#in my mind those woods are where are post box is

[letorip]

Can you do headcanons about meeting/first date with Jenna’s characters?

meetings & first dates

very funny to think about, i really did have quite good fun writing this one. thank you as always to the anon who requested, i was happy to oblige. also this isn’t what i originally planned to put out but casual [iii] should be out soon so maybe this’ll fill the void. i'm also on holiday at the moment, so that's why i'm posting at a weird hour (5 am) my ass had a plane to catch

i think i cooked on the lorraine one, would y'all want that one too

wednesday addams

you meet her in jericho, working behind the counter of the hardware store your parents own, when she stomps inside in her rain soaked boots and down a random aisle without a word at you

when she comes back with a shovel, some duct tape, a taser, and some rope, you have to awkwardly joke that it looks like she's trying to kill something

she doesn't laugh at your joke, instead staring right back at you, and you feel yourself gulp

that's your first interaction, and you don't see her again for a few days, until she comes back to buy a box of nails, and then a week later, a bucket, and a few days after that, a plunger

you won't know it until later, but she didn't actually need the nails or the bucket, she just needed an excuse to go back to the hardware store and buy some stuff so she could get up close to you

after four or five trips of her buying the most odd, random shit, she works up the courage to actually start talking to you a bit more. after a few more trips after that, you ask her what the stuff is all for, and she lets you in on the creature in the woods killing the locals, and that she claims to have seen it

for what it's worth, you believe her immediately, about rowan and the hyde and crackstone, and you listen to her theorise, leaning on the counter until someone else comes in and asks you where the plywood is, and you have to actually go do your job. wednesday stares down the intruder, trying to smite them with her eyes, but you always give her an apologetic smile before you leave

she tells you later when you're better friends and she's confessing, but she thinks of you as an odd comfort and home that she never realised she desired, and being in the hardware store and having you smile at her gave her a single fluttering of that warmth

eventually she brings you on her investigations and her cold, dead heart is running a million miles an hour the entire time, but you have to hide how close you are to wednesday from your father, because of his passionate dislike of outcasts

wednesday comes to your back window and chucks rocks at the glass to get your attention, romeo and juliet style, so that you can sneak out

when you actually ask her out, it's before you've even kissed, and wednesday wordlessly nods yes with her mouth hanging open, before she grabs the collar of your jacket and messily kisses you for the first time

your first date is to a movie, and to a horror movie, to be more specific. you take her to get food at a local diner that's open 24 hours, super late at night, and though she makes a remark about how these restaurants were unhealthy and an indicator of what's wrong with america, she thoroughly enjoys her waffle and you even manage to get her to wear one of those silly diner hates for a moment. she doesn't admit it, but she likes making you laugh

the movie is an incredibly rough experience. you despise horror movies, but wednesday is left smiling at the screen as a man is ripped to shreds in front of your eyes

that is until she realises your discomfort, and she realises you only did this because you knew she would like it. the realisation literally blows her mind, and she watches your face contort in disgust and fear, before gently reaching over and hastily grabbing your hand

she doesn't say another word, struggling to process the new emotions until you're both done with the movie and walking home. you're ranting about how gross it was and how you would be having nightmares for weeks because of it, and then she reaches up to the back of your neck and pulls you down into another fiery kiss, right as it starts to rain

tara carpenter

you've known tara for years, since you're also from woodsboro. you went to the same elementary school and she’s known of you for a long, long time since you chased her around the playground with a lizard in your hands

tara's always liked you, and you've both always had some attraction to each other and magical chemistry, but there's always been something to keep you apart

tara's involvement with amber and then chad, and then your own girlfriends, it was never the right time for you both to explore whatever electricity you could feel between you, so you didn't until you were both well into your year at blackmore

you only really get close until you take the same film class as tara. tara takes it because she's a film major and you take it because you need the credit and it's the only option of a class that takes place after 8 in the morning

you sit right next to each other and for the whole semester, you two slowly grow closer and closer, poking each other and whispering stuff while the professor prattles on

she's the de facto film buff of the group, only rivalled by mindy, and so you go to her whenever you're working on a project, because you're definitely the type to watch stupid shit, and not the high-brow film stuff the class requires

it means you end up hanging out a lot, at the library, at the coffee shop, on the couch of her apartment. you both set up the '1 for 1' rule, in which she gets to show you a movie for ever movie you get to show her

and she shows you really annoyingly good stuff, while you make her watch utter garbage. neither of you admit it, but you end up liking some of the high-brow art she pushes and she ends up having fun with the stupid movies you show her

when she makes you watch the babadook, you make her watch hot tub time machine, when she makes you watch citizen kane, you make her watch bridesmaids, and when she makes you watch la la land, you make her watch zoolander. it's a mutual exchange of interests, and you both lean against each other when you watch them on the couch or on her bed

paddington absolutely makes tara carpenter cry, there, i said it, and you show it to her and hug her when she does

things are genuinely just so easy and perfect with you, and it's so natural in a way that is unnatural for tara, but in a good way. you're unlike anyone she's ever been with, and it's refreshing and new in a way that's so exciting when you both kiss during the movie before sunrise

that's why it's so funny when your first date goes absolutely awfully

it rains on you, while you both walk to the restaurant and neither of you brought an umbrella because it wasn't projected to rain. then the sushi place you're bringing her to completely forgets your reservation and you're both waiting 30 minutes to get a table, and to top matters off, you end up being allergic to a fish you try for the first time, and need to get taken in hospital

you're not even choking really, just broken out into hives and feeling lightheaded, and tara's in the ambulance with you on the way there, and you're both talking casually, like "how was your day?"

you both get there and realise tara forgot her phone at the restaurant, and whereas anyone else would be pissed and call it a terrible date and give up, you both are fucking laughing your heads off at how cartoonishly awful the date went, even though it's a hospital, and that probably isn't the right place to be laughing in

when you're released super late that night, you both end up just wandering around new york until the late hours of the morning, just talking and occasionally holding hands. tara mentions that it reminds her of la la land, and you kiss, and what would've been a deal-breaking, awful date for anyone else just becomes something you shared with each other, and brings you even more in love

reminds me of the song ant pile by dominic fike

lorraine day

you meet lorraine as the kid of the new corn farmer in town, after your grandfather gets too old to be able to maintain his land by himself. your father has to come back and take over, due to his declining health, and you first see each other when lorraine and her daddy come to say hello and talk business for cow feed

she spots you in the back, leaning on the fence next to the field with your arms crossed and your hat pulled low, and you're just watching her and her dad talking to yours with a frown

she's set on edge by your presence, even though you're not really part of the conversation. she has to stop herself when she realises she keeps looking over at you every couple seconds, and you're still just staring at her and her father in a way that isn't exactly friendly

your dad is a generally nice guy, and he gives her your name in a passing mention and graciously accepts the pie lorraine's momma made to bring to the new partners, but it overall isn't a great first impression, and she decides right there in her daddy's truck on the ride home that she doesn't like you very much

when you're brought up again, it's by her father a week or so later. he's mentioning how helpful you are around your grandfather's farm over dinner, saying how your grandfather is blessed to have someone so good-hearted, and lorraine can’t help but remember the look of you glowering against the fence at them and doubt how true that is

she still doesn't like you, when you actually talk for the first time. RJ is bringing her home after an incredibly awkward date and gets a flat, and just as it starts to rain, guess who spots her and decides to pull over in their rusty ass pickup truck with a weird look on your face that lorraine can't help but assume is smugness

your truck bed is full of tools and supplies for your grandfather's farm and you haven't got a spare on you, but you know there's one in the shed on your farm. there's only one seat open in your truck, and even though lorraine heavily hints to RJ that she doesn't want to go, she's volunteered, as RJ doesn't want to leave his van on the side of the road, even though there's not many people who would touch the piece of junk

you snort when he insinuates that lorraine wouldn't be strong enough to fend off anyone who would take the van, and even though she's equally as miffed by RJ's assumption she's a bit annoyed by you defending her

the ride home is incredibly tense and neither of you say much until you're pulling into your yard and you say, "for the record, i highly doubt he'll be fending anyone off either." it's funny and it almost makes her laugh until she remembers she decided she didn't like you and she has to get serious again, and tells you not to talk about her boyfriend that way, and you don't say anything for the rest of the time you're helping her

she sits in the truck watching you from the wing mirror as you roll the spare out from your shed and then hoist it into the truck bed, looking sweaty and muscles tensing with effort. even though you're kind of annoying, you're tanned and you're fit, and it's something she can't help but notice whenever she goes to your farm in search of her father, who sometimes comes over to buy corn for his cattle

you both naturally start to grow into something resembling a friendship. you'll shoot the shit when you're not working, leaning on the handle of a shovel half in the ground, and lorraine will walk over and just kind of talk to you for a while. she doesn't even really realise the annoyance has melted away until it smacks her in the face that she was really wrong about you

your first date isn't actually a date until it's over. lorraine is at a lake day with her friends when one shows up with you in tow. she didn't even realise you had friends, but you're there with them and you look damn good in your swim suit, and you actually start talking a little bit about leaving the big city for your grandfather

you're all having fun, swimming around and talking, and she sees you're pretty funny when you want to be. it's kind of jarring to see just how wrong she was about you, and you both end up dancing around to your friend playing guitar and singing along

you end up being her ride home, and though there's still an underlying tension in the air, this time your truck is full of laughter and you're both actually talking. about halfway through, you accidentally let it slip that you asked your friend if lorraine was going to be there, and though the tips of your ears are red and you're apologising, lorraine can't help but reach right over and kiss you, and suddenly everything feels right in the world

cairo sweet

you meet her on the first day of creative writing, as the new student at your school, and mr. miller's seating chart places you directly next to her. she stares at you a bit, as if unimpressed by your existence, and you stare right back at her, equally as unimpressed

though you're new, you quickly skyrocket to incredible academic success, and cairo is enraged to find that with the transfer of credits, you're now really the valedictorian, sweeping it from underneath her feet at the very end of her senior year

with that, she absolutely despises you and everything you stand for

you have to trade papers for peer grading and while you calmly grade it at first, when you see that yours is covered in marks and cairo is being absolutely brutal beyond belief, nitpicking every little punctuation mark and symbol she can, you get a bit annoyed and start doing the exact same thing to her

it's a giant game of one-upping the other, and you guys repeatedly mess with each other like a chess match of fucking each other over. neither of you will admit you find the other annoyingly magnetic and captivating, you instead resort to messing with each other's standings

you both are duking it out over each little test grade, as cairo desperately tries to regain her spot at number one and you attempt to fend her off and keep your place. she'll brag about her perfect score on the calculus exam, and then you'll clap back with your extra credit. you absolutely dominate her in maths and sciences but she has you beat in creative writing and histories

winnie is greatly amused by the whole ordeal, and keeps insisting to cairo that you both should get it over with and fuck already but she scoffs and claims to resent the implication. doesn't mean she hasn't thought about it, though

her involvement with mr. miller is something she's only doing to maintain her spot as mr. miller's favourite student. cairo has the writing skill to back it up and is incredibly gifted with the pen, but you ooze a certain charisma that makes the teachers around you all giant fans, and she would be lying if she didn't say she was worried you would pull mr. miller's recommendation letter with it, and steal it right out from under her. it's entirely possible for a teacher to write more than one recommendation letter, she just wants the satisfaction of being the first one to get it

when you're partnered up on a group writing project that needs to be done in pairs, cairo sees it as the perfect opportunity to gather intel on you. another thing she hates is how mysterious you are, and how not many people actually know that much about you, other than how pleasant you are

she insists it has to happen at your house, and though you try to argue, she insists it has to be the case. it surprises her, when she puts your address into her phone and she sees it's a small one bedroom apartment in a bad part of town, without air conditioning and with terrible plumbing, and that your father works three jobs to support you

she doesn't know what she expected, but that's definitely not it, with your ability to dress and intelligence. suddenly her arch nemesis gains a third dimension, and she understands just how hard you work

though you're guarded at first, you both actually slowly discover that you don't exactly mind the other that much. you still want to keep your spot and she desperately wants it for her own, but you say something silly and it makes her laugh- really laugh- for what feels like the first time in a long time

you work together on the project more and more, and suddenly she's enjoying your company and wanting you around. she's definitely a little bit disgusted by that at first, but it's something she can't deny

she asks you on your first date to a poetry reading on a saturday, and you're a bit confused since the group project is already over, but you decide to go anyways and you have a great time. you say something profound after one of the poems, and cairo's eyes just drop to your lips in a weird amazement

she's dragging you to the bathroom immediately before the next poem can even start, and i don't think i have to say what happens next, but it's messy and there's lipstick everywhere

your father snorts when you get home that night, and there's dark red lipstick smudged all over your lips and a bit down your neck, and you roll your eyes at him with a smile

