cooler and dumber," you correct with a teasing grin and a waggle of your finger– however, before he can gather any retort to your remark, he finds himself being pulled down by his collar, his lips colliding with your waiting ones— the ensuing kiss a little sweet, a little spicy, a little shy, a little hungry; but overall, very, very addicting. Satoru thinks you can never give him kisses enough to satiate him, even for a tiny while.

He is always going to stay this ravenous, this yearning for you. In this lifetime and every other that follows. He can't ever get enough of you.

A tiny pop! reverberates in the bubble round you two, as your mouth gently separates from his, though never strays anywhere far, resting only few millimetres away. Eyes drifting to his swollen lips for a beat, Satoru watches you look at him again, cheeks heated and stretched in a smile.

"Happy birthday, Satoru," you whisper, "Many, many happy returns of the day."

"Thanks," the man mumbles, running a careful thumb back-and-forth over your bottom lip– before something clicks to life in his mind. Your husband registers a slow smirk form on his face. "But I guess it'll be a happier birthday if ya promise to bake me a cake every now and then. What do you think, sweetness?"

"Nah!" your reply arrives, as if it's a reflex response and not one which requires some thinking, "Baking's too fuckin' tiring and boring– But..." you trail off for a beat, the nonchalance on your face morphing into a tenderness– You resume, "Why don't you try and find out by yourself if I will ever decide to bake a cake for you, every now and then, yeah?"

The weight of your words lingers in the gap in between for a second.

Accepting the weight with an eager grin, Satoru closes the gap, him inclining forwards to rest his forehead on yours.

"Sounds like a challenge, sweetness. Good thing, I'm more than ready to try my best to meet it."

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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broadwayfan92 · 8 months ago

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Am I the only one who likes Colin and Penelope in S3 part 2?

Part 2 was always going to be about Colin finding out about LW. Yes, he was very, very mad, but it was understandable because of what Pen wrote about Marina, Eloise and himself. Yes, he was harsh, but remember how he treated Marina in S1 after he found out she was pregnant? He was very upset and angry, and said some things he shouldn’t have said.

However, this time it’s different, Colin knew he was in love with Penelope and still wanted to marry her. He found out about LW right before their wedding, so it makes sense he’s going to need time and space to digest that information. He loved her, but he also was hurt, angry, conflicted, jealous and in love. That's a lot of emotions to sort out. Just like with Marina, he said some things he shouldn't have. Colin is VERY sensitive, which is his best and worst character trait.

However, he was able to put aside his anger during the wedding and reassure Penelope with a nod that he wanted her to walk down the aisle. The love in his eyes was evident every time Pen was with him. Just when everything was fine and when it seemed like that they could work it out, the queen comes in saying one of the Bridgertons is LW. When he asked Pen to give up her column in that moment, she said no. Of course Colin was upset, especially since they hadn't moved past this roadblock.

Colin tried to save Penelope from Cressida’s blackmail, but made things worse and he hated that he couldn’t help. He's so used to helping Pen that he's never seen her be independent and work things out on her own. In the end, Colin realized he didn’t need to be a hero and Pen didn't need saving. It took time, but he worked through his emotions and was able to be the husband she needed. He accepted his wife’s choice and stood at her side. He loved Penelope deeply and was devoted to her.

Penelope also went through her own arc. She’s realized that she’s made huge mistakes because of her writing. She was trying to do better with the power she held, even if she couldn’t change the past.

She was going to tell Colin about LW, but kept getting interrupted or it was not the right time. She even gave up LW up after talking to her mother and Eloise. Pen only started writing again when Cressida nearly succeeded in trying to take credit for her work. Penelope stood up for herself and told Colin at their wedding that she wasn’t going to stop writing because LW was her work. Unfortunately, it drove a wedge in her and Colin's relationship because he didn't like keeping her identity a secret anymore than she did. In the end, she found her voice, formed her own plan and came clean. The truth was out and she was free of the secret that was too difficult and too dangerous to keep.

No, Colin did not need to go to Penelope during or right after her speech. That was HER time and part of both their arcs. She was owning up to her mistakes and actions, and Colin didn’t need to save her. He was looking at her with the love and support she needed. He nodded in encouragement and pride. Their time as a couple was after her moment in the spotlight.

These are flawed characters shaped by their home lives and experiences that life threw at them for 3 seasons. This was about two people growing, accepting each other for who they are and the love between them conquering everything else. Forgiveness was also a big part of their stories. Penelope had to forgive herself for her mistakes and ask for it, while Colin had to forgive Penelope.

Throughout the season, Colin had to learn to be himself instead of what society expected of him and to not be the hero. Penelope had to learn to come out of her shell and find her voice outside of LW. This is a big accomplishment for two characters who are at least 19 and 22 at the start of S3.

Side note: I’ve noticed the writers like drama for every couple on Bridgerton, particularly the last four episodes. S1 was heavy on lack of communication. S2 dealt with not wanting to fall in love. S3 dealt with secrets. Both of the main characters of these seasons aren't 100% happy until at least the last 10 minutes of the last episode.

I think in S4 we’ll see Colin and Penelope as a happier and stronger couple. However, I don’t expect to see a lot of them, similar to Anthony and Kate in S3 and Daphne in S2. Once the couples are married, they don’t seem to get a lot of screen time in order to make room for the next main pairing, but are there to offer advice. Personally, I hope next season is Benedict's.

Anyway, loved this season! Polin forever!

#just my thoughts #just my opinion #bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton season 3 #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #polin

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namelessprayers · 2 months ago

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cheng xiaoshi doesn't have a poet's soul and he isn't particularly romantic about anything, but he knows love and he knows grief, and he also knows that he has the soul of a photographer if nothing else; which is to say that he tries to hit pause in every moment, to savor it and appreciate the life as it goes, as it is then and after.

though, the point of the picture is rooted in sentiment, so maybe that is slightly romantic, and whatever the original message was is often intended to withstand or change itself over the course of time, which is poetic to some degree if he really thinks about it.

how intentionally that all is a part of the craft, cheng xiaoshi isn't too aware of, but he sees it in a way, when the light falls just right on an old memory and properly brings it to life. it's different to lu guang's powers, it's simply a biproduct of the process, of what it means to be a photographer. the camera both purposefully and accidentally takes a piece of the subject and engrains it as something greater than what fleeting value it once had while accentuating what already existed.

with a soul so intrinsically bound to photography, cheng xiaoshi would think it obvious that love and grief are both tied into the art form, specifically in relation to his own work, and yet, lu guang fails to get the message. but, to his credit, he at least understands that the grievances they have after certain jobs are best combatted through constant photography for cheng xiaoshi.

around those rough patches, lu guang allows cheng xiaoshi to take as many pictures of him as he wants, just to help alleviate the nightmares or the lingering feelings from the client that makes the shake of cheng xiaoshi's hands just a little too troubling.

but, the fact is, the majority of times that cheng xiaoshi wants to frame lu guang's face in the lens of the camera, it's not driven by a sense of grief or by a need of distraction. it's love, such clear affection, placed in the photo because it's too much to handle. it's also a given that the love there is partially fueled by the grief of knowing lu guang won't always be there, and there's a huge chance that if he ever died, cheng xiaoshi wouldn't be able to handle it.

the pictures are keepsakes, memory banks, some sort of manifestation of existing and anticipatory grief; although, cheng xiaoshi argues that it's all related back to love, not just for the craft, specifically for lu guang.

cheng xiaoshi is pretty sure he dangles the answers in front of lu guang's face every single day. he never says 'i love you' outright, but it should be conveyed clearly enough in the physical proof, the touches and the photos. he isn't sure why it is, frustratingly and almost laughably predictably, that lu guang doesn't seem to get the message even after all this time spent doing it.

still, cheng xiaoshi's content to hand lu guang album after photo album with dozens of shots, each one a testament to something different he loves about this life, most especially pertaining to lu guang's presence in it. one day, he hopes the meaning will finally be conveyed the way he intends it to be given, quietly, like something fatefully clicking into place.

but for now, cheng xiaoshi assumes they have all the time in the world just as they've always had before; so why rush it?

