#i’m still so upset. it isn’t fucking fair. i do the most to protect myself and others and i get fucked over for the rest of my life

[kamek]

i’m so miserable

[thekinkyleopard]

A lot of people don’t make any money off of their art, and just spend their free time pouring into it. That doesn’t make it okay. I also disagree that people rightfully being upset about their work being used and stolen without permission isn’t “hate.” It’s simply criticism of a very valid emotion.

I’ll address this to clarify my previous statement made because it seems some of you are twisting my words and opinion on this particular subject.

My friend made a mistake, it was indeed a bad mistake. We ALL agree what she did, wasn’t excusable. The point of my post wasn’t to excuse or minimize what she did. The point of my post was THE FACT my friend made a mistake, one that hadn’t inflicted any real damages upon the original artist (if they’d like to come forth and express it did, now there I couldn’t speak, but I don’t think all of snzblr wants to contact two artists that are most likely vanillas and would find this whole thing fucking weird in the first place and bring attention to a small community just tryna vibe.) garnished so much hate in her inbox, and amongst the tags, I found it absolutely REPULSIVE. People were attacking her PERSONALLY. Not just gently expressing what she did wrong. You can be mad, upset, disappointed, cheated, whatever big feeling you have, you are entitled to it. But you’re not entitled to lash out and attack someone personally who is WILLING to fix their mistakes, because you’re unhealed. My point was also to state that ANYONE who has ISSUES with Geez, is NOT welcome to bully, harass or be an all around cock-sandwich to me or my friend because of your own feelings. Did you know suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death amongst people 10-34? Did you know that cyber bullying increases attempts by 8%? Or Sewerslidal thoughts by 15%? No one considers those things when they’re up in arms over something so small compared to an entire life in their hands. There’s a way to approach situations like these where everyone can properly learn from their mistakes and move forward.

That’s my FRIEND. I do not CARE how mad you are at her she doesn’t deserve to have people bash her and pick at her mental health. She also doesn’t need a bunch of chronically online people telling her to “get help” as if we all aren’t aware of how shitty not only the insurance system is but the mental health system in general. It’s classist and ableist.

As for the crime discussed;

Intentionally stealing or copying someone’s work without credit and source is illegal and downright gross. However, IN MY OPINION, if someone makes a post and clearly points out “hey this is just a remake of my OCs of this OG person’s post, please go show them love and follow them and support their original piece it’s awesome! Here’s my redesign!” Posts it, I don’t see anything wrong with that. That’s the risk you run when you share your content online. You can be mad, but it’s still Fair Use and was properly credited and sourced. I DO NOT DRAW. I CAN NOT DRAW. I can vote. And I will always vote to protect people’s rights to their original ideas and concepts. My opinion on this general example, can be taken with a grain of salt because I’m not a visual artist or apart of the drawing/painting communities. I can not even point out a traced piece unless I’ve already seen the original. But as the example given previously, I do not see it as theft if you do credit and source the original and bring attention to the original piece that you’re tracing in the first place. Especially if the post does wind up bringing them more traffic.

If you still don’t understand, idk what to tell you except maybe read it until you do. Or unfollow me and call it a day. I do not hold my own personal value in myself or my craft, based off how many people interact with my fics or followers I have. It doesn’t hurt my feelings if you no longer wish to support my blog or my writings, or even my friend Geez. Do what you need to, and I will do the same.

[storiesforallfandoms]

haunted house ~ billy loomis;scream

word count: 1489

request?: no

description: when his girlfriend is terrified by a haunted house, billy promises to protect her no matter what

pairing: billy loomis x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

*to celebrate the start of spooky season!*

I looked up at the abandoned building turned haunted house. I don’t know who decided it was a good idea to make a haunted house out of a place that was supposedly haunted. I definitely don’t know what possessed me to go with my group of friends to the damn haunted house either.

“Do you think we’ll see, like, an actual ghost or something?” Tatum asked as we waited in line to enter the haunted house. “What if we see an actual dead body and we just think it’s a prop?”

“What if we get possessed?” Stu added. Tatum giggled excitedly and leaned into him.

“We’re not gonna get possessed,” Randy said. “Or see any dead bodies or ghosts. The place is an old abandoned home, not a murder site.”

“Not that we know of,” Stu whispered to Tatum, causing her to giggle again.

I crossed my arms and looked up at the scarily decorated building. Not that it was something I was about to admit to my horror crazy friends, but I was terrified to go into the haunted house. I hated haunted houses, I always did. I went once as a young child with my parents and some asshole thought it would be funny to chase after a five year old with a fake chainsaw. I didn’t know it was fake at the time of course cause, you know, I was five.

Noticing my discomfort, Billy put an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. “Hey, don’t listen to Stu. We won’t see any ghosts or dead bodies, it’s just gonna be a harmless haunted house.”

“Harmless, sure,” I said, trying my best to smile at him.

Stu and Tatum excitedly ran into the haunted house once we got to the front of the line. I could hear Tatum scream the moment she passed through the door, which only made my stomach turn even more.

Randy entered next, followed by an also hesitant Sydney. I was glad not to be the only one who wasn’t excited by this idea. When it came to me and Billy, I was also hesitant at first. Billy pulled on my arm slightly, finally getting my legs to move.

The minute we walked through the door, the air was stuffy from the fog. The lights were so dim that I could barley make out the figures of my friends in front of me or Billy beside me. There was a bright, blinking strobe light that showed the outlines of the bodies around us; whether they were real people or just dummies I couldn’t tell.

The first scare was some kid jumping out from a room wearing a Jason Voorhees mask wielding a fake machete. I screeched and clung to Billy’s arm as he laughed and kept walking. I could hear screaming from the other attendees and jeers from the people playing the characters.

Billy’s hand slipped from mine and my panic began to rise. I still couldn’t see very well and now the strobe lights were starting to disorient me. I just wanted to get to the end and to go home.

I had my arms around myself, as if that would protect me, when a group of kids ran past me, giggling and screaming. They startled me slightly, but not as much as one of the haunted house workers jumping out at me, a mask over his face and a fake chainsaw in his hands. Flashbacks to my first haunted house played before my eyes as I screamed and covered my face. I backed away until I hit a wall, but my attacker kept coming, chainsaw raised over his head. I began to sob in terror as it became evident that the chainsaw wielding maniac wasn’t backing away.

“Hey man! Get the fuck away!”

I recognized Billy’s voice as the chainsaw finally shut off. Through the dim light I could see Billy shoving my attacker away before kneeling down next to me.

“She’s fucking crying, alright? That means back the fuck up and leave her alone!” he snapped as he knelt down next to me. “Are you okay, babe?”

I shook my head, unable to speak due to my sobbing. Billy put an arm around me and pulled me to my feet.

“Keep your head ducked, I’ll get us out of here,” he said.

I tucked my head against shit shoulder as he led me out of the haunted house. I jumped with every scare that came at us, but for the most part I was able to avoid any further upset. Once we walked out through the exit door, I took a deep breath and savored the fresh air in my lungs.

Stu and Tatum were already out and basically dry humping on the fence as they waited for us. Tatum shoved Stu away as Billy and I approached, eyeing me specifically. “What happened to you?”

I shook my head. “I d-don’t wanna t-talk about it.”

“Man, they really got you, huh (Y/N)?” Stu asked. “Which was it? Was it the dude with his guts spilling out everywhere?”

“Leave her alone,” Billy said. “I’m gonna take (Y/N) home, I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

“Awe, why do you guys gotta be such party poopers?” Tatum asked, but Billy ignored her as he brought me to his car.

I looked at myself in the sun visor mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy and my nose was as red as a tomato. I could see the tear streaks now stained on my flushed face. I looked like hell, or at least that I had been to Hell and back.

“You don’t have to drive me home, Billy,” I said when he got into the driver’s seat. “I can call my parents to give me a run home.”

“It seems like you need someone besides your parents right now,” he said. “Besides, I’m not jumping to spend the night with a sexed up couple, my ex-girlfriend, and the horror movie aficionado who would likely talk about how lame that haunted house was the whole night.”

This was enough to put a small smile on my face. Billy smiled back at me and started driving towards my house.

The beginning of the ride was silent besides the static sounds of Billy’s car radio. I rolled down the window to let the air blow on my warm face. I sighed, a sense of guilt eating away at me still for pulling Billy away from our friends.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really,” I responded.

“Okay, then we don’t have to talk about it.”

It was something I appreciated about Billy. He respected my wishes and didn’t push me further than I wanted to go. There’s not a lot of guys, or a lot of people for that matter, that would do that.

“I hate haunted houses,” I said, resting my head against the seat. “My parents took me to my first one when I was a kid and I got chased by a guy who had a fake chainsaw, like the guy who cornered me back there. That shit stuck with me, I’ve never been to a haunted house since. Not until tonight anyways.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We didn’t have to go.”

“Cause you seemed so excited by it, and everyone else was going. I didn’t think it would be that bad until I lost you and had a repeat of that episode from when I was five.” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “God, why couldn’t I just fucking get over it?”

“Being traumatized isn’t exactly something you get over,” Billy said. “You were a kid brought into an environment where a kid should never be.”

We pulled up to my house and Billy reached over to put his hand on mine. I looked up at him and smiled. It was nearly impossible to be upset when I had such an amazing guy on my side.

“Next time, I want you to tell me when you don’t want to do something,” he said. “It’s not fair to you, especially if it’s something that will bring up old memories like that.”

“I promise,” I said.

“And I promise to always protect you, no matter what. No one will ever hurt you as long as you have me.”

“I know.”

I leaned forward to kiss him. All the upset I had been feeling just moments before seemed to vanish from my body as his lips pressed against mine. His hand was gently as it caressed my face while the other closed in around my hand.

When I pulled away, I glanced at my house to see that the lights were off, indicating that my parents were likely gone to bed.

“Park down the road and I’ll sneak you in for the night?” I asked.

Billy smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “Deal.”

[datawyrms]

“Did you apologize to Tucker yet?”

“About what? Wait, are we talking again? I thought we weren’t talking.” The ghost circled back, blindly fumbling with the thermos lid, eyes busy squinting at the hunter’s mask as if it would let him see through it better. “You’re not gonna say it’s fine then shoot me, are you?”

“Why do you always remind me why I don’t like talking to you like this.”

“What’d you mean like ‘this’? Like I should pretend that isn’t a totally valid question?” 

Valerie groaned, gesturing at the ghost. “Like that sort of thing is normal!”

Phantom smirked, letting the edges of his boots hit the hoverboard. “Welcome to my life.”

“And how you just keep that stupid confident face up.”

“Uh huh. I thought you were lecturing me about Tucker, not my personality.”

She deeply considered having the board jar the ghost off, but that’d probably just amuse him more. “You seriously don’t remember why you should be apologizing?”

“Well according to you, I should basically apologize for existing. So sometimes I lose track on the particulars.” There was an edge there that the blithe tone couldn’t quite cover up, even as the ghost sat down. “Y’gonna enlighten me or what? I’m bad at twenty questions.”

“You broke your promise to him, remember?”

The blank stare she earned in response was absolutely infuriating. “Uhhh. Which one?” He had the sense to look embarrassed, hand glued to the back of his neck.

That wasn’t going to help him though. Shooting him was actually sounding like a fair idea if it was the only thing that would get him to actually learn and pay attention. “To stop possessing people. The big one? The really easy one that NONE of his other friends need to worry about doing ‘accidentally’?”

“Wow Val, if you just wanted to say you think I’m weird you didn’t need to drag Tuck into it.” The embarrassment slid into a scowl easily enough, arms crossed as if that would defend him. “I haven’t done that for months.”

“He’s been telling you he hates it for years.” Before she even figured out Danny’s dead man walking secret. Tucker was too good a friend to be ignored for literal years because a ghost conveniently forgot how fucked up it was to invade someone’s body and use them as an unwilling meat puppet if it was ‘helpful’.

“I try, okay? I’m not doing it to upset him!”

“Somehow everyone else can manage without doing it.”

The ghost tilted his head. “Well duh, you guys can’t.”

“Even if we could, we wouldn’t.” She snapped, the confusion and completely casual excusing of his actions just a little too much to deal with. “Heroes don’t control people.”

“Well excuse me for needing to protect myself. If what I am gets out to the wrong people, I’m dead. More dead.” He groaned face in hand “You know what I mean. Worse than dead. Dani too.”

“Do you really think Tucker’s dad would have ratted your whispy ass out? That he wouldn’t help you explain? Or was it just an excuse to let yourself do what you want?”

“Well you seem to have decided that it was! Which it wasn’t!” His eyes flared green with the defence, and Valarie had to work to not react to the impulsive want to get away from an angry ghost. “I just- reacted, okay? I told him that!”

“Well Tucker and Sam keep forgetting how much of a ghost you are, so of course they won’t buy that excuse.”

“Excuse? It’s not an excuse!” He was up, the offended squawk reminding her so much of how he was before. When they were all fourteen, and every uncomfortable problem could be chalked up to being ‘a moody teenager’ and ignored for a while longer. “And you could stop saying ghost like that, while you’re at it?” The glow dimmed, but he kept the distance. “Sound like my dad.”

“What, you want me to say it like you do when they keep coming here to threaten people? Deal with it.”

“There are plenty of ghosts who don’t do that.”

“Yeah. They don’t come here, and they aren’t my problem,” she shrugged, considering. “I’ll say it nice to them.”

“Oh, real funny.”

“You deserve it.”

She expected a scoff, at least. Probably a laugh, considering how often he’d joke about being the town’s public enemy for a time. Instead he averted his eyes. “Maybe we can finish this talk on the ground?”

It was easier to be ticked off at him when he was joking, or steamed himself. Phantom didn’t ‘do’ uneasy. Maybe it was a good sign that he was actually listening, if he wanted to continue ‘off the clock’. “Space cadet wants to land? Sure, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t go with ‘want’, but yeah.”

It wasn’t much trouble, in the middle of the day. A quick glance while hidden in at least one direction was enough. People who lived in Amity Park knew they should get out of the area of a ghost sighting at this point. Even if she and Phantom were trusted enough to deal with it, stray shots happened. Things fell. Not too many eyes to avoid, even if her identity felt like an open secret most of the time.

Danny had it even easier. He just had to think. It felt like a sick joke, that he could stop being dead on a whim and blend in fairly well. The gangly man leaning against the tree looked human. Black hair, blue eyes, needed a tan, unremarkable. Average. Unless you knew what to look for, anyway. How a casual slouch didn’t match up with how he was always looking for something, a tense energy that seemed desperate to crack free of that spine. That he could walk in winter with the thinnest of jackets and not shake from the cold even once. “Hey.”

Valerie rolled her eyes, sitting on the bench. “Hey yourself.”

Danny grimaced, looking up and away. “How much of a ghost I am, huh?” It wasn’t an angry question, exactly. He was still slouching, hands in pockets. Guarded and uneasy. How much of that fear and caution the person she thought she knew, and how much of it was just another part of his act?

“You’ve said you’re at least half of one.”

“Yeah. You just make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

The whole crux of the issue, really. How no one really knew how to deal with Danny, his secret and how he’d changed. “It’s not a bad thing on it’s own.”

“So I’m the part you like to sneer at,” his brow furrowed, the creases and wrinkles more ominous as blue slid closer to green. “I thought we went over this. You know what actually happened. How I never really attacked people.”

She admired Tucker and Sam’s patience, she really did. “We have. It’s not about that stuff. That’s years ago, you know it. It’s the other stuff.”

The anger was gone in an instant. “What other stuff?”

He was a living migraine waiting to happen. “How you keep thinking things from seven years ago are more important than things happening right now?”

“Hey, you’re the one that held the grudge for two.”. 

“Months. Not years.”

He slouched more at the correction, apparently very interested in his own hands. “Oh. Right.”

“You haven’t been using the reminders like Jazz told you to, have you.”

“I can remember fine! I don’t need some box doing it for me. I’ve just been busy.”

Busy. That was his excuse this time? She crossed her arms and leaned back. “Okay, what year is it?”

“Uhm.” he paused to pick at a non existent loose thread “One starting in 2?”

“Danny.”

“What! Lots of people don’t care too much about the time.”

He didn’t even try to guess within ten years. There was living in the present, and there was this. “No, you know your ghost side makes you act in certain ways and keep denying it. So you still get the complete pain version of ghost. Get it?”

“I’m not that different.” He wouldn’t look at her, hand clenching. “I’m human too, you know.”

“Uhuh. The way your eyes flare up when you’re mad is super human.” She ignored his scowl, pushing forward. “I get it. You don’t like being reminded. Tuck and Sam try to ignore it for your sake.”

“Val, I’m not denying it okay? I know. It’s pretty obvious!”

“Then stop pretending you don’t know. They’re trying so hard to help you have a chance of getting a job that isn’t with your parents and you won’t even use the reminders to help you remember where in time you are!”

That got him to bristle, shaking off his slouch in a sudden reminder of how tall he really was. “Why does it matter? We’re all just kidding ourselves about me ever leaving here.”

“So you just won’t try? Just give up on finding anything else? For someone who keeps insisting he’s human, you sure seem eager to ditch that half of your life.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing? Because all I’ve seen you do is get tetchy about ghosts and instinctively do ghost things. When you’re human.”

“I’m putting in the work.You know it’s hard to study or hold down a job.”

“So stop making it harder on yourself.They’ve found ways to help keep you grounded, so do it.” Sam should be saying this, of course. She’d heard it frustratedly repeated so many times, but she never dared to actually say it to the one who had to hear it. Because he was already prone to pulling away or vanishing when you pressed too hard, made things too uncomfortable. Ghosts didn’t do coping, and Danny was never great at facing personal issues head on before becoming a menace to her sanity either. “You think making things harder makes you more of a hero?”

“‘Course not.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking for an escape, an out. “I shouldn’t need that stuff, alright?”

Now it was her turn to be puzzled. “Why shouldn’t you?”

A lopsided grin answered her question. “Who likes admitting they’re a freak?” The tree no longer had a human standing by it, but his voice was easy enough to hear. “ But I guess some people care about a freak like me anyway.”

(did Valerie use a tracker to smack him and say ‘you’re not a freak’ right after this? yes)

[cozy-the-overlord]

For the Lobster of Loki

Summary: Exposure to terrigen mist during a mission-gone-wrong results in you developing some newfound aquatic abilities. Unfortunately, this opens the door for your Avengers teammates to make use of the bane of your existence: fish puns. 

Word Count: 2,850

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (first person)

A/N: I can’t believe I actually wrote this.

For those of you wondering what the hell this is: a few weeks ago, I had autocorrect change the word "love" to "lobster" while writing a fic. I found this hilarious and made a joke about it on Tumblr and it kind of turned into a meme on my blog. A couple of my friends told me I needed to turn this into a story and so now I present to you the stupidest thing I have ever spent precious time creating. Also, I usually don't like writing in first person at all, but my go-to third person limited just did not feel right with this nonsense, so I decided to experiment with a different style

Thanks for reading! :)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

I was going to murder Tony Stark. I was going to murder all of them, but I was going to murder him first because he was the one who started this nonsense and now it had been going on for two weeks and I was one fucking smirk away from scalping myself.

It all started when I woke up with gills. Waking up with gills is a strange experience. Don’t get me wrong—I realize all things considered, I had it pretty good. I’ve heard about some really horrific transformations since I experienced my own— people who came out of the midst having lost their eyes or their limbs or their minds. There have been people who came out of the mist looking, sounding, and feeling like completely different creatures than when they went in. And there have been people who don’t come out at all.

No, I know damn well I was lucky to come out of the experience with nothing more than a pair of gills stuck in my neck. Still, it was an odd feeling—there was a heightened awareness every time I breathed in, pinprick chills trickling across the newfound ridges as I exhaled. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either—it was a stiff feeling, a bit like putting on a new pair of shoes for the first time, if that makes sense. I didn’t know what to make of it.

When I woke up, there was about a hundred doctors hovering around me, each with some new sterile terminology to throw my way about my condition, none of which made anything close to sense. I was losing my mind until Bruce showed up. He was able to put it simply: during the mission, I had been exposed to terrigen mist. Instead of killing me, it triggered a transformation in my DNA. I was inhuman.

My inhuman gift, it seemed was the magical blessing from the Black Lagoon. I had gills now—that was the most immediate realization—but there was also the fleshy webbing between my fingers and a weird film over my eyes that I didn’t notice until I tried to rub them with the heel of my palm. All of these wondrously fishy attributes added up to one glorious result: I could swim like a fish.

That was the first thing they tested. As soon as the doctors said I was good to go, SHIELD dumped me in a pool and told me to have fun. And I did. I had never been a fantastic swimmer or anything—the extent of my swimming knowledge came from the lessons my mother had forced me to take as a kindergartener because she was afraid I’d fall into the pond at the park down the street from our house and just die, which … fair. I still hated those classes. But now, now—oh, it was a completely different experience! I cut through that water like a knife, like Michael Phelps who? I was a bullet, shooting back and forth across the pool and just hanging water for as long as I liked.

Because I could breathe underwater now. That’s what gills are for, I guess, although it doesn’t really feel like breathing. Like, I’m not inhaling water while I swim. I’m just … I don’t know, my lungs are still filling with air, my chest is still going up and down, but it’s not through my nose. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s weird. But it’s really fucking awesome.