[spicynoodles789]

Katsuki Bakugo 𖤓 The Wrong Idea

𖤓 Where y/n likes Bakugo, but can’t father the courage to tell him

Cw: Fic + Smau, swearing, a little angst, set in third yearish (I'm so bad with timelines), reader is refereed to as she/ her, happy ending, kinda ooc Ochaco and Bakugo, y/n is kinda a pick me near the end

Notes: I’m sorry to any Bakugo x Ochaco shippers, but she was just the first person who came to mind 😅. Also, this is my first time posting something that’s partially a fic (not a smau), so I hope you all enjoy! 😊

Ochaco and Bakugou have been acting weird. They’d been hanging out together a lot more than usual. Always in either one's dorm, the door closed and almost always silent. 

Normally it wouldn’t bother you. In fact, you’d be happy that the boy you like and your best friend are spending time together…

But they’re so secretive about it. 

Questions are answered with nothing but murmurs of ‘mind your own business�� or complete avoidance of the matter. 

Ochaco knew how much you liked Katsuki. She knew how anxious you were that some other girl would snatch him up. 

And you were so sure that Katsuki felt the same way. That he liked you too. 

But now they were meeting behind closed doors, and you just couldn’t shake that feeling of dread, nor ignore the questions swirling around your head. 

What if this whole time, they’ve been laughing at you?

What if they’re together?

What if they’ve been playing you a fool?

Your gaze drifted to the box on your desk, full of the small notes and letters you found tucked under your dorm room door some mornings. Some were simple little reminders, while others were compliments. Most of the time, the compliments were on things you were insecure about the previous day, voicing your concern to only your close friends. 

But the handwriting didn’t match theirs. It didn’t match the writing of anyone in class. 

But some small part of you was sure that it was Katsuki’s handwriting. You were so sure you could smell the faint traces of his cologne on the paper. 

But if it was him writing those notes, then why is he suddenly being so secretive with Ochaco? 

You couldn’t stand the questions. You couldn’t stand the wondering. 

You stand up from your bed, finally deciding to do something about your inner turmoil. 

The walk to Katsuki’s dorm was agony. Ochaco had said earlier that she was busy at this time, so you knew they would be together. 

As you knocked on the door, you could hear the rustle of fabric and the soft thud of someone's footsteps. As the door opened, and Katsuki’s figure appeared before you, you felt your heart beat faster. Red eyes that normally made you feel flustered, now made you feel ill with a pang of betrayal. Because past those eyes, and into the bedroom, you could see Ochaco sitting guiltily on Katsuki’s bed. 

There was a ringing in your ears as you walked away, blocking out any and all noise as the two called out to you.

He liked you. Katsuki Bakugou liked you. 

You had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren’t dreaming. 

He liked you. 

You still couldn’t believe it. Not even as you're standing in front of his dorm door, knocking on the wood once again. 

You couldn’t hear the soft thump of his footsteps over the beat of your heart. But the tension in the air was thick as Bakugou opened the door, your eyes meeting. 

Just a few hours ago, you’d stormed away from his dorm in anger. But now…

Now you know the truth. 

“Y/n…” Katsuki’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. 

“I got your messages.” You said with the same softness, almost as if it were a mutual understanding between you too. He nodded his head and gestured for you to enter, which you accepted. 

The tension in the room was thick as the door clicked closed behind you. The two of you awkwardly shuffled on the spot, neither one knowing how to start. 

With a sigh, Katsuki spoke. “Look, about before-” 

“I spoke to Ochaco.” But you cut him off, your mouth moving quicker than your brain. “She told me everything.” 

A small grunt escaped from the ash-blonde. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Tch. Damn it round cheeks.” You could hear him mutter under his breath. A small silence followed, the repeated notion of either of you not knowing what to say. 

Katsuki’s room was always neat whenever you came over. The idea that he cleaned it just for you made your heart flutter. It was plainly decorated, with the small slither of All Might memorabilia scattered through. You always forget that Katsuki’s love for All Might rivals Midoriyas. He just wasn’t as out and loud about it. 

“I wanted to tell you.” Katsuki’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling your attention back to him. “I meant to tell you that I… y’know.” 

“Right.” You nodded, unsure of what to say. You were always so good with your words, but Bakugou seemed to rid you of that skill. He always did. 

“It’s just… I’ve always been focused on one thing, y’know? I’ve always wanted to be the number one hero, it’s the only thing I ever had my mind set on.” His eyes drifted to you. “Then you came along, Y/n, and you just had to complicate things. For the past two damned years, every time you spoke to me or even just looked at me, my mind would go blank and my heart would speed up. I can barely think around you. At night, I can only think of you. You drive me crazy. You’ve been torturing me for the last two years.” As he spoke, he migrated over to the edge of his bed, sitting down and resting his head in his hands. 

“So what you're saying is that I… distract you?” You ask as you carefully sit down next to him. 

“Tch, yeah. A big fucking distraction.” He muttered, but there was no hint of aggression in his tone. 

You swallowed, tilting your head slightly as you looked at Bakugou. “So you went to Ochaco for help. You didn’t know how to tell me, so you got her to help.” 

“Yeah, something like that.” He grunted, his red eyes meeting yours. “Then you had to go ahead and get the wrong idea, thinking we were hooking up or something.” 

“Yeah, not my proudest moment.” You chuckled softly, your posture slouching. 

“You’re such an idiot.” 

“I know.” 

There was another best of comfortable silence, the two of you just enjoying one another’s company. 

“I like you, too.” You said softly, a small pink tinge on your cheeks as your eyes met him once more. 

“I know.” He smirked that same cocky smirk that made your knees weak. “Round Cheeks spilled her guts.” 

You groan and dramatically flop backwards onto the bed. “Of course she did.” 

Katsuki chuckled at your dramatised misery. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear her. She was practically screaming in my ear.”

“Typical Ochaco.” You say as you prop yourself up onto your elbows. “I’ve gotta know. Was it you who's been sliding those notes under my dorm?”

“Tch, of course it was, idiot.” He scoffed, although you swore you could see a pink hue on his cheeks. 

“Thank god. I thought I had a stalker.”

“Yeah right. As if anyone would be dumb enough to stalk you.”

“Hey!” You protest, sitting up properly. “I’m an interesting person. I could have a-”

You were cut off by Katsuki’s lips meeting yours. It was sudden, but gentle. His lips were soft, and you slowly melted into them as your eyes fluttered shut.

When the kiss finally broke, you looked at Katsuki with a dumb grin. 

“What?”

“You kissed me.”

“Tch. Whatever.” 

“You kissed meee!” You teased him, getting close to his face. He put a sweaty palm to your cheek and pushed you away.

“Shut up idiot.”

You giggled and put your hands up in surrender. “Alright alright. But I gotta ask one question: Does this mean we’re dating?” 

After a careful, two second consideration, Katsuki nodded his head. 

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t get the wrong idea, y/n.”

[sundrop-writes]

“Has Ron saved a goal yet?” asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. “Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone’s watching him,” said Fred, rolling his eyes. “So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.”

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Hey everyone! I'm Sundrop, but you can call me Sunny. I am a fanfic writer, and this is my fanfiction sideblog where I post all of my newest fics, post fanfiction polls to help decide which fics I am going to work on, and post updates about upcoming fics. Right now, my main fandom is Harry Potter. If you have requests for any of the characters or if you just wanna talk about your favs, then you should definitely drop by my inbox.

About me: I'm a 90s baby, my pronouns are she/her (but I don't mind being called dude or other masc nicknames), I am autistic, bisexual, and polyamarous (and those things often heavily inspire my writing). I am chronically ill; I have POTS, EDS, and some of my fics may go behind schedule or may be cancelled due to flare-ups of my illness, just so you guys are aware.

If you want to know more about me as a person, you can see more of my random fandom posts and personal posts on my main blog @tenpintsof-sundrop. This is not my main blog, this is just a sideblog I use to post fics and updates about my fanfiction writing process so people who are interested can stay in the loop.

Please do not follow me if you support using AI to generate fanfiction or fanart, or if you use c.ai. I have worked for many years to cultivate my writing talents and I think it is a huge insult to writers to do these things. If I find anything on your blog that is AI generated, I will block you.

Currently Working On: untitled Tyrion Lannister fic

Coming Soon:

Untitled - Tyrion Lannister x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Arranged Marriage. Emotional Angst and Fluff (with a Happy Ending). Set during Season 6. When Tyrion was smuggled out of King’s Landing in a box, he had no clue what became of you, his wife. He only hoped that you were somewhere far away from danger. He forced himself to forget about you - until you show up in Mereen, reminding him that so much more than marriage connects the two of you. (9,000 words est.)

GONE M A D - Harry James Potter x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Smut with Plot. Set Post War. When Harry's career as an Auror crashes and burns after he performs a bloody, brutal murder under duress, believing that he is doing so for the greater good and protecting the Wizarding World once again, he quietly retires and disappears into the woods where no one can find him. However, after he cuts his quiet contact with Ron and Hermione, Hermione comes to you concerned, believing that you are the only one who can truly bring Harry back from the brink and get him to return to society - get him back to who he was. You fear that he might be lost for good, but you're willing to try. (10,000 words est.)

PART TWO of I'm Not Angry (Anymore) aka the George Handcuff Fic - George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Smut with Plot. Set Post War. When the uprising of Voldemort and the subsequent Battle of Hogwarts turn your life upside-down, you find yourself in the one place that you never thought you would be - working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with the two people who you hated the most during your school days. But times change, and even though a few years ago you would have murdered George after being forced to spend more than an hour with him - somehow the result is completely different when he handcuffs himself to you as a joke and then realises that he lost the key. And both of you end up liking the result very, very much. (50,000 words est.) (Will be posted in two parts.)