#link click #character study #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #relationship study #shiguang daili ren #shiguang dailiren #shiguang #love #photography as a love language #sorry the last line is foul i know #prose #writing

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charmandabear · 8 months ago

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Blood and Brandy

Summary:

Astarion and Jaheira both need a little bit of a release after the events with the Elder Brain.

Pairing: Astarion/Jaheira Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.3k Tags/Warnings: outdoor sex, piv, cunnilingus, vampire bites, praise kink, pet names

She's writing again! And this one was particularly fun to write, thank you @whispering-depths for the commission! I've gotten into the gif making game, so here are a few more inspired by this fic. Also, huge shout outs to @githyankidanky, @danse--macabre, and @sanguine-sunlight for championing the Jahstarion tag, y'all are the real heroes of this fic.

Read it on AO3.

Astarion comes swaggering into the Elfsong, waving down Alan for his usual post-hunt wine. It’s rarely a pleasant taste, but after the thrill of taking down an elk twice the size of him, he needs something to help him settle down enough to trance. He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s after midnight, so he’s surprised to see Jaheira sitting in an armchair in the corner, nursing a brandy and reading an issue of The Baldur’s Mouth. After swiping his wine glass off the bar, he makes his way over to her, hoping that his gait is more of a saunter than a stumble.

“Well if it isn’t the noble Jaheira,” he croons, perching himself on the arm of her chair and leaning his elbow onto the back. “Don’t you know that the Witching Hour is only for vampires and the deeply lonely?”

“How convenient, then, that you are both,�� she lobs back at him, keeping her eyes on her newspaper.

Astarion gasps dramatically, clutching invisible pearls at his chest. “Jaheira, I’m hurt! How can you call me lonely when I have such lovely company right here?” He leans over her shoulder and her musky fragrance mixes with the spice of brandy, the intoxicating combination going directly to his head.

Jaheira drops her paper slightly, looking up at Astarion over her reading glasses. “I am not fooled by your theatrics, Astarion, I saw your little pout when you learned that Tav went to Avernus with Karlach.” She folds up her paper and smirks. “It isn’t easy seeing your ex and their new beau together.”

Astarion bristles slightly before slipping the mask back on. “Nonsense, Tav and I both agreed it was for the best to remain friends back at Last Light, I couldn’t be happier for them and Karlach.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaheira deadpans, thoroughly unconvinced. “And after they helped free you from your old master’s control, your feelings about intimacy did not change?”

Astarion sweeps over to the chair across from Jaheira, dropping himself into it and crossing his legs. He studies her for a moment, simultaneously discomforted and intrigued by her surprisingly accurate read on him. She smirks, the skin around her striking hazel eyes crinkling, and Astarion shifts under her penetrating gaze.

“Why do you ask, are you interested?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, although whether from nervousness or simply old habits, he’s unsure.

“A cute young thing like you?” Jaheira barks out a laugh. “I’m not sure if I could keep up.”

Astarion giggles, a little surprised by the giddy twinge that shoots through his core. “Jaheira, I’m older than you, by a good century.”

“And yet your skin is so smooth and supple. You must tell me your skincare secrets.” She narrows her eyes mischievously, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her brandy.

“A steady diet of the blood of the innocents will do wonders for your complexion,” Astarion grins, flashing just a hint of fang. Jaheira’s smile widens.

“Lucky for me, then, it sounds like I’m safe,” she retorts, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d almost think that the tips of his ears tinge pink.

The two quickly lose track of time, their comfortable banter and friendly jabs making it pass quickly. It’s only when Alan announces last call that they fully take stock of just how empty the Elfsong has become.

“Ah, the life of an insomniac isn’t an easy one,” Jaheira sighs. “Would you care to join me on my nightly walk to find the sandman?” She stands and stretches, and Astarion can’t keep his wandering eye from traveling down her figure.

“I can think of a few ways to tire you out,” he offers, making little attempt to hide the seduction in his voice. It’s a bit of a clumsier proposal than he’s capable of, but honestly at this point, he knows they can both use a release.

“I’m sure you could, cub,” she chuckles as she crosses over to him and pats his cheek, enjoying watching him try to hide the flustered look that creeps onto his face.

The night air is refreshing, and the city streets feel almost eerily quiet. They stroll aimlessly past darkened windows, neither really paying attention to where they’re going, until they find themselves wandering into the graveyard. Astarion surprises himself when he realizes that he’s subconsciously led Jaheira to a distantly familiar ivy-covered headstone. He pauses in front of it, his eyes tracing the faint outline of his name.

“Two hundred years,” he says quietly, and Jaheira peers over his shoulder. He looks back at her and chuckles, “That’s longer than you’ve been alive, gran.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jaheira groans. She looks on contemplatively, then adds, “You know, I don’t think I fully expressed how proud I am of you for stopping Cazador’s ritual.”

Astarion makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a giggle. “You’re just trying to make me blush, aren’t you?”

“Maybe as a nice little side effect, perhaps,” she says coyly, sliding her eyes over to him. “But truly. With how much you have suffered, it takes a lot of strength to turn down all that power. And now, with a tadpole free brain, you can’t even go into the sun anymore.” She taps on his forehead to emphasize the point, and he swats her hand away playfully. Then her eyes unfocus slightly, and Astarion realizes she’s gone somewhere else entirely. “In my youth, I don’t know if I would’ve been strong enough.”

He studies her profile, brow furrowed as she loses herself in her memory. “I wouldn’t have expected the Great Jaheira to be tempted by something so base as a little power,” he says, punctuating his statement with that high pitched giggle of his.

She returns to reality and flashes a grin at him. “You’d be surprised what I was tempted by when I was younger.”

Astarion’s eyebrows disappear into his well-coiffed hair. “Oh really? Do tell.”

“Another Rite of questionable morals,” she says with a humorless laugh. “Although admittedly, fewer sacrificed souls in the process. The Rite of Timeless Body, an old druidic ritual practiced by some of the more esoteric circles, allows the practitioner to extend their life span well beyond its natural reach.”

Astarion crosses his arms and nods approvingly, taking a step back to get a renewed look at Jaheira. “Walking away from immortality takes some steel, I’m impressed.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “It feels a little less impressive when I’m standing in a graveyard in the last few decades of my life with a handsome young vampire who is a hundred years older than me.”

“If you want me to make you feel young again, you only need to ask,” Astarion grins salaciously, and Jaheira barks out a laugh.

“I might be younger than you, but I’m far too old to fall for your lines, cub,” she says, patting his cheek again. He grabs her hand, suddenly but not forcefully, and presses his lips to the inside of her wrist.

“Then maybe you can teach this old dog some new tricks,” he breathes against her skin, looking at her through heavy lidded eyes. She bites down on her tongue to keep her breath steady.

“So hungry now that he’s free,” she smirks, letting her hand cup his cheek. The stark contrast in temperature makes both of them shiver.

“Don’t tell me it’s not what you want,” he coos. “It’s been too long since Khalid, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, so this is for my benefit?” She lets herself step a bit closer to him, his bergamot perfume clouding her senses. “How very selfless of you, Astarion.”