The team was very supportive of everything. I had only been living at the Tower for a little while, so I had still felt like something of an outsider—I didn’t have powers, and I certainly didn’t have the years long rapport that they had with each other. But they were really cool! Tony designed me a sleek new suit that was able to move well in water while still offering protection, and everyone had the time of their life trying to think up a pithy new code name for my newfound superhero status (we still haven’t quite decided, but I’m leaning towards Torpedo, because isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?). Everything was great.

Well, almost everything. There was one thing that was kind of bothering me. Loki hadn’t talked to me since I got hit with the mist. That might sound like a weird thing to get hung up on—oh no, the psychotic extraterrestrial terrorist is ignoring me!— but Loki’s not really like that. He doesn’t really talk about the whole New York thing much, but he’s said enough to make it clear that it’s not something he did of his own volition. If you saw it you’d understand what I meant, the way he tenses up whenever someone brings up the Chitauri and his eyes go all glassy like he’s not really there behind them. You can just tell that whatever had been waiting for him on the other side of that portal, it wasn’t good.

We never talked about New York, but we talked about other things. I’m not really sure how that happened. He does this thing where he acts all annoyed with everyone, like he’s just so over everything, and it irritates everyone so much that they all avoid him like the plague, which of course is what he wants. I guess I just didn’t avoid him when I arrived—I was too busy avoiding all the other superheroes who made me nervous to bother trying with him—and he grew to tolerate my presence.

We started talking about stuff one day, random shit like the purpose of nutritional facts on the side of poptart boxes and the boiling point of water on Earth vs on Asgard because apparently that’s different. And then we’d do things like make fun of the way Steve talks because he’s just so easy to make fun of, and Steve would overhear and tell us to knock it off and that would just make the whole thing funnier and Loki would mimic his voice and say something stupid like “I can feel the righteousness surging!” and Steve would just shake his head and walk away while we laughed like idiots. So yeah. We were friends. Or at least, I thought of him as a friend.

But I was starting to think that maybe he didn’t see me in the same way. We had been partners on the mission where I got hit with the terrigen mist, but he didn’t even come to visit me while I was still in the hospital. And literally everyone came to visit me. Friggin’ Director Fury came to visit me, although I’m pretty sure that was more because he wanted to see what my transformation had entailed and not because he had any particular interest in my wellbeing, but still. And then when I got out, he never said a word to me and everyone else wanted to talk to me so I didn’t say anything to him, but I was worried about him just the same. He was avoiding me too—he wouldn’t ever look at me when I was looking at him, and a lot of times he’d get up and leave the room if I came in. And I didn’t know what was going on.

I probably should’ve asked, but I don’t know … I was afraid, I guess. Like, what if he was really mad at me for something, and just me trying to talk with him would make him upset? So I just didn’t say anything—went through my day pretending everything was normal and ignoring the ache in my chest constantly reminding me that it had been weeks since I got my powers and Loki still hadn’t asked me if I was okay.

But I kind of forgot about all that when Tony started this bullshit. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t start it sooner, because it was the type of low hanging fruit that had his name written all over it, but once he started it there was no going back.

He started it one day when we were in the kitchen. I had been making a sandwich (tuna fish, because I’m a cannibal) and Tony was leaning over the counter watching me, and we were just talking about my general fishiness.

“I’m jealous, really,” he was saying. “It’s definitely something that would come in handy. You need to get something underwater, you just dive down—no tanks, no masks, no suits. Very sophisticated.” His eyes lit up, which is never a good thing. “Sofishticated!”

I groaned. “Stop it.”

But Tony was cackling. “Sofishticated! That’s rather gilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“Tony …”

“It doesn’t get any betta than this!”

I waved the bread knife in his face. “I will throw this at you.”

“Alright, alright.” Even as he held his hands up in surrender, he was giggling like a child. “I’ll stop.”

He did not stop.

The next morning, it was fish puns. Everywhere you turned, it was fish puns.

“Can you get that report back to me soon, or do you need more time to mullet over?”

“Just let minnow when you’re ready to try on the new suit.”

“Don’t trout your abilities, we all know you’re fintastic.”

It was only breakfast and I was inches away from crushing my face against the china cabinet.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “What the hell have I walked into?”

Tony grinned. “It’s fish puns!” he said. “Because, you know—” he gestured vaguely in my general direction. “It’s her brand.”

I moaned, face in my hands. “Just kill me now.”

Clint perked up. “Don’t you mean krill me now?”

Laughing, Tony gave him a high five over my head as I writhed in pain. “That’s the spirit.”

I don’t know how he did it, but in the matter of hours Tony had the whole damn tower on the pun train. Natasha was joking about how she was having a whale of a time with this new game. Clint was telling me to clam down and enjoy the fun. Steve asked me if I could get kraken on my o-fish-al business. Even Bruce—Bruce, who always made a point of staying out of Tony’s nonsense—even he was coming up to me with shit like “Cod you come help me with somefin in the lab?”

I glared at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Well …” Bruce inhaled. “Salmon had to.”

I stormed off as Tony roared with laughter from behind the corner.

It was inescapable. Wherever I went there was someone armed with some new fishy atrocity. You’d be surprised at how many fucking fish-related words exist in the English language. JARVIS was so overloaded with the amount of Internet searches for “fish puns” that he started bookmarking lists for easy access. It was an absolute nightmare.

“Don’t play koi, sweetheart,” Tony teased one night while we were waiting for Clint to choose a movie. “We know you lobster it.”

“Lobster?” I scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“You just don’t appreciate my ingenui-sea.”

“OH MY—”

“Ignore them, my lady.” Thor smiled gallantly “They are only jesting. You should just relaks.” He grinned, stepping back as he waited for a reaction. We all just blinked at him. He frowned. “You understand, yes? Re-laks? Laks? That’s a fish!”

“Lak is not native to Midgard,” Loki interjected without looking up from the book he was reading. I jumped. He had been so quiet I had forgotten he was in here too. “Their oceans are too warm.”

Thor was surprised. “Truly? But I thought we’ve tasted lak since we’ve been here!”

Loki rolled his eyes, still without looking up. “That’s salmon. It tastes similar, but it’s much smaller.” He turned the page, muttering something that I didn’t quite catch. I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was the closest we had come to talking since before the mist, and that ache came back, gnawing at the edges of my heart. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t say anything.

About a week later, it was my birthday. I don’t really like birthdays in general, but I had really been bracing myself for this one all week because there was no way in hell these morons weren’t going to something infuriatingly stupid to mark the occasion. I guess I didn’t do enough bracing, because when I walked into my bathroom that morning to find a big fat lobster scuttling around in my sink I nearly had a fucking heart attack.

Across the mirror, someone had scrawled a message in red lipstick.

Sending you birthday fishes and lots of lobster!

And that was the moment I decided I was going to murder Tony Stark.

I stormed out into the hallway with no weapon, no plan of action, nothing except the pajamas on my back and the lobster in my hand. Additionally, this was the moment I decided that I hated lobsters more than any other creature on this earth. This thing looked like something from outer space, with its antenna and its bulging eyes and its spindly spider legs—that what it was, an overgrown spider in a slimy red shell. It was disgusting.

I was on my way to Tony’s floor, so engrossed with this half-baked notion of busting down his door and throwing this extraterrestrial arachnid on his face while he snored in bed, that I didn’t even see the Asgardian prince until I walked right into him.

Luckily, Loki grabbed me before I stumbled backwards, because I recoiled so quickly I probably would’ve gone flying. He raised his eyebrows as he took in the sight.

“I assume there’s a reason for the crustacean?” he asked.

There was something ever so slightly condescending about his tone, and I bristled. “They left this thing in my room! I swear, I’ve had it up to here with this fish bullshit—”

He hushed me, pulling the lobster from my grasp. With a wave of his hand, it was gone.

I inhaled. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

“Oh no. I merely moved it to a more preferable location.” He frowned at the moisture left on his palm, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe it off with. “You know,” he said slowly. “The more visibly upset you allow yourself to become over this, the more encouraged they’ll feel to continue.”

“I know, I know. I just—” I sighed. “It’s so annoying. It’s been going nonstop, for two damn weeks! Puns are the absolute lowest form of humor, it’s just obnoxious.”

Loki only nodded as he turned to make his way down the hall. “I’ll take your word for it.”

And just like that, it was back to ignoring me. I watched his retreating form, the ache in my chest quickly bursting in to flames.

“Why are you avoiding me?” I snapped.

He froze, slowly turning around. “Pardon?”

“Why are you avoiding me?” I repeated. “You won’t talk to me anymore, you barely even look at me— did I do something wrong?” Maybe the fish jokes really had fried my brain, because I was dangerously close to tears. “I don’t get it Loki, I thought we were cool and now you just hate me!”

“I don’t hate you!” he said. “I just—”

“Just what? What is going on with you?”

“You could’ve died!” Loki yelled. I had never heard him speak that loudly before, and guess I was shocked into silence. “With the mist, on the mission. It was only pure chance that you didn’t.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“I was supposed to cover you. I should’ve realized sooner that they were using terrigen crystals. Instead I miscalculated and you nearly died.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead. When I found you, enveloped in that shell …” His voice trailed off and I realized with a start that his eyes were glistening with tears.

“Loki …” My gills tingled on my neck as I reached out for him. Is that what this was all about? Guilt? “Loki, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And besides, I’m fine now. It all worked out in the end.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see yourself. You were gone, I was certain you were gone—”

I griped his hand. “I’m here now though. I’m here and I’m fine. Stop beating yourself up about it. I want to be friends again. I—” For a moment, the words caught in my throat. “I missed you.”

He gulped. “Truly?”

“Of course! Besides, I need your help getting back at these idiots.”

He smirked. “Oh, I’ve already started on that.”

A high-pitched scream broke out across the floor. “How did the fucking lobster get in my shower?” Tony bellowed from his bedroom.

We exploded into laughter.

“Oh,” I wheezed. “That was fucking perfect!”

Loki grinned, squeezing my hand. “Only the best for you, my lobster.”

[musette22]

So, tomorrow is the day 🦾

To everyone who is watching and who’s excited: HAVE SO MUCH FUN, and I hope it’s everything you’ve been hoping for and more 💜

To everyone who is watching but a bit apprehensive or anxious about it for whatever reason: I hope it’ll exceed your expectations and that you’ll come to enjoy it, and in the meantime I’m sending lots of love and support 💜

To everyone who isn’t planning on watching tomorrow, for whatever (non-assholish) reason: Please take care of yourself and remember that your own well-being & mental health are always paramount 💜

A few (lol) notes under the cut, for those who are interested (mostly aimed at the last category, I’d say!)

TLDR; I myself am not planning on watching tomorrow - I’ll probably watch the show at some point in the future, but I want to know exactly what I’m getting into before I do. I’m too emotionally invested in the relationship between Bucky and Steve to be able to enjoy it right now, but at the same time I’m also 100% rooting for the show to do well, for various reasons, and it does have my full support. For my personal mental health, I’ll likely be on Tumblr a little less for a while, at least while the show airs, but I’ll be running a queue and answering messages as much as possible.

As I’ve said before, I myself am not planning on watching tomorrow - I might watch the show at some point in the future, but I want to know exactly what I’m getting into before I do. At this point I don’t feel emotionally and mentally up to dealing with some developments this show is inevitably going to present. By that, I mean possible deaths, therapy sessions, mentions of Steve, new love interests etc. - I do not mean having a new Captain America, or two of my favourite characters getting a chance to shine and bond, just for the record.

Despite my reservations, I am also 100% rooting for the show to do well, for various reasons. I’m so hyped for Sam being Cap, I’m so loving the dynamic between Bucky and Sam, I’m so looking forward to Sharon finally getting the screentime and character development she deserves, and I’m so so happy for and proud of Anthony and Sebastian for being co-leads in their very own blockbuster TV show - and for all those reasons I want the show to be a great success. Millions of people are going to be watching and loving the show and I couldn’t be happier about that.

As for myself, I know I’m too emotionally invested in the relationship between Bucky and Steve to be able to enjoy it. In fact, for a Stucky shipper like myself (i.e. an extreme (mono)shipper), the fact that part of the show deals with Steve Rogers leaving his best friends and fucking off to the past to have his perfectly heteronormative and incredibly OCC happily ever after is pretty much the worst thing I can imagine, and it’s enough to actively spoil the whole thing for me. I wish it wasn’t, because as I’m pretty sure you’re all aware, I’m kind of a massive Sebastian/Bucky stan and I fucking love Anthony/Sam to boot, and I’m devastated to be missing out on the fun here. But I’m self-aware enough to know that it’s better if I don’t put myself through this.

And I know some people might say that I’m being dramatic and the show hasn’t even aired yet, which is fair lol. But I’ve been so upset at every trailer I’ve seen, and I’ve cried so much just thinking about it for the past few months, that I’m pretty positive it’s just not for me. I’m fully aware it’s not healthy to feel this emotionally compromised by a TV show, and since this type of hurt is something I have the ability to distance and protect myself from, I owe it to myself to do so.

I’m sure Mackie and Seb would agree, and they still have my full support, and so does the show itself to a large extent. But I’m going to stay over here in my little comfort bubble for as long as I need to, and I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that. We all have to do what we have to do to cope, especially this year. On the bright side, I’m super excited to do some proper writing again, because I haven’t been able to as much as I’d like lately and I have signed up for several Stucky bangs 🙈 

So anyway, this was (characteristically) way too long and too pompous but it’ll have to do lol. I’m not sure how much you guys are going to notice as a result of it, but from tomorrow, I’ll likely be on here a little less - at least on Fridays and probably Saturdays, for the duration of the show. I’ll be running a queue, I’ll be answering DMs and asks (but most likely not too many about the show itself, because as you can tell, I need to step back from that a bit for right now) and working on my writing, but I won’t be checking my dash much. So if there’s something you’d really like me to see, please feel free to tag me or send it to me!! If I do reblog any TFATWS content, I’ll of course make sure to tag it for spoilers with ‘tfatws spoilers’. 

Alright, I think that’s all I wanted to say for the moment, but again, if you’d like me to clarify anything, do feel free to ask me (nicely). I’m sending everyone who needs it lots of love, support, bear hugs and smooches. You’re not alone and things might be weird for a while, but maybe it won’t be so bad, and in any case it’ll be alright in the end. Maybe a bit different, but still alright ❤️

[lyssismagical]

Prompt: Tony tells peter he hates him in the heat of a argument and then goes on a long mission and doesn’t have time to apologize and comes back to a depressed peter and apologizes

This is literally so old I’m so sorry lmao hope this is alright

tw oops i killed may again, depression, grief, arguing? 

The grief builds on his back like Atlas holding up the sky. 

He’s trying. He wants to scream at the world that he’s trying. Of course, he’s trying. He’s putting one hundred and ten percent into every obstacle thrown his way, every responsibility asked of him, every favor he adds to his list. He’s trying. He’s trying. He’s trying. 

He doesn’t know how to try any harder, he doesn’t know how to put more effort into everything he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to be better. 

Sleep becomes something only done when absolutely necessary, every couple days, only a few hours caught on the train or in detention or on the couch when Tony makes him give in to his exhaustion. 

He knows he’s being hard on Tony. He doesn’t need all of Peter’s bullshit on top of everything else he deals with. He’s already done so much, offered up a bedroom in his tower, held his hand at May’s funeral, paid for everything he could ever want, he even got Peter an emotional support dog to take care of him when Tony can’t. 

But Peter just can’t seem to repay him. He doesn’t even have the decency to be a good kid while under Tony’s roof. 

He gets detentions, he skips classes, he gets hurt patrolling, he puts off his own needs, he snaps at Tony, he isolates himself, he refuses to deal with the stress he’s under. He’s making everything so much harder on the only person who’s still around. 

It’s not fair on Tony. 

But Tony takes it all in stride. 

He never gets upset with Peter, never pushes him, never gets angry. 

It makes Peter angrier, in turn. He wants to ruin the last good thing he has, he wants to destroy everything he stands on, he doesn’t deserve to have Tony.

“Leave me alone,” he mutters, trying to push past Tony to lock himself in his room. 

“No, I need to talk to you real quick. C’mere,” Tony says, waving him over. “We’ve got a mission that might last a little bit, so you’re going to be here alone with Pepper and Happy, alright?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m seventeen.”

“They’re not babysitters, they’re just around if you need anything.”

“I can take care of myself.” Peter knows he’s being irritated for no reason, Tony’s done everything right and Peter won’t stop picking fights. “I don’t need them and I don’t need you looking over my shoulder, criticizing everything I do.”

Tony sighs softly. “I don’t think you can’t. I just worry, that’s all.”

“When your parents died, you went on a crazy drinking, drugs, and gambling binge for like twelve years. I get a couple detentions after losing my fourth parental figure and suddenly I’m spiraling out of control? I’m incompetent? I’m mental?” 

He hates himself, a deep dark pit in his stomach, threatening to swallow him whole in his self-loathing. He hates that he’s doing this, hates that he’s going to throw everything he has at Tony, make him hate him, just because he can’t possibly bear the kindness he’s been shown. 

“Pete, kid, I don’t think that at all.”

“I’m not you!” Peter spits, mouth wobbling and raking a hand through his messy hair. “You’re not my dad! You can’t keep me locked up here forever. I turn eighteen in six months, and I won’t stick around to continue playing into your House Fantasy. I’m not your kid. We’re not family.”

The shocked look on Tony’s face makes Peter feel worse, it makes the monster in his chest happier knowing Peter’s suffering like he deserves. 

“Kid-”

“I’m not a kid!” He’s moments away from crying, voice breaking and hands shaking. He wishes he was still a kid, wishes he could be coddled and taken care of and loved, but he’s not that kid anymore. “I didn’t ask for you to take me in and pretend to care! I didn’t ask for you to ruin my life! It’s your fault May’s gone. If you hadn’t put me on the Superhero Radar, nobody would’ve gone after my family.”

Tony shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Peter-”

“Don’t. You’ve made excuses for everything you’ve ever done like the Murder-Bot and the war between the Avengers and dragging me out to Germany. You can’t make an excuse for this. You’re the reason I have nothing.”

“I know you’re upset, kid, I get it, but you can’t blame the world forever.”

Peter rolls his glassy eyes, putting more distance between him and Tony. “I don’t blame the world, I blame you.”

“And that’s fine, Peter, okay? Blame me, hate me, I don’t care, but don’t bottle this up. You don’t have to do this on your own, it isn’t healthy,” Tony says. 

And that just makes the monster in his chest angrier because despite Peter being the most ungrateful brat, Tony’s still being nothing but kind to him, showing him love. He doesn’t deserve it. He can’t stand it. 

“Says you,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair and wiping his eyes as discreetly as he can. “And either way, I don’t need to talk about my fucking feelings. I need May back. Unless you can find a way to do that, I don’t care what you have to offer. You hated your parents, you have no idea what it’s like to lose a parent that loves you.”

This finally seems to get under his skin. “My mother loved me. I know exactly what it’s like. I had Jarvis, I had Peggy, I know what it’s like to lose someone I love.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter spits back. “You’re selfish. You’ve never cared about another person unless they have something to offer you. If you cared about anyone, if you cared about me, you never would’ve come after me all those years ago. You’re the reason I became a real superhero, the reason I lost Ben, May, MJ. You’re the reason I died, missed five years. It’s all because of you.”

“Don’t you dare throw everything at me, I didn’t make you do anything-”

“When I was a kid, you were my hero. But I’ve learned your true colors since then. You’re nothing more than a selfish, cowardly, greedy, profiteer who’d do anything to get his turn in the limelight as a hero, even if it means using children to do so.”

Tony’s face goes cold, all of his most hated parts of his history thrown in his face by someone who was supposed to love him. “God, Peter, I’ve done everything I can to make sure you were okay-”

“Okay? I have nothing but you to take care of me now. I’d rather be on the streets than here another day longer.”

“You were the one person who was never supposed to betray my trust. I hate you.”

FRIDAY interrupts. “Boss, they’re waiting for you on the jet.”

“I have to go.” Tony already sounds like he regrets what he said, but Peter feels satisfied. He got what he wanted. “Fri, don’t let Peter leave the tower while I’m gone unless he has supervision. You’re grounded until further notice.”

*

It only takes all of a few seconds for Peter to break down. 

His knees hit the floor and he lets out a heaving sob, trembling like a leaf. He hates himself more than anything. He hates that he needs to throw everything away. He hates that he ruined the last relationship he had. He hates it all. He doesn’t know how to go on. He wants to be held. 

He wants Tony. 

But there’s no way Tony’s ever going to hold him or take care of him or love him after what he just put him through. 

He’s on his own.

*

He curls up in one of Tony’s old MIT hoodies on Tony’s empty bed, sniffling like a child. 

May’s gone. 

Tony’s not going to let him stay. 

He’s on a timeline now. It’s only a matter of time before Tony gets back and kicks him out. 

He calls Tony’s number again. 

There’s no answer.

*

It’s been three days. 

Pepper comes up to see him and he’s just as pathetic as before. 

“Hi, honey, is everything okay? Friday’s worried.” She comes into the room, sits on the edge of his bed, hand on his ankle. It soothes at least a little bit of his desperation to be touched. 

“I’m a monster,” Peter sniffles in response. “I yelled at him, I said all the things I promised I never would, I told him it was his fault. He hates me, he said so.”

Pepper sighs, she’s almost worse with emotions than Tony is, too tactical, logical, rational. “He doesn’t hate you, Peter. He loves you more than anything. He knows you’re having a rough time.”