Post Hiatus Fanfiction Schedule

Fics I Hope To Write In 2025

Most Recent Work: Moth To A Flame - Fire Candle (No. 1 Sentai Gozyuger) x Fem!Reader - SMUT

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 36.

trigger warnings: sappy chapter, mother / daughter relationships… if you missed my post i made about this chapter you can read it here.

It's been 4 days since she left the hospital, 4 days since her mom dropped everything to fly across the country to stay with her, 4 days since she texted Cillian that she’s done, 4 days since Dana took her phone and blocked Cillian on texts, emails, phone calls, everything.

Zoe was on the couch back in her apartment, under a soft blanket with a cup of tea warming her hands. To say her mom dropped everything and flew to Zoe was an understatement - She called her mom while in the hospital and she was at Zoe’s doorstep that night. She stayed on the couch and was set to fly home the next day, but she kept postponing the flight; she always found “one more thing to do” and she “rather not rush to the airport.”

Zoe was shocked. This was not the mother she was expecting, nor the one she was used to. She treaded lightly, but that’s not to say she didn’t enjoy the sense of protection and motherly care she was feeling from her mom - a feeling she never really felt from her before.

At home, they were surrounded by cardboard boxes and chaos. Dana worked fast; she arranged movers to grab Zoe’s stuff from Cillians house and bring it back to her apartment - thank goodness she never broke her lease. Dana also arranged a dog sitter to stay with Scout until Cillian came back. She forwarded the info from her own phone, with a middle finger emoji at the end. Cillian did not respond, but the read receipt showed that he got the message.

“See, he doesn’t even care enough about his dog to respond, what a douchebag,” Dana had said when she showed her. Zoe was silent.

Her mom was on a cleaning spree, she was currently scrubbing the baseboards in the living room. Watching in shock, as she bore witness to her mom on her hands and knees scrubbing away, Zoe couldn’t help but wonder who this woman was. Simone Parker scrubbing baseboards? Right after pigs fly and we accomplish world peace!

Snapping out of it, Zoe sighed and pulled the blanket off her and put her mug on the coffee table. Zoe’s mom’s ears perked up at the sound of the porcelain mug hitting the wood table, and head snapped towards a now standing Zoe.

“Need anything, Bunny?” she said, standing up and wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Want some more tea?”

“Just getting a sweater. I’m a little cold, and I want more ibuprofen,” Zoe replied.

“Sit down, I’ll grab them for you,” Zoe’s mom said, wiping her hands on her pants and walking to her bedroom.

The worst of the pain / bleeding was over, but Zoe still had some lingering cramps - the doctor assured her this was normal. Her mom stayed by her side in the bathroom, holding her hand and rubbing her back through the worst of it. Zoe couldn’t help but think about those (embarrassing, drunk) times in the bathroom where it was Cillian rubbing her back and holding her. Both were very different scenarios, but they were similar on one thing and one thing alone: They both assured Zoe “it’s okay, I'm here.”

What a fucked up comparison.

Zoe plopped back down, not fighting her. She leaned her head back against the couch, mind drifting to Cillian for the 5th time that day. He would be on set, probably the last scene of the day. He’d be annoyed with his haircut; he usually had it touched up every other day. He would probably go back to his room, take a bath, and go over the script for the next day. That’s the Cillian Zoe thought she knew.

She’d be lying if the pictures of him and Lizzie didn’t bother her. She saw them as she was being discharged; Dana, now on a warpath, saw the pictures and took it upon herself to also block his name on instagram and twitter on Zoe’s phone so no pictures from anyone would come up in her feed. Zoe was thankful for it; She tried to play it off and act like it wasn’t. big deal, but deep down the pain of seeing them together as she’s literally miscarrying his child was a betrayal and type of hurt she didn’t wish on anyone.

“Here you go, and let me get you some more tea,” Her mom said, draping a sweatshirt over Zoe’s lap as she made her way to the kitchen, grabbing her mug.

Zoe looked down at the sweatshirt and smiled; it was her dads old Fire Department sweatshirt.

She held it up to her nose and smelled it; if she concentrated hard enough she could find the faint smell of cigarettes and menthol gum that was embedded in the fibers. The sweatshirt was so old - the collar was fraying and there was a growing hole on the cuff, but it was still her favorite sweatshirt.

“How’d you know I was gonna grab this one?” Zoe said, smiling.

“Ugh, please. I used to have to pry that out of your death grip while you were sleeping just so I could wash the ratty thing,” Her mom said, placing her mug full of fresh tea in front of her on the table.

“Yea, I had this one for a while,” Zoe said, pulling the sweatshirt over her head.

“Your dad gave that to you on the days he’d have the night shift. He didn’t know you’d still have it in your 30’s. If he knew that I'm sure he would have tried harder to get the barbecue stain out… that is, if he even knew he got food on it in the first place, that slob,” she muttered.

Zoe frowned. “Mom, did you…. How do I say this? I know you two loved each other. But did you even like him? The way you talk sometimes ….” Zoe trailed off.

Zoe’s mom looked down at her lap.

“Zoe.. regardless of how I feel about him, the most important thing to me is who your father was to you. The way you looked at him and adored him was everything to me. There is nothing, nothing like seeing your child have such a connection with their father … As for me..I..” her mom hesitated, “You know what? I want you to remember him the way you remember him. Hold onto that, honey. Never forget it. And don’t let me, your sister, anyone tell you otherwise.”

Zoe blinked at her mom. She was so confused. “Is there something I don't know?”

Zoe’s mom finally lifted her head to meet Zoe’s gaze, with tears in her eyes. Zoe’s heart dropped.

“Zoe… I know I'm not the best. I don’t know everything. I say the wrong thing. But I'm not your enemy, I don’t know when i became one but it’s the farthest thing from the truth. I love you with every fiber of my being, I will do anything to protect you. You’re my daughter - my baby. Nothing could keep me from getting to you. Your father and I didn’t have the best relationship but I know for a fact,” Zoe’s mom paused, wiping her tears from her cheeks, “Your father would be so proud of you.”

Zoe let her tears roll down her cheeks. This is all Zoe ever wanted to hear. Zoe’s mom came over and sat next to her, pulling her into her arms.

Zoe felt like a kid again, curled up in her dads lap, crying over something that was bothering her. Her dad was the first person she ran to - “dad always makes it better,” he’d tell her. He’d shush her and rub her back until she calmed down. It’s been a long time since she felt that feeling.

And now, 20 years later, she’s feeling it again .. this time, as an adult, with her mom.

What a weird, fucked up week, Zoe thought.

After about 5 minutes, Zoe sat up, taking a deep breath. She felt like the conversation left off with things unsaid, but she didn’t want to budge. Maybe one day she would ask her mom more about her relationship with her dad. But for now, she’ll listen to her mom - she’ll keep her memory of her dad close, and don’t let anyone compromise it.

She looked at her mom differently, maybe this could be the start of a different relationship with her. It’s been so rocky, she assumed it was broken beyond repair. Maybe it’ll be different this time, maybe her mom will be a changed woman...

Zoe’s mom reached out and took Zoe’s face in her hands. “Okay, enough crying for the week. My beautiful girl, you get your looks from me you know.. Bunny, are you using that wrinkle cream I sent you? Your crows feet by your eyes are getting bad. Morning and night, don’t forget-“

Zoe laughed.

Changed woman, maybe not so much. But she’ll take what she can get.

tags: @lau219 @kikimurphys @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershowdymiraclestudent @shopgirl6us @allie131313 @borntodiemp3

[formosusiniquis]

diana prince and stevie h.: variations on a theme

Inspired by this post by @secondconcussion cause I saw it earlier this week and couldn't stop turning it around in my mind

also on ao3 for easier reading

It's not Eddie's fault he got lost.

That's the first thing he wants to get out of the way. He'll take his lumps if he has to, Uncle Wayne can be a surly fucker when he's woken up before his alarm, "Not all those who wander are lost, Ed, isn't that what you said. Just wander your way back home." But Eddie's heart is gonna wait to be warmed that Wayne loves him enough to quote Lord of the Rings until after he's back in the part of Hawkins he recognizes.

"It's the ‘not all’ that I need you to wrap your head around old man, cause I, your dearest nephew, am very lost."

"Your my only nephew, and gettin' less dear by the second," Wayne lied like a liar.

He wasn't above begging, not when he'd already walked fuck knows how far to fuck knows where. "Please, Wayne!"

He hears a grumbled sigh and knows he's won, "Where are ya?"

"Um, woods?" He can hear the thunk of the phone being slammed against something hard, but at least Wayne doesn't hang up.

Hawkins is a small town, by Eddie's standards, but it expands in strange ways. Every summer he spent with Wayne it seemed to unfurl in different directions, a flower blooming a little different each year. It was not the gridded out cityscape he'd grown up in.

So when Eddie came down from Indy every summer to escape parents who managed to toe the line of awful just well enough that CPS kept their noses out of the Munson’s business, he would wander but never far. Just far enough to find the park and the playground that Wayne hadn't thought to mention. Far enough to find a corner store where he can pocket the extra candy bar he couldn't afford with the spare change he had -- and he wasn't going to put back the magazine he was buying, Wayne had nothing good to read and he couldn't make a library card yet. Far enough to find an abandoned picnic bench to smoke up at so his borrowed bedroom didn't smell like weed. Far enough to make some friends.

Only now that he's twenty, and some change. Now that he's graduated high school, third time lucky. Now that he’s decided to leave the trouble he could feel stirring in the city for someplace that always felt more like home. Now that he is an official Hawkins resident, he's wandered a little too far.

And it's not his fault, but he's not gonna tell Wayne that.

Cause the thing is, Eddie has always thought better when his feet were moving. After an hour of pacing around his trailer, still full with half unpacked boxes of things he hadn't realized he'd collected -- boxes that make him feel like a caged animal, that he'll be living out of for the next two months at least -- he has to leave. His first mistake, trusting that his feet will lead him around the parts of Hawkins he knows.

His mind twists plot hooks and campaign NPCs around his head, determined to get ready for when his friends come around later that afternoon with the pack of freshmen, now sophomores, that they'd adopted. He won't apologize for wanting to impress a new group of kids and wanting to convince Jeff he wouldn’t be sorry about passing off his DM mantle to a guy they used to only see two months out of the year. As he's thinking about a sect of female warriors -- a mix of barbarians and rangers, buff and leveled way above where the party will be -- and whether it'll just come across as horny the way the DILF-y elven mages he'd tried to include last year did, he sees her. Notices her, more like; a nymph, a dryad, a goddess sprung fully formed from his imaginings.

She crosses his path at a light jog. The shortest green athletic shorts he's ever seen clinging to the shape of an ass he could bounce a quarter off of. He can see the way her broad and muscled shoulders shift beneath the white sports bra she's wearing. It's the cool down portion of her workout, he guesses, from the way he can mostly maintain the small distance between them and the way sweat runs in rivulets down her back and trim waist. He wants to lick it off of her. She looks like she was built to fire a bow or break him in half, a Kinsey Five, it's the women who could kill him that always capture his attention.

He trails behind her, mind still turning over his session prep for the day and maybe thinking a little bit about whether she had a boyfriend. Hindsight will grant him that it's weird, the way he trailed behind her like a stray dog like this. But then, as he's sitting in the cab of Wayne's truck, he'll remember the way her thick, muscled thighs moved, how she bounced on the balls of her toes. He'll remember the way her ponytail swished over her shoulder as she glanced back at him, his first look at the lady's fair face, the way she'd smirked at him before bounding off of the roadside into the woods.