He pulls on her wrist to close the distance between their bodies, putting her hand in his hair but keeping their faces a few inches apart. Waiting for her to make the final move. Surprisingly considerate, she notes to herself. She feels him pressed against her, his sinewy muscles pleasant against her soft flesh. His breath on her lip is cool, almost refreshing, with just a hint of lingering wine.

She leans in to kiss him, rough and unsteady, and his hands quickly move to her hips and squeeze her tight. He pushes her back until she’s up against a tree, pressing his knee up between her legs as he kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“Don’t think you can get a free meal out of this,” she warns, but the sharp edge of her statement was dulled by her breathlessness. Astarion laughs against her skin.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he hums between kisses, his fingers nimbly undoing the buttons down the front of her tunic. She arches her back into him as he slides his hand around her waist, his palm cool against her flushed skin.

“Ah-ah,” she slows him, pushing his hand away from her waist. He pulls away, wondering if she’s suddenly changed her mind, but she appears to be listening intently. “Not here, it’s too–”

“Close to civilization?” he smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“I was going to say sacred, but I suppose that’s true too,” she laughs. He grabs her hand and pulls her to the city wall on the outskirts of the graveyard. After a moment of struggle, he clambors to the top of it, looking down at her with an extended hand.

“Need help?” he asks and she rolls her eyes, smoothly shifting into her panther form and leaping over the wall with ease. She shifts back and looks up at him smugly as Astarion pinches his lips together, breath slightly uneven, his cock already pushing into the fabric of his pants. He drops down on the other side and she pulls him in by the collar for another messy kiss.

“I’m starting to think you’re the one who can’t keep up with me,” she murmurs into his lips, giving his hair a quick tug. She delights in watching him struggle to keep his composure, hiding his want with a disaffected smile.

It doesn’t take long for them to find a grassy outcropping on the side of the mountain below the city. Jaheira shrugs off her tunic as Astarion makes quick work of removing his blousey linen top. Once they’re both shirtless, they crash back together, skin against skin, their mouths working hungrily against one another. Astarion pushes her up against a steep rocky slope of the mountain, palming her soft freckled breast in his hand. She inhales sharply as he flicks his thumb over her nipple, feeling it harden in the cool night air.

She grabs him by the hair and pushes him down so that his lips line up with the sensitive pink flesh. He smiles as he swirls his tongue around the pert bud, and she sighs as her head falls back against the rock behind her. She holds onto his shoulders, unabashedly digging her nails into his skin. He ever so slightly teases her nipple with his front teeth, and he’s delighted when her hips buck into him.

“More interested in a bite than you first thought, eh Jaheira?” he hums, and she glares down at him.

“On your knees, vampire, and we’ll see,” she growls, and the tone of her voice makes Astarion’s cock twitch. He happily complies, and he can already smell her arousal through the cotton of her trousers. She might be able to feign apathy in her expression, but the heat of her cunt gives away how much she really wants him. He slides his fingers into her waistband and pulls her trousers down to her feet, which she quickly kicks off. He kneels forward to taste her but she stops him with the ball of her foot on his chest.

“You too,” she commands in a husky voice, her eyes flickering to the bulge in his leathers before locking back on his blood red eyes. His lips curl into a smile as he slides down his pants, maintaining eye contact with her. She breaks it when his cock springs free, only half hard and already impressive.

He digs his fingers into her hips and licks a stripe up her slit. She slides her fingers into his hair and drapes a leg over his shoulder, pinning him into position so she can maintain control. He laps up her arousal that’s pooling on her lips, threatening to drip. She quickly loses her hesitation to make noise, and her breathy moans as his tongue dives in and around her folds make his cock ache. He tries to subtly stroke himself as he continues to work her with his tongue, but she looks down and catches him.

“So needy, aren’t you, cub?” she purrs, and the noise he makes in response to the pet name is frankly a bit embarrassing. She laughs but it swiftly dissolves into a moan as he flicks his tongue across the hood of her clit. She tightens her hands in his hair and he increases the pace of his tongue, trying to keep up with the rutting of her hips against his face. The sounds of her pleasure as she gets closer to release, now unrestrained, only serve to spur him on further. He darts his tongue in and out of her, stopping only to lightly suckle on her clit.

“Ah– gods— Astarion!'' She shouts his name as she climaxes and he continues to lick her through her orgasm, feeling her pussy throb against his lips. He clutches her thigh as she slowly comes down, panting, and then eventually she releases the tight hold she had on his hair, ruffling it lightly.

“Well done, you know what you’re doing,” she says breathlessly, and he uses his palm to wipe his mouth clean.

“What can I say other than years of practice?” he smirks, standing and pressing his body to hers, his erection thick against her thigh. “I’ll give you a minute to recover, you old crone.”

“I’m ready for round two when you are, pretty boy,” she vaults back, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss. He slides his hand under her inner thigh and pulls her leg up, pinning her knee to the rocky cliff face. He positions the tip of his cock at her entrance, pausing just long enough to tease her into another growl. She squeezes a hand in his hair and he takes the hint to slide into her, their groans of pleasure mingling in the night air.

He begins to pump in and out of her at a steady pace, her walls squeezing around his cock with every thrust. He drops his head into the crook of her neck, breathing hard and inhaling the sweet scent of her sweat. He peppers her flesh with desperate kisses, nipping at her skin without breaking it. She knows he won’t bite without permission, but he’s also not bothering to hide how much he wants to. She grabs his hair and pulls his ear to her lips.

“Just once,” she hisses, and he lets out a shuddering moan. “Somewhere I can cover, and no drinking.”

“Yes ma’am,” he groans, and bites down into the flesh where her neck meets her shoulder. She clenches around his cock at the sudden pain, but he quickly follows it with soothing licks to the bite mark.

“Good boy,” she pants as he laps at her neck, and the praise causes him to push into her even harder, until a particularly jagged rock hits her spine. She puts her hand to his chest to get him to stop. “Astarion, wait.”

He pulls away from her, and she finds his dazed expression with his hair falling into his eyes to be surprisingly charming.

“Get on your back,” she hums, jerking her head towards the soft grass nearby. He lets out a visible sigh of relief before quickly positioning himself on his back, resting on his elbows to watch as she saunters over to him. She stands over him for a minute, appreciating the light flush across his normally very pale skin. He wets his lips as she gets to her knees, teasing him with her cunt in revenge for his earlier cheekiness.

She sinks down onto him as he raises his hips needily to meet her. He grabs her thighs as she rides him, his fingers dimpling the soft flesh. She braces herself on his chest with a hand, her nails digging into his skin as she rocks her hips into him.

“Gods, Jaheira, you’re–” Astarion pants, the words getting caught in his throat. His head falls back into the soft grass and he arches his back into her.

“Finally speechless, eh, Astarion?” she chuckles, and he shoots a glare back at her that quickly melts into a whimper. She pulls his face up to hers, treating him with another sloppy kiss before pushing his lips back to her tits. He eagerly takes her into his mouth, licking and sucking the sensitive skin. He ruts his hips into her as she grinds down on him, eagerly chasing her second release. He grazes his teeth against her breast and she shudders before yanking him back by his hair.

“Don’t be a brat,” she hisses through gritted teeth, and Astarion flashes her a self-satisfied grin.

“No need to keep up appearances. It’s clear that you want me to. No one will see it, and we both get what we want.” He lightly brushes her nipple with his tongue and she grunts as she tries to stifle her moan. “Come, Jaheira, let me make you purr,” he hums into her skin, nipping to punctuate his sentence.