“No, you should’ve heard him. He hates me. He’s never going to forgive me.”

“Fri, patch us through to Tony, tell him it’s an emergency.”

Peter sits up suddenly. “It’s not, Pepper, don’t bother him, I’m just being-”

“Pep?” 

“Hi, Tony, can you talk some sense into your kid?”

Tony doesn’t hesitate for even a second. “Kid, I got upset the other day, and I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You could literally murder me with your bare hands and I still wouldn’t hate you.”

“I was so mean.” He sounds like a petulant child, demanding to be heard, to get yelled at. “I called you- I said some awful things.”

Tony sighs. “Listen, I can’t talk for much longer. I’m not mad, kiddo. I was so angry after I lost my parents, I lashed out at everyone and everything, including myself. And I think that’s what you’re doing to. You didn’t do that to hurt me, you did it to hurt yourself, and I’m sorry I let it get to me. You can push me away for the rest of your life, and I will never not have your back.”

Peter curls up tighter in his bed like somehow his sheets will protect him from the world of horrors around him. He sniffles again, pulling Tony’s sweater up to his nose to breath in the soothing smell of motor oil and expensive cologne. 

“It hurts.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony murmurs, as gentle as ever. “Over time it’ll get easier, I promise. It won’t always hurt as bad as it does right now.”

Peter’s pillow is damp beneath his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“I know, bambino, it’s okay. You’re more than forgiven, alright? I’m going to be home in just a few more days. Just hang in there.”

“And I get to stay.” It’s not a question, it’s a simple statement. Tony doesn’t hate him, he’s not going to kick him out for his outburst. “Thank you.”

“I love you, kid, no thanks needed.”

Peter sniffles, mouth wobbling, breathes in the hoodie’s smell of home, says, “I love you too.”

*

Peter cleans himself up. 

It all feels like chores, like it takes all his effort to do the once simple tasks like showering, getting dressed, tidying a bit, eating. But he feels a little more human once he’s done. 

And by the time he’s a few episodes into a comfort TV show, Tony’s arriving home. 

“We finished up quicker than I thought and-”

Tony’s got an armful of teenager before he can even blink an eye. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says, breathless and desperate. There’s a hand in his hair and a kiss pressed to the crown of his head and he feels like he can finally breathe. “I didn’t mean anything I said, I’m just, I’m so sorry.”

“I know, kiddo, trust me, I know.”

Peter lets out a sigh of relief. “And you promise it’ll get easier?” 

“I promise, and I also promise that I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Taglist:  @littlemissagrafina  @spideyspeaches @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames @you-did-it-sir @not-today-thx @fandomstuffff {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[the-melting-world]

Jezebel | Solo de la Vega

This exists because @lucigucci asked for it and I couldn't say no. Sorry it took me so long! It's basically a background/personality/daily life montage for Sascha's brother, Solo. I was trying to figure out how to work some of his experiences into Sascha's story, so this is exactly what he needed!

This fic pairs well with Sascha's "Don't Call Me Daughter" miniseries!

Music: "Jezebel" by Sade

cw: there is some nested lemony content 🍋 (some choking), emotional abuse, just very bad parenting in general

~ 2.6k words

***

~ Twenty-six years ago ~

Solo and Sascha hid. They were close enough to hear the screams and the dishes shattering.

“Get out of my house!”

“I want to see my children. Please–”

“I said, GET OUT!”

And on and on it went.

Shortly after Honore stopped making his infrequent trips to Casa Vega, the Vega twins learned to never ask about him. Instead, they protected the few mementos they had of Honore and remembered him quietly, out from under the eyes of their mother…

***

~ Present Day ~

“Nanang, why would I make any of this up?”

Solo had no more fire left in him to spat with Floribeth. He just wanted to close his eyes and become unconscious to the pain settling into his bones. But his mother wouldn’t leave. Despite her petite frame, she haunted the foot of his bed like an overfed wraith.

“You were in bed all day yesterday, Solomon. How is it that you had enough energy to traipse the town with your sister this morning, but you couldn’t even pull your weight in this negotiation? Do you plan to leave April without any assistance this afternoon as well?”

Solo’s eyes smarted as he rolled onto his side and tried to hide his head under the blankets.

“You were there. You saw how that man didn’t touch any of the swatches I brought. My charms were in those swatches.”

Beth’s response came out clipped and dismissive. “So what?”

Great, Solo groaned internally, today she wants to play dumb about how my magic works.

Solo had tried to explain this to Beth before. Why couldn’t her sharp mind sense his meaning? Why did she have to make every conversation about his magic so taboo?

“Nanang, please understand…it is… easier for me when the clients touch–”

But she cut him off. “Solo, stop. You’re whining about your condition again. For all of your devotion to our practice, you forget sometimes how spoiled you’ve become. I blame myself for that. Get your rest. I’ll fetch Sascha. But you’re to be present for April by this afternoon. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Part of him wished he hadn’t agreed, but it was the only way to get her to leave. When she finally did, Solo wanted nothing more than to blackout and let his body recover the old fashioned way until Sascha administered some relief for his pain. But all he could think about was Floribeth and how guilty she had made him feel over the years.

Even though he had nothing but devote his entire body and heart to her business.

Whenever Beth became upset or disappointed with him like this, it took him back to listening to her and Honore argue. For some reason, Solo couldn’t shake off the feeling that Beth had wanted those fights to escalate between herself and the father of her children.

“Beth. Look at what you’ve done to him. By the gods, look at his hands! Every time I come back, they’re swollen or bleeding. This isn’t right.”

“Stop being melodramatic, Honore. Solomon picked up sewing faster than Sascha and all of his cousins combined. We don’t let talent go unhoned in this family.”

"He is just a child!"

"He will heal! His hands will form calluses in time and then he won’t be able to feel it anymore. The pain is only temporary. You really are an idiot."

"Let me at least take Sascha with me. You’re always complaining about her. She’ll be cared for. Happy for once–"

"You’re not taking her anywhere. Now go away."

When Solo opened his eyes again, Sascha was at his side.

***

Later that week...

Solo was where he was the most comfortable – in his dressing room, sewing a project by hand. He was alone until someone walked in. Solo recognized the newcomer almost immediately. Basil Jebel-something or other. He was an usher for a friend from what sounded like a collegiate past. Today Basil was there for alteration, without the entourage of the rest of the groom’s party.

“You came alone this time, Mister…”

“Jebeles.” His delivery was tired, but not unkind.

Solo, who was stretched out on his divan, looked up briefly from his work. “Yes, now I remember. We didn’t have your size. And we still don't, unfortunately.”

Basil made a face as he slapped his gut. “Figures.” Then he mumbled something blunt and self-deprecating.

By now, Solo was rising to his feet and warming his pearls over his knuckles.

“Please. You have a nice figure, Mr. Jebeles.” He came around behind the man, who smelled a lot like the inside of a tavern, and eyeballed his measurements with the help of his long string of pearls.

“And not all is lost. We may not have your size, but that’s why I wanted you to come back. For a closer look at what we’re working with–” Solo let his pearls slide down Basil’s frame before pulling them a little taut under his abdomen. Then he whispered, “We can easily correct the garment for the occasion.”

Not long after Solo finished up and memorized all of Basil’s measurements, he checked to see how the client was responding to his charms.

By the way Basil had dropped his dry humor and focused more on the path Solo’s hands took, the seamstress would have to say that he was responding very well.

Better than he expected in fact.

So well that Basil stayed afterward. They talked. Solo had one of the attendants bring them something to drink. Basil, it turned out, was quite easy to keep talking to and getting to know.

Very soon Basil’s back was against the floral wallpaper, his hands above his head, grasping weakly at nothing. His wrists strained against a makeshift binding out of Solo’s seemingly endless yards of freshwater pearls.

“Solo.” The barhand breathed. His head only grew dizzier against the dressmaker’s slow, lingering touches. Solo’s lips found his again with a rough tenderness. His hands roamed, dragging his pearls with him under Basil’s tunic, past his fly. The barhand turned hard in Solo’s grasp.

“Solo — ngh.”

There were no words to describe the seamstress’ calloused, dimpled touch.

“Mr. Jebeles, please relax,” Solo said, sneaking his tongue along the seam of Basil’s mouth. “Excitement breeds excitement. Keep squirming and calling on me and I’ll soil my nice linens for sure.”

“Gods. Slow down then! Perhaps we could both last longer if you unwrap those fucking pearls from around my cock—“

The bindings drifted up around his neck. “Oh? You mean these pearls? Shall we do something else with them?”

Basil locked onto the uneven, iridescent orbs. “Do you take those with you everywhere?”

Solo’s smirk was as soft as his question. “What do you wish to know?”

Basil suddenly felt very stupid for trying to initiate a conversation right then. He wished he could take it back and just quietly let the seamstress take him apart.

Solo’s smirk deepened as he read the meaning in Basil’s hesitation.

“Fine. We don’t need to go into any details until afterwards. Just try not to choke while I’m sucking you off. Simple enough?” Solo dropped to his knees without waiting for an answer, pulling his pearls taut around the client’s neck on his descent.

It wasn’t that strange for Floribeth, head of Vega Bridal, to be passing by Solo’s dressing room as he escorted his latest client out. It was, however, not like her to pause and study the poorly concealed familiarity between her son and the client who smelled like cheap booze and was clean shaven all but for those ungodly sideburns.

Solo saw the man out and joined his mother for a debriefing while they traveled to the main house. She noticed how easily he kept up with her and the slight bounce in his step as he walked.

Solo. Sascha.

Her children always needed reminding of what was what. When and how. That life didn’t give them joy without a little sacrifice. That no goodness came without consequence.

Floribeth knew that it was her duty to consistently remind them.

“Solo, honey,” the matriarch began, depriving her voice of as much edge as she could bear, “you know I don’t care one way or the other of the company you keep in your space. In fact, I encourage it. It’s good for business.”

Solo managed a tight smile. “So you’ve told me in the past, nanay.”

Beth chose to ignore how Solo reverted to the more formal way to address her. The way Sascha always did unless she was throwing a tantrum.

“Well, listen closely to me because I’ve never told you what I’m about to tell you now.”

She felt better once the spirit left Solo’s gait. She finally had his attention.

Eyes forward and heels clacking briskly against the sandy tiles, Floribeth began, “You know I don’t expect you to dedicate any energy to finding a suitable partner or more to marry. Unless that’s what you want. But since you’re at that age, I’ll just say a few things.”

Solo honestly had no idea where this was going. It was true that Floribeth was very diligent about avoiding the topic of a potential marriage in Solo’s future. Thanks to his condition and the value of his magic to the business, he had been excused from much of the pressure that came down on young de la Vegas to grow and expand the family as quickly as possible.

Floribeth carried on. “Your father would have never so much as caught my eye if it hadn’t been for those damnable charms. Their existence made me question everything we had…”

Solo did not expect to hear the slip, if ever so slight, of sadness in his mother’s tone. She was quick to recover from it.

“So one can assume that even with all of your charisma, in the end, it could never yield a proper marriage. Perhaps you could get someone to love you, but it wouldn’t be true love, Solo. And it wouldn’t be fair to the other person. You can never forget that. Eventually your charms will wear off and they will suffer in some way or another. You’re smart, Solomon. I’m sure you’ve figured all this out by now.”

Solo’s lip quivered.

“Yes, nanang.”

He managed to keep his voice from shaking.

“That makes a lot of sense now that you point it out. Thank you.”

He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up.

***

Solo felt stupid and selfish for running to Sascha’s room and collapsing onto her lap. In seconds, he was sobbing, his make-up running, his outbursts incoherent and shrill.

“That’s basically what she told me, Sascha!”

Solo was beside himself. He couldn’t believe the state of anger he had allowed Floribeth to work him into.

“I’m incapable of being loved in any natural way? Because of…” He lifted his pearls up over his head and shook them in his fist. “Because of these?”

Then the seamstress made a wretched sound as he hurled the ancestral pearls at the wall.

“Well I didn’t ask for them! I just do what she wants of me all the time, but sure, Sasch – no one can love me!”

Solo could feel Sascha trying to call her magic to the surface and soothe him with it. But that wouldn’t do any good. This was a different kind of pain.

“Solo, shhh. It’s okay. It’s not true. You know it isn’t true.”

Solo barely heard her. He sobbed until he couldn’t anymore.

Later, when Solo had gotten it all out of his system and he was leaning against Sascha while she played in his hair, he whispered, “Sasch. Can I tell you something?”

He had opened the question in broken Esmeraldi. Sascha answered in the same way, signaling that whatever he said would be kept safe and just between them.

“My charms have always behaved in strange ways, yet I’m the only one who’s ever understood them. I can’t explain it, but Sascha, I know what I know. They only work to flex people’s attitude about the material world. People are people – they internalize those feelings and sometimes what they feel has the potential to carry them beyond the object. Still, whatever feeling they project out into the world came from a foundation of something inanimate. It’s all in the dress, the garment, the pearls, whatever they’re wearing or touching.” He paused to take a breath. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s impossible to generate a charm through my own... self.”

Sascha remained silent, but Solo could feel her thinking.

The seamstress added, “It makes me think about tatang–uh. I mean Honore.”

“So,” Sascha said finally, “all those times Beth claimed our father tricked her into feeling things for him that were never there... you’re saying that she was full of it?”

Solo frowned. “I don’t think she lied on purpose, but I could see her needing something to justify her own decisions to herself. The charms are an easy thing to blame.”

Sascha helped her brother off of her and into an upright position so she could look him in the eye.

“Solo, if you were to ever tell nanay this, she would just deny it.”

His gaze drifted elsewhere. “…. I know.”

Sascha gave his shoulders a gentle shake. “I don’t say that to be harsh, Solo.”

Solo reached up to pry her hands from her shoulders and cradled them between his own scarred palms.

“Not at all, Sasch. I’m... relieved that I came to this realization. It means that no matter what nanang says about me, I know it can never be true.” He paused. “I don’t get to talk through these sorts of things very often. But it’s the only way I’m able to make sense of all of it… everything that you and I have been through.”

Sascha smiled, which gave Solo hope more than anything else. “If you ever need to talk again, I’m here.”

She got off her bed and made her way across the room. She came back with Solo’s pearls and placed them around his neck.

“I needed to hear that,” Solo whispered, his voice full of emotion. “Thank you.”

Sascha glanced down and noticed that Solo hadn’t gone to reassure himself by touching the pearls.

She said, “You know, something that I’ve noticed over the years is this. Whenever our family comes to visit from Esmeralda or even as far as Catclaw, they like to dump their old, creepy heirlooms on us.”

Sascha looked up at her brother and pushed aside the bang that always managed to cascade over the left side of his face.

“Cousins and great aunts and uncles whose names we never knew and probably won’t ever remember walk through here with artifacts that look like they should belong in a museum. And who do they bring them to? Not Beth. It’s never Beth. They bring them to you.”

Before Solo knew it, his scarred fingers were walking along the lace in his dress, seeking out the ancient voices, beaded and condensed in layers against his torso.

“You know the placement of each pearl by heart and the ancestor it belonged to. Our family members come to you to feel reassured, Solo. They leave our past with you because they know it’s safe in your hands. Clients come to you to feel beautiful and cherished. So the next time Floribeth tries to make you feel low...”

Sascha brushed a tear that had escaped Solo’s dark eyes.

“I want you to remember whose face comes to mind when people think of Vega Bridal… and who it is our ancestors have always looked to.”

[sukumen]

sorry if this is a loaded question, ofc you don’t need to answer! what’s your take on the argument that dark content is harmful to reality, and that it romanticises traumas? personally i like reading some dc, but when i see posts about how it’s harmful to both survivors and readers (smth to do with psychologically normalising it) it kinda makes me feel guilty, like i’m doing something wrong? when i know i can distinguish between fiction and reality?

hey! so i’m going to keep this under a read more to avoid upsetting anyone - also because this is literally - and i mean, literally - an essay LMAO. i had a lot to say!

any anon hate will be deleted and blocked, but you’re free to engage me off anon (and kindly on anon) if you want to! anon, you’re also free to come chat with me in dms if you want to speak more freely about this :) 

warning for rape mentions, murder / mass murder mentions, dub / noncon mentions.

so, i want to preface this by saying that i don’t think that anyone is obligated to like or be comfortable with dark content. it truly is your prerogative not to be interested in it and you are valid if it makes you feel uncomfortable. so nothing i’m saying here is to convince people that anyone should like it or is wrong for not liking it.

but i don’t agree with the argument that people should be shamed for liking or writing it, that it romanticizes trauma, etc. i understand why people feel that way 100%, but i don’t agree.

sometimes, it feels arbitrary. “dark content” has become a pseudonym for dub/non-con fic, but is the the only type of dark content there is? dark stories can include murder, horror, gore, etc. yet, despite us knowing that murder (for example) is a crime and morally wrong, most people don’t bat an eye when a chara in a fic does it and is still protrayed as attractive or is the reader’s lover. we go crazy for mafia aus where characters kill and show power --- we love those characters, those scenes where they kill and go take their lover all covered in blood. i mean, even in the jjk fandom, one of the most popular characters is a cursed spirit whose first words in the series are about massacring women and children. and we love him. more than that, we love the gory, arguably dark world he comes from - we hypothesize about these characters, we sympathize with them, and we lust over them.

so it’s hard to reconcile that with telling fans who write dub/noncon that they are impacting people’s sense of reality. we’re all experiencing this series together - if written fan fiction is what desensitizes morality, what about the images from the anime and manga? would we make the same argument for banning it? would we say that the people who like sukuna are romanticizing mass violence or that gege is normalizing it for us psychologically by making the character who does it hot and engaging or showing/referencing it so much in the manga?

i just don’t think we would. i think we all understand that those things are wrong and like him knowing that, and can readily say he’s a villain or that the things we’re seeing is wrong. so, i don’t think there’s a black-and-white argument that seeing x in media will make you think y is a-okay or make you more comfortable with it in real life.

i do get that there’s a difference here: a big part of this argument is the sexual aspect of non/dubcon - it’s hard to feel like it’s not normalizing rape when people find a scenario like that hot (whereas no one is like...lewding a mass murder scene, haha). but i think that, at the end of the day, brains do what brains do and people just have dark fantasies. like it’s really as simple as that. rape fantasies in particular are common and talked about by psychologists all the time and i have never been able to find a common thread of them condemning people having them or even writing about them. what they DO talk about is the fact that consent is actually key to the fantasy - that the person fantasizing is the person controlling the situation, that the fantasy, despite being “dub/noncon”, is inherently exactly what they want because THEY are creating the situation, and that, in the end, it’s the absence of actual danger that makes it. ultimately: there is a difference between real life rape and an imagined fantasy or roleplay. so much so that it might not even be fair to call them “rape” fantasies at all.

“It’s crucial to recognize that real-life rape is anything but erotic for a woman. Being at the mercy of someone who’s so outrageously violating your will, holding you down, threatening you with bodily harm (or even death), and physically forcing himself upon you induces arousal all right. But not that of sexuality, but of utterly petrifying anxiety and panic. Contrast this to most imagined rape scenes, which are so electrifying precisely because they’re expressly designed by their female creator to stimulate the illusion of danger—which can, in fact, be positively arousing.”

>  from this article.

to me, this is ultimately what dub/noncon fic is. people writing out those fantasies for people who share those fantasies to process those fantasies.

you can make the argument that that it’s harmful to survivors, but that has its own issues when doctors have reported that some survivors have rape fantasies or find comfort in acting out those rape fantasies (and writing, in my opinion, is a form of acting that out). like are they not valid victims because they are contextualizing their trauma into something that they can control and can process on their own terms? i think the issue there is that the argument uses survivors as a monolith to make an argument on their behalf; but every individual survivor is valid in what they think about this because no two survivors process what happened to them in the same way.

i myself am a survivor and have no real issue with dark content (obviously). i don’t read it often and only write it now because of sukuna; but when i do read it, i draw the line at certain things because i personally cannot stomach it. but would i demand that person delete it from existence because of that? no, i wouldn’t. because again, at the end of the day, that’s the entire basis of the fantasy. i control what i’m fantasizing about, and if something that i do not want to happen to “me” as the reader occurs, i do not read it. i don’t consent to that experience or that fantasy, so i stay away. but at the same time, that other person’s fantasy isn’t mine to control or infringe on and it doesn’t make me a better person than them for not sharing the fantasy.

SO ALL OF THIS TO SAAAY: i don’t think you should feel bad for enjoying dark content. i don’t think the argument about whether or not you’ll know how wrong it is in real life anymore really applies because you could make the claim that any type of fiction runs the risk of distorting people’s perception of reality and making them desensitized to something. and i don’t think that’s what people’s struggle with this is. 

what it boils down to, to me, is that people can’t understand why anyone would find dub/noncon arousing, and think that they condone rape because of it. which, again, is understandable. rape is a horrible fucking thing to experience - it isn’t sexy, it isn’t hot, it isn’t arousing and it’s hard to see any nuance when you see “noncon” and “wow this was so hot” in one post. but based on the way psychologists talk about “rape” fantasies, i think the two things (the fantasy and the real life act of violence) can typically be distinct for people, even survivors, and it just comes down to whether or not it’s a fantasy you share. if you don’t, completely your right! block the tags, block the writers, do whatever you have to do to protect your peace and your limits! but the discourse about it always seems to go into the realm of shame or arguments about someone’s moral compass, which i think is unfair. 

hopefully this helps and wasn't an annoying thing to read! like i said, don’t mind talking about it more if need be!