So totally not his fault he got lost. It probably happens all the time. The payphone on the opposite side of the road for sorry suckers like him who fall into her snare. Shit, maybe he should have stayed put, he hadn’t been thinking about why she might have a snare.

Wayne found him eventually, even if he spent the drive back to Forest Hills muttering about how Eddie had even found his way over to that side of town. How next time he aimed to get lost he should bring a map or a compass or a dog, and find his own way back. So he doesn’t ask his uncle about the mystery girl that could snap him over her knee like a dry twig, cause in the mood he’s in right now Wayne might go find her and embarrass the hell out of him.

Later, when Jeff and Gareth and Joey have piled onto the broken in couch that Wayne had given him. When the first teen that he doesn’t know knocks a little too quietly on his door, but grins wide enough to split his face that they’ve got a new campaign and a place to play over the summer. When they’re waiting for the last one to arrive, Eddie thinks about asking about her. She had to have overlapped with them in high school for at least a year or two.

Eddie knows already though that he won’t. Plus there’s a chance they’ll tell him anyway. He’s been on the receiving end of enough ‘Is that supposed to be Ronnie James Dio’s’ and ‘Wait are you describing Sigourney Weaver’s’ to hope that once he starts describing the Amazonian warrior who will hopefully be haunting his dreams he’ll get a ‘Doesn’t that sound just like…’

And yeah, maybe he’s starting to get a little impatient. But with the way he’s got the campaign laid out it will be at least two hours in before he gets a chance to describe her. At least, and he has to know who she is tonight.

“Dude,” Gareth starts, probably sick of the way Eddie’s bouncing his leg, “where’s Dustin?”

Will, the quietest so far of the new recruits looks almost too concerned, “He knows where it is right? Has anyone-”

Sinclair, he thinks the group arrived in mass and he’s not sure he’s partnered faces with the rush of names correctly just yet, pulls a walkie talkie with bells and whistles he didn’t even know you could attach from a backpack on the floor. “Dustin, come in, what’s your ETA?”

The tension in their corner of the room ratchets up enough to have Eddie’s palms start to sweat. Will brings his thumbnail up to his mouth, worrying it enough that it’s sure to start bleeding soon. “I’m sure it’s-” Sinclair starts to say, interrupted by a clattering outside then a bang to his door that yanks on the frayed edges of Eddie’s nerves.

He feels a little like a squirrel trying to cross a highway, the way the babies about to join the party are watching him with the knowing terror you watch something about to die.

Except the thing at his door is not Jason or Freddy, it’s a half-pint with a white hat pulled low over his head. The missing Dustin, who has no problem bullying his way through Eddie’s now open door.

“Ew, dude, why are you sweaty?”

"Because, Michael, I had to bike all the way across town." Eddie, and it looks like half the group, is about to ask some variation on why when Dustin holds up a hand shutting them all up masterfully "Because," he stresses each letter like they're what's wronged him, "five minutes before we were supposed to leave mom catches Stevie gossiping with Robin and she totally flips out about how she didn't take Stevie in just to watch her get herself killed. And then when I asked who was taking me here, Ma said she 'didn't buy me that bike just to have it sit in the garage!'"

The kid is incensed so it doesn't feel like the time to ask what the fuck is going on. Not when everyone else snorts and snickers at Dustin's expense. "Damn Stevie really fucked up if Dustybun got sent out on his own," Gareth jeers.

"Your mom does know what Stevie keeps in her trunk right? And she ruptured Preston's balls when he grabbed her ass last year," Lucas points out.

Hawkins, Eddie is learning, might just be full of girls to fall in love with.

"Stop saying that like it's hot, that's my sister you're talking about. I'll tell Max."

"Max still thinks Stevie's hot, dude."

"Are we gonna have to walk home just because Stevie's done something stupid again?" Mike complains.

"You didn't care about Stevie doing something dumb when she climbed that tree in heels to get you down after you got drunk at winter formal. Or when she took her bat to those… things." Lucas shares a sly grin with Will, who looks torn between feeling awkward at the inclusion and the teenage bloodlust for giving your friends a hard time. "You can just admit you feel weird about having the same taste as your-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin shouts cutting Lucas off and sending the room, Eddie included into a burst of snorting laughter. "Dustin Henderson," Eddie gets himself under control enough to accept the offered hand, "excited to have a DM who isn't a total asshole."

"Eddie, sorry about your hot sister. Not sorry for being a new kind of asshole Dungeon Master. Let’s see them character sheets, kiddies, this ain’t your mommy’s book club, we aren’t just here to gossip.”

Things go off pretty well, for a seven person table where he barely knows half the players. Lucas has an impressive tactical mind, Mike is a passionate role player, Will has a character built so well it’s basically an art form, and Dustin is a wild card who can’t decide whether he wants to win or to walk into the obvious trap just to see what will happen. It’s not hard to adjust, even if the way Jeff keeps looking at him when he describes new NPC's is throwing him off his game a little bit. He can duck behind his DM screen and recollect himself, but seriously what the fuck.

“She stands taller than the tallest of you, bronzed skin and hair, imperious, she looks at you, Sir Jeffrey, and offers you a deal, ‘Best our strongest warrior and you can take him back with you. Fail and his impunity will be punished by death.’” He lets the threat hang heavy in the air, all eyes on him and desperately hanging on to every word. Minus Jeff who was giving him that look again. “And that’s where we’ll end things this week, boys.” Cause he really, really hadn’t expected any of them to just straight up steal the enchanted bow of the Amazons that they needed to fell the dragon; and he really, really hadn’t planned for the botched stealth rolls.

Everyone grumbles as they pack up their things, it’s music to his ears. A four hour session -- if he didn’t count the hour they riffed about character builds and backstory once Eddie had his hands on their sheets -- and they’re still itching for more. It’s almost enough to have him just call a dinner break, so he can hole up in his room and churn something out. But someone is beating out shave and a haircut on his front door before he can change his mind.

“It’s probably Wayne getting revenge,” Eddie says, “woke him up early this afternoon.” He taps back his two bits, swinging open the door, expecting to see Wayne’s smug looking face grinning back at him. He’ll take his ‘Don’t feel too good getting interrupted in the middle a something, does it?’ with grace.

Only instead of an old man with two days of scruff, the door opens on his modern day Aphrodite. A worn, grey athletic shirt bragging about being a 1985 Hawkins Swim Team Region Champ has covered the white sports bra, cropped it shows off a distracting sliver of toned stomach above a short green tennis skirt, and her perky ponytail is down in loose waves around a mole kissed face.

And he’s gaping like a fucking idiot at her.

“Dust, wanna introduce me to your new friend?” she asks, voice bourbon smooth as molten eyes rake down his body from the doorway.

“Eddie, this is my sister.”

Like her brother before her, Stevie has no problem shouldering her way through the door. Where Dustin had slipped through on a size difference technicality like a halfling, she places a warm hand against his shoulder and gently pushes until his feet and brain get it together enough to move with her. Even then they’re still screaming, god he’s positive she could have just picked him up. He really wants her to pick him up, maybe push him against the wall a little.

“Hi Eddie,” she says. Still in the doorway they’re hedged in by boxes marked ‘Kitchen Shit’ and ‘Unpack this first asshole’ breathing the same air almost, all because Eddie in his genius had dropped the last load of stuff from the back of the van right by the door. “Are we going to be seeing more of you around?”

“Obviously,” Dustin cuts in, “we only just finished the start of a totally epic campaign.”

“Obviously,” Stevie repeats, with a mocking tilt to her gorgeous smile. One he recognizes from this morning.

Jeff is still watching him, a set of eyes boring hard into the side of his face. “Eddie just moved to Hawkins, just spent summers here before.”

Something about that softens her. Her expression, her posture, easing into something a little less coiled to pounce but no less flirtatious. “To Hawkins?”

Shit, and she’s looking at him like he’s an idiot; but like a cute idiot that she’ll maybe want to put down on his knees. “Well the best band I ever played with is still in high school here, and a success story always sounds better coming out of a small town.”

“You’re in a band, huh?”

Dustin wrestles himself in the middle again, and it says a lot about his tenacity that he’s managed to rock Stevie back against the cardboard. “Whatever this is, I don’t like it and it needs to stop.”

“Load your bike up in the trunk then, shithead, and you won’t have to see it,” she fires back. He does push past her out the door, trying to let it slam shut behind him when she catches it in lightning fast reflex, “Scratch the paint cause you’re being a dick and your ass is grass!”

The rest of the sophomores are slow to pack up their remaining things, valuing gossip more than trying to comfort their friend on losing another soldier in the war of ‘thinks his big sister is the babest babe to ever hit Hawkins.’ 

“You should come to practice some time, band practice, for the um band."

Somebody behind him snorts, hears a whispered, "For the um band," that's probably meant to be a mimicry of him.

"Eddie's lead guitar," Jeff says, from a place of true friendship or pity. It's hard to tell.

Her eyes light up with a mischief, hair swinging as she cocks her head, and he can hear the requisite, ‘wow you must be so good with your hands,’ as clearly as if she had said it. Instead she says, “Gremlins, go get in the car. Tell Dustin, Ma’s pissed he didn't take his helmet and he should know first hand the dangers of head trauma.” It’s an inside joke, an unfunny one, from the way she grins as they grumble and groan and tell her to fuck off. Trooping out the door between him and Stevie they each let her pat them on the back or ruffle their hair, a little attendance check on the way to the car.

The trailer door shuts behind them with a slam, maybe not an attitude issue then and something to add to his to do list, but Stevie hasn’t left with them. “If you’re interested in what Hawkins has to offer, I could show you around.” She says casually. Conversationally. A comment for the room at large before she leans into Eddie’s space, warm breath against the side of his face making him shiver as she whispers, “I take the same run through town every day, and I always wanted a puppy to follow me home.”

Eddie is lost. In visions of the girl who just twirled out of his place on her heel after completely rocking his world. Has lost. His mind, his heart, and hopefully his status as single. But there are worse things he can think of than being lost in Hawkins.

[kimberbohwrites]

IT'S HERE -- SPECIAL TWO CHAPTER RELASE Hope for the Gate Chapters One and Two Word Count: 6,089 Rated: Explicit -- MDNI! READ ON AO3 (or continued below)

CHAPTER THREE> Please don't forget to kudos/comment/like/reblog <3 Rolan x Tav art by @ ORANGEKITTYENERGY on tumblr

Summary: Eight months after the events of 'All I Wanted' (my first Rolan x Tav fic [see series]), Tav and Rolan’s relationship is tested by tragedy and turmoil. There will be drama, romance, political intrigue, action, and of course — smut. Is our favorite tiefling strong enough to handle it all and hold on to the girl? Tags/Warnings: Rolan (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate). Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings. Porn With Plot, Tiefling Biology (Dungeons & Dragons), Tieflings (Dungeons & Dragons), Rolan in Rut, Anti-Tiefling Racism (Dungeons & Dragons), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Eventual Smut

A cool breeze drifted in through the opened window in his study, and Rolan steadied the scrolls on his desk before him with a groan. On the wind came the sweet smell of flowers that now grew in the boxes outside his office windows. Tav had installed them here and outside the bedroom and kitchen windows. He’d designed garden beds for the large terraces around the tower for her to work in as well.