“Fine,” she grumbles and lets go of his hair. “But one wrong move, vampire, and I’ll keep you pinned here until sunrise.” He grins and eagerly bites down, puncturing her skin but keeping his promise not to drink. He laps at the dark red drops that drip down the curve of her breast and she groans, arching her back and pushing her tits further into his mouth. He takes her encouragement and bites again, making a twin mark on the other side of her chest. She claws into his shoulders, bracing herself rather than telling him to stop.

The contrasting sensations of the ice cold shard of pain with the cool balm of his tongue afterwards is unlike anything Jaheira has ever felt, and she can feel the pressure building in her core. She moves her hand down to her clit and begins rubbing small circles in time with Astarion’s upward thrusts. He smirks and increases his pace, spurred on by her pleasure.

“That’s it, cub, keep going,” she moans, and his balls begin to tighten at the praise. He grabs onto her hips, pulling her down onto him hard as he continues to fuck up into her, rapidly losing control of his speed. “Come for me, cub.”

It’s all he needs. A burst of pleasure rockets through his core as he spills into her, feeling her walls clench and throb around him as her own orgasm tears through her body. Her unabashed cries of pleasure only heightens the feeling, riding out the long waves of her climax with his rapidly softening dick.

When the ripples finally settle and the two of them are left breathing hard, Jaheira pulls off him and Astarion admires the sight of his thick seed dripping down her leg. She catches him looking and chuckles, “Just be grateful I’m too old to bring any dhampirs into this world.”

Astarion guffaws, still a little giddy from his orgasm and struggling to parse what the fuck just happened. “Trust me, no one needs that less than me,” he says with a breathless laugh.

They clean themselves up in a comfortable silence, carefully picking up their swiftly discarded garments and redressing. They briefly make eye contact before bursting into sudden laughter.

Jaheira shakes dirt out of her hair and says, “Well this most certainly will not happen again.”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion agrees, but he can’t stop himself from smiling when he sees the light flush bloom across her freckled cheeks. They lock eyes on one another again before quickly looking away.

It’s a long walk back to the Elfsong.

@marvellover-12 @marlowethebard @pursuitseternal @imjiminiebean @gylving @beepersteeper

#bg3 astarion #bg3 jaheira #astarion #astarion fanfiction #jaheira #jaheira fanfiction #jahstarion #jaheira x astarion #astarion x jaheira #astarion smut #jaheira smut #bg3 smut #astarion ancunin #astarion one shot #jaheira one shot

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royboyfanpage · 6 months ago

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Hello ! I'm slowly but surely getting into Green Arrow comics and Roy appears fairly often but not much enough yet that I can get his personality that well. So, I wanted to ask - and I know it probably changed throughout the years, but - how would you describe him at his core ? What kind of guy is he ? His values ? (Is he into leftist and ecological ideologies like Ollie ? etc.)

Thank you for your help !

Hi, thanks for the ask friend!

I’m gonna answer the easiest question first which is his politics- yes, he very much is a leftist like Ollie. I’m just gonna show this one panel

And I don’t think I really need to elaborate more. He’s just like his dad.

As for who Roy is as a character, I don’t think it has really changed that much, at least before the New 52 his characterisation was pretty consistent. Roy’s always been someone who is very much fuelled by his relationships with others and his love for those closest to him. Most notably his love for Lian has always been a huge motivator for him since her introduction- a lot of the time she’s very much the thing keeping him alive, with at least two instances where Roy refuses to give up because if he died Lian would be alone. He also has similar love for the rest of the Arrow family- he was snapped out of brainwashing because he refused to kill Ollie, he’s always had an incredibly close relationship with Dinah ever since Snowbirds (I would highly recommend reading Arsenal 1998 and Vixen: Return of the Lion for them), he’s fiercely protective of Mia and yelled at Ollie when he found out she was gonna become Speedy, and he gave Connor what was essentially an ace acceptance speech decades before Connor was canonically asexual, for some examples.

He’s also an incredibly forgiving person, and he wears his heart on his sleeve a lot of the time. It’s something that definitely came about more heavily after Lian was born (which personally I chalk up to his acknowledgement that she was gonna change him + his promise that he’d never lie to her- promising to be honest and open with his child made him a more open and honest person in general), and it’s SUCH a crucial part of his character. When Roy has feelings, he expresses them loudly and immediately and then moves on most of the time- which is why when Roy and the rest of the Fab Five were stuck on an island designed specifically to bring up grudges and resentments Roy was really the only one who wasn’t that affected- all of his grievances were in response to things that were actively happening in the moment while others had let things fester for a while. It also does make the few moments were he does hide his emotions more poignant, particularly in his relationship with Donna in Titans 1999 (which I would very very highly recommend you read, it’s the jackpot for Roy Harper characterisation.)

And I know it’s very cliche to say about a superhero because duh, he’s a hero, but Roy is so good. He tends to get the reputation as the bad boy of the Titans, which I do get, but at his heart Roy is a hero through and through, not just because he saves the day but because he cares so, so much and the best example of that is through his interactions with kids/teenagers. The most notable example that comes to mind is Grant Emerson- Roy was really one of the first adults in Grant’s life who genuinely cared about him and his wellbeing, and… y’know what, I’m just gonna show this page off again because I will never stop talking about it

Again, highly recommend reading Titans 1999 for Roy and Grant because they’re genuinely one of my favourite father/son-adjacent relationships in any media ever- also recommend Roy’s Titans run for them, oh and if you wanna know more about Grant by himself you should read Damage 1994 :)

Oh and also Roy is lame. An absolute loser. He quotes Friends to try and flirt with women. I hate him.

#thanks for the ask!!#ask #Roy harper #speedy #arsenal #red arrow

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eddisfargo · 6 days ago

Text

Not a Day Will Go By (13/14)

Well... I thought it had been over a year since I last updated, and I was feeling pretty bad about it. But apparently it's been... over two ??? I owe you all a huge apology, especially my giftee, @resident-of-storybrooke, and I will give you that apology! In the form of another 4K words, and a change from 12/? chapters to... 13/14. But wait! There's more! I already have most of the next chapter written! And it's the LAST, unless I split it, because it is lorge. Thank you so much for every comment y'all left. I didn't want to reply until I could reply with good news, but every time someone left a comment or a kudos, it gave me hope that there were still people who wanted to read this story, and set a writing fire under me. I cannot tell you how much each comment made my day! And thanks above all to @motherkatereloyshipper for immediately agreeing to beta again after all this time!! And once again for the gorgeous banner. Okay no further ado, hope you enjoy!

AO3 Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13

Fic summary: Captain Hook wakes up in a strange bed, next to a woman he does not remember. He finds nothing particularly unusual about this situation. But the woman seems to know him very well.

In Storybrooke, there’s only one surefire way to get back a lost memory. And it’s not going to work until he loves her.

Chapter summary: Hook confronts some things. And some people.

As the door of the shop loomed nearer, Hook’s nerves returned. Whatever Emma had said to the contrary, he needed to focus on finding a way to enact his revenge. At least his promise to do no murder today took some of the immediate pressure off.

Emma turned to him, noticing that he’d paused. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Let’s go see if that knock on the head jogged any of his memories.” That got a reluctant smile out of him, and she waited another moment until he nodded before opening the door.

At the chime of the shop’s bell, the Crocodile turned – expressly, it seemed, to sneer directly at Hook. “Oh good,” he said flatly. “They’re back.”

“Anything?” Emma asked, addressing her question to the Queen.

It was the Crocodile who answered. “Shockingly,” he drawled, “I don’t break under interrogation.”

Hook glowered at the imp, who looked contemptuously back. Emma squeezed his hand once, and turned the full force of her attention to her adversary.

“You’re right,” she said.

Hook raised an eyebrow behind her, but she continued.

“That’s not your MO, is it? So how about an incentive?”