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 1

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let's try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We're living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn't actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub​ @mostly-marvel-musings​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Pining. I was pining after Stark and it made me upset. I thought I was better than that. Better than acting the part of a lovesick puppy, begging for scraps of attention- a kind word, a pat on the shoulder, a blanket thrown over me in my sleep. Even if he was my Mount Olympus, I wasn't exactly on board with starting the whole damn journey in the first place.

Most of all, I hated being a cliché. I tried my best to avoid showing how I felt and with time, I think I excelled at it. I am really good with things if I really put my mind to it. Was it a blessing, or was it a curse? Only the future will tell. I try not to think about it, as I prefer not to stress out too much. Peter was the anxious kid and I was the calm one. I was the Ying to his Yang. He flipped his shit often and I always calmed him down and cleaned up after him. No complaints there, Pete is pure and precious and I would kill everybody and then myself if he actually got hurt.

I'm only a year older than him and that year feels like an uncrossable bridge to me. We get along like a house on fire and I delight in the way he starts smiling when we're paired together for a project. Deep inside I'm sure he thinks of me as one of his best friends, his homies but-and there's always a but-I can't reciprocitate that. He goes to decathlon after school with his wholesome BFF duo, I go to a local dive bar with a fake ID I'd made sometime when I was about 15.

Peter has everything I wish I've ever had. Good for him. I'm not going to mess that up, no matter how much my angst demands I throw a tantrum and become, like, a supervillain or something.

I banter, instead. I chit-chat. I laugh and I repeatedly make a joke out of myself. Nobody suspects a thing, and I'm not surprised. People always see what they want to see. I've been the weird loner since middle school. Not the sad kind, of course, my pride wouldn't let me. I'm too good at things to be completely ignored. Teachers adore me, the event planning committee approaches me every year with tentative pleas for advice. The list goes on and on; what they don't understand is that it's just High School. Another year and I'll be out of there and nobody will be wiser.

I feel like a liar every time I'm excited. Because I'm not that - I don't care about their stupid field trips or collaborative projects. My mind is five steps and two hops ahead of that bullshit. It has to be or I just won't make it in the world.

"Parker-pen, Mr. Stark. G'day, sirs," I nodded, entering the lab, looking straight ahead. They both were hunched over... Something vaguely mechanical and I was terribly, horribly hungover. Saturday night was Science night but I'd gone to bed around 2PM after a party ran way too late.

"Hi," and "Powerpuff girl," came from them respectively, and they didn't even lift their heads.

I wondered if I could just skedaddle and leave them to their big brain time. "Is this a bad time? I can come tomorrow instead," I immediately regretted speaking, even to my own ears my voice sounds scratchy.

"No, actually, Dr. Ban-Bruce-wanted to talk to you," Peter mumbled out half-coherently. Tony kept ignoring me and I was fine with that. The less temptation I have the less trouble there will be.

"I'm not playing with his zucchini again," I groaned, causing the intricate pile of metal to squeak sadly as Pete tripped over his own damn body, jostling the prototype in the process. I could have sworn the room got several degrees hotter from the boy's blush alone.

Tony cackled, shuffling away from the newly ruined prototype. "He won the damn contest, you should've seen the judges faces," The engineer's grin threatened to split his face in half. I poked at my phone in muted interest. "Hold up, Friday has a recording. I definitely recorded the thing."

A holo-screen popped up. Tranquil scenes of a local fair, gourds and other assorted vegetables of various grotesque sizes were scattered throughout the square. An unmistakable mop of curly greying hair posed proudly next to a zucchini half the size of Hulk - I was fairly certain genetically engineering the plant was cheating and warned him so but somehow Banner managed to persuade the judges into letting him participate, and ultimately win, the competition for the Biggest Zucchini. Some of them were quite shocked at the size of that thing and well - well, their glances were quite contemplative to say the least.

"Damn, Tony, that blonde chick's face tells me all I need to know," I gave a lopsided smirk in the engineer's general direction. That was our thing, you see? He called me these ridiculous cutesy nicknames and asked me about getting my nails done or going to the mall and I'd make salacious comments and go on an occasional flirtatious spree. That was comfortable. We both enjoyed making Peter blush and giggle like the little schoolboy that he was.

"Our Brucie bear is a freak, don't let him tell you any different, Princess," Tony winked at me.

"Oh, I know all about it, Tones," I suggestively wiggled my eyebrows. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter groan and palm his face. I briefly bumped my knuckles to Tony's outstretched hand and made my way to the adjacent lab that hosted the second resident crazy scientist.

"Bruce?"

"Oh, hi there, come on in," He smiled warmly at me and I relaxed, shrugging off the tension in my limbs that seemed to appear every time Tony was around me. Banner's soft, friendly nature always made me feel welcomed and appreciated.

We made small talk as I threw on a lab coat and some protective glasses and discarded my bag in the far corner, away from any possible explosions. I congratulated him on his recent victory - here is when I say that despite what most will say, Banner has a serious competitive mean streak and isn't afraid to get down and dirty when it comes to matters of his personal pride.

That's what makes us alike, I think. I have too much dignity and self-respect to walk around Tony with stars in my eyes and hang around his neck like yesterday's tie.

The quiet, even pace of doing lab work made me completely lose track of time. Some time passed as I felt the crick in my neck become noticeable, and the deep ache in my calves from standing and dancing yesterday worsened. I hopped onto the nearest table, hunched over a tablet, eyes skimming over research articles - most of it didn't register at all in the wake of a dull throb behind my temples. My hair limply hung over my face - I had to wash it to get rid of the stench-hard liquor and cigarettes - but I was way too lazy to style it properly.

I ignored the swaying strands until a large palm gently tucked them behind my ear, a white lab coat coming into my field of view. "You okay?" Banner's quiet voice interrupted my reading. I lifted eyes enough to see he was wearing a dorky button-up in some gross shade of blue under the lab coat. His eyes were affectionate behind thinly rimmed glasses.

"Rough Friday night?" He questioned.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I'm hungover as fuck." There was no point in hiding the obvious; I'm sure the bags under my eyes already had tattled on me.

He chuckled, too, leaning his hip against the table, one broad arm coming to wrap around me in a hug. Usually he wasn't so touchy-feely; but I wasn't complaining. Banner was really, really warm. "I'll spare you the lecture on underage drinking," He said with another chuckle.

"Yeah, it's pretty pointless. You'd be three years too late."

A deep sigh left him, both of his arms wrapping around me in a comfortable embrace. I rested my chin on his shoulder, trying my best to really avoid showing how touch-starved I was. I was a hundred percent sure they all figured out my family life was difficult; the last thing I needed was their pity.

"Y'know, we should sit down and talk someday," He said after a brief moment of hesitation. "About your future. College, maybe?"

I gave a non-committal hum, basking in the warmth of the hug, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes - behind the glass divide, I could faintly distinguish Tony's and Peter's shapes, still bent over that bench the pile of metal.

"You have a lot of potential," Banner continued, his tone developing a gently admonishing hint. "I understand if you want to take some time off from your studies but I'd rather you succeed and not let all that potential go to waste," He finished, patting me on the back with a gentle hand.

I tried not to preen under his touch. "Are you attempting to guilt-trip me over a party, doctor Banner?" I teased him, expecting the smile that I felt being hidden by my hair. Sometimes I felt that I could read the man like an open book, he was so earnest about his interactions.

"I just - we want you to stay safe, okay? Don't blow your future for a little bit of fun," He shrugged carefully.

"Okay, Bruce," I simply replied, meaning it this time

He kept hugging me, running his hand over my back absentmindedly. Probably thinking about his recent science bender. I wasn't upset: my own brain tended to get tangled in personal projects, too. I had only one complaint and it was that the cuddle was making me sleepy.

I yawned, startling the man. Pulling away from the hug wasn't really an option. He was broad and quite strong, probably courtesy of the Hulk and radiation in his blood.

"Why don't we put you in a guest room for tonight?" He inquired and I nodded. "Call your parents for me, okay?"

"My mother is in Vancouver for the week and I doubt she would care anyway," I rolled my eyes. "She's in the middle of some shitstorm with OsCorp and their marketing department." If anything, I was grateful my mother was preoccupied with her job. Being around her was like hanging out on top of an iceberg in the far end of the ocean.

I felt Bruce's frown. His body tensed briefly, blink and you'll miss the hunch of his shoulders. "What about your dad?"

I cringed. "He's been in Ibiza since the season opened, no doubt snorting miles of coke and... " I hesitated. "You can guess the rest."

My dad was kind of a dick, but I don't blame him at all for being the way he is. My parents have been married for twenty years. They were happy, once - I saw their college pictures with my mother's bright smiles and bushy hair, and my dad's terrible fashion sense and their dog, a funny little runt with an atrocious name. Then mother had me and for a while, they were happy too, but it lasted about until she landed her first prospective job. Kind of cliché.

Bruce sighed again. "Okay. You hungry?"

"No, I'm not going near food until tomorrow. Nu-uh," I fake-retched next to his ear, making Bruce shiver and playfully pinch my side.

"It'll help with your hangover. Doctor's advice."

"You're not even that kind of doctor," I laughed, very gently poking him back, somewhere around his stomach. He squirmed.

"I have seven PhDs," Bruce smiled as he rested his chin on top of my head as he adjusted his torso to prevent my fingers from reaching his ticklish spots. I poked him again in retaliation, fully enjoying the snort and squirm I caused. Soft™. "Let's go get you settled in," Bruce, seemingly without any difficulty, picked me up, propping me against his hip like a toddler. It probably looked awkward but what the hell, I haven't been carried around since I can remember myself. My legs wrapped around his hips for balance, butt resting on his forearm.

"You're a showoff," I couldn't help but snort, getting a lopsided smirk in return.

He made his way over to the elevator with me dangling and examining my nails in an expectant fashion. Tony's jokes aside, I really enjoyed getting them done and weird colors were a quest of entertainment for me. I obviously couldn't have them very long because I worked in a lab so I chose outrageous prints and decorations instead. This week, each of my nails had a different style - thankfully my aesthetician was professional enough to make it look somewhat put together even if it took a good chunk of my allowance and an hour long Uber ride to get to her salon.

I noticed the dimmed lights in Tony's lab and none of Peter's usual mess scattered on the tables, figuring he'd already left. Stark himself stood propped against a table, watching something, smoothie in hand.

For only a brief moment, I let my eyes rake over his body, his beautiful, sculpted physique hugged by a pair of fitted jeans and an old Led Zeppelin tee. Tony's handsomeness wasn't obvious, it wasn't in-your-face kind of appearance like Captain America's, but the engineer was built sturdy and his arms - the only bare part of him - were riddled with scars. He used his strong, bulky body for work.

I turned away before I got too ahead of myself. Bruce smelled like lab equipment and rubbing alcohol, something that made me sober up and snap out of my daydream before Stark took notice and started teasing me about ogling him. My once-over lasted barely three seconds yet with Tony's genius, I always had to be on my toes.

I saw movement in my peripheral. Banner waved before entering the elevator - at Tony, probably, so I looked back, seeing the man watching us, content replaced with a contemplating frown. I waved at him, resting my cheek on Bruce's shoulder. "Tony's having a big mood," I noted quietly in the scientist's ear.

"You know Tony," Bruce sighed, adjusting his hold on me as the car ascended to the housing floors. "His brain runs a mile a minute and he can't make sense of it for the biggest part. Give him some time and he'll be back to his annoying self."

I didn't see Tony as annoying in any way, but then again, I was severely biased. The billionaire was quirky venturing into absurd but also clever and brilliant.

We had reached our destination and Bruce carefully set me down on my feet once the door to my room was open. A large queen bed, TV and another door to an adjacent bathroom. It was really simple but luxurious nonetheless - I had the exact same carpet at home, having heard my mother bitch about it's cost after seeing me spill soda on it way too many times.

"I'll let you get settled in. Ask Friday if you need something," Bruce awkwardly shuffled his feet, taking off his glasses and briefly examining them before putting them back on again. "Breakfast here is on the 74th floor starting around 7AM, someone will probably get you around nine if you sleep in," He finished, giving a shy tilt of his lips.

"Thanks, Brucie-bear," The nickname easily slipped from my lips. I didn't resist the urge to hug the kind scientist, quickly wrapping my arms around his middle, delightfully sighing when he immediately returned the gesture.

"Good night, Princess," I had to suppress a happy squeak when the man kissed my forehead before retreating and closing the door behind himself. A quick shower and a quest to find a power outlet to plug my charger into preceded my less than graceful flop into the bed. It felt like sleeping on a cloud, honestly, it had nothing on my mother's orthopaedic memory foam mattresses. I passed out faster than I’d ever had.

[talesofphantombandits]

Zero to Six ~ Going Underground - Edited Version. Part 3.

Characters: Four X Zero (OC) Summary: Zero was the first person to be ‘saved’ by One, she was his first honorary Ghost. Her knowledge in tech meant she got the role of ‘Hacker’ she recruited new team members, looked for missions and locations and made sure every security measure was looked at. You know normal hacker spy stuff. But her tough up bringing meant that if needs be she could fight, she was maybe even better than some people on the team knew. But due to One’s protectiveness over her she had to stay hidden, she was more of an actual ghost than the rest of the team was. This didn’t mean she couldn’t have her fun though, over the months of being with the full team she had formed quite a passionate love/ hate relationship with the handsome Four. Who knows what sparks would fly if they were ever to meet. Warnings: Slight swearing, some suggestive flirting in later chapters.

Tagg list: (I know this is a edit of my original story but if anyone wants to be tagged let me know.) @raylan-c​

Zero to Six ~ Part 1. Edited Version. Materlist. ​

​​

It was exactly one month after Zero had last seen One in her flat, she had flown back home two days after the incident and hadn’t heard from him since. Apart from tickets emailed to her for Las Vegas and a hotel room that she assumed was where their next mission was going to be. 

She’d flown out to Vegas a few days back, part of her was glad that she hadn’t had to converse with him. She was still incredibly upset that just the thought of hearing his voice nearly put her into a fit of rage. She kept all contact to a minimum while throwing herself fully into her research, she’d only kept in regular contact with Three and Five, although Four would randomly drop in to annoy her. 

She’d woken up at about 10am, she hopped out of bed only for the purpose of making food. Once the pancakes had finished cooking she hopped back into the comfort of her bed and opened her laptop, she went back and forth eating and doing research. The next time she found herself looking at the clock it was 12:30pm, it took all of her will power to drag herself back out of bed to put her plate and utensils in the dishwasher and then into the bathroom for a shower. When she reemerged from the steaming room she was greeted by the ding that signalled she had a email. 

She opened it and the first thing that caught her attention was that it was from One. Sighing she knew that she couldn’t ignore it, for it might have been something really important. 

‘Meet me at the Golden Cafe down the street at 17:00 sharp, make sure to wear something that won’t draw attention to you. Wear a black cap.  P.s Remember don’t say anything the others about this. -One.’

‘Don’t wear anything that will draw attention to you.’ who the hell did One think she was? She really had to calm herself down before she went to meet him. If this meeting was going to go well, she would have to have a level head around him.

“Ah Zero, you’re online. To be fair I should have guessed as you’re always online.” She slightly jumped as Fours deep voice burst through the speakers. 

“Jesus Four.” She put a hand over her heart to calm herself down. 

He started to laugh. “Did I startle you darling?” She huffed and plopped down on the bed next to her laptop so she could connect the earpiece and speak to him properly. 

“No, I just wasn’t concentrating fully that’s all.” She glanced at the time again, It was still early she furrowed her brow confused. “What are you doing up so early anyway? I thought you always stayed up late doing dodgy stuff on the internet?” 

He just scoffed at her in disbelief. “Excuse me darling, but who do you take me for?” 

“She’s not wrong though is she? I think I’ve accidentally walked in on you enough times to say that, that is the truth.” Two chimed in, to which Four immediately started up his defence. 

Zero just laid back in her bed and basked in the happiness that was, to her a family argument. 

Four had the last word though. “Oh shut up Two! I bet you’ve seen worse, Wait a second How do you know what I’m doing on a night?” 

Zero all but gasped. “Is that a confession Four? And I might have to carry out routine security checks on the bases internet. Which means looking through some of your histories.” 

“Jesus woman.” 

She couldn’t help but giggle at how worried Four sounded, knowing that she could see everything he searched on the internet. “Look I’m just doing my job, I’m just keeping everyone safe.” 

“But you’re basically stalking me.” Four hissed. 

Zero clicked her tongue. “Did you not hear me sweetie? I HAVE to look into your history for security reasons. Don’t get all shy on me now Four, plus your history isn’t even the spiciest.” 

“So who’s the worst then?” 

She laughed, like she was going to tell him that. “That sir, I can’t disclose.” 

“You’re no fun Zero, I thought we told each other everything.” She could hear the pout in his voice and she wished she could see his adorable face. 

“Oh we tell each other everything do we?” She laughed. “Then how come I didn’t know you had a marking kink?” 

“LISTEN STOP STALKING ME! I SWEAR TO GOD ZERO! JUST YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU I’L-” Just like that she cut off the coms laughing hysterically at Fours outburst. 

Looking to the clock she noticed that she just had enough time to change and dry her hair before she had to make her way to the cafe.

When she finally made it to the cafe she spotted One straight away, he was stood by the counter. When they made eye contact he ushered her to follow him to the furthest booth in the back of the shop. 

“Why did we meet here? Why didn’t you just come up to the hotel room?” She whispered as she sat down by the side of him.

“Because I’m here, and he doesn’t want me to know where he’s keeping you.” Zero’s head shot up to the second voice, she looked at one expecting him to instantly tell her who this other woman was.

But her brain finally caught up to her and it registered the accent. “Five?” She said in disbelief.

She quickly snapped back to One who seemed more interested in the phone in his hand then on the meeting. “I thought you said I couldn’t tell the others about this?”  

“He asked me to help you get ready for tonight.” Five had now moved around the back of One’s chair and took a seat. 

“Tonight?” Zero’s brows furred in confusion. “You mean the mission is tonight?” 

“Yes.” One said still more immersed in his phone, It was starting to piss her off. “Did I not mention that in the email this morning?” 

Zero gritted her teeth. “No, you made no mention that a big mission, not to mention my first ever mission would be tonight.” 

Finally he peered up from his phone to see Zero angrily staring him down. “Okay look.” Finally the phone landed on the table. “It’s simple really, You’re going to be working as a bartender. Which luckily for you, you already have experience in. Serve drinks to anyone that comes up to the bar, start conversations, ask questions but most importantly listen to the conversations around you. People get drunk at these things and spill shit that their not suppose to, and so the rest of the team aren’t suspicious your coms will be off when you start your shift.”

“What will you tell them? Isn’t it going to be more suspicious that I’m not at the end of coms?” She looked between One and Five. 

“It’s not really a tech based mission, I’ll just say I gave you the night off.” He shrugged. 

“What about the others? Where will they be?” By that she meant where would Four be, but she wasn’t going to outright say that, not in front of One at least.

“Two and Three have their own little mission in the hotel, Seven will be taking a backseat and Four and Five will be working the floor in the club you’ll be serving.” She looked to Five at the mention of Four, her eyes lit up. “AH! Don’t even think about it, off limits Zero.” 

She just scoffed at him, he acted like he was her real father sometimes. “As if I didn’t know that already, I’m not a child One. I can handle myself.” 

“Yeah well I’m trusting you, don’t fuck this up Zero. Five has everything prepared for you she’s going to leave first, you wait twenty minutes then follow her to the hotel. Room 374, she’ll get you ready for tonight.” 

One got up from his seat without a single sound, he nodded at both the women and then headed for the door.  It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Zero looked over at Five, they just smiled at each other. With all the information she had just consumed she hadn’t even stopped to think that she was actually in the presence of one of her family members, one that wasn’t One!

“This is crazy.” 

Five just smiled at her, a genuinely beautiful smile that Zero couldn’t help but return. “It’s so nice to finally put a face to the voice.” She looked down at her watch and sighed. “We shouldn’t do this here though, I’m going to leave now I’ll meet you at the hotel. Room 374 remember.” 

“Got it! I’ll meet you there.” She couldn’t stop smiling as Five got up and waved her goodbye. 

The twenty minutes she waited to follow Five were the longest twenty minutes she’d ever had to wait in her life, it seemed to drag on she was so nervous she had to physically hold her knee down to stop her leg from shaking. 

The walk to the hotel didn’t take too long and she reached the lobby in no time, she put on the dark cap paired with some black shades. Nothing too out of the ordinary but it kept her face hidden none the less.  Once she walked inside she was in awe, she’d never seen the inside of such an expensive and vast hotel. It was absolutely beautiful, she dreaded to think what a room would cost in this place. As she walked further in she lowered her glasses to get a better look at the foyer her eyes were glued to the ceiling so she didn’t know she was on a collision path with a tall beefy guy who was looking down at his phone until they hit one another and she nearly went flying. Luckily he had reacted in time and broke her fall, though her glasses weren’t so lucky. 

She got up and brushed herself off. “God I’m so sorry mami!” Her head shot up at the familiar voice. 

Staring back at her was Three, she quickly had to remind herself who she was and where she was. “No problem, I think we were both at fault, I was mesmerised by the ceiling and you by your phone.” The first accent that came to mind was an Irish one, so she went with it. 