She called them “Sylvanus’ Blessings” the flowers, fruits, vegetables, herbs, and other plant life that she thrived on sustaining. He wasn’t sure about all of that — but what he did know was that Tav loved them and he loved Tav. The breath still caught in his chest most mornings when he awoke and saw her face still asleep in the bed they shared. He still couldn’t believe she was his. Nearly each night when they slept in the same bed it would be at Ramazith Tower where they both had obligations and responsibilities. Some nights they watched the stars go down in the solemn little clearing in the woods where Tav’s homestead blossomed. The nights he hated were the ones where they slept apart. Luckily, they were few and far between now that he’d improved a more permanent portal between the Tower and her home in the woods outside the city. For that, Rolan was grateful. 

Tav’s presence in his life is a blessing and one he is still fighting to fully understand. How the most beautiful woman he had ever known could actually love him was still a question that nagged at the back of his mind. Despite his lingering fears, he’d managed not to mess up things with Tav since they’d made things official. It had been nearly 8 months since the night of Astarion and Gale’s wedding, since they’d confessed their love and agreed to work through their challenges and be together.

The bracelet he’d given her which could portal two people between the two locations was no longer necessary. He noted that she still wore it everyday and he barely managed to hide his moon-eyed smile every time he saw it on her wrist. While the red stones had originally been picked to match the dress she’d worn the night of that fateful wedding, he’d come to think of it differently over time. Deep down, he now felt a sense of possessive pride that the red bracelet against her wrist so closely resembled those moments when his tail coiled around the same spot. Something he took great pleasure in doing as he kissed her and as he took her desperately on the nights where he felt that possessiveness arise in him once more. When his self doubt was the loudest.

It’s almost strange how well she fit into his life and the lives of his siblings — Cal and Lia. They’d always been content as a trio and he’d often worried about how difficult things might be when that dynamic changed. But Tav’s closeness with them had eased his fears and only served to make him love her even more. Tav had already been close with Lia,  they were truly the best of friends and often co-conspirators in various schemes and plans. To Cal, Tav had become something of another big sister. Only partially to Rolan’s chagrin as Cal already seemed to hold Tav’s opinion in higher regard than his own.

It has always made him uneasy, the idea of introducing a new dynamic into their lives. He had been responsible for Cal and Lia since their mother’s passing and while he’d done his best by them, he understood that he couldn’t be their only family forever. He’d always believed it would be Cal or Lia adding someone to their group that he would inevitably hate. He’d been partially right in that regard, Lia had started seeing Dammon just before Tav and him had gotten together. But Dammon had always been a part of their lives, since they’d grown up in Elturel. The blacksmith had gone by a different name then, one they’d all long since forgotten.

Sure, having Dammon now dating his sister was new territory but even Rolan had to admit that Dammon was a good man. Bringing Tav into the fold had been something new entirely. Not because Tav wasn’t good, in fact Tav was almost too good. It was an undeniable truth that the three of them would most likely be dead if not for her. Hells, Dammon too. It was her who convinced them to stay with the rest of the refugees on the road, who had rescued his siblings from Moonrise Towers and him from himself, and Tav who had helped overthrow the former master of Ramazith Tower after she discovered his many transgressions and abuses of power.

Of course any time he had attempted to point out her many contributions, she waved it off or pointed out how Rolan was also the hero in their story. He’d actually caught her once, telling a group of children all about how he’d been a hero when the refugees had been cornered by the absolute. She’d caught them, having snuck into the shop to see some magic with their own eyes. Instead of tossing out what most people would see as street urchins, Tav had sat them down and spun a tale of heroism about the Master of Ramazith Tower. That was just who she was.

He’d happened upon it, toward the end of the story when she told the kids how the brave man who had rescued refugee children, then helped overthrow the cruel former Master of the tower.

“But — but I thought the new Master of the tower was grouchy!” One child had interrupted.

“I heard he’s like me!” A little tiefling girl had added with excitement and a swish of her little tail.

Her statement had been met with boos and groans from the other kids and Rolan had almost made a hasty retreat before Tav spotted him. With her radiant smile and an outstretched hand, she had summoned him to her side.

“He is” Tav had said to the Tiefling girl as she put an arm around him warmly and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

The children had scattered away with peals of laughter and other sounds of glee, disgust, and excitement that came from seeing two adults express affection for one another. Even though he had helped raise his siblings, Rolan had never been great with small children and was always nervous in their presence. Meanwhile, Tav seemed to exude a natural warmth and light that children found magnetic.

He snapped back to attention as he noticed himself daydreaming and worrying again instead of focusing on the pile of scrolls in front of him on his desk. Dragging a clawed hand over his face with a groan, he shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair. While things with Tav were great, the pile of responsibilities and anxieties in front of him was ever-growing. Tav had her own troubles as well and his heart was still weighed heavy for her.

Wyll had returned to back to Baldur’s Gate a few tendays after Astarion and Gale’s wedding with the darkest tidings. His fiancé, Karlach had perished in Avernus leaving him in a dark pit of grief. In a stroke of cruelty, the archdevil Zariel had destroyed the plans and the architect behind Karlach’s infernal engine, eliminating their hopes of being able to permanently stabilize the device. Tired of fighting off the inevitable, she’d chosen to return to the mortal plane to allow her engine to combust and her along with it. Wyll had even apologized to them through bleary eyes for not telling them sooner, explaining that she didn’t want anyone else to see her at the end. 

Rolan really only knew Wyll from their brief time at the Druid Grove, but it was clear the man he saw delivering the devastating news to Tav was a shadow of himself at the loss. He couldn’t blame the young noble — at the thought of losing Cal and Lia he’d come undone and tried to drink himself to death. The thought of losing Tav, well, he couldn’t even bear to consider that.

Rolan wasn’t known for his emotional depth, but he’d tried to be there for Tav as she grieved the loss of her dear friend while attempting to also support Wyll. It was just like her to stretch herself so thinly to support everyone around her. She’d done her best to stay strong in the tendays that followed the news of Karlach’s passing. He knew that he couldn’t force her to start the grieving process, but it worried him to see her so eerily okay. After about a dozen days she’d broken down sobbing over the sight of a child with a stuffed bear.

Rolan had held her close as the tears began to fall, whisking her back to the Tower so she might have some privacy. 

He was honored to be the one supporting her, it was a duty he took seriously, trying to remember to place her always above his other responsibilities. It was hard. As Archmage of Ramazith Tower he has his work cut out for him. But he wants to be more than just a great wizard. He wants to be a great brother to his siblings and a great partner to Tav.

And Tav — well she’s already impacted him more than he would like to admit it. He had never found himself caring much about the things and people outside of his immediate circle, until Tav. The world had been a largely cruel place in his repeated experiences. But there was something about the way she cared so profoundly for the world around her that warmed parts of him he thought were long dead. Thus, he found himself listening to Tav’s stories of the refugee’s needs and reading the paper more to stay informed about the city he now called home. Hells, he’d even went with her quite often to deliver the produce she grew into the hands of the Gate’s most vulnerable citizens.

Both he and Tav had thought that with the defeat of the absolute, the death of Archduke Enver Gortash and the reinstalment of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard to leadership of the city, things just might improve. The opposite had proven true. Rolan didn’t understand the politics at play within the city and neither did Tav, but to them it seemed like every one of Duke Ravengard’s best intentions was being undone behind the scenes.

Neither Rolan nor Tav were quite sure how to help. It had only been about 7 months now since Karlach’s passing and Wyll was understandably still grieving. Neither of them wanted to approach him about political matters. Tav had a hard time ignoring the growing signs of what she called “a rot” within the City. Intent to leave Wyll out of things, she had confided her suspicions with Rolan. He’d begged her not act rashly, to include him. In truth, he’d have asked her just to leave it alone but he knew she wouldn’t. 

If that wasn’t enough, things with Cal and Lia were also heavy on his mind. Lia and Dammon had been together for some time now and she was now over at the Forge of the Nine more often than he saw her around the Tower. He was happy for her, he was sure of it — but the change was hard. It made him uneasy as he often found himself anxious about what would happen if she moved out, they’d never lived apart before.

Cal on the other hand was a different stressor completely. While Lia was essentially the General Manager of Sorcerous Sundries, Cal hadn’t been interested in working in the Tower with his siblings. It had been a hard conversation to have, Rolan had been angry at first but in the end he’d understood. Cal’s interest seemed to lie out in nature lately, he’d begun taking the stable portal that Rolan had made for Tav out to her homestead. While Tav was around Tower more, Cal helped to keep up around the farm and he actually seemed to enjoy coming home at the end of the day covered in dirt.

Tav went on about what a natural he was and before long, she paid him to maintain the crops and orchards while she saw more patients at the Tower. When the harvest came, there had been a notably higher crop yield that Tav attributed solely to Cal. He’d had an idea about what to do with the extras and so Lia and Dammon had built him a handsome rolling cart that he pushed around the upper city. With Tav’s blessing, Cal planned to sell the extra fruits, vegetables, and flowers from her farm.

Admittedly, Rolan hadn’t been thrilled about this idea when he’d first heard it. It’s not that he didn’t support Cal in his endeavors— he just worried. Baldur’s Gate had just barely allowed the Tiefling refugees within its walls and there was still a lot of small minded people who called the city home. He wasn’t sure how well a Tiefling selling produce would go over in the upper city.

Worse, it turned out his worries weren’t completely unfounded, for the very first week Cal wasn’t able to sell anything despite his best attempts. Before Rolan could get upset and storm off to the upper city to curse out the first posh person he found, Tav had volunteered to go with Cal the next time he went out. He was sure that having the “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” might help and if it didn’t, it didn’t hurt that Tav was prone to bursting into the form of a massive owlbear when provoked.

He smiled to himself as he thought about the only time he’d ever seen her in that form. He’d assumed the lovely Druid was simply a powerful spellcaster like himself. The unassuming human had always seemed so calm and patient, almost gentle. That was until she pieced together where the bruises and cuts all over his face had come from when they reunited in Baldur’s Gate after surviving Moonrise Towers and Last Light Inn.

Lorroakan had called him “boy” as he shouted his orders and threats to Rolan, during his former master’s fatal attempt at caging the Nightsong and gaining immortality. That had been the very last time the sham of a wizard had used that word. A howling screech had pierced the air and where the mild-mannered Druid had stood just a moment before, there was a full grown and very angry owlbear. Rolan had found himself staring, mouth agape as Tav took a vicious swipe at Lorroakan that had sent the sham of a wizard sprawling across his study.

Yes, Rolan was well aware she could handle herself but he still worried for her. Maybe that’s why he found himself so wistfully lost in thought today. He had felt a little under the weather as of late. Combined with waiting for Cal and Tav to return, it’s left him more distracted than he’d like to admit. But he hadn’t seen anyone running terrified through the streets of the city, so he assumed his beloved had gone unprovoked.

Snapping him out of his thoughts for good, Dammon strolled through the doors of the shop, his eyes searching the familiar space.

“Ah, Dammon! Lia is off at the market, you just missed her!”

“I know, actually, I was hoping to catch you and Tav for a chat, actually.”

“Oh? Well Tav should be back shortly — is everything okay? Is Lia okay?”