Eyes widening, Hook stepped towards her. “Emma…” he warned quietly. Even Regina was raising an eyebrow. Emma turned briefly back to face him… and winked.

“Look, did you slip Killian a memory potion?”

“Precisely what agenda do you think I’d be furthering by–”

“Is that a no?”

The imp rolled his eyes. “Yes.” After a short pause, during which Hook weighed the ambiguous response, he deigned to clarify. “It’s a no.”

“Good,” said Emma, seeming to take his word for it as if lying weren’t the little man’s bread and butter. “Then our interests align.”

“Do they, indeed.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Hook with no memories is kind of a loose cannon. Sneaking into your shop, scattering all your junk… chatting up your wife…”

It took a startled moment for Hook to recall that she’d mentioned a new wife, and had not , in fact, been referring to Milah. He opened his mouth to protest that he’d never even met the woman, but the delay in comprehension had been long enough for Emma to meet his eyes significantly. So rather than speaking in his own defense, he gave the Dark One a malevolent grin.

The Crocodile adjusted his hands on his cane. “Convincing me I’d rather be rid of your husband is a bold gambit, Miss Swan. Surely there are other ways I could accomplish that than by… helping.”

Hook bristled. Emma had said something about having kept her name, but surely she wasn’t a Miss . Also, the man seemed to be threatening his life, which, in retrospect, Hook supposed was more of a reason to take offense.

Emma crossed her arms. “There are,” she agreed, showing no sign of concern, “but wouldn’t it be sad for little Gideon to grow up fatherless? Again?”

Now who in the bloody hell was Gideon? Was Hook supposed to have a child too? He could make nothing of the “again,” but he had more than enough to start sweating. Surely, surely any spawn he might’ve sired would’ve come up in conversation before now. He wanted quite badly to ask, but he didn��t want to admit ignorance in front of enemies. He’d bring it up later.

“Don’t you think,” Regina broke in, sounding bored, “that if threats were all it took, he’d have sung by now?”

Emma sighed. “You’re right. Regina, are you sure he knows anything?”

“Positive. He usually keeps a stock of Oblex residue, but today it’s mysteriously out of stock. Someone must’ve bought it. If it had been stolen, I’m sure he’d have made you do something about it before now.”

“What the hell is an Oblex?” Emma asked.

“Something you don’t want to meet,” Hook answered, bloody overjoyed to finally, finally know something that Emma didn’t.

Regina looked at him as if she’d forgotten he was in the room. The Crocodile looked as if he wished he could. He’d almost expected Emma to be surprised he knew something, but in fact, she looked expectant. Almost as if his actually possessing relevant knowledge was not unusual. Huh.

He cleared his throat. “An oblex is a sort of sentient ooze. They’re clever little beasties. Had to fight one off years back, off the shores of the Sword Coast. Near lost the ship’s doctor.” He saw that he had, at the least, Emma’s undivided attention, and he didn’t much care for the others. “You don’t want to lose a fight with one of those. Nasty blighters will eat your –” He froze, and finished more quietly. “...Memories.”

“And that’s why,” Regina concluded, “their residue is the primary ingredient in a forgetting potion. It’s not easy to get, which is why I’m pretty sure you’d notice if some went missing. ”

“And if–for the sake of argument–I’d sold some…” the Crocodile began, oozing insincerity. “The ingredient is not only usable in forgetting potions. In fact, I recently heard that it can be combined with certain herbs to create a tea, to ease a troubled mind.”

Emma raised her eyebrows at the Queen, awaiting confirmation. Regina looked skeptical. “Oh? And where did you hear that, I wonder?”

“Now that you mention it, I recall a strapping young gentleman who came into my shop some time past, looking to make such a tea for his ailing aunt, or great aunt–something to that effect.”

“Oh?” Emma said, with thinly-veiled interest, as if they were each playing their parts in the conversation. “Did he find what he was looking for?”

“One never knows what one will find in my shop.” It was incredible how such relatively inoffensive words could still make you want to knock someone’s teeth out. Maybe it was just his voice.

“And what would be the price of such a valuable ingredient?” Emma asked politely. “If you found it?”

“As it happened, the young man’s relation had a few recipes I did not already know–a rare thing indeed.”

There was a short pause, as everyone in the room considered.

“If I were to ask you for the surveillance footage…” Emma attempted.

“I don’t keep it longer than a week.”

“Of course,” Emma said, sounding unsurprised. “That would’ve been too easy. Well, what did he look like?”

The imp shrugged. “Not especially notable.”

“Anything you remember? Anything at all? Hair?”

“He wore a hat, but I believe it was dark.”

“Build?”

“I wasn’t selling him clothes.”

Evidently, he was determined to make her pry any piece of information out of him.

“You called him a strapping young man. What does that mean, exactly? Muscular? Athletic? Bulky?”

“I suppose. I really didn’t take any special notice.” Hook wondered if the man would take any special notice of a hook in his throat.

“Any notable facial features?”

“He may possibly have had a larger than average chin.”

“Okay… anything else?”

“Not particularly,” he said flatly. “Well, that does seem to be all I can recall about any recent customers. Now, if you would kindly vacate the premises, I would very much like to close for the day. It seems my shop could do with some… reorganizing.” Without turning his head, he leveled a glare Hook’s way.

Without conscious thought, Hook found himself looking at Emma to determine their course of action. She turned to him, seeming satisfied with the day’s work. She exchanged a glance with Regina, who nodded. And, without taking their leave of the shop’s owner, they left.

Somehow, Hook didn’t notice until the shop was well behind them that his hand was in hers.

They walked in a companionable silence until they were far enough from the shop that Hook could breathe freely again. Hook sorted through all the questions with which the interview had left him, and tried to decide what to ask about first. He wanted to ask about Gideon , but the dread of finding out who he might be–not a son, surely not a son–made it difficult to form the words.

Finally, he made himself open his mouth. “Swan,” he blurted, with no clear idea what he’d say next. She blinked, as if he’d pulled her out of some intense concentration, but after a moment she turned to him with a smile.

“What’s up?” she asked, raising her eyebrows inquiringly.

Who is Gideon? “Did we…” have a child? He cleared his throat. “...actually learn anything from that interview?” He held back a sigh. Coward .

She grinned. “Enough to get started with. We have a profile on our potential perp. Maybe the great aunt is real, maybe she isn’t, but it’s a small town. And at least Gold’s condescended to narrow the playing field a little. If they’ve got ‘recipes’ Gold’s interested in, they’re probably not out-of-towners. And I have a kind of vague physical description, if he was being forthright about all of it. I’ve definitely got enough to search with. Finding people is…” Her smile was lovely, and behind her modesty, he could see some pride. “Kind of my thing.” All at once, Hook became aware that Emma was caressing the hand she was holding. “Want to come?”

“I–think I have some business to attend to,” he said, perhaps less firmly than he’d intended. She looked a bit crestfallen, and he added, “Sorry, love,” before thinking to question why he was apologizing. He didn’t owe her a bloody apology for being busy. He searched his mind for a story she’d accept for what he was busy with that didn’t involve searching for a weapon against the Dark One.

“OK,” she said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at home. Love you!” She hesitated before leaving, as if she was expecting something, but then smiled ruefully and walked away. It didn’t take much in the way of context to figure out what she’d been waiting for, once he gave it a moment’s thought. But surely she couldn’t expect it of him.

He stood for a moment, watching her walk back to her brightly-covered conveyance. As he pulled his hand slowly from the cheek her lips had touched, he considered the fact that she had not, in fact, demanded his plans. The word trust flitted through his mind, leaving a feeling suspiciously like guilt.