He just nodded in agreement and gave her a lopsided smile. “Ah! here, you dropped these.” He bent down and handed her back her sunglasses. 

“Thanks, sorry again.” She smiled at him one last time then scurried off to the elevators. 

Once she was secured and alone in the metal box she let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, and sighed. This was going to be one hell of a long night.  Her thoughts were interrupted when the elevator dinged, she rushed down the hall and knocked hurriedly on the door labelled 374. She had no intentions of bumping into anyone else, not even a second later Five opened the door and Zero rushed inside.

“Woah, what happened? Are you okay?” Zero moved to the couch in the room and laid down, burrowing her face in her hands. 

“I just accidentally bumped into Three downstairs.” She sided eyed Five who looked at her in shock. “Don’t worry I don’t think he knew who I was, I put on an Irish accent. Don’t tell One though he’ll probably pull me from the mission if he finds out.” 

Before Five could even respond to her, Zero took notice of her laptop and ear piece on the table in front of her when it started to crackle. “Hey party people, are we all ready for tonight? It’s a shame I won’t get to hear your beautiful voice in my ear tonight Zero, can’t believe that One has actually given you the night off.” 

She reached out and took the earpiece. “Don’t be too sad Four, at least you’ll be able to actually concentrate on this mission.” She looked up at Five who was just giggling, It was so strange to actually be in the same room as her. Zero smiled, she could get use to this. 

“Who I’m I going to piss off tonight though?” She could practically hear the pout in his voice. 

“I’m sure you’ll find some beautiful girl to have on your arm and piss off the entire night.” She felt sad just thinking about it. “Well good luck team, do me proud! and don’t miss me too much.” She shut the communication line down before he could respond. 

She looked up to Five as she shut the laptop and took out her ear piece, placing it on top of the laptop. She wouldn’t be needing that now for the rest of the night.

“You okay?” Five gave her a sad smile.

Zero forced herself to look completely unphased. “I’m fine, let’s go get ready.” 

.....

Zero stood at the bar, Five had dressed her in black skinny jeans paired with some black Doc Marten boots, a black silk button up and a deep green velvet waistcoat. She wore a dark black wig that came down to her chest and flowed in light curls, her makeup was smoky to match the uniform. She looks professional. The venue was dark, with moody but classy lighting which meant she blended right in.  The bartender role came naturally to Zero, before she was a ghost she had worked in a small bar for about two years before everything had kicked off, the events of which led her here. 

She started the shift by just cleaning up glasses, serving mostly already drunk customers and listening to every word of every conversation. About five minutes early she had spotted Five enter the room with a rich looking man on her arm, she’d caught Zero’s eye from across the room and winked at her which put her at ease. 

Suddenly the air in the room shifted, she couldn’t explain it but her eyes were drawn to the entrance of the club. A man walked in, his blonde hair was slicked back on the top but the sides where shaven. A tight black tux hugged his body, Zero wished she could picture this moment for the rest of her life, butterflies started to stir in her stomach.

It was Four. 

[rdrhoe]

daddy dutch x fem reader here we goo

my first ever fanfic for the red dead community i wrote this as complete self indulgent pwp whilst vv high

warnings: hella daddy dutch, spanking, dom/sub, angsty ish maybe

part 1 of 2 (2 is here)

& on ao3

Dutch is pissed that you stormed off after an argument. now you gotta face the consequences >:)

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

You drew in a shaky breath as you made your way through the night, finally heading towards the swamps where Shady Belle lurked. Having spent the last couple of nights busying yourself on the streets and surrounding area of Saint Denis, you missed your bed and the gang, but most of all you missed Dutch. You were scared. Scared to go home, back to camp.

You'd had a disagreement with Dutch and decided there and then the best course of action was to simply leave. In part because you'd had enough of his shit, but also because you had an almost violent need to prove to yourself that you still could survive alone. You didn't need him, not like that. But your heart and soul needed him. He unlocked feelings within you that you had never known, only dreaming of, but god he did grate on you sometimes.

He had insisted you start staying behind on more jobs and it just irked you. Being inconspicuous and nimble was how you found yourself in the gang in the first place, sneaking through windows into people's homestead in the dead of night, quietly robbing them of everything and anything valuable they possessed.

That had sort of become your role in the gang. When Dutch and the boys would go out on a job, you would either join them in whatever scam or con they were cooking up - no one ever suspected you of a thing, you were too polite and innocent with folk to be a no good thief - or would scope out nearby towns and homesteads, sometimes alone, sometimes with Dutch, sometimes with a few of the others, but you were always free to do what you wanted; within Dutchs limitations of course.

But lately, things hadn't always been going to plan. You thought Dutch hadn't been acting quite himself, and you made sure to tell him as much. Ever since Blackwater, and that nasty business in Rhodes, you'd just lost all hope. You weren't seeing life through rose tinted glasses anymore. But you loved Dutch, loved the gang... most of them anyway. As you grew closer to camp, your mind was racing with your last conversation with Dutch.

"Can't you understand, sweet girl? I'm just trying to protect you, keep you safe-" Dutch had told you when you when you confronted him on being left behind for the hundredth time. You'd been repeating yourself a lot lately, as had he with his responses. There was always an amused glint in his eyes, a hint of a smirk daring to poke through on his lips. He found your 'tantrums' adorable and often told you as much.

"Oh don't give me that shit Dutch" you snapped at him "this isn't about keeping me safe, you know damn well I can protect myself! You just adore the idea of having your own personal whore...always waiting around for you an keeping your bed warm!"

You cringed at how you sounded, you knew you were coming off as shrill and your voice died you when you saw Dutch stand from his chair near the fire. The amusement that played on his face before was now replaced with one of annoyance.

"Watch your mouth, girl. I understand you're... upset," he grabbed your hair as he stalked closer to you, twisting it so you gasped as he forced your neck up to look at him. "Don't you dare be forgetting your place now, sweet thing"

"my place!? My place?? so I am just a whore to you-"

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true, but I'm growing increasingly tired of your attitude," he spoke harshly into your ear, before easing his grip on your hair, his voice becoming softer "I've lost too many already, I can't lose you too"

You stiffened as tears threatened to spring to yours eyes.

"I... that's not fair Dutch, if you had just listened-" you tried

"No. Enough. The answer is final. You're to stay here unless I say otherwise. There's nothing more to be said. This is for your own good, girl. I know what's best for you" he let go of your hair completely to tilt your chin up, looking at you with a fierce intensity. You knew, looking into his eyes then, you loved him, so very very much, and you knew he loved you too. But god you were angry. You had survived alone for years without his help, and when you tried to voice that to him, he had already turned away, muttering about wanting to finish off a chapter of his latest read, when something in you just snapped.

"Fuck you, Dutch" you turned and stormed off not awaiting his response. You heard him call your name as you had stomped off. Others had questioned you, asked what was wrong, where you were going...

You climbed onto your horse, ignoring the shouts and questions, and rode out into the night.

That had been two nights ago now, and you regretted your actions. You knew Dutch was trying to keep you safe, you could see that, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't mind not having to go out on jobs as much. The thrill you used to feel from robbing bad folk had been replaced by a constant gnawing anxiety that something would go wrong, because more often or not, something usually did go wrong. But rather, it was the way Dutch would talk to you. Belittle you. Insisting it was him and only him that knew what was best for you. If he just listened to you once in a while, actually take your advice on a job, things could go differently, but he was stubborn. You were too, and that was often how you found yourself in disagreements with him. But he'd been worse lately; ignoring your thoughts and feelings on everything, and you just couldn't take it anymore.

You tried to steady yourself as Shady Belle appeared in your eye line. You were doing your best not to think too hard about what Dutch was going to do to you, it was the principle of the thing! But the confidence you had tried to instil in yourself soon vanished once you saw Dutch's' silhouette atop of the balcony. His cigar smoke circling around, clouding his face. Not that you could see him clearly anyway, it was too dark.

You took several deep breaths as you climbed down off your horse. Most of the camp were asleep, but a few were sat talking quietly by the campfire. Their voices cut off as they saw you, rushing over to check on you. You hurriedly reassured them, you were fine, you had just needed space, time to think.

And that's what you done. You knew you had messed up, and honestly right now more than anything you just wanted to feel Dutchs arms around you, telling you what a good girl you were. You craved his praise and affection, but ferociously loved the darker side of him too. One that would come out when you disobeyed or angered him. He had punished you countless times since the start of your relationship, often because you had purposely pushed his buttons too hard, knowing the sort of response you'd get from him. You craved the feeling of being at his complete and utter mercy. Just as Dutch craved having you beneath him, begging for him. He didn't mind your bratty attitude most of the time, using it as a decent excuse to do all the wicked things he had always desired. But this wasn't just pushing his buttons, you knew he would view it as you putting yourself in danger, running off had been the last thing you would usually do, but you were so sick of trying to talk to him when he just never listens.

After assuring the awake gang members of your safety, you found your way into the old Manor house, eerily beautiful at times, even with it being lost past its glory. Slowly heading up the stairs toward your shared room with Dutch. You hesitated as you approached the door, before reaching up to knock. The second your knuckles graced the wood, the door flung open and you found yourself being hauled into the room by Dutch, slamming the door closed and pushing your back up against it, caging his arms against either side of your head. Eyes dark and burning, staring down at you.

"Where have you been, dear girl?" his voice gave you chills, he wasn't yelling, not yet. But there was a tone of malice, a sneer at your audacity. "I've been worried, I sent Arthur and Charles out looking for you, but seems you were too quick even for them. Clever girl" Dutch spoke slowly, and quietly.

You though it best not to mention you had indeed seen the both of them looking for you, but dashed off without a trace before anyone knew otherwise.

His eyes studied your face carefully. You couldn't match his gaze, choosing to stare at the floor. Dutch lifted your chin, encouraging you to look at him.

"Are you hurt, darling?" he asked softly.

You shook your head slowly, trying to keep your breathing steady.

He hummed. His grip on your chin becoming firmer.

"Well then sweet thing, I'm going to need you to explain to me.." Dutchs hand travelled from your chin down to your neck as he spoke, gripping it just hard enough you could feel his rings digging into your flesh, but not so hard that your breathing was fully cut off, "as to why you think running off on your own like that was an okay thing to do, hm?" the hand around your throat became impossibly tight, just for a moment, before easing off again, giving you a moment to respond.

"I... I..." you tried to steady yourself, trying to find the right words to say. ".. I'm sorry, Dutch...really I just, got sick of being spoken to like a damn child and-" Dutchs grip became like iron then, cutting off your planned excuse. A whimper caught in your throat as your hands flew to up grip his wrist, eyes widening. He gave you a dark glare before crashing his lips to yours. It wasn't soft and tender, it was hard and biting. Making sure you understood your place.

"So, my girl," Dutch began as he withdrew the kiss, relaxing his tight grip on your throat, "if I'm to understand you correctly, in response to being supposedly treated like a child, you decided to act none other than a child, a spoilt little brat who's not getting her way?"

Dutch was beginning to sound angrier by the second. You were trying to focus on his words, how much trouble you were in, but you couldn't ignore the tingling between your legs, you could feel yourself getting wetter the deeper his voice became. You were squirming already, trying to maintain a decorum of composure, opening your mouth to respond, he cut you off before you could get the words out.

"Oh sweet thing, you really do test my patience like no other," Dutch spoke, holding you close for a moment, before pushing you into the middle of the room.

"Strip." the order was barked out faster than you could blink. You stood there for a moment too long for Dutch, who practically started growling at you.

"you listening, girl? Strip, now"

You reached around shakily to start unlacing your dress and bodice, whilst Dutch slowly began making his way across the room, bringing a fresh cigar to his mouth to light it.

You were down to your chemise and bloomers, staring up at Dutch, aware of the way he was scowling at you. You weren't trying to annoy him, you were just in awe of him. He always looked so handsome, especially like this. Moonlight beaming in through the windows, giving his glare just enough light to look all the more menacing, yet still somehow so enticing.

You quickly stripped yourself of your remaining garments when he quirked a brow at you, fighting against the urge to cover yourself under Dutchs heavy gaze. He'd seen you naked plenty of times before of course, but the way he was staring at you was making you squirm.

Dutchs eyes raked over your nude form, taking in your beauty for his enjoyment. All the whilst continue to slowly circle around you, enjoying his cigar. Bastard.

"You do understand how much trouble you're in right now, girl?" Dutch said from behind you, his steady pace coming to a stop.

You shivered as he approached, with him being so close you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him.

"I was sick with worry, thinking the worst...and all because my little princess decided to be a brat. Were you trying to scare your Daddy, sweetheart?" Dutch sounded so menacing then, causing you to shiver with anticipation.

"N-no, Dutch-" you were interrupted when you felt a sharp smack on your backside, making you to squeal.

"What was that, girl?" Dutch snarled at you.

"Daddy!" you tried again, "I'm sorry daddy... I didn't mean to..." you started shaking, understanding how worried Dutch really had been.

Dutch hummed behind you, walking around slowly til he was standing in front of you. You stared at the floorboards, fiddling with your fingers. You heard him sigh and walk away, and glanced up to see him disgarding his cigar in the ash tray and sitting on the bed.

"Come on, girl. You know what happens now" Dutch reached a hand out to you, which you took after a moments hesitation, but knew from expierence attempting to get out of a planned punishment usually didn't end too well for you.

Dutch took your hand gently, before hauling you over his knee, considerably less gentle. He only took a brief moment to palm and kneed at your backside before he brought his hand down. Hard. Right on the lower cheek, causing you to gasp out.

"Not going to be able to sit for a week after I'm through with you, brat" Dutch spoke as his hand came down again and again on your ass. You tried not to kick your legs or reach back, it would only egg Dutch on to spank harder. "Maybe I need to start spanking you daily, girl. Make sure you know your place. That you're mine, and you do as I say"

The spanks were quickly became harder and faster, going from cheek to cheek, never giving you a moment to rest, and making sure every inch of your poor butt was on fire.

You were squirming now, and didn't even realise before it was too late that you were reaching a hand back, only to have Dutchs' large hand grip your own, forcing it down to the small of your back. He positioned himself so he could haul you further over his knee, you were able to touch the floor with your free hand, but your feet were now dangling precariously off the other end, unable to touch the floor. You whimpered again.

"Naughty girl," Dutch chided, resuming his former sadistic pace of spanking, "You should know better than that by now, hm?"

"S-sorry Daddy! I... ow... M'sorry, I really really am.." you were really feeling it now, the stinging burn of his hand. Tears were now forming in your eyes. You knew this is what you wanted, no, needed... But it hurt so much, and you were starting to feel more sorry for yourself by the second, and yet, despite this, you still couldn't ignore the wetness that had become visible down your thighs. You knew Dutch could see it too, especially when he would ghost his hand ever so slightly above your glistening folds, growling and giving your pussy a sharp slap if you tried to push your thighs together.

"Quit squriming, brat. Or does Daddy need to teach you a lesson with his belt?" Dutchs sudden threat made you still, letting out a small whine of defeat. You most certainly did not want to expierence the belt tonight, he'd only used it on you a few times before, but the memories of the welts on your backside was enough to plead for mercy.

"I'll be good! Daddy! Please, I'm sorry-I'll be good... I promise.." you sniffled at him, trying to put on your sweetest voice, the one you knew went right to his dick. You could feel his hardness beneath you, doing your best not to grind yourself all over him, a challenge that was proving to become increasingly difficult.

You heard Dutch grumble, taking a moment to run his large hand all over your burning butt, before bringing his hand down over your heat, he suddenly pushed two fingers into your soaking wet core causing you to gasp out and clench up.

"My girl... what ever am I going to do with you, hm? Such a filthy little thing..." Dutchs voice was considerably softer now, but you knew he was still angry. Pumping his fingers in and out of you for a few seconds more, before removing them. You let out a moan, only to have Dutchs fingers shoved in your mouth, encouraging you to clean yourself off of him. He removed them once he felt you'd done a sufficient enough job.

"Gonna have to keep you locked in a damn cage at this rate, girl" Dutchs stern voice made you quiver. And it would be a lie to say the idea of being Dutchs personal play thing, kept locked away in a cage for his desire only, didn't arouse you.

You only had a brief moment more to fantasise on this idea however, before Dutch suddenly started spanking you again. Somehow, impossibly harder than before. You shrieked then, begging him to forgive you, promising complete obedience.

Dutch laughed at that, loud and mocking.

"Empty promises, my sweet girl. How many times have you promised those pretty words before, hm? You really are shameless aren't you? Naughty, naughty little thing..."

The smacks continued to rain down, Dutch would spank all over until he found a spot that made you whail, bringing his down on the exact same spot over and over again, chuckling at your futile attempts to avoid his wrath.

You wanted nothing more in that moment for Dutch to pull you into this arms and call you his good girl, tell you proud he was of you and all that you had done. But this wasn't one of those times, you deserved the punishment and you were starting to resent yourself for having such a strange desire to defy him, even his most simplist of requests you often found yourself snarling back at him, just so you could hear that tone of voice he used on you when you were pushing your luck a little too far.

You were sobbing now, giving up any and all attempts to get out of your current situation. Letting yourself go limp and weak over Dutchs knee. You heard him hum above you, the spanks ever so slowly becoming softer and softer, until they'd all but stopped. Dutchs hand being nothing more than a soothing grace.

"Beautiful..." you heard him whisper above you, relaxing into the soothing feel of his hand, a welcome change from the pain inflicted only moments before.

You started to apologise again, only to have Dutch hush you.

"No you're not girl, not yet anyway..." Dutch sounded horribly wicked as he spoke, and your stomach dropped with the realisation that your punishment wasn't over.

[gallavictorious]

Once again the fandom coming together to daydream about Mickey helping Ian out and seeing him back on track to become an emt again but why is that on Mickey? Why does he always have to do things to make Ian happy when Ian's usually nothing but annoyed by Mickey and does nothing to make Mickey happy? Truly shows which character y'all care about more.

This got absurdly long, because I am who I am and did take the opportunity to go off on a tangent about valid conclusions and what not, so I put it under a cut. Read at your own risk! Oh, and I also do address the actual question about whether or not Ian's career is on Mickey, and whether or not Ian never does anything to make Mickey happy. ;)

For the sake of clarity, I got this ask in response to this post.

And I gotta say, nonnie, getting this ask perplexed me to the point of running off to Trusted Fandom Friends, demanding to know how my undying love and loyalty for Mickey could ever be doubted. Had to laugh at myself a little, actually, and the strenght of my befuddlement. It reminded me of the time I went on a trip with people from the 501st (cosplayers dedicated to the bad guys in Star Wars) and Rebel Legion (cosplayers dedicated to the good guys in Star Wars) and a lot of people assumed I was a Rebel sympathizer simply because I had friends in that group and those were the people who had invited me. Excuse me, I didn't yell, I have like 30 Darth Vaders in my damned home, how dare you question my allegiance? I was so used to always being known as a diehard Vaderkin fangirl that the mer fact of strangers failing to recognize me as such genuinely fucked a little with my sense of identity. My love of Mickey isn't anywhere near as deeply ingrained into my sense of self, since he's only been an occasional presence in my life since 2016 while Darth Vader's been my main man since 1994, but it was still a little jarring to suddenly find myself (mis)identified as an Ian stan.

Being a fangirl is strange.

And I want to make it clear that I do love Ian. He's a fascinating character and, to me, he's a character that's often much harder to understand than Mickey. He rewards careful analysis and discussion, though, so I guess I tend to talk a lot about him? I don't need to spend as much time considering Mickey's feelings and motivations because they are (almost) always pretty obvious; I don't need to tease them out. But at the end of the day, Mickey is my favourite. (Though I'll always love Ian and Mickey together more than I love either of them on their own. It's like fresh cilantro and mint – each perfectly lovely in their own right, but the combination of them creates a flavour that's just out of this world.)

Now, you might argue that you don't follow me and so have no idea who I am and what I like to post about, and that going only by that single post (which, in fairness, was tagged with 'i just want ian to be happy okay?') I give off the general impression of an Ian stan. And that's fair enough; I'm an obscure blog in a decently big fandom and you're not required to keep track of anyone. However, if you want to throw around passive aggressive accusations of caring more about one character than the other, I will ask you to do your research first. Reacting to one single piece of data without considering the context is a common but highly unfortunate practice that needlessly complicates meaningful conversations, and we'd all do well to abstain from it.

Oh, you don't want to spend a lot of time and energy on consdering every single thing a specific Tumblr blog has ever said on a specific topic just so you can draw a valid conclusion about their stance? That's perfectly understandable, nonnie, and easily sorted: refrain from making unsubstantiated claims about what other people think or don't think and you won't have to. Ask them, if you wonder. If you see a tendency in fandom to put the responsibility for Ian's wellbeing and career or Mickey's shoulders and want to discuss that, that's totally cool! I am game (and will address that question below)! But it's very possible to do that without somewhat rudely ascribing perferences and opinions to other people, and you'll get better answers for it (for instance, you won't have to wade through me rambling on about valid conclusions and my memories from other fandoms... ).

It seems to me, though, that this touches upon a long-held frustration of yours. If I interpret your ask correctly, you think the show gives us an Ian who is mostly annoyed with Mickey and doesn't do anything to make him happy, and you think that the fandom responds to this by relegating Mickey to the role of Ian's caretaker, whose sole purpose is to serve Ian's needs without any regard for what might Mickey himself happy. Have I got that right?