Rolan couldn’t help the edge of panic that laced his last question. He also noted how flustered Dammon appeared.

“What? No I mean, yes! Lia’s okay, she’s great”

“Then what’s this about, Dammon?”

Dammon sheepishly looked down, as if the answer to Rolan’s question were written on the floor of the Sundries.

“Well I —“

The laughter and excitement approaching the opened shop doors were the only warning the two men got before Cal excitedly dashed in and up to Rolan. Dammon’s sentence left unfinished, blessedly saved by the interruption.

“It went so well, Rolan! We sold everything for the day!” Cal blurted out with glee.

“And someone met a girl.”

He raised his head from Cal at the sound of his Tav’s sweet voice, she was just walking in the door and coming to stand beside Dammon.

“She’s not a girl! She’s a woman!”

Rolan shook his head at Cal as he walked around him to put his arm around Tav. His tail coiling around her ankle before he was even aware. Lately he couldn’t seem to be close enough to her, like no amount of skin contact would satisfy. It’s not that he wasn’t usually affectionate with her, but in public his affection was careful and calculated whereas lately it seemed almost impulsive, desperate, regardless of the location.

“Although technically, she’s a monk!” Tav laughed as she leaned into Rolan’s touch.

“One thing at a time, please!” Rolan said holding a hand up in defeat.

“Well Dammon was here first,” Tav laughed.

“Alright, I can be patient! Like a monk! I’ll go upstairs and wash up” Cal said as he retreated for the stairs.

Tav moved to leave as well but found his tail still coiled around her leg, with him unaware.

“Would you mind staying? Dammon wanted to talk to you as well,”

“Is that a request or a demand?”

“What? Oh! Sorry!”

It was his turn to blush as she spotted his tail where it was currently latched to her thigh and released his grip. He felt a sweat rise on his brow at the lack of contact with her.

“It’s fine, love, I’m just messing with you. What can we help you with Dammon?”

Tav turned back to the blacksmith who had used the time Cal had unconsciously bought him to steady his heart rate and steel his nerve.

“I was wondering, if we might talk in private? Please?”

Rolan lead them a private office off the main floor of the Sundries and shut the door behind them, trying to shake off the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the heat rising on his face.

Rolan and Tav sat together on a couch while Dammon leaned nervously against the desk. Silence permeated the air.

“What’s this about, Dammon?” Tav said sweetly, clearly sensing the man’s nervous energy.

His answer came out all as one word, blurted in a near-shout to the surprise of everyone in the room, Dammon included.

“IWantToMarryLia!!!”

CHAPTER TWO

“I… I want to marry Lia.” Dammon tried again, calmer and more collected.

When the blacksmith finally got the nerve to check the reactions to his news he found Rolan staring at him, jaw dropped. Tav watched Rolan closely, her eyes anxiously looking between the two men. Silence hung in the air like the smothering heat from an opened oven. Rolan felt the start of sweat forming on his brow and noticed his tail had once again wrapped around Tav’s ankle as if it had a mind of its own. Tav finally broke the silence.

“Dammon that’s great news! Isn’t it Rolan?”

“Why are you telling us!?”

Rolan’s question cut through the air with a sharp edge to it that was unmistakable. Not an angry tone, but certainly an irritable one. He felt Tav’s hand on his shoulder, both a gesture of support and a warning of his temper. He took a deep breath and reached up to touch her hand in acknowledgment.

“Well, I know we’re not in Elturel anymore and there’s not much left of home, but I wanted to be old-fashioned about this. I wanted to talk to her family first.”

Dammon blushed but he held Rolan’s gaze steady as he answered. Tav couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s so sweet! But wait, why am I here?” She asked.

“Well, Rolan is the oldest and you two live together so I thought it made sense to talk to both of—“

“We don’t live together” Tav interrupted.

“We don’t?!”

“You don’t?”

Dammon and Rolan’s responses came at the same time. The former’s was laced with anxiety and confusion and the latter with anger and confusion.

“You think we live together? You never even asked!” Tav snapped at Rolan, momentarily forgetting Dammon.

“I just assumed…”

“Oh Rolan, no.” It was Dammon who groaned the words and reminded them of his presence, wilting a little as both sets of their eyes fixed on him.

“Right, we’ll talk about this later… Dammon that is exciting news!”

Tav’s tone and smile seemed happy but both Dammon and Rolan noted the look of frustration in her eyes.

“Thank you for talking to us Dammon,” Rolan cleared his throat and awkwardly refocused the conversation back to the original topic, “I can hardly believe you’re being old fashioned now, you basically live together and you, erm, bit each other ages ago — could have gone without having to know that by the way but Lia had to put the mark so high on your neck, Gods, I can’t believe this is happening—“

“You’re rambling, Rolan”

Tav’s reminder was both loving and angry sounding at the same time.

“Right. Well, Congratulations are in order I guess.”

Rolan stood and exchanged an uncomfortable handshake with Dammon.

“Be good to her, please.”

Dammon smiled in response, his eyes a little misty. Tav stood next and gave Dammon a tight hug, tears were in both their eyes.

“And yes, do be good to her please. I’ve defeated the avatars of the Dead Three and I know where you live.”

Tav smiled sweetly when she pulled away and issued her threat. The Blacksmith gulped as the Druid made for the door and exited the office without acknowledgement of the other man, leaving the two alone in the cold wake of her exit.

A pain throbbed in Rolan’s side suddenly and he sat back down on the couch, wiping at the sweat on his brow.

“Getting to be that time, brutal,” Dammon said after taking stock of his appearance.

“What?”

“Oh, um, never mind.” Dammon pushed off the desk and made for the door.

“I was going to wait a little longer to ask, I wanted everything to be perfect. So, if both of you could keep a secret — Cal is such a blabbermouth,” He continued as he reached the door, turning back to look at Rolan on the couch he added, “I’ll wait a few weeks, you might need it”

Before Rolan could ask what he’d meant the blacksmith was out of the office with the door shut behind him. By that point a layer of sweat covered his entire body, causing his clothes and hair to cling to him uncomfortably. Another stab of pain throbbed in his gut.

“Fuck” He muttered to himself as the answer materialized before him. What Dammon’s cryptic words had meant and why he’d felt so off lately. It had almost been a year since his last and he and Tav had never talked about his ‘cycles’. He wasn’t even sure she knew about Tiefling mating cycles and he’d been too nervous to ask.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. There was so much to take care of and so little time before he’d be forced to take time off. By the feel of it he had a day at best. Standing with a groan he crossed the room to sit at his desk and pulled leaves of parchment from within the drawer with a well-practiced motion. He began writing notes to each employee of the Sundries with instructions for what to do while he was indisposed. Thanks to his hard work in the just over a year’s time since he’d taken over the Tower and his own instruction, he’d grown much stronger at magic than even he could have anticipated. What used to be complicated was now just a simple spell he would use to deliver the missives at the correct time and place.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- A few hours later, it is Tav who wakes him after drifted off into a feverish sleep at his desk. With the letters and spells completed, he’d begun getting ahead of the higher-level matters that required his attention. The first thing he’d noticed upon waking was her delicious smell. She’d always smelled amazing to him, like cedar and cinnamon, but this was something more. Her eyes are bleary with sadness.

“I’m sorry for just storming off and leaving earlier, I didn’t want to fight.”

“Me either”

“Rolan, you can’t just decide things without telling me. We have to have a conversation about these things”

“I didn’t just decide I simply thought we were living together, we’re always together and I just thought…”

Rolan trailed off with a frustrated sigh. Even as terrible as he was feeling he could see now where he’d missed the important step of asking Tav.

“Zurgan”

He ran his hands down his face, the gesture is one of both frustration and self-soothing.

“Tav I - I’m sorry”

His apology must have come too easy because she is immediately suspicious. Moving to take a closer look at him and bringing her intoxicating scent so close it was nearly unbearable.  His tail swished behind him with agitation.

“You’re sorry?! Are you feeling well? You look terrible, my love. Can I make you a cup of tea?”

He groaned. Zurgan, she smells amazing, she’s so beautiful, focus on her words you dolt. He could actually feel himself salivating in her presence and not over the thought of tea.

“Tea isn’t going to help this, my dear”

She sits down on his desk, next to where he’s working and glances at the discarded drafts of his notes and back to him. Does she know how beautiful she looks? Gods. It’s all he can do not to lunge at her and take her right on his desk.

“Rolan, are you…” She sighs, “Are you in rut?”

His mind is sent reeling in surprise and he makes an audible choking sound. How could she possible know about that?

“What?! How do you even know about that… Lia”

Rolan answers his own question before Tav could even open her mouth. Cursing his sister in silent frustration.

“Yes! But I’m also a healer, remember? Plus, you can hardly blame her. Awhile back, Cal literally vanished for two weeks after coming down quite ill and you acted like he’d gone on vacation. Honestly, I would have been angrier at you for never talking about it with me— but I guess I understand how talking about what your brother might be going through with me would be weird.”

Rolan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Not sure what to say next and grateful when Tav pressed on.

“We should probably finish this whole debate on where I live once you feel better. It’s like getting really sick, right? Who will take care of the store? I need to help you”

“Lia’s more than ready to handle things without me, plus just in case I’ve left detailed letters with instructions and suggestions on how they might conduct themselves while I am away.”

Tav threw her head back and laughed at him. He used to hate it when she laughed at him. Before he’d ever worked up the nerve to kiss her all those months ago. After that moment he’d begun to love the sound of her laugh. But now, the sound of her laugh reached out and grabbed him by the heartstrings and tugged. The feeling reaching from his chest down to the deepest reaches in his gut where a fire was already smoldering.

He groaned at the sound of her laugh, biting his lip and tasting copper as he restrained himself in her presence. She studied his face from where she sat on the desk just above him in his chair, a look of concern on her beautiful face. Ever so softly, she reached out her hand to stroke his jaw and he groans in response. His tail immediately whipped out to wrap around her wrist to hold her close. She gasped in response.

“So, you know… everything?” He gritted out as his eyes searched hers with a desperate hunger. He rubbed his cheek into her hand, so needy for the contact. A blush had formed on her cheeks and stretched down to her chest where her breast heaved unconsciously at the charged question.

“I wouldn’t say everything… I know it’s a mating thing and that for some it’s rut and for others it’s heat, and that’s its really kind of painful and can be really disruptive to day-to-day life.”

“Is… Is that it?” He panted out, never taking his eyes off her.

“That’s not everything, it’s easier, less painful if you have a… partner to satisfy your… urges.”

Rolan could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as she explained. He needed her so badly it was already driving him crazy, and his rut hadn’t even fully started yet. Her thumb traced a gentle pattern on his cheek that felt as if she were working the very Weave with fingertips.

“And there are some… anatomical changes as well,” she added awkwardly while glancing away.

His tail had lowered her arm to her side and moved to coil around her waist to pull her closer. Her eyes widened as he drew her face to his.

“I hate to say this, but you should probably go back to your place until I can think straight again.”

Tav laughed right in his face. That beautiful devastating laugh reaching down into him once more and fanning the flames within.

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. I’m not leaving you, my love”

“But…”

“That is unless you don’t want me… I don’t wish to intrude.”

Gods, she’s so good right down to her core. She is honey and sunshine, and I am the miserable wretch who craves her sweetness.  Her kindness only served to fuel the fire within him. He feels delirious with need, but he tries to steel himself. This isn’t true desperation; he knows desperation is what will happen once his rut has fully begun.