Well, there was nothing to be done. He had promised her no murders today, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t plan. As for the wager with the Queen, that was easily dealt with. If she rightfully owned the Jolly Roger, he could win it back the way a pirate usually won his booty. And what was one extra murder once the bet was lost?

He began to walk, allowing his feet to choose the direction–they hadn’t steered him wrong so far. He spent a pleasant moment picturing the look of surprise on Regina’s face just before his hook pierced her heart. He could see the rage turning into fear, as the man she erroneously believed was no threat came for his reckoning. And behind her, there stood Emma, eyes wide and full of tears–

A loud, dissonant noise brought him to his senses. He realized he’d stopped cold in the middle of the road, and one of those wheeled metal contraptions–a bug, had Emma called them? But this one was red, and rather larger than hers--stood behind him. He made eye contact with the person behind the glass at the front. It was a man he didn’t recognize–hardly shocking, at the moment–who threw his arms wide in a gesture of impatient disbelief. The man slammed his hand in front of him, and the awful noise repeated.

Suddenly in quite a foul mood, Hook gave his most menacing scowl and approached the conveyance, raising his left arm to make his namesake conspicuous. As he reached the side door of the bug, less than a foot from the wide-eyed man inside, there was a loud squeal and the contraption sped away. Ahh, well. If he was going to lose the bet– when , rather–it would be for more significant reasons. A blond-haired face with a look of abject betrayal tried once more to encroach upon his imagination, but he pushed it roughly aside. He walked quickly out of the road, in no particular hurry to repeat the confrontation.

He tried to keep his focus on what was most relevant–forming a plan. Kill the crocodile, and leave this strange place, with all of these strange people. Unfairly attractive people with soft hands. Children with Baelfire’s eyes. Complete strangers who smiled at him, like the woman across the street was doing now. How on earth she could be smiling at him despite the thunderous scowl he was–

Hook stopped to take stock of his face, to find that his scowl seemed to have abandoned him, in favor of an expression with which he was unfamiliar. His lips were turned up very slightly, but not in a smirk or a leer. And his eyes were half-closed, when they ought to have been wide open and paying attention to his bloody surroundings, because now the woman was pushing her covered cart towards him, and she looked familiar. Ahh, she was the woman he’d seen earlier, just outside of the cursed pawn shop . Except that she’d looked familiar then, too, hadn’t she? But no, her cheerful smile was not striking any chords in his mind now.

Not only was she smiling, she was actually walking toward him.

“Hello,” Hook said cautiously. He was dealing with an unknown quantity, and he wasn’t sure how to approach her.

The moment he spoke, something began to strike the covering of the cart from the inside. He managed to keep from visibly startling, looking with a raised eyebrow from the cart to the woman.

The stranger laughed. “He heard you!” She pushed back the covering on the cart, which folded as it seemed designed to do.

From the violence of the striking, Hook had been half expecting some sort of small but fierce wild animal. What appeared, however, was a very human baby. And it was looking right at him. Its expression might charitably be called a smile, although its teeth were largely absent.

The baby looked at the woman who was presumably its mother and had some sort of semi-verbal communication.

“Down?” the woman said, in the tone of someone repeating what they’d heard, although to Hook’s ears the baby’s word had sounded more like “aaa!”

Without further ado, she leaned down and set the baby loose. To Hook’s surprise, rather than toppling over immediately, it took some rather wobbly steps in his direction. He controlled the urge to back away. He was certainly not afraid of an infant–even one that seemed determined to barrel toward him. What on earth made him so nervous? It wasn’t as if the tiny thing could hurt him. On the contrary, it was so small it looked as if a rogue breeze might damage it irreparably. He gulped, reflexively moving his hook behind his back.

“Iiiiihggh,” burbled the baby, whose strong apparent desire to continue its headfirst forward motion was beginning to lose the battle to gravity. Well, it was awfully close to the ground.

“That’s right, darling!” the mother said encouragingly. “That’s Killian!”

Hook started. He hadn’t been anticipating his given name from this woman. And despite what she might be pretending, the child had most certainly not said it first.

Hook’s sudden movement was the last straw for the baby’s momentum.Killian watched in confused fascination as the little thing paused for just a moment, looking nonplussed, and then fell remarkably slowly to its bottom, where it bounced slightly. Whatever it was wearing, it clearly provided some padding.

Hook wondered for a moment if the infant was going to start bawling, in which case he decided he’d find a reason to be elsewhere. And, indeed, the small face worked for a moment, appearing to consider the possibility. But it was distracted in the nick of time by something shining on the ground, which it examined for a moment before managing to grasp the item and beginning to bring it towards its mouth.

“GIDEON, NO !” the woman shouted, startling Hook, who’d almost forgotten she was there. He looked quickly back at her, and in that moment, he recognized her face. It hadn’t meant much to him when she was smiling at him, but in her distress, it came back to him.

A cell. An interrogation. A blow.

He’d wanted to use her for information. She hadn’t known anything, so he’d…

He caught himself grimacing, and then frowned at his own reaction. Well, and why shouldn’t he have struck her? She’d been of no use to him. But why had she looked at him just now as if… as if she was pleased to see him? Women hid their children from him. They certainly didn’t encourage those children to run to him, shouting an admittedly mangled attempt at his true name.

The woman had picked the baby back up–he supposed it must be a lad, if its name was Gideon–and removed the shiny object from his hands, with what looked like a surprising amount of difficulty. Honestly, how much grip strength could those tiny hands possess? Still, she seemed to be struggling to keep the baby in one hand and hold the item out of his reach in another. He considered how he would accomplish such a feat with only the one.

He shook away the ridiculous notion. When would he ever be called upon to hold a baby?

The baby was crying in earnest now, and Killian racked his brains for an excuse to make a hasty retreat. He had just recalled the fact that he didn’t actually need an excuse–he was free to leave at any time, social niceties be damned–when he realized a few things in quick succession. The child’s name was Gideon. Gideon was not Emma’s child, much less his own. The relief of not being tied to her permanently… rather startlingly failed to materialize. He pushed the thought away quickly.

So, Gideon belonged to this woman. As he pieced his memories of her together with what he’d heard this morning, her name came to him.

“Belle,” he said, without really planning to. She had been precious to the Dark One. That was what he’d wanted from her. She’d been… his lover? The implications hit him like a cannonball. Suddenly, the wailing baby looked quite a bit less cute.

Not that he’d thought it was cute in the first place.

Evidently, he’d been correct about her name, because she looked up from her game of keep-away with the squalling infant, as if remembering he was there.

She smiled grimly, holding the baby’s treasure up a bit higher. “Old battery,” she informed him, her voice rueful. He thought for a moment that the battery to which she referred was his against her, however long ago that had been from her perspective, but she seemed to be looking at the object. She approached him. “Here, would you take this away?”

Hook reached for it, not without curiosity. But as Belle drew nearer, Gideon switched his attention from the “battery” to him. He reached out his little hands, tears still glistening on his round cheeks.

Belle laughed. “Well, that works too,” she said, foisting the baby directly into Hook’s arms. His mind sounded an alarm. Something in his brain shouted Hook!! It took him a moment to connect this to the source of his suddenly faster heartbeat. He quickly adjusted himself so that the baby and the hook were as far apart as possible. He’d expected this to take some serious effort–especially since he’d never held a baby in his life. But almost without conscious thought, he’d adjusted his grip so that his hook was pointed down, his shortened arm supporting the baby’s body, with his hand gripping its back.

The bloody madwoman didn’t even look concerned. She’d walked off to dispose of the battery without a second glance.

Uncertain what to do with himself, Hook looked down at the baby’s face. Surely there would be some evidence of malignance, if the Crocodile truly had sired him.