If so, it should be noted that I don't agree with either of these takes: I don't think that's the Ian the show gives us (a point I will return to below), and I don't think that fandom at large only cares about Ian's happiness, and I particularly don't think that my post can be used a evidence of the latter.

For instance, when you sent me this ask the post in question had all of 40 notes. As I write this, it has just over 70. ”The fandom coming together” seems to be slightly overstating the case, don't you think? There are certainly fans who care more about Ian and only see Mickey as valuable as long as he contributes to Ian's happiness, just as there are fans who care more about Mickey and only see Ian as valuable as long as he contributes to Mickey's happiness - but this single post with less than a hundred notes does not support that either of these stances would be predominant within the fandom. (And, while on the topic, I'd like to state that I don't actually see a problem with either of those stances; these are fictional characters that exists for our entertainment and we don't have any moral obligations to treat them equally and fairly. Don't ruin other fans' fun by dumping on either of them in the character or shipping tags or on character and shipping posts and this is not a problem. It might be a somewhat unpopular opinion, but I don't think you have to love or even like all characters in a ship to ship it: I refuse to drink plain tea because it's nasty but put a splash of milk in it and its my favourite thing ever. You can love a combination without loving all the seperate pieces on their own. And yeah, I do revert to food metaphors a lot. I like food.)

Secondly, whether or not the post can be said to represent the feeling of the fandom at large (it cannot), I think that reading a post specifically about ”Mickey helping Ian out and seeing him back on track to become an emt again” and then extrapolating from that that Mickey ”always have to do things to make Ian happy” is a little wild. The very first thing I wrote for this fandom was a vision of Ian offering Mickey comfort, goddammit. (Ian giving Mickey a hug is so high on my list of desires, you can't even imagine)

As for your actual question (and, ah, imagine how much shorter this post would be if you had just left it at that) – of course that's not on Mickey. That much, incidentally, I've actually explicitly stated in another post. Ian might have his issues but he's still an adult and responsible for himself. That being said, I don't see it as particularly strange that someone would go out of their way to help their partner when they see them struggling? If I realize that someone I care about is unhappy and there's a way for me to help, I would want to help because I love them and want them to be happy, even if it's – ethically speaking – not my responsibility to do so. Pretty sure Mickey, who is action-oriented and so very protective of the people he loves, feels the same way.

Of course, if it's a one-sided thing – if one partner is always the one to do stuff for the other and never receives any support in return – that's not a healthy relationship, and I assume that this is what you're seeing in the show and taking exception to?

Only... I can't help but wonder who this Ian is, this uncaring, selfish version you see – because I don't quite get how it can be the Ian who emptied his bank account for Mickey, or the Ian who was ready to throw his parole and stay in prison for Mickey even when they were in the middle of a fight specifically because Mickey said it would make him happy, or the one who kept trying to talk to Mickey and win him back after Mickey punched him in the face, accidentally broke his leg, and took off with a new lover (I'm not taking sides in this one, btw – I have a lot of sympathy and understanding for both of them and their actions throughout this whole sorry affair), or the Ian who immediately wanted to marry Mickey protect him from the consequences of a murder Ian thought he had actually comitted, or the Ian who went along with arranging a real wedding even though he initially didn't at all understand why this was important to Mickey and who had someone come serenade him once he did, or the Ian who chose At last for Mickey to walk up to the aisle to, or the Ian who keeps trying to reach out to Mickey and to touch him and discuss their issues in a mature way even when he's (justifiably) upset about Mickey using all their wedding money without telling Ian. (Though Ian deciding for both of them that they're saving the money isn't great either.)

I mean, Ian's absolutely done shitty things, as has Mickey. They're human, and they're the products of a chaotic and often hostile enviroment. They do mess up a lot; they've hurt each other rather badly over the years. Depending on your perspective and preferences, you may think one or the other have behaved worse, but as far as I can see, the claim that Ian never does anything to make Mickey happy is simply not supported.

Ian has seemed unusually annoyed with Mickey this season, I'll give you that, but while that's not always the most fun thing to watch and I strongly sympathize with the wish to just see Ian look at Mickey with that fond look again, I don't find him being frustrated right now all that weird, given the circumstances. I'd argue it has less to do with Mickey and more to do with a general frustration over thwarted ambitions and not being able to hold on even to a really shitty job, though Mickey's attitude doesn’t exactly help (which is not to say that I think that Ian's the one in the right here, becasue Ian's way of handling things hasn't always been been stellar either). However, I do have faith in them sorting this out – because even though they fight and bicker and get annoyed with each other, there's never any indication that they're not both committed to making this marriage thing work. They certainly stumble, they misunderstand each other and lash out, but they calm down and go to sleep in the same bed and compromise and keep trying. Every day, they – both of them – choose each other.

I'd like to finish this off by noting, even though it's not entirely relevant to my argument, that that the number one thing that does make Mickey happy is being together with Ian, and even when Ian is pissed at Mickey and withholding sex (which was very ill-advised but says a lot of interesting things about his character, I think!) no one's sleeping on the couch, there are no nights away from the house and each other, and even in the middle of an argument they sit and stand next to each other. I think that's pretty telling of Ian's dedication, especially given his propensity for running away from his problems.

Phew. Okay, nonnie – though we don't agree and I doubt you'll find this answer satisfactory, I hope you see that I have done my best to understand your point of view and treat your arguments fairly and give you a thoughtful response. If you'd like to get back to me and elaborate on your stance, I'd ask that you show me the same courtesy. :)

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

|| on ao3

Three weeks ago now, Geralt apologized and things are... okay. They've mostly fallen back into their old routine, but something is just a little off. Jaskier tries not to notice it, but there are times when it's unmistakable that they haven't quite fit back together the way they used to. When they sit around the fire at night, Geralt doesn't seem quite as calm as usual, doesn't sit as close as he used to and Jaskier doesn't know who or what is to blame for the rift.

He wants to tell Geralt that everything is fine and cuddle up next to him when it's cold during the night, but what if Geralt is distancing himself on purpose? Maybe he's not quite ready to go back to what they had, maybe he doesn't want to. He's become something of an unwilling father since the last time Jaskier saw him, so maybe it will just take some time for things to settle. Either way, Jaskier doesn't want to do anything to make matters worse.

Which is how he winds up with a much worse problem. It's not his fault, either. Geralt has been tasked with killing a cockatrice that's getting too close to the roads and killing travellers, Jaskier is there for the adventure, the exhilaration and... to look after Ciri. The inn won't house a Witcher, so there isn't anywhere particularly far from the cockatrice’s lair that they can get, and Jaskier is there to make sure she doesn't come to harm. Which, to be fair, he does quite well. It's himself that he has to worry about.

Geralt's gone ahead into the cave to try and catch the cockatrice unaware and judging by the sound coming from within, he hasn't done anything but upset it. There's a moment of silence in which Ciri looks up at Jaskier with wide, worried eyes and Jaskier pulls her against his side. He won't let anything hurt her and that means making sure Geralt is okay because Jaskier is not fit to care for a child and he doesn't want Ciri to lose another family.

"Wait with Roach," he says and for a second she looks horrified so Jaskier kneels down in front of her. "I promise everything will be fine, I just think Geralt needs some help. If anything goes wrong, trust Roach, she'll take you to safety. You know how to get her to kneel?"

Ciri nods and Jaskier smiles at her. She's a good kid, she doesn't deserve any of the shit she's been through. Jaskier gives her a quick hug and sends her off toward their camp as he approaches the cave. It's a terrible idea because the only defence he has is a little silver dagger that Geralt gifted him a few years back. It won't do much as far as bleeding damage, but he hopes the silver will be enough to deter it.

He can hear Geralt's grunts and groans echoing from the cavern and he steels himself. This isn't for him, this is for Ciri and her continued happiness - or whatever Geralt can offer her if he lives long enough. As luck would have it - if he can even call it luck - Geralt rolls out of the cave before Jaskier can enter. There's a brief moment when he freezes and stares at Jaskier confused, irritated, worried? And then the cockatrice shoots out of the cave after him.

Geralt shoves him out of the way and Jaskier tumbles to the ground. He scrambles to his knees and gets out of the way as quickly as he can, but something hits him from behind. He draws his dagger, expecting the cockatrice to be right on top of him, but it isn't. It's a few metres back, heading in his direction and Geralt leaps at it before it can take another step. Jaskier watches, frozen and dumbfounded as Geralt plunges his sword into its side.

Jaskier has seen him fight more times than he can count, most times he’s immortalized in song, but this is different. He doesn't know how to explain it, but he feels like Geralt is protecting him which, technically, he always is. But this time it seems like Geralt's anger comes directly from the attempt to attack Jaskier.

As the thing collapses under him, Geralt pulls his blade back, wincing as blood spatters back at him. He double-checks to ensure the thing is dead and walks up to its neck, slicing his sword clean through to remove the head. Later, he'll take it back to town to claim his fee, but for now, he leaves it on the ground and makes his way over to Jaskier, kneeling down before him.

"Where's Ciri?" he asks and Jaskier's heart sinks, but he reminds himself that Ciri is more important.

"I sent her back to camp. Told her to take Roach if anything happened."

"Why?"

"I thought- I was worried about you." Geralt stiffens and looks away. Helpful, Jaskier thinks.

"Are you okay?" he asks and Jaskier looks up at him. There's an odd tingling feeling in his lower back, but he probably just pinched something when he fell. Or maybe he got something stuck under his shirt where it's come untucked.

"I'm fine," he says.

He can't tell him he got hit by something because Geralt will insist on looking him over and making sure and Jaskier doesn't want to be any more of a burden than he already had been. He still hears Geralt's words in his head at night: why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it's you, shovelling it? For months, those words were the only memory he had of Geralt and he doesn't want to wind up back in that place with him again.

Geralt takes him at face value and he holds a hand out to Jaskier to help him up. He pulls him up and looks him over briefly before starting away toward their camp. Jaskier follows.

Geralt gets a fire started and leaves with Roach to collect his coin and find them something for dinner. Jaskier keeps Ciri entertained with tales of his travels with Geralt - significantly edited to be age-appropriate - and a selection of her favourite songs. He makes her fruit juice and shares the few remaining snacks he has in his pack. By the time Geralt returns, Jaskier is quite ready for bed.

When he stands up to help with the tent, his head is foggy and he feels woozy, but it's been a while since he ate or drank anything of substance, so he doesn't think much of it. The tent goes up easily, but Jaskier leaves the rest to Geralt, sitting down to rest. When everything is ready, he crawls into the tent, curling up on his side and tugging his blanket up over his shoulder. Geralt gives him a worried look, but Jaskier waves him off with a sleepy smile. He'll feel better in the morning.

He does not, in fact, feel better in the morning but last night Ciri had a nightmare and none of them slept well, so he keeps his discomfort to himself. Geralt isn't great at the whole dad thing, so Jaskier leaves them alone in the tent and decides to make himself useful by getting breakfast ready.

It doesn't take him long, but by the time he's finished, his head is foggy again so he sits next to Roach and feeds her apples while he waits. She nudges him with her nose but Jaskier is too tired to do much other than stroke her lightly and hum a tune. He shuts his eyes and focuses on everything he's feeling, most of which is perfectly normal. It's just his head that feels wrong.

The three of them head out after breakfast and Geralt suspects something is off, even if he doesn't say anything. He keeps a closer eye on Jaskier than usual but Jaskier just continually assures him he's fine. It's not even really a lie because it's probably just lack of sleep that's messing with his head. A good nights' sleep is all he needs and he'll be perfectly back to normal.

But before they even stop for the night, things take a turn for the worse. Jaskier tells himself he's pushing his body too hard on so little sleep and that's why it's hard to breathe, but he's not so sure anymore. There's only so much he can blame on a bad night's sleep. It's late afternoon when he starts to feel nauseous, but Geralt is leading them off the path, Jaskier assumes to camp for the night, so he'll be able to sleep soon.

Geralt is having none of that. As soon as Jaskier is horizontal, Geralt is crouching over him, feeling his head and pushing his hair back off his face. Jaskier opens his mouth to tell him he's fine, but the words don't come out and the lines in Geralt's face deepen.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier mumbles.

"I asked you three times to help Ciri," he says and Jaskier doesn't even remember hearing him speak. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine. What do you need me to do?"

"Sleep," Geralt says, "you need to rest." Jaskier doesn't intend to sleep, not now because Geralt needs his help, but he shuts his eyes for just a second. The next time he wakes, they're preparing to leave again.

And he does feel better or, at least, he thinks he does. He goes about the morning as usual, though the haze in his head makes it difficult to focus and he knows Geralt is watching him closely.

They head out early that morning with Ciri and Geralt up front and Jaskier trailing behind. It's a conscious choice, to follow at a short distance, but he couldn't keep up this morning if he wanted to. Soon enough, he'll probably have to make for town and leave Geralt to whatever he's up to.

They've barely made it past the edge of the forest when Jaskier's head starts to throb. He stumbles and his knees hit the ground which is alright really, because he feels better like this, even if his palms sting and his knees shake under him. Geralt is at his side instantly, sliding an arm around his back and asking him something he can't quite understand. He sounds very far away and like he's underwater.

"I'm fine," Jaskier says but even he doesn't believe it this time. Geralt helps him to his feet, but he's unsteady and it takes much more effort than it should to keep himself upright.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jaskier mumbles, but his vision is starting to blur and his head is heavy.

"Fuck."

Geralt heaves him up onto Roach and climbs up in front of him. He apologizes as Roach gives a snort of protest, but Jaskier is only half aware of what's happening. "Can you hold on to me?" Geralt asks, frantic, and Jaskier doesn't know, but he slumps against Geralt's back and snakes his arms around his waist.

He doesn't know where they're headed, but Geralt is certainly in a hurry to get there.

By the time they arrive, Jaskier is unconscious and Geralt has never been this frightened in as long as he can remember. He dismounts gracelessly, hauling Jaskier down after him.

"I'll be back," he says to Ciri, "Roach will take care of you." She nods obediently, but Geralt can see the fear in her eyes and he wishes he was in a better place to comfort her. His heart races, thuds heavily against his chest and he can barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

The house is unassuming on the outside, but as soon as he steps foot in it, he can smell her. Lilac and gooseberries. Yennefer is the last person he wants to see right now, and likely he's the last person she wants to see ever again. But he doesn't have a choice.

She greets him silently and Geralt thinks that he would have preferred hostility. She listens as Geralt tells her everything he knows - very little - and then whisks Jaskier away to some back room, out of sight. Geralt tries to follow, desperately unhappy about having Jaskier out of his sight, but she stops him.

"Wait for him here, I'll tell you when I'm done." Geralt can't blame her for not wanting to see him, but sitting and waiting and not knowing is worse than anything Yen could say to him.

He takes a seat in the sitting room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and he waits. After fifteen minutes, he goes to check on Ciri and takes her to the inn, paying for a meal and for the innkeeper to look after her for a little while. She's mostly self-sufficient, but he doesn't want to take any unnecessary risks. When he's sure she'll be okay for a little while, he returns to the house.

Yen hasn't returned and Geralt is left alone with his thoughts, all of which are dark and worrisome. What if he didn't get to her on time? Jaskier was already in bad shape when they left and he doesn't know how long it's been going on for. He doesn't know how long Jaskier has - or if it's already too late. His stomach turns uncomfortably and Geralt squeezes his eyes shut. He should have known something was wrong, he should have done something sooner.

But he's been so preoccupied with Ciri. And he and Jaskier haven't quite found a comfortable rhythm since their reunion so he's been more distant than before. And he hates himself for it because if he'd been just a little more attentive, he might have noticed something was wrong earlier. If Jaskier doesn't make it, he'll never forgive himself.

When Yen returns, she's alone and Geralt's stomach somersaults, immediately assuming the worst. Yen looks at him and sits down in an armchair across from him, delicately folding her legs.

"You're lucky you got to me when you did," she says, "another couple of hours and he might have been beyond saving." A wave of relief washes over him, immediately followed by a feeling of guilt, like a punch to the stomach. He was so close.

"What's wrong?"

"Cockatrice venom," she says, "can be fatal in large enough doses."

"Cockatrice-" Geralt echoes, "that was days ago."

Yennefer shrugs. "Slow acting."

"He said he was fine."

"Clearly," she says slowly, unimpressed, "he lied. Take it up with him when he wakes. You can take him and leave."

"Yen-"

"I'm not interested. When I need something, you'll hear from me."

History has taught him not to argue with a sorceress when she's made a decision and Geralt nods, rising to his feet silently. He makes his way back to the room, finding Jaskier laid out on the bed. It's reminiscent of the incident with the djinn and brings back memories and emotions he'd rather not remember.

Geralt leans over him, shutting his eyes for a moment to listen to the sound of Jaskier breathing softly. It encourages him and he slips his arms under him, careful to disturb him as little as possible, and lifts him into his arms. He feels like nothing in his arms, and yet Geralt's whole body shudders at the touch. He's wanted to hold Jaskier, to bring him close and keep him there, but this is all wrong.

Yen is still sitting silent when he returns and Geralt thanks her again as he leaves the house. He doesn't know what he's going to do. He knows he can't take Jaskier to the inn; the last thing he needs is people thinking he's killed someone, but he needs to get him somewhere safe and he needs to collect Ciri, regardless. Cautiously, he makes his way toward the inn, reluctantly going inside with Jaskier in his arms.

A half dozen heads turn when he walks in, but Ciri sees him and hurries over to his side.

"Is he okay?" she asks.

"He needs rest," is all Geralt says, but she nods and follows as Geralt leads her to the stables.

Ciri takes control of talking to the stable boy and if Geralt wasn't so caught up in worry, he'd be proud of her. The boy hands the reins over to her, and Ciri takes them happily, stroking Roach's nose. Geralt makes a clicking sound with his tongue and nods his head to Roach and she kneels, making it easier for Ciri to climb onto her back.

"Good girl," Ciri says, pulling the reins back over her head. She's good with Roach and Roach is shockingly patient with her, but Geralt keeps a close eye on them as they make their way out of town.

He carries Jaskier all the way out of town and they don't stop until Geralt finds an overhang in a cliff face. It will shelter them on two sides and that's going to have to be good enough because it's getting dark and he needs to find something more than bread for Ciri to eat for dinner.

Ciri pulls their bedrolls out and lays one out on the ground for Jaskier. Geralt lays him down, finding a blanket to fold and tuck under his head and he thanks Ciri for her help. Jaskier looks small and weak lying there silently and Geralt has to tear his gaze away because he knows if he doesn't, he won't be able to leave. So he pulls himself away and crouches down next to where Ciri is piling sticks for a fire.

"Will you be okay alone for a little while?" he asks.

"Yes. I'll watch him."

"I won't be long." He says and he isn't. He brings down a deer close to their campsite and returns within half an hour, sitting at the edge of the site to skin and prepare the animal.

He cooks the meat over the fire and feeds Ciri, but doesn't eat anything himself. He's emotionally exhausted and the guilt he feels for not noticing Jaskier’s pain overwhelms him.

After Ciri goes to sleep, Geralt sits next to Jaskier, watching the way the firelight highlights his features. He's beautiful in an eerie sort of way and Geralt reaches out, brushing his fingers along the ridge of his cheekbones. Jaskier is warm and it's the first thing that's given Geralt any comfort since he collapsed that morning. He runs his fingers through Jaskier's hair and sighs regretfully.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I should have noticed earlier." He sighs deeply and rolls his head back, staring up toward the sky. There’s more he wants to say, but something stops him. The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue but even with Jaskier unconscious and unable to respond, he can't quite get them out.

"Please," he whispers, "don't leave me."

It's late when Geralt hears a rustle from the other side of the fire and his head snaps up, alert. Ciri sneaks over, sitting next to him.

"Is he okay?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"I hope so."

"Me too," Geralt hums, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

He's still got one hand in Jaskier's hair and he doesn't pull away, even as Ciri curls into his side. The warmth of her small body is comforting and it reminds him that no matter what happens with Jaskier, he has to pull himself together for Ciri.

When he wakes up, Ciri is in his lap and he's hunched over her, both arms curled around her. Geralt blinks awake slowly and as he shifts, Ciri stirs against him. She gets up and Geralt follows after her, stretching as he looks down at Jaskier, still motionless and silent and it hurts knowing he can't stay with him right now. They can't leave either, though, so he gets up and finds something for Ciri to eat.

While she finishes her breakfast and goes off to feed Roach, Geralt returns to Jaskier. Carefully, he sits down next to him and lifts Jaskier's head into his lap. He brushes the hair off his forehead and Jaskier squirms. His eyes pinch tightly shut and Geralt's heart leaps into his throat. He presses his hands down Jaskier's chest, keeping him down and when Jaskier opens his eyes, it's like a weight has lifted off Geralt’s shoulders.

Jaskier sits up, rubbing his eyes and turns to face him, looking blearily at him. He looks so soft and helpless and Geralt can't help himself when he pulls him into his lap. He draws him in closer, wrapping one arm around his waist and sliding the other up his back to slip into his hair.

"Geralt," Jaskier says, muffled in his shoulder, "I'm fine, what are you-" when he pulls back, he stops. Jaskier is barely an inch from his face and Geralt kisses him without regard for common sense or consequence. It's brief and stiff and not what he really wants and when he pulls back, Jaskier's eyes are wide and full of concern.

"I'm dying aren't I?"