“It’s not that… I don’t want to hurt you”

“Hurt me?”

Her eyes widen in surprise, her breath is cool on his face relative to the heat that pours from his skin.

“You don’t understand, it might be dangerous for a human — I don’t know if I can be gentle with you under those conditions.”

She considers his words for a few moments before she responds. His mind is left to wander. All he can think about is fucking her, filling her over and over until one of them can take no more. Then he sees a light as if she’s realized something and he fills with dread — the Druid has always been abnormally astute in her observations of him.

“Have you ever gone through a rut with someone, Rolan?”

She says it nervously and glances away like she knows the truth and is giving him a moment of privacy. He can’t help but let out a sigh.

“No, I haven’t”

She looks back at him when he answers. The truth doesn’t cool the atmosphere like he thought it would, if anything she looks more interested, almost turned on by that thought.

“I trust you Rolan”

He’s on her in a second, closing the gap between their mouths with a hungry kiss. Using his tail around her waist, he draws her near so she is straddling him in his chair. It’s like bathing himself in her scent and it pushes him closer to the threshold of madness. His hands reach up to grab the sides of her face roughly, dominating the kiss. Their tongues meet with a savage energy and moans fill the once quiet room. Using the last reserves of sanity in his mind he wills himself to pull away.

“Tav…”

“Rolan if you want me, I’m staying”

She doesn’t even let him finish before she pants out her argument.

“Gods, I love you”

“I love you too”

She leaves a sweet kiss on his forehead, right between his horns — a place she knows will melt him every single time. How can he resist her?

“What if we head to your cottage? It can be just the two of us”

He suggests it as he mouths kisses on her neck, trailing up to her ear. A rush thrills through him when he hears her gasp of joy, and his tail tightens around her at the sound.

“Really?”

He nodded. Tav had wanted to take a long stay away from this city for some time and had talked about it many times. There had been a few opportunities where it looked like they might be able to — but between tragedy and obligations every attempt had failed. This would be his first rut he experienced with a partner — a special occasion in the life of any Tiefling and he wanted to make it special for her too.

“Of course, just give me a few more hours to finish up here and pack some things. You might want to give Cal the week off too, I’m sure Lia could use him around the store and…”

He trailed off when Tav winced as his point was well made. They wouldn’t want Cal around to hear or gods forbid see what they would be doing for the next week.

“Of course,”

The next forehead kiss she leaves made him wince, but the reaction is not one of pain or discomfort. As her lips connected with his skin it feels as if a jolt of pure energy radiates across his body from that very point. A near euphoria washes over his body unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Hells, it feels good.

“Zurgan, Tav”

Rolan filled his lungs with a deep breath of air. Making one last desperate attempt to master himself, so he might have a shred of a chance of accomplishing what needed to be done before their “impromptu vacation.” It’s a mistake. The scent of her overpowers him and something primal is released as a result. “Mate, my mate” His mind screams it, but he refuses to give in, not yet. When he continues its forced sounding - through gritted teeth. 

“I need you to stay away from me until we leave. I can’t— “

Mate, my mate, so beautiful, need her, fuck her, fill her. He closes his eyes and struggles to continue.

“— I can’t think clearly when you’re around right now. I’m sorry.”

She dismounted his lap slowly. Peeling his tail away from where it was wrapped around her waist was a struggle -- he is reluctant to let go even if he needed it. Only after he heard her carefully cross the room, did he open his eyes once more. To find her by the door looking shy. A sense of emptiness filled him, her touch had eased some of the symptoms even in that short time and her absence was felt keenly.

“I’m sorry Rolan,”

“No need, love.”

Before she departed, they agreed to meet again at dusk ready to depart for their stay at her home outside the city. Awakened once more, Rolan still found himself struggling to focus. The sweet scent of his beloved is left behind on the desk where she had sat. As he works getting ahead on accounts, he caught repeated wafts which seemed to keep him in a constant state of arousal. Mate, my mate, fuck, fill, mate. His hardened cock strained against his pants as he worked. An uncomfortable and constantly nagging presence to deal with as he calculated costs and revenue projections in the ledgers before him.

When the accounts were finally finished, he sat back shakily still willing himself to ignore the constant presence of his arousal. After consideration, he had added a note in the book for Lia to double check his figures before they were finalized. Though he’d always prided himself on his brilliance in a way that some thought bordered on arrogance, he wouldn’t risk his responsibilities for any reason. Usually, he hardly required (and would sooner die before asking) anyone to check on his accounting. But there was a first time for everything. Humiliatingly, he was certain Lia would discover upon double-checking that most of the math he’d done today was in fact, wrong.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Paper airplanes

Finnick Odair x Reader

(Fluff/slight angst)

Based on some lyrics from "Out Of The Woods" by Taylor Swift

Summary: As you and Finnick relationship grows stronger every day, you can't help but remind yourself how it all started and how beautiful life had become through everything.

Word count: 3.3k

“Okay, give me a fucking second, I’m nervous.” @dumplingsjinson https://dumplingsjinson.tumblr.com/post/744023757216169984/list-of-awkward-confessions-prompts

You sigh as you put the last cardboard box in your now-shared bedroom with Finnick. You smile softly, looking around the peaceful bedroom covered in a soft orange light as the sunset rays filtered through the laced curtains. You take out the Polaroid picture the two of you had taken back when you were still innocent children picking up seashells and making up imaginary quests about fairies and dragons in your treehouse. The picture was in black and white, and so was the cruel world before the revolution, but your friendship back then was tinted in screaming colors. 

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear rustling sounds from where your boyfriend is downstairs. You put the picture down carefully onto the bed and head downstairs to look at what all that clatter was about. You spot the now empty living room floor, the boxes that were previously piled here and there moved to the side, creating an empty space in the center of the living room. You spot Finninck crouched down behind the couch and you chuckle. “What are you doing?” 

His head pops up from behind the couch and he lifts the radio to show it to you, then places it back down onto the floor. He puts the favorite CD of both of you inside of the radio and presses play. He stands up from his crouched position and offers you his hand gracefully, making an exaggerated bow that makes you laugh. “Why, dancing with my wonderful angel, of course.” 

The two of you spend all evening swaying and twirling in the living room, almost falling over the boxes piled on the side when you let the music take over the two of you. When you’re both panting and sweating, heads dizzied from all those spins, and stomach pleasantly painful from all the laughing from your clumsy dance moves, Finnick pauses and looks into your eyes. The music is still softly humming in the background. He pushes a strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead, and tucks it behind your ear. “You truly are an angel… my angel. I love you.” He whispers, softness and love radiating from his voice.

“I love you too, Finn.” You say with tears in your eyes. You were always the sensitive one, and you weren’t ashamed of it anymore, because you knew that Finnick loved all and every part of your soul, mind, and body.

You can’t help but feel amazed by the fact that all it took for this relationship to happen was two paper airplanes flying.

*Flashback, you and Finnick were fourteen back then.*

He didn’t come. He forgot, probably too busy with those much cooler other friends of his. The thing is, Finnick is your only friend, and you don't really have anyone else in your life than him. You were raised in an orphanage by nuns, still are, actually, and will be until your eighteenth birthday. Unless you get reaped into the Hunger Games… Finnick, on the other hand, even though he was pretty much raised just like you, had managed to make tons of friends with his bubbly personality, his natural charm, and his perfect body. 

You lift the piano seat, your eyes scanning the crowd, when you spot Finnick rushing inside the room, but it is too late. He had missed everything, everything you had been giving your blood, sweat, and tears for months now. Everyone cheers and you bow, fighting the tears that were starting to rise into your eyes. You walk behind the curtains, quickly grab your bag, and walk out of the theater. 

You hear hurried footsteps coming your way, but you don’t stop, even when a voice speaks up. “Y/N! Y/N… Wait up, please! I can explain-” “Explain what, Finnick?! That you forgot? That this wasn’t important enough for you to dare show up on time?!” You snap at him, spinning around in one quick movement, making him slightly stumble forward at your sudden halt.

“It’s not like that…” He starts off. “It’s just… Dylan needed help with this homework and-"

"Oh yeah. Dylan.” You roll your eyes at him. “That new oh-so-cool friend of yours. Well, you know what, I was your friend too, Finnick. I have no one else. And you knew, you knew how hard I worked on this piece and how excited I was to present it tonight. I wanted you to be proud of me, Finnick. But I’m done, I’m done waiting and hoping that you’ll care.”

His eyes soften, and he tries to put a gentle hand on your shoulder, but you brush it off harshly. “Y/N… I do care…” You shake your head and back off to put some distance between the two of you “Well I don’t need you to anymore. I’m done. This…” You gesture between the two of you “This is over. Goodbye.” You walk off into the night and head back to your room, trying to ignore the sound of Finnick’s room shutting a few hours later. You wondered where he went after your fight that night. If he went to his friends to vent and laugh about your perfectly reasonable reaction.

—

The next morning, you woke up early, determined to ignore Finnick from now on. You head to your secret treehouse, the one you and Finnick built when you were younger. You spent all morning reading your book, the one Finnick gave you for your birthday actually. It felt as if life was trying to play with your nerves. Your peaceful reading session is suddenly put on pause when a paper airplane slides under the mossy wooden door. You roll your eyes, knowing only you and Finnick knew about this place.

You sigh loudly, making sure he would hear the sound of your annoyance through the door. You angrily slam down your book on the pillow next to you and stand up to pick up the paper airplane. You open it and try to decipher whatever Finnick’s bad handwriting had written down on the paper. 

 ‘I don’t feel like fighting anymore. I can’t spend another minute without you Y/N. You’re right, I was stupid. Boys are stupid, more than often, sadly. Guess that means I need you to slap reality back into my face from time to time. I’m sorry, truly. I’ll make sure to let you know through acts how much you mean to me.

P.S. : Open the door, angel'

You open the door and stare at a nervous Finnick fidgeting with the basket he was holding.

“What’s this?” You ask, your tone still cold as you were still a bit mad, even though the letter made your heart warm up a little. 

“Banana muffins… I made them. I know that they’re your favorites…” You can’t help but crack a smile, letting him inside the tree house. Life was too short and uncertain to stay mad at each other. And life made sure to remind you that a few weeks later, on reaping day.

–

Everything happened quickly, too quickly. Your ears were ringing. Everything was spinning around you since Finnick’s name had been picked out of the glass jar. Peacekeepers brought him into the building, and you knew you only had a few minutes left to talk to him, to tell him all of the things that were yet unsaid. 

You rush inside and jump into his arms once the peacekeeper lets you in. “Finnick, there’s something I need to tell you. I lo-” He puts his hand over your mouth, and you frown at him. You brush his hands off and start again “Please, listen to me, we don’t have much time. I-” “We’ll have the rest of our lives when I get back, save it for this moment, please angel…” He tries to smile through his fear.

He quickly glances at the doors, then back at you when he hears footsteps coming. He takes off his necklace and wraps it around your neck “Keep it safe for me until I come back to you.” He kisses your cheek, and you nod.

*Back to now*

The peacekeepers open the door and take him away from you. “Until next time Finn, please be safe!” You manage to say before the heavy door closes behind him. Your body crumbles down to the floor, your hand tightly wrapped around the trident pendant as your whole life seemed to have shattered the moment they took him away.