The baby gave him a mostly-toothless smile. He looked fully human, if nothing else. Perhaps Belle had been less than faithful to her scaly lover. Heaven knew better women than her had done the same. Hook squinted at the little eyes, trying to discern a resemblance to his old enemy. When the spark of recognition hit him, it was not as he had expected. Bae .

He had always credited Baelfire with his mother’s eyes. And indeed, he recalled more vividly than he would’ve credited, the color had been all too reminiscent of his lost love. But in this child’s eyes–this child, with no direct connection to dear Milah–he saw the shape of Bae’s. There was only one possible source of any similarity between Baelfire and this child–his half-brother?--but that loathsome resemblance, Killian could not see, no matter how he searched.

“Thanks for watching him,” a voice said from right in front of him. Hook startled, but did not drop the baby. Nor did he accidentally puncture his hide, which was a danger you’d think a mother would’ve been cognizant of. How had he not seen Belle return? Had he been so lost in his thoughts?

Belle was grinning at him. “You’re so good with him,” she said, with the air of someone who is repeating an observation.

“Ahh,” Hook said awkwardly, uncertain what to do with this bit of flagrant misjudgement.

“Aaaaaaaah,” gurgled Gideon, contributing just as much to the conversation.

There was a moment of silence as the baby looked lazily from one of them to the other, drooling slightly.

“Well, it’s almost too late for Christmas shopping, so we’d best be on our way,” said Belle finally, sounding oddly amused. “That is, if you’re willing to part with him?”

Hook felt his face heat. Had he really been so distracted he’d forgotten to return the thing to its mother? It wasn’t as if he wanted to be holding him. He’d simply lost track of time somehow. He’d rarely seen a person so young this close. It was oddly fascinating–in a horrifying sort of way.

As Belle reached for her child, he misjudged her grip and began to let go too soon. He reflexively tried to catch him with both arms, jerking the pointed one away at the last moment and throwing his good hand under him.

Gideon giggled delightedly, and even Belle permitted herself a breathless chuckle once the lad was safely in her arms, obviously more aware than her son of what had almost happened. The barrage of kisses she pressed to his tiny, laughing face were her only concession to the moment of panic.

She cradled the baby to her with one arm, waving goodbye with every appearance of good cheer, as Killian waited for his heart to stop hammering. He continued his interrupted walk, and tried to remember what thought he’d been in the middle of. Ahh, yes, revenge against the Crocodile.

It must have been a half a mile later when it occurred to him–far too late–that the perfect opportunity for revenge had just been utterly squandered. That child was–presumably– his son. Why hadn’t he–why hadn’t it even occurred to him to–bloody hell, he’d gone out of his way to avoid–

His unquestioned fear of accidentally damaging the child now seemed quite preposterous. He could have simply gutted him like a fish.

The thought of gutting a fish made him oddly nauseated. He frowned. He hadn’t tired of fish in centuries at sea. Now seemed a strange time to start. This bloody town was getting to him, somehow. Making him into a landlubber. Making him soft . Making him into the man Emma seemed to think she knew.

What he needed was a night on the Jolly. Alone . What he needed was to get her ready to leave.

He made it the rest of the way to the docks unmolested. There was a moment where he thought he saw a red hat exiting a warehouse, but it vanished before he could be certain.

Once aboard his ship, he took inventory. He would need to top up his rations, although there was a small supply of cans with pictures of food on them–those uncannily lifelike pictures common to this realm. Perhaps he could make it to the next port, if nothing else. Surely he could acquire food there, legitimately or not. He’d noticed with unease that the longer he stayed in this town, the less he recognized himself.

Hook had nearly finished taking stock of his supplies when he nearly tripped over his feet. He froze. After centuries, he knew every inch of the Jolly Roger. There had never before been a loose floorboard in his quarters.

Closer scrutiny confirmed what his feet had uncovered. There was a small space under one of the boards making up his floor. And underneath…

He stared, trying to think through the implications. It seemed his future self had not been so innocent, after all. The man had been keeping secrets from his lovely wife. Perhaps he hadn’t changed as much as Emma had convinced him–as much as she’d truly seemed to believe. Perhaps he had already begun the plan now taking shape inside Hook’s head.

Hidden on the Jolly, where no one but him could ever have found it, was a bottle of squid ink.

--------------------

Tagging the same folks as last time, hope it's still welcome! Adding the "please tag for everything" crew. Let me know if you want to be added or removed for the last chapter!

@undercaffinatednightmarere, @jrob644, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @mie779, @elfiola, @tiganasummertree, @anmylica, @booksteaandtoomuchtv, @everything-person, @teamhook, @laianely, @booksteaandtoomuchtv, @exhaustedpirate, @anmylica, @hollyethecurious, @Gingerchangeling, @caught-in-the-filter, @ultraluckycatnd, @Stahlop, @LFH1226, @darkshadow7, @fleurdepetite, @captainswan-kellie, @motherkatereloyshipper, @sonnicat, @Jrob64, @beckettj, @whimsicallyenchantedrose, @jonesfandomfanatic, @myfearless-love

For any fellow stats nerds, this chapter was 4K words, about twice as long as the average chapter so far. And I have (drumroll) almost another 8K written. I just need to tie together all the scenes I have! Might split it if there's a good splitting place, or I might post it all at once. I'm pretty pleased with how it's turning out, aside from all the [insert words here]-type stuff in the middle.

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #not a day will go by

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buckyispunk · 1 year ago

Text

Better Man

Alcoholic!Joel Miller x Reader

masterlist

Summary: Falling in love with Joel Miller is heaven. It's leaving him and forcing yourself to move on that's hard. Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Better Man."

A/N: Very angsty, please don't read if you're not a fan of heartbreak! Huge shoutout to one of my fav authors, @macfrog, for the beta!

Warnings: alcoholism, smoking (cigarettes), Joel yelling and throwing things (he never hurts reader tho), Joel being mean, littering (just for the sake of the fic, please don’t in real life), idrk what else lmk if I'm missing anything please

Word Count: 2.2k

All lyric credit goes to T-Swift!!

Rain beats down against your car window. You watch water droplets roll down the glass. You’ve got the radio on, waiting for the storm to let up so you don’t get soaked on the walk into your apartment. A glint of red from the passenger side floor catches your eye. A carton of Marlboro cigarettes - Joel’s cigarettes. How long had they been there?

You’re walking into the bar with your friends when you see him for the first time, cigarette hanging between his lips. He’s leaning up against the brick wall, clad in faded jeans and a worn flannel. His grey hair is curling at the ends. He takes the cigarette between two fingers and pulls it from his mouth. His broad chest expands as he inhales deeply before blowing a cloud of smoke past his pink lips. Grey wisps linger in the humid Texas air as he calls out to you.

“Hey darlin,’” he drops the cigarette and stomps it under a work boot, leaving a black, ashy stain on the concrete beneath. “‘S a nice outfit,” he nods his chin in gesture, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You had spent the rest of that night curled into his arm in a sticky booth seat, discussing childhood crushes, family trauma, and everything in between. The rest, as they say, had been history. Joel had picked you up the next weekend, flowers in hand and nervous sweat on his brow. His southern charm had you falling for him dangerously quickly. Luckily, he was just as head over heels for you - you could tell by the fascination in his eyes as he hung on to your every word whenever you offered up new information about yourself, like he was a starved man and your words were his sustenance.

I waited on every careless word Hoping they might turn sweet again like it was in the beginning

The day Joel asked you to move in with him was one of the best of your life.

You open the door to his house to find him standing in the entryway, bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. His other hand is clutching something small, concealing it.