Geralt is stunned, the taste of Jaskier's lips still on his and he drops back, propping himself up in one arm. "No," he says, "no you're okay. I thought I'd lost you." His final words come out so quietly he doesn't think Jaskier will hear him at first. But Jaskier takes his face in his hands and smiles softly.

"I'm fine," he says and he sounds utterly breathless, reminding Geralt with a start that he's just woken up and he's been through a lot.

"Shit," he says, scrambling to let Jaskier up and get himself to his feet. He helps Jaskier up and he doesn't have a chance to say anything else, to apologize or to let Jaskier know how worried he was, because Ciri hurries over.

She wraps her arms around him and Jaskier smiles down, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Geralt's lips tug up at the corner and he turns away to let them have a moment.

Jaskier's feeling better now and Geralt has managed to convince him that he's not dying. He's a little quiet, but Geralt is sure it's nothing to worry about, he did just recover from being poisoned, after all. And he's done everything he can for him, making sure he's warm enough and has enough to eat.

He wants to get them back to town. He wants to get to an inn and get Jaskier somewhere warm and comfortable where they can stay for a couple of days to recoup.

Ciri is the first to be ready as usual, and Geralt lifts her up onto Roach, handing her the reins as he finishes packing. When he turns around to fasten Roach's saddlebags, Jaskier is pulling his lute case over his shoulder. Geralt frowns, crossing over to him and slipping the strap out of his hands.

"Get on Roach," he says and Jaskier just looks at him. Geralt reaches out, pressing a hand to Jaskier's shoulder. "You must be exhausted," he says, "I can walk." For a moment, everything is still and Jaskier just looks at him. Geralt grunts and turns away before he can do something stupid and behind him, he hears Jaskier hoist himself up into the saddle.

Geralt doesn't mind walking and from here he can keep an eye on both Jaskier and Ciri. They’ll be safe and if anything comes up on the road, he can handle it while Roach gets them to safety.

They make town by mid-afternoon and after taking Roach to the stables, Geralt pays for a room and sends Ciri ahead of him.

"Wait for me by the stairs," he says and she nods. When Geralt turns, Jaskier is watching him. "Go to the bathhouse," he says, "relax."

Jaskier tries to argue, but Geralt presses a handful of coins into his palm and sends him off. When Jaskier is out of sight, Geralt takes Ciri up to their room. He's ordered food to be brought up to Ciri and he waits for the innkeeper before ducking out of the room. He knows Ciri will be okay on her own for a little while, but he locks the room anyway and promises not to be long.

He slips away, out of the inn and down the street to the bathhouse. Jaskier is in the bath already when he finds him, up to his neck in hot water and scented oils. The room is steamy and Geralt shuts the door behind him, inhaling the damp, scented air.

Jaskier blinks up at him as if he was sleeping, offering a worried look. "Where's Ciri?" he asks.

"In our room. She's fine." Geralt rolls his sleeves, pushing them up past his elbows and circling the tub. Jaskier watches him move, tipping his head back against the edge of the tub.

"What are you doing?" he asks, but Geralt is quiet. He hmms at him, but doesn't say anything. He reaches down, tentatively brushing his fingers along Jaskier's shoulder. It's a question, a chance for him to say no and push him away. He doesn't.

Instead, Jaskier rolls his shoulders into the touch, hums softly. Geralt wants to make him comfortable and he wants him to feel good, but he doesn't want to push any boundaries, especially with their relationship the way it is. But once he gets his hands on him, it's harder to stop than he thought it would be.

He can feel Jaskier's pulse under his hands, steady and confirming. He's okay. He can feel the life in him with every press of his hands and he slides his hands down over his chest, feeling Jaskier's heartbeat against his palms. He almost lost this. He wasn't paying enough attention and Jaskier got hurt and he almost lost him. His hands falter and Jaskier notices.

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking up at him with wide eyes, dark in the low light.

"I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine Geralt. If something's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong," Geralt insists, but his hands shake against Jaskier's skin and when he moves to pull back, Jaskier twines their fingers together. He runs his thumb along the arch of Geralt's fingers, pressing his hands into his skin.

"You can tell me, Geralt," he says softly, "whatever it is." He closes his fingers around him and Geralt squeezes tightly.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he grits out, "why didn't you tell me something was wrong?" Jaskier's fingers pull away and Geralt worries that he was too rough.

"I didn't want to be a burden," Jaskier mumbles, "you already have so much with Ciri and your destiny-"

"You're never a burden," Geralt says too quickly. He pulls his hands back and moves back around to the front of the tub, crouching down in front of it. "You're all I have."

He looks up at him, soft and pink from the heat of the bath and he can't imagine saying such horrible things to him, but he did and he knows it hurt Jaskier more than he shows. He's the one constant in his life, the one good thing that destiny so far has not meddled with.

Geralt leans in without realizing and Jaskier meets him halfway. Geralt slides his hand over Jaskier's jaw, pressing forward and kissing him softly. He doesn't realize he's tense until Jaskier's mouth moves against his own and an intense calm floods his body, loosening his limbs and pushing him forward.

Geralt draws back after only a second, eager to see Jaskier's face, to see for himself that he wants this and it's not just impulse that has him kissing back. A single glance tells him that's not the case. If anything, Jaskier looks more unsure than Geralt feels, but he shows no hesitance. And when Geralt presses into his space once more, Jaskier is the one to initiate the kiss.

His lips are soft, unimaginably so, and maybe Geralt should have expected that, what with the care Jaskier takes in all other parts of his life. It still comes as a surprise, though not one Geralt has much time to consider. Jaskier makes a soft sound against him and Geralt moves instinctively, sliding a hand back into his hair and kissing him more deeply. Jaskier hums again, a soft little contented sound and he curls both hands around the back of Geralt's neck, sitting back a little in the tub.

Geralt moves with him, adjusting to make Jaskier more comfortable. The edge of the tub digs into his stomach, but it's barely an inconvenience with Jaskier's mouth against his own, hot and eager, and his hands slipping up into the hair at the back of his neck.

Jaskier moves a little quicker, his fingers grip a little tighter, pull a little harder and Geralt loses himself in it. He shouldn't let himself lose focus so easily, but this is Jaskier and he's alive and Geralt has wanted for so long. He's moving before he realizes it, letting Jaskier tug him closer. He gets his elbow hooked around Geralt's neck and Geralt rises up, bending over the tub. Then he's got his knee up on the edge and making the next move is such a natural transition that he doesn't consider what he's doing.

As he steps into the tub, Jaskier pins his legs to the sides, letting Geralt settle between them. Geralt is soaked up to his stomach, but Jaskier's fingers wander, sliding around to his chest and distracting him. And when his legs wind around his hips, Geralt groans softly against Jaskier's lips, slipping one hand under his thigh.

"I can't lose you again," he breathes and Jaskier hums against him, reaching up to run his fingers over Geralt's cheek.

"You won't."

They stay like that, pressed against each other in the tub, until the water has long lost its heat and Jaskier's skin is cool to the touch. Unwillingly, Geralt wrenches himself from Jaskier's embrace and climbs out of the tub. He leans down, pulling Jaskier out after him and if he tugs him close again and lets his fingers run over all that soft, wet skin well, no one would blame him.

Jaskier's head is still swimming as they make their way back to the inn, only a sliver of air between them. Geralt's knuckles brush against his own with each swing of his arm and Jaskier grins softly, looking down at the ground beneath his feet. His lips tingle, swollen from being kissed and bitten and it's the only thing that speaks to the reality of what happened. He might believe it was a dream otherwise; he's had many dreams to the same effect, both waking and sleeping, some of which seemed almost more real than this. But Geralt leaves a trail of bathwater behind him as they walk and his lips are a lovely shade of red that Jaskier swells with pride to know he's the one responsible for it.

When they reach the inn, Ciri gives them a strange look. Fair, considering he was the one sent to have a bath and Geralt is the one coming back soaked - and in his clothes, no less. Jaskier hides a smirk but focuses his attention on Ciri. If he tries to think about too much at once, he might explode, so he focuses on the task at hand which is, right now, keeping Ciri occupied while Geralt changes into dry clothes and arranges for supper for them.

The rest of the night passes far too quickly and they don't talk a lot, but Jaskier knows Ciri suspects something. She keeps side-eyeing Geralt when he's not paying attention and it's all Jaskier can do not to laugh when Geralt notices. They'll have to tell her at some point, he suspects, though that would entail discussing exactly what they're telling her. And that's one of those things Jaskier can't think about right now.

He knows Geralt worries about him, enough to take him to Yennefer according to Ciri, and he knows he wants him around. He couldn't possibly ask for more than that, but then he'd kissed him. And gods, Jaskier has been kissed a thousand times and a thousand more and he's never been kissed like that. Like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he might not get another chance.

He shuts his eyes thinking about it and smiles softly to himself. So there's something, something that must have been a huge step for Geralt who still hasn't quite committed to the word friend.

Geralt meets them downstairs, dry except for the ends of his hair, and they sit and eat together before heading upstairs. He's quieter than usual and Jaskier tries not to worry too much about that. He reminds himself that things like this are harder for Geralt than they are for him and that also, apparently, Geralt is still processing the fact that he almost lost him. That much, at least, Jaskier can understand, he'd be lost without Geralt.

So he gives him space. They'll have a few minutes alone to talk soon enough, he can keep from plastering himself to Geralt's side for one night, difficult as it may be. He makes up a bed on the floor as they've been doing for months now; taking turns sleeping on the floor and in the bed with Ciri unless they have a second room. Personally, Jaskier prefers the floor to a separate room to begin with so he doesn't mind much.

Geralt is already in bed and Jaskier tries to be as quiet as he can to not wake Ciri, setting his pack at the end of the bed and laying down on his bedroll. There's a rustle of blankets from above him and when he shifts to look up, Geralt is sitting up, frowning down at him.

"What are you doing?" he asks and Jaskier looks down at his bed, trying to figure out what he's done wrong.

"Going to sleep?" he asks.

"Come up here," Geralt offers, shifting a little to one side. He waits until Jaskier sets down his bedroll, then lies back against the bed.

Jaskier pulls himself up, climbing up the foot of the bed and Geralt reaches out, sliding an arm around his side and pulling him down. He shifts as Ciri stretches under his other arm, and Jaskier lets himself be pulled in, turning to rest his hand on Geralt's chest. He slips on hand up his chest and he could swear he sees Geralt's lips twitch just as he shuts his eyes. There's a soft huff of breath against his hair and when warm lips press against his head Jaskier squirms despite himself.

Maybe things aren't as complicated as he thought they were. Maybe his place is right at Geralt's side where he's always been.

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

Realm of the Quarantine Reread End-of-Book Questionnaire: Assassin’s Quest

Any differences between your first/previous reading experience and this one?

Keep in mind I’m writing this months after finishing the book lol (it’s mental illness innit). I have LOTS of notes to go off but yeah, things aren’t as fresh in my mind overall. With that said the biggest difference I can think of between my first and second experience with AQ is my feelings towards Kettricken. I think the first time around reading you know that Fitz is an unreliable narrator but you are still limited by his viewpoint so you can get a bit trapped seeing things the way he does. For this reason, I think I pretty much just forgave Kettricken when he did on my first read, whereas on this read I was like……. Waiting for her to actually apologise and show some sympathy towards Fitz and it just…. Never happened.

Like, don’t get me wrong, I still love Kettricken as a character and I fully recognise that she has been traumatised. I don’t expect her to be nice or act rationally, and in the case of being willing to take Nettle for the crown… It’s cold but she’s doing what she feels she has to. My issue is - do what you have to, but don’t expect Fitz to understand or forgive you (same with Starling). But I think what bothered me the most was how Kettricken would constantly confide in Fitz and break down to him and he was always there to let her do so, yet she NEVER gives Fitz the chance to do the same. The one time he does “open up” in a sense is when she forces him to air out his traumas in front of everyone, and she didn’t show him any sympathy for what he’d been through then or later. She has been through hell, absolutely, but while her plight may not have been any better than Fitz’s it certainly wasn’t any worse. She pretty much had two modes in this book: completely cold or a crying wreck - but she was only ever crying for herself. She lets Fitz console her but she never consoles him. Again, this is a result of her own trauma and I don’t expect her to act any differently, but it just reaffirmed for me that while she and Fitz care for each other deeply it is not an equal relationship. Fitz feels an obligation to serve her and she - knowingly or not - takes advantage of that. Like, after realising that this is their dynamic it is so obvious that the same is true in Royal Assassin as well, and it will be interesting to see how it changes (or doesn’t) in Tawny Man as I don’t remember it well enough to say.

Must reiterate: Kettricken is still a great character and I still have a lot of respect for her, unfortunately she just falls into the overfull camp of people who love Fitz but have an unhealthy power dynamic with him.

The other big difference I noticed was that the Verity stuff just wasn’t as devastating this time. Not because it was any less sad but it just didn’t tear out my heart like it did the first time. That’s not a fault with the writing at all, I think it’s just the fact that, knowing what would happen to Verity and that we wouldn’t see the real Verity again, I kind of already let go of him at the end of Royal Assassin.

Something you can’t believe you forgot

I guess more of a misinterpretation/wishful thinking but like, realising that there is no passage explicitly stating that Fitz and the Fool were actually spooning in the mountains murdered me and spat on my corpse.

Oh also!!! Fitz yeeting himself out the window at Tradeford castle jskaskjf

Favourite character introduction moments/scenes

I love Kettle in general and the way we’re introduced to her as a cranky old lady sets her up perfectly

Favourite character arcs

Man they’re all so fucking sad lol but I guess the Fool? He goes from thinking Fitz is dead and his purpose failed to reuniting with Fitz, their relationship growing into something really real for the first time, and actually completing his mission - at least for now lol. This book is really the first time you get to see the Fool be properly vulnerable. Even when he was getting beaten up by Regal’s guards he always had his veneer of snark and superiority to hide behind - and I doubt when he went through his sicknesses at Buckkeep he would have revealed his weakness to anyone in order to be helped. But in the mountains he lets so much of that facade of the King’s Fool fall away - at least when it’s just him and Fitz. When he and Fitz meet again he lets Fitz see his grief and pain and hopelessness and joy as the Fool looks after Fitz, and then later when it’s the Fool who needs looking after he lets Fitz look after him. When was the last time the Fool had anyone really care for him like that, ya know? Had someone protect him purely out of love? Ouch dude!!!!

Also he gets to kiss Fitz at the end so good for him!!!!!!!!!! Be gay ride dragons!!

Favourite quote/s

“I would kill Regal. It only seemed fair. He had killed me first.”

“I had looked into the heart of my enemy. I still could not comprehend him.”

“The more I drank, the less tolerable my situation seemed. And the more intolerable I became to my friends.”

“I had never thought to be disdained by a tree.”

“The Fool, the Fool, only the Fool. I sought for him. I almost found him. Oh, he was passing strange, and surpassing strange. He darted and eluded me, like a bright gold carp in a weedy pool, like the motes that dance before one’s eyes after being dazzled by the sun. As well to clutch at the moon’s reflection in a still midnight pond as to seek a grip on that bright mind. I knew his beauty and his power in the briefest flashes of insight. In a moment I understood and marvelled at all that he was, and in the next I had forgotten that understanding.”

“When you can either laugh or cry, you might as well laugh.” - the Fool

Favourite relationships

Fitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolbahslbghabfhalgngjba 

Also fitz and nighteyes (speaking of which, Nighteyes’ arc in this book is also fascinating and surprisingly complex) and Fitz/Nighteyes/Fool mwah magnifico chef’s kiss

Favourite setting

Kelsingra baybeyyy. I remember the first time reading this having no fucking clue what was happening in that chapter but I guess it was the gay agenda all along

Favourite chapter

It’s gotta be the chapter where Fitz and the Fool reunite, right? Catch me just gradually losing my grip on reality with every lingering stare 

Most loved character

Foooooooooool

Most hated character

Ya know, for a minute I was actually wondering if I would like Starling this time round but yeah no lol. She was actually okay for a while but as soon as she sold Fitz/Nettle out she became The Worst, just as I remembered her. It’s not even because she betrays Fitz but because, like Kettricken, she expects Fitz to forgive her for it, to the point of running to tattle to the queen because Fitz isn’t giving her enough attention (I’m also not impressed with Kettricken for actually getting involved instead of just telling her to grow up). Not to mention her constantly misgendering/gendering (??) the Fool or just assuming the Fool’s gender and loudly fucking proclaiming it to everybody is just truly fucking disgusting. Like I cannot even explain how furious I was reading her incessantly using she/her pronouns for the Fool despite no confirmation that her theory is right or that the Fool is comfortable with this and despite EVERYONE ELSE using he/him pronouns. God I’m mad now lol. She just acts like a spoilt brat and it makes my blood boil. But that’s probably because I have known many people like this so… Good character writing lol congrats

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimised by Robin Hobb (most heartbreaking and/or visceral moments)

The whole first chapter/s are just so heavy and carry on that gut wrenching feeling from the end of Royal Assassin. Fitz just has no real desire to live and watching him systematically severing the last few ties he has to his human life is just so sad.

Even though I wasn’t as attached to Verity this time, his goodbye to Fitz still made me cry

As did Fitz giving Kettle her skill back

Verity using Fitz’s body to have sex with Kettricken really got to me this time, mostly because I either didn’t notice the first time or had forgotten just how much it affects Fitz. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to acknowledge Dutiful as his son when the event that brought that fact into being was so fucked up and traumatic. It’s really upsetting.

Burrich saying he almost took Fitz to Chivalry and he should have never let the Farseers take Fitz just …… breaks my heart. Just seeing Burrich so raw like that in general is so unusual it really takes you aback.

Details, observations, spoilery notes made with the benefit of the full picture

Strap in lads this part is lonnnngggggggg

Is it bad to immediately want to cry just from seeing “Sandsedge” on the map and thinking of Sandsedge brandy

I never really thought about how poor Hap didn’t get the real Fitz all those years and how their relationship could have been if Fitz hadn’t been partially forged

Pls I have no idea why but to picture someone as emotionally repressed as Fitz actually sitting down and writing about his life makes me want to fucking cryyyyeeeee

Fitz in the prologue talks about needing a purpose as something to distract himself from sinking [into his chronic pain, mental illness and addiction] and boy howdy if that ain’t relatable. As someone with mental illness and chronic pain Fitz is just painfully relatable way too often.

“I have never forgiven myself the triumph I ceded him when I took poison and died.” Fitz :(((( my guy :((((((( forgive yourself for surviving however you could baby!!!!!

This book mentions Bingtown providing slaves to Chalced

It’s so funny to me when people expect Fitz to have social skills as if he didn’t literally live as a fucking wolf for weeks at a time. It’s a miracle he bloody speaks

The state Fitz is in at the beginning of this book was literally Burrich’s greatest fear for him, yet Burrich doesn’t just say I told you so and leave. He stays, is patient and even optimistic.

“He (Burrich) is not bigger than I.” Why does this feel so wrong lol??? I just can’t picture Fitz as bigger than Burrich

“When you were younger and not supposed to go into taverns without me…” So it’s fine if the child goes into taverns and gets drunk as long as you’re also there. Got it, Burrich.

Fitz calling Chade “the grey one” wow get rekd old man river

Seeing Chade and Burrich interact is so bizarre

Fitz is still having seizures at the beginning of this book! I had forgotten that

God okay so idk if I can articulate this point super well but the whole thing of Fitz going through this extensive abuse and then essentially becoming an animal feels like a metaphor for the way your brain’s “higher” needs and functions just shut off sometimes under certain levels of stress. Like in order to cope with the trauma you don’t think about concepts, or long-term goals, or other people. You just take care of your basic needs - food, sleep, shelter, water - long enough that you start to feel safe and secure again, at which point your brain can open up a bit more and allow you to really think again; to want again, to plan again etc. Like obviously literally becoming an animal is a heightened version of reality, but the functionality of it is the same; our wounds and our fear stop us from fully embodying ourselves.

Burrich be like, Fitz was getting way too dependent on drugs before all this so let’s steer clear of those. :) LET’S GET HIM ABSOLUTELY SHITFACED INSTEAD

I  love how Fitz has his own unique relationship with Lacey and she’s not just Patience’s servant in his mind

Fitz talking about how even his memories from before his time in the dungeons are soiled by his trauma :( baby boy

Dude it’s so rich Chade lecturing Fitz about not making a life for himself, having friends or just chilling out like???? WHO TRAINED HIM TO BE AN ASSASSIN CHADE?? Like I get your point but what the hell kind of life did you think he was gonna have? Who ever took the time to teach him the importance of making connections with people for their own sake, and when would he have ever had the time anyway? I think Chade himself doesn’t actually know what he expects from Fitz.

Fitz saying he’s bad at making decisions because he’s never actually been allowed to make any is literally a point I’ve made lol. This is what happens when you teach teenagers how to murder in lieu of any basic life skills.

Burrich + Chiv were luv at first sight. No I will not elaborate.

“We kept you a boy, looked after you too much.” Huh??????? Fitz was never fucking sheltered lol. He didn’t have autonomy. There’s a difference.

I’m so fucking glad Fitz hugged Burrich before he left and that they actually left off on okay-ish terms. I didn’t remember that and it vaguely dulls the blow of knowing we don’t see Burrich again til Fool’s Fate (and that he thinks Fitz is dead the entire time between now and then).

“If I shaved my hair back from my brow” bitch disgusting

“Honey was the older of the two women. Perhaps my age.” jskfjnajgbl my guy those aren’t women then those are children!!!!!! U freak

I was wondering for ages why Fitz doesn’t mention the Fool like literally at all bc that’s so unusual right? Even in Assassin’s Apprentice he thinks of him when he goes to Moonseye and just in general the Fool usually enters Fitz’s thoughts pretty frequently. So why now, when Fitz doesn’t even know if the Fool is okay, is he just not thinking about him? And then I realised that that is exactly why. Because the only two people from his old life he doesn’t think about are the two people whose fates he knows nothing of: Kettricken and the Fool. So he can let his mind wander to think what Patience and Lacey might be up to at Buckkeep, or who Molly is with or whatever, because he knows they are all safe. But in such a fragile state I don’t think he can bring himself to really wonder whether Kettricken and the Fool made it to their destination - he probably doesn’t really believe they could have, and that is far too painful a road to go down when you are trying not to think at all.

I know the first act of this book is slow and that bothers some people, but I think it is so necessary, not only for Fitz’s arc but also because it really demonstrates just how severe the situation has gotten with the red ships and forged ones AND it shows just how destructive a king Regal is. Without this perspective it would probably be much harder to buy that the extreme measures taken at the end of the book are really worth the sacrifice.

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit A: when Honey is coming onto him, all he can think about is Molly.

Fitz is so scared of the Forged ones :( his trauma affects everything. He has no faith in himself and less heart for the violence than ever.

Speaking of trauma metaphors: the way Fitz tends to drift off into the wit or Skill after a traumatic experience is… pretty much just dissociation but magique

I forgot that witted folk can apparently communicate with each other mentally, not just with animals

“Her head was the size of a bushel basket.” Ah, yes, a bushel basket, a thing whose size we are all intimately familiar with.

Fitz finally finds others like him and even then he is not fully accepted. Told he is doing the wit wrong. Othered by the Others. It’s the queer experience innit.

Also forgot that apparently the forged are attracted to the wit as well as the Skill?

“I wondered if I had as many wolf mannerisms as they had halk and bear.” Yeah no probably not you only bloody LIVED as a wolf, Fitz.

Okay I know it doesn’t need saying but Patience is just so fucking cool!!!!!

Jesus fucking christ, Fitz skilling out to Molly when he knows Will knows he’s alive and is looking for him is just… so dumb. So so dumb. I know he’s just fixating on her because he’s miserable and she’s like this unsullied thing he had before everything went wrong but holy moly is it frustrating 

Not to mention he doesn’t connect the dots between the fact that Burrich went to “help a friend” and every time he reaches out for Molly he sees Burrich sajkdbshkhja dude

Nighteyes leaving just goes to show that Fitz cannot rely solely on Nighteyes for companionship. No matter how innately the same they are they are equally as innately different. Fitz needs Nighteyes but he shouldn’t have JUST Nighteyes (which is why he, Nighteyes and the Fool are the holy trinity). When Nighteyes leaves, Fitz is in way too fragile a state to be left alone, but Nighteyes cannot think of the future or what might happen. All he knows is he’ll be back at some point and that’s all that matters.

“My anger fed my competence” whatever you need to tell yourself sweetie

I think I had blocked out the fact the Regal was keeping animals trapped in filthy cages so they could ravage people in the king’s circle uggggghhhhhhhhh I hate him

Fitz is down on himself saying that without Shrewd’s largesse, Chade’s information and Verity’s protection his idea of himself has been stripped away and that he’s not actually competent etc. but like. This is an extreme situation!! You’re literally alone in the wilderness with nothing and no one!! Who would thrive in this situation? And nobody gets by without help anyway! The people in our lives do define us to an extent. You don’t have to be able to stand 100% on your own at all times with zero resources to be considered capable. It’s human to depend on others. Yes I am chiding myself as much as Fitz here :))))

Burrich’s earring is the repressed gay earring. No I will not elaborate.

Fitz refusing to sell Burrich’s earring is frustrating yet something I would 100% do lol

Direct from my notes: Celery hiding out in caves?? Bad bitch

“I felt I was within the flames looking deeply into the Fool’s eyes” um okay gay

It’s actually surprising that Fitz admits he would not have gone after Molly even if he had known she was pregnant when she left. On one hand so self aware yet this doesn’t stop him from completely idealising their relationship.

And then you have Molly who says he was supposed to come after her “so she could forgive him”, that he was supposed to be the one to light the candles for her childbirth etc. The fact that she in any way thought he was mature enough to be a father just shows how little they really knew each other.

Burrich treating Molly like a horse while delivering Nettle is way funnier than it has a right to be jskakjasd makes me think of Dwight treating Phyllis’ back injury in The Office lol

The first thing Burrich notices about Nettle is that she has Chivalry’s brow are you fucking kidding me. Gay!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit B: He had no interest in Tassin whatsoever until she literally started kissing him. At this point his body reacted, which is normal, but as soon as he got a second to actually think about it he stopped, because for him it would not be satisfying to sleep with someone he didn’t have feelings for.

“It seemed to take years for the dried beans and lentils to soften.” Okay mood

I love how Fitz just assumes Molly will take him back. “I have a woman and child awaiting me.” Says who bitch?

Small ferret? More like big legend

Ya know, we give Fitz so much shit but honestly with so much physical, mental and emotional stress on this journey how can we expect his mental faculties to be at 100%? I wouldn’t be making good decisions either, in fact I would be long dead.

Starling telling Nik that the earring once belonged to Chivalry is truly a smooth brain move

“Do not fear, little brother, I am here to take care of you again.” Words can’t explain how much I love Nighteyes and how often his dialogue makes me smile :’)

It’s so cute how Nighteyes is worried about Molly and Nettle until he knows that Burrich is taking care of them

It’s really interesting when Fitz claims “I’d rather be with Molly even if it meant rocking a crying baby in the middle of the night” because, well, he’s literally made other claims to the contrary, saying he wouldn’t have gone with her even if he’d known she was pregnant. Because at the end of the day as much as Fitz is compelled by others to do work for the greater good, I think deep down a lot of the time it is what he would do anyway. Like I really don’t think he could actually enjoy being with Molly knowing that the world is burning down around them. He would want to get out there and help somehow; not only to secure their own future but to reduce other people’s suffering as well. He’s an empathetic boy even though he’d like to be selfish.

Every time Fitz calls Molly his wife I lose ten years off my life

Again, I understand why he’s thinking like this, but Fitz’s ownership of Molly is just so uncomfortable. The fact that he can’t imagine her not having a place ready and waiting for him in her life when he returns just illustrates that she is not a fully realised person to him. She is just a comforting idea.

Oh yes, it was definitely Starling’s “pillowtalk” that got you captured and not the fact that you fit the exact description of the witted bastard right down to having Chivalry’s earring and a whole ass wolf

Somehow forgot that Jhaampe is basically a city of tents with only a few permanent buildings and people constantly coming and going

Fitz’s first words to the Fool are “I’ve come to you.” I’m gonna fucking die

Literally every single word from the moment Fitz realises it’s the Fool and starts describing him is a full body assault and personal attack I am seeking reparations

God the tenderness, the angst, the relief……… shall i pass away

“I doubted he was much taller, but his body was no longer a child’s.” My dude this is a gay awakening if I ever saw one

Fitz be like *spends 87 pages describing the Fool in painstaking detail* anyway I love being a heterosexual male

I’ve heard ppl cite Fitz’s descriptions of Kettricken as evidence of a crush (hard disagree) but literally nothingggggg even comes close to the way he describes the Fool. Not just this once but over and over again it’s insane.

“Talk fell off between us. The bottle of brandy was empty. We were reduced to silence, staring at one another drunkenly.” skjakfnajghajgnaLNGJ is it gay to silently gaze into thine homie’s eyes

The Fool protecting Fitz from everyone - especially Starling - in Jhaampe is often hilarious and always heartwarming

Realising Fitz was skinny enough for the Fool to lift on his own ahhh no wonder he said the famous “When I recall how beautiful you were” line, Fitz is a total wreck

I love that the Fool actually gives Chade shit for his plan to take Nettle. I love him.

“Too few folk cared for me. I could not hate a single one of them.” Oh, Fitz :(

I always wonder how the Fool really feels about Molly. Is he jealous? Does he compare himself to this woman Fitz idolises and he doesn’t know? Does he know that Fitz is barking up the wrong tree or is he stuck thinking Molly must really be Fitz’s soulmate since he won’t shut up about how much he loves her and can’t wait to get back to her? He just never really lets on how it makes him feel when Fitz has relationships with women. We know Fitz gets jealous of the Fool (for litch rally like no reason lol), so with the Fool being much more honest with himself/in general about his love for Fitz and having much more legitimate reason to be jealous, is he? Or is it just something he’s made his peace with, that these women give Fitz something that he cannot? Is he okay with that cos he has to be or does he have a different, less monogamous view of love and relationships (he does have three parents after all). I dunnoooo dude I just have so many questions. Like obviously - OBVIOUSLY - if Fitz and the Fool didn’t have romantic feelings for each other before, there is no doubting that romantic feelings appeared the moment Fitz appeared in the Fool’s hut. Fitz won’t admit that but mere chapters later the Fool is talking about how he loves Fitz in every way so like. He knows. So how does he feel when Fitz is calling out for Molly in his sleep, or openly speaking of seeking her out when all this is over, and lying to the Fool to protect Molly and his daughter. Really makes u think!!!!

Fitz reuniting with Sooty and going to see her every day in Jhaampe is so cuuuute and made me so happy. Sooty is a good girl :’)

Fitz be like *leans against the table where the Fool is carving and watches his fingers at work like a true repressed gay*

Verity is literally so strong???? He submerged himself in skill and was able to pull himself back from the stream can u imagine? Go off king!

Bro I literally can’t with the Fool mentioning Jofron so casually and Fitz immediately thinking wow oh my god they’re definitely fucking oh my god the Fool has a girlfriend - Fitz sweetie calm down

I love how Fitz and the Fool just naturally walk together :))) and Nighteyes babysitting Kettle is so cute

Molly never once says that she misses Fitz. She says she always expected him to do the right thing, to come after her and not leave her alone with a child. But she doesn’t look back on their time together fondly or have much positive to say about him as a person. And all that is fair, but it’s also just… Not really the behaviour of someone who’s been separated from their soulmate. It’s more just someone who’s been left in a shitty position by someone they cared about but hardly knew.

Fitz asking the Fool what is between him and Starling when they’re literally just being civil is sooooo fucking funny. Not everyone finds the Fool as irresistible as you do, Fitz.

The Fool just casually finding a pretext to call Fitz the light of his life

Fitz telling Kettricken firmly that he will not travel if the Fool is ill is one of the only times he ever puts his foot down with her GEE I WONDER WHY

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again…… there really do be something about the way Fitz can’t meet the Fool’s eyes………. It’s not like they’re weird and colourless anymore like they used to be!!!

The Fool already talking about Clerres in this book!

Fitz and the Fool and Nighteyes playing in the stream is too fucking pure omg, it’s what they deserve

And then Starling has to bloody ruin it bc she’s homophobique

But seriously, Fitz actually lets go for the first time in ages and has a nice evening only for Starling to go tattling to Kettricken, and Kettricken having the gall to confront Fitz about it. And then Fitz solves the problem by saying he doesn’t disdain her when like!! He has every right to!!!! She sold him out, sold his daughter out. She never even apologised but instead has just been totally petty and self-righteous and stirring up trouble amongst the group. She hasn’t earned or even asked for his forgiveness. So fitting that she’s the one constantly judging Fitz for his relationship with Lord Golden in Tawny Man lol, she just cannot let Fitz and the Fool be the queer icons they are!!!

Verrrrrrrrrrry interesting that Fitz only “suddenly missed the human warmth and comfort” of Starling taking his arm or sleeping against him literally IMMEDIATELY after the plumbing and love confrontation with the Fool. I mean he has been doing all of those things with the Fool (sleeping together, walking arm in arm etc.) so it’s not about human touch at all, it’s about convincing himself that a WOMAN’S touch is somehow inherently different.

He does the same thing with Starling as with Kettricken. She technically apologises but it’s not sincere and that’s not why he forgives her. Same as Kettricken, she tells her sob story and he can’t hold onto his anger. It makes sense, but it’s just very toxic. It would be nice if at least one person would really recognise how much they’ve hurt Fitz and really, genuinely want to atone for it, or apologise without expecting forgiveness. The onus should not be on Fitz to forgive Starling but on Starling to grow up and not need Fitz to like her in order to remain civil and do what they have to. Also “I do not find your wit bond offensive” has the same energy as someone telling you out of nowhere like “It’s fine that you’re gay :)” like wow thank u?? lol

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit C: “I wanted her with a desperation that had nothing to do with love, and even, I believe, little to do with lust.”

“By his love he is betrayed, and his love betrayed also.” So fate agrees with me, Fitz and the Fool are in love? :)

Anytime the potential that Fitz might have to choose between Molly and Nighteyes I lose brain cells. That’s ur brother Fitz!!! It’s not even a choice!! How dare u

It’s just sooooo intentionally laid out for us in this book that Fitz’s relationship with Molly really wasn’t good or healthy and that his fixation on it is misguided, and I think that’s why I struggled sooooo hard with the ending of Fool’s Fate, because it kind of implied the exact opposite. I’m hoping on this reread I will pick up on it being laid out as a result of Fitz getting his memories/teen feelings back rather than it just feeling like a lowkey retcon, but I guess we’ll see lol

“I felt I was a bit in love with him, you know. That sort of lift to the heart.” the confirmation that the Fool KNOWS HOW IT FEELS TO BE IN LOVE sends me deep into the swamps goodbyeeeeeeeeeeee

“The one who loves him best will betray him most foully.” So fate agrees, the Fool loves Fitz best :)

“You do love me! … Before, it was words. I always feared it was born out of pity.” Godddddd Foooooooooool!!!!!!!!!!! 

Everything about Fitz, the Fool and Nighteyes meeting in the skill for the first time is just truly perfect iconic unparalleled.

Fitz’s love for Verity hurts my heart so much. Just think of the relationship they could have had if they weren’t stupid royals.

Kettle’s whole speech about Fitz and Molly… Just yes to every word.

Look I’m just gonna say it… The way Burrich reacts to Molly’s advances … like I know it’s probably not intentional but it just reads as very much fitting in with my headcanon that he is gay. As soon as she makes it clear she wants to sleep with him he like leaps across the room lol. I do believe he cares for her and loves her in his way, but it does feel mostly like he’ll just do whatever he needs to to care for her and the baby.  Sowwy

I wonder why the Fool wasn’t as affected by his giving up of memories to Girl-on-a-Dragon?? Or was he, and he just gets them back before we see him again in Tawny Man?

“Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone.” um this is so fucking sad

It was the Fool who sent Starling to find Fitz after Verity uses his body and again I have to ask, wtf is going on in your mind, Fool!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit D: Even once he actually sleeps with Starling he has no enthusiasm about it, he just kind of goes along with it, likely to prove to himself that he has really let go of his past/Molly. 

I always wonder why the Fool leaves now. Is it because he thinks their work is done and doesn’t want to risk messing things up by hanging around his catalyst like at the end of Tawny Man? Does he intend to come back and find Fitz again but get sidetracked by a lead or a new dream? Like it’s just weird because at first he was like “Prophet and Catalyst stick together” and was gonna stay with Fitz - or was that just an excuse because he was obsessed with Girl-on-a-Dragon? Fool u spicy lil enigma

It’s blood and the wit that wakes the stone dragons so does that mean King Wisdom was witted? Or is that obvious lol

Fitz isn’t even bothered by the Fool’s kiss, just shocked. I am looking.

Patience shouting orders at Verity-as-Dragon is beautiful ksjjk

Of courrrrrssse Burrich names his first son Chivalry

In the epilogue, the Fool is the only one Fitz actually says he misses. Exquisite.

I know some people have an issue with Regal’s death but personally I find it delicious

Okay that’s all (I say as if this wasn’t 139841989 pages long). See y’all in 92 years when my sister finally starts reading Liveship!

[tricktster]

I feel your pain. My brother has lifelong health problems that are rapidly getting worse. Every appliance that uses water has broken at some point over the last month. Also, I have bought snd exchanged three fish tanks, because each fish tank had a leak. My dental cap ollied out. To be fair I DID do some black magic adjacent shit. So like. I'm bearing it as gracefully as I can :p

Hoo boy, you and I should grab an age appropriate beverage sometime because i also have a loose filling and an unexpected aquarium shrimp tragedy on my list of grievances...

okay well it’s not that huge, it’s just that I was getting anxious because Baja Blast, my recently acquired and spectacularly beautiful blue pearl neocardinia, was acting sluggish and her gills, which had been tinged a distinctive looking neon green a few weeks ago, now looked impacted and weirdly frilly.

So I did some googling and discovered that Baja Blast had ellibiopsidae.

Ellibiopsidae is a fungal parasite that looks kind of like a lichen and essentially eats a shrimp alive from the inside. There is literally no cure recognized by the scientific community, though there are some businesses that will really try to sell you otherwise. I am at my fucking limit for snake-oil miracle cures rn, so I did the same thing I do with regard to my parent’s condition, i.e. skipped the bullshit and went right to the peer reviewed journal articles... and yeah.

Not only is there no cure, but if the infected shrimp molts or dies and the other shrimp eat the infected shell or body (which happens all the time because shrimp are grade a nastyboys), it’ll spread through the tank. So, I had to do the right thing for the good of all my animals, which is the worst thing, and euthanize this little tiny beautiful little being.

I am soft about being the cause of animal death, and getting softer. It’s been years since I ate any mammal (or ridiculously, octopus) meat, which I originally claimed was for environmental reasons, but is in practice because if I can look into the soft, vacant eyes of my idiot axolotls and see that there is some sort of inner life therein worth respecting and protecting, well, shit, have y’all met a pig or a cow?

(If anyone is curious, I still eat chicken and fish; fish, because it is incredibly hard to avoid and because I can vote with my dollar to support sustainable and ethical fishing practices, and chicken mostly because I have spent enough time with chickens to know that if they had any say in the matter, they would eat me first)

Anyway, even though I’m soft about animal death, I will absolutely push myself past any amount of squeamishness when it comes to an animal in my care that is suffering. So, I made the call not to subject her to weeks of untested and possibly painful treatment with little chance of success, and I euthanized a being, even though it really bummed me out, because it was the right thing to do for the greater health of my colony.

I’m getting introspective here, because the analysis I had to engage with there is, on a much larger scale, what my parent is dealing with. I’m trying to respect their confidentiality and not put their personal struggles on blast, but I think maybe an analogy is useful: what is going on is akin to contemplating the amputation of a dominant hand.

Sticking with the metaphor: My parent has a congenital condition that, unmedicated, would lead to the total loss of function in both hands. This is a nightmare for them, as it would be for anyone who has gone 65+ years enjoying full use of their hands, only for that ability to suddenly falter. Due to recent medical advances, they have been recieving regular medical treatments to retain function in their hands, which is extremely unpleasant to go through, but has been worth it because the treatments have not only stopped the progress of the disease, but actually produced some improvement in function.

As with any medical procedure, though, the treatments my parent recieves have some wildly unlikely possible complications. Two weeks ago, my parent received their treatment and it quickly became evident that one of those incredibly unlikely complications had occurred in the most severe way possible. Since that day, it has been a constant, round the clock battle trying different approaches (all extremely painful!) to combat this complication. My parent lost all function in their “hand” on the day this all manifested, and has not had any restoration of function since.

At first, the goal of the medical approach was to restore function to their “hand”, but we are pretty far past that now; the goal is now to not lose the “hand” entirely, forget function. Things have somewhat stabilized, but the prognosis is incredibly foggy and unclear at this point, and all the while my parent has required constant care and has been in incredible pain. Emotionally, they are at the point where it is a question of how much more of this it is fair and reasonable to subject themselves to. The prospect of amputation and prosthesis is extremely upsetting, and the thought of going forward like this indefinitely is ... also extremely upsetting.

My brother is an incredibly smart man with a ton of knowledge on the issue of maintaining quality of life in elderly populations - that’s his life’s work, in fact. He is very concerned about the prospect of amputation and prosthesis because he fears that it will have a potentially huge impact on my parent’s quality of life going forward, and because he is optimistic that we are on the right track to have further medical breakthroughs that would allow my parent to regain function down the road if their “hand” is not surgically removed now.

And me? I’m soft, and my parent is in excruciating pain, and I cannot help but think of the calculus I always have to run for the beings in my care - is the possibility of a cure sufficient to ask them to endure an indeterminate period of suffering? Is it fair and ethical to ask them to endure this, on the offchance that whatever’s wrong can be fixed?

There was a simple answer for me in the case of the shrimp. There’s not one when it comes to this, to the big thing looming over my life and thoughts that actually really matters. And, of course, my family isn’t alone in struggling with something like this, particularly now, with a pandemic boiling through my country that is forcing so many of us to face similar dilemmas; what is kind, what is fair, what is medically possible, what nightmare will develop next that we are powerless to prevent? How do you do the right thing here, when the worst and most unlikely scenario has manifested?

So, with ALL that said, I just want to express how profoundly furious, how absolutely enraged and impotent and wounded I am today, to witness a political party of bigots and sociopaths cluster together this afternoon to ensure that a judicial nominee is seated on the supreme court specifically because she will actively work to make these intimate and painful medical decisions harder and more scarring and with greater risks to consider.

This post is ALL over the place but needless to say I am in a mood.