Looking at it now, it all seemed so simple. There was now way more important matters to worry about than some stupid children quarrel. You were frantically looking under every furniture in your home, your now swollen stomach limiting your movements. You have been carrying the fruit of your and Finnick’s love for five months now. A girl, the both of you had found out yesterday at your ultrasound. That was when you had last worn Finnick’s necklace, actually.

You had called the hospital, asking if they had found anything you might’ve forgotten there, but nothing. So you had concluded that maybe it might’ve slipped off from your neck at home, which is how you had gotten yourself bent down to look under the couch. Tears were rolling down your cheeks when you realized it wasn’t there either. 

You and Finnick were slightly struggling financially recently, which he was trying his damndest to hide from you to not put stress on your body for the baby. He had been working more, since you had drastically slacked your work hours at the local library, your nausea and fatigue making it hard to do anything, really. So losing the necklace Finnick had lovingly secured around your neck ten years ago, on the most scary day of your life, was a huge deal to you right now. It was worth way more than its weight in gold, even more so emotionally.  

You froze when the front door slammed shut when Finnick came back from work. “Angel, I’m home! Oh, how I missed my girls-” Finnick’s body tensed and his facial features folded in dread. “Y/N what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” He strokes your cheek, searching your eyes frantically for answers as his other hand protectively lays on the side of your womb.

Through sobs, you manage to tell him that this morning you couldn’t find the necklace he gave you, and that you looked all over the house in vain. Finnick, to your surprise, throws his head back and sighs in relief. He kisses your lips gently and smiles. “Oh, my sweet, sweet angel…” He chuckles slightly and shakes his head, your eyes widen as he reaches for his pocket and extracts the cause of all your worries. He carefully places the necklace back to where he belongs, around the neck of the mother of his child, and speaks up “I wanted to surprise you for our fifth couple anniversary today. I know we said we wouldn’t buy each other presents but I still wanted to give you a little surprise. I brought it to the jeweler to have it polished and cleaned up… I didn’t think you would have noticed, nor that it would have worried you so much. I’m so sorry, darling.” 

You shake your head and chuckle, your hand tightly wrapped around the little trident pendant. “Thank you, my love.” You kiss his lips softly. “I have a surprise for you too, by the way.”

He raises a brow and grins mischievously. “Mh, really? I’m all ears.”

“I made banana muffins, with a peanut butter sauce in the center.” 

A roar of laughter reverberates from his throat “The ones you were craving last night?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” You tease him and walk over the kitchen to stuff one into your mouth.

“I paid attention...” He chuckles and joins you in the degustation of your surprisingly delicious concoction.

*Flash back five years after Finnick’s Hunger Games* 

It had been five now since Finnick had been reaped and won the 65th Hunger Games. You were still wearing his necklace, hoping the capitol sweetheart would be given back his freedom someday. You watched every interview of Finnick, watching him smile and laugh through it all, but you knew deep down all of this was a show, an act he had to perform under the pressure of President Snow. 

You are currently washing the dishes, his necklace hanging from your neck as you bend over the sink, your thoughts wandering to him, and the things you never got to tell each other the last time you saw him. You spin around at the sound of mail being dropped through the mail slot. You dry your hands on the towel and throw it lazily onto the table as you pick up the mail. Bills, bills, newspapers, more bills-

Your eyes narrow when the mail slot wiggles again. You put the mail down on the countertop and reach for what just dropped from it. A paper airplane… Your heart races. There could only be one person who would send a nineteen-year-old woman a paper airplane. You quickly unfold it, and your eyes race over the words.

‘Hi angel, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We have a lot to catch up on, especially since our last conversation. You didn’t think I would forget now, did you? I figured I needed to fix that. I love you, Y/N. I really do. I hope you will forgive me for leaving you in the dark for far too long. It wasn’t to my liking, it was a torture, truly. The thought of your face, your voice, your wholeness was what kept me from breaking. My angel… I promise to explain everything if you’ll let me.

Once again, I love you. Truly.

Yours, if you want me, Finnick

P.S. : Open the door, angel’

The paper airplane falls from your hands as you yank the door open. Finnick is standing there, all grown up, a bouquet of lilies, your favorites. You freeze in place, flabbergasted from the sight of him.

“Hi.” He finally speaks up, smirking nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You… you kept the necklace…” He whispers, staring down at the pendant lying perfectly on your chest, just above… he tries to compose himself, trying to keep his eyes in the right places. 

When he looks up at you he barely has the time to think before you throw your arms around his neck and crash your lips onto his. The kiss is hungry, desperate, and messy. You back him off inside the house, his lips not leaving yours once. He places the bouquet down onto the kitchen table, and wastes no time to lift you up into his arms.

Not many words were exchanged that night, only passion, love, and yearning. Nor did you spend much time anywhere but in your bed, the new couple didn’t leave it until past noon the next morning. 

*Back to now*

Paper airplane letters have become a method of communication between the two of you since the day Finnick became yours. It helped Finnick a lot to open up about the dark thoughts that clung to him since the games, his 65th, his 75th, and the revolution against President Snow. On some nights, he still woke up from his nightmares clinging onto the sheets as if it was a matter of life or death, his breathing raspy as if someone had cut off the oxygen feeding his lungs, and sweat dripping down his skin. You always stayed by his side, and helped him troughthrough everything, just like he would and did for you when needed. Everyone might think that Finnick was good at expressing himself, being the biggest flirt there was on Panem, but you knew your boyfriend better than that. You knew that more than often words never seemed to come together when he tried to open up his heart, as if they were somehow stuck in his throat instead of flowing out through his lips. 

You knew better than anyone when something was wrong with Finnick, just like right now. He leaned against the doorframe of your shared bedroom as you were laid down in bed, the little girl moving inside your womb had now gotten big as you were getting closer and closer to your due date.  You lift your eyes from the book resting on top of your huge stomach and stare at him, shooting him a questioning look as he stays there instead of joining you in bed like he usually does. He opens his mouth a few times, his fingers twitching at his sides, and moving in and out of his pockets. Not a word seemed to find its way out of his mouth.

“Finn… What’s wrong, love..?” You put your book down on the nightstand but as you start to rise from the bed he motions you to stop. You stay put, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and tilt your head, your eyes glued on him.

“Okay, give me a fucking second, I’m nervous.” His hands were shaking into the pockets of his jean jacket. You both stare at each other in a heavy silence for a moment that feels like an eternity. He clicks his tongue and his shoulders slump, a look of disappointment reading on his face. “Never mind. Can’t do it.”

You knew better than to walk after him for answers, that he would find a way to open up to you about whatever he looked so uneasy to confess when he'd be ready. He closed the door softly behind him, leaving you confused and slightly worried for him. You settle back under the duvet of your bed and try to keep up reading your book where you had left off before this interruption. A few minutes later, you hear a soft swishing sound coming from under the bedroom door. You can’t help but smile slightly. It had been a while since Finnick felt the need to write a paper airplane letter. You were happy to notice that he still used his communication techniques when he felt the need. You slowly unfold the origami, and read the short content of words laid onto the paper.

‘Y/N, love, will you please marry me? 

P.S.: Open the door, angel.’

You yank the door open at the all too familiar confession situation. Finnick is kneeling down on one knee, a mesmerizing grin stamped on his face, tears at the corner of his eyes while yours were heavily pouring down your cheeks. He is holding out to you the most beautiful golden ring you have seen in your life, a white pearl ornating the center of it. His hands are still slightly shaking in anticipation, he opens his mouth to at least try to say something but you save him from the struggle. You kneel in front of him and wrap your arms around his neck tightly, kissing his lips hungrily. “Yes, yes Finnick. I will marry you.” You giggle, all while sniffling not so graciously, and he smiles. He slides the ring onto your finger and kisses it gently. He swiftly lifts you up into his strong arms and captures your lips with his needy ones once more, leading the two of you back inside your shared bedroom. When you woke up next to him the next morning, the sun shining down onto your golden ring and Finnick's graceful sleeping form laid down next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours through his slumber, you knew that whatever would come in your way the both of you would find a way out of the woods.

A/N : I was wondering if I should've made this two parts instead of one... tell me what you think I should do for next time!

[bouncybongfairy]

Bodega Dreams

Miles Morales x Fem Reader

Summary: You and Miles Morales from Earth 42 are in a serious relationship. You have a feeling that Miles may keep something from you. Your friends reassure you that you're over thinking. Although reserved and quiet, Miles isn't capable of anything criminal. You conclude that you're projecting your anxiety onto the relationship because of the book you're reading in class: Bodega Dreams. The truth will come out, whether it being thoughtfully or forcefully is soon to be revealed.

Work Count: 3k+

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part 2 Is Now Posted! <3

It was a typical morning. You woke up and sat up in bed and pulled your phone off the charger and checked your emails. Other than junk mail and a few reminder emails from canvas, there wasn't much to look at. You pulled your hair into a bun before leaning over the bed to give Miles a few pecks on the cheek. Like always, he didn't even flinch. As you kissed him, you could taste the metallic on your lips. Pulling back gently, you saw a healing gash above his eyebrow and a hint of a green bruise under his eye. Your brow furrowed and a couple of questions popped into your mind that you quickly pushed to the side. Even if you were curious about where and when that happened, it wasn't like you were going to wake him up out of dead sleep to ask him. Not to mention how busy your day was going to be. 

You had an English final, then had to go to work directly from school; you work at the daycare of a Hot Yoga studio. Most of the moms were young and entitled. They considered the crumpled-up 20s at the bottom of their purses to be pocket change. You couldn't complain about them too much though because those 20s became your tips more often than not. You grabbed the dirty laundry around their room and walked it over to the washer; after starting a loud, you make your way into the kitchen to start breakfast. You grabbed the carton of eggs from the fridge and started cracking them into a glass bowl. Hearing bare feet sliding against the wood floors, you greet the only person it could have been.

"Good morning, babe, hungry?" you asked while stirring the scrambled eggs. 

"Why are you up so early?" he mumbled into your shoulder, wrapping his long arms around your waist. 

"Really busy day, school and work right after." you said, turning the burner off. He groaned playfully at the thought of you being gone all day. You set the pan on the back burner and turned around to face him. For a second you thought about asking him about the wound above his eye. You ignored this and grabbed his braids, pulling them to sit on his shoulders. 

"Are you coming to school with me today?" you asked looking up at him, knowing there was a considerable chance that the answer would be no. 

"My teachers are fine with it as long as I turn my work in on time. As long as I maintain my grades, I feel like perfect attendance is a nonfactor." he said, tucking a curl behind your ear. 

"I know, I'm not saying you need to be going more because you're not doing well; not at all, you have a better grade in history than me right now," you laughed before continuing, "Now that I work and everything with school.. I don't know; there are sometimes when I'm eating lunch I just wish we could spend that time together. Especially when I get home at 10 pm and you're gone for work." you said taking a cooled-down piece of egg and walking over to your hamster enclosure. 

"Alright I get it, I'll come with you today but I have to leave after lunch. I told Uncle Aaron I would go down to the warehouse and help him fix the computer system," he said, walking over to you and pulling you into a reassuring hug. You rubbed your hands down his and noticed more bruising on his forearms. 

"What are these from?" you asked, rubbing your index finger over them. 

"Carrying heavy loads of boxes from the shipment trucks into