“Hey, hon,” he shifts from foot to foot, “How was work?”

“Fine, babe,” you gesture to the flowers, “What’s all this?”

“I-um,” he scrunches his brows and hesitates for a moment, “so, you’re almost always over here already anyway. I want to spend as much time as possible with you. Want you cuddled up with me in our bed every night. Want to come home to you after a hard day at work. Want to be here to take care of you when you have bad days, too. I love you and I guess what I’m askin’, darlin’, is if you’d move in with me?”

He unfurls his other hand, presenting a key. You quirk a brow in surprise.

“Oh my gosh, Joel,” you stare at him in disbelief as his expression turns into one of nerves and anticipation.

“Yes!” you practically screech, excitement flooding your body.

You run over to Joel and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face into his strong chest. Joel sets the flowers down on the nearest surface and embraces you with one arm. His other hand lowers to slip the house key into your pants’ pocket.

After that, he had carried you upstairs and made love to you. You fell asleep in Joel’s doting embrace as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. Living with Joel had been everything he’d promised. Until it wasn’t. It had been when he and his crew were working on a particularly rough job that things started to change.

He transitioned from drinking on special occasions or when out with friends to having a beer or two every night with dinner. You didn’t think too much of it at first. It was only when he started downing several glasses of whiskey a night that you got concerned. You asked him about it, wondering why the sudden change. I just need it to help me relax after work, hon. He’d promised you that it wasn’t an issue, this is just a really hard job. He brushed you off every time you’d tried to talk to him about it.

His drinking started to come between the two of you. He would opt to have a beer and watch football rather than spend time or share conversation with you. On nights when there wasn’t a game on, he’d go out to the bar - sometimes with buddies from work, sometimes alone.

He was too tired to take you out, too stressed to do anything more than press a chaste kiss to your lips once in a while. He began to get irritated easily - the two of you found yourself arguing over meaningless things often. It seemed the only time he wasn’t complaining was when he had a drink in his hand. He’d passed out in his recliner watching TV nearly every night during that project. You’d lie in bed and fall asleep waiting for his side of the mattress to dip with his weight, only to wake up the next morning and find him gone for work.

When the project ended and he had some time off, you expected him to lighten up on the drinking. With all the extra time he had, things only got worse. You’d leave for work and he would still be asleep. You would come home every night to find him with a beer bottle in hand and empty ones at his feet.

Talking down to me like I’d always be around Push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun

One night, you’d tried, for what seemed like the hundredth time, to talk to him about it.

You come home after a long day of work to find Joel snoring in his recliner. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt - he hardly ever gets dressed anymore. It’s times like these when you could almost pretend everything is normal. That he’ll hear you and wake up. That he’ll jump up and give you a hug, make you dinner, ask you about work. Instead, you watch a string of drool run down his chin.

You make your way over to him and gently remove the bottle from his hand, setting it on the table. You run a hand through his hair and shake his shoulder, rousing him.

“Oh, hey,” he hiccups.

You can smell the alcohol on his breath. You hear his stomach rumble and wonder whether he’d even bothered to eat anything today.

“Hey, babe,” you muster the most sincere smile you can, foolishly hoping that you might get one in return.

He looks past you and grabs the bottle from the table.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink today, baby? How about I make us some dinner, we can sit and eat together like we used to,” you offer.

You reach to take the sweating bottle from him, but he raises a hand to stop you.

“I jus’ wanted to finish watching the game, babe. How ‘bout t’morrow?” he slurs.

“Joel I really think you should see someone about the drinking. It’s not healthy for you. I love you and I miss you. I want to help you, baby.”

He stands from the chair, grip tightening on his bottle.

“I know my own fuckin’ limits, thank ya very much,” his sharp tone makes you flinch.

“Can you at least eat something? This isn’t good for you.”

“Jesus, will you just leave me alone?” his lips wrap around the opening of the bottle and he turns the bottle up, letting the rest of the alcohol pour down his throat. He turns to walk away from you and you reach a hand out to grab his forearm.

“I’ll make you your favorite dinner, Joel. It’s been months, baby. You said you’d lay off the drinking after the one job, but it’s just gotten worse. You haven’t been working and it’s not healthy for you to stay in the house and drink all day,” you try to reason. “I’ll make dinner for us and we can go to bed together.”

You look into his eyes, searching for a sliver of the man you love. You remember the way he used to look at you as if he would gladly let his heart break into a million little pieces, as long as you were the one shattering it. As if he would do everything in his power, and then some, just to put a smile on your face. As if he would face his demise head on if you were the sight burned into the back of his eyelids as he faded.

Your search is futile. The only thing you find in his dark, bloodshot eyes is something you’re too afraid to call contempt. He lets out an exasperated sigh and mutters your name, “I just want some time to myself. You’re always nagging me about the drinking. It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed all the time and you’re really not helping. Could you just quit being annoying for once?” He runs a hand through the scruff on his chin.

You drop your hand from his arm as if his skin had scorched you. His words settle like a heavy weight on your chest, keeping you from drawing a full breath. It’s as if his heart holds nothing but distaste for you. You look up at him with watery eyes and try to remember the last time he had even told you he loved you.

“I can’t keep doing this, Joel. I’m going to leave if you don’t get help. Neither of us are happy anymore. Can you please just talk to someone so we can go back to the way things used to be? You can be happy without the alcohol,” you plead with him, trying desperately to reach the Joel that you know is in there somewhere. The Joel you hope is in there, anyway.

“Will you stop it?” his voice is violently angry, “I don’t need fuckin’ help, I just need to be left the fuck alone!” his southern drawl booms throughout the room.

You startle at his sudden outburst, flinching away from him. You feel your eyes overflow, salty tears leaving wet trails down your cheeks.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters before turning to the wall. He raises his empty bottle and tightens his fist around it. He pulls his arm back and launches the bottle at the wall. It shatters and sends glass flying everywhere. You stand, watching in shock.

“Joel,” your mouth drops and you step away from him.

Joel has never hit you. Hell, before tonight, he’d never even yelled at you. But the coldness in his eyes and the way he clenches his fist scares you. You turn and make for the door, wanting to leave before things escalate any more. Tears are streaming down your face as you twist the doorknob. You look back at him as you step out of the house. You see him shake his head as he grabs a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and you close the door behind you without another thought.

You stayed at your friend’s house that night, sobbing as she told you to leave him. The next morning, you had stood on your front porch, bones heavy with dread, unsure of what you’d find when you opened the door. When you finally worked up the courage to push the door open, you’d been met with the sight of Joel sprawled face-down on the couch, snoring.

He hadn’t woken as you quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind you. He hadn’t woken as you packed all your belongings into suitcases. He hadn’t woken as you left your house key, along with a tear-stained goodbye note, sitting on the table. He hadn’t woken as you rolled your suitcases outside, packed them into your car, and blocked his number on your cell phone before driving away from Joel. Away from home.

I know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand But I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man

You let out a shaky exhale as you pick the pack of cigarettes up off of the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and wish, for a moment, that things had never changed - that his hand is still splayed out across your thigh and he’s pouting in the passenger seat beside you, I should be the one driving. You’re supposed to be my passenger princess.

After fidgeting with the cardboard box for a minute, you decide that you’re sick of waiting for the storm to let up. You open the car door and step out into the rain. You release the carton and let it fall to the wet ground. Bringing a shoe down on top of the box, you crush it underneath your foot, as if trying to stomp out a flame - as if trying to stomp out the memories the cigarettes had ignited - and watch raindrops roll off of it. Without looking back, you turn and walk inside.

We might still be in love if you were a better man You would’ve been the one if you were a better man.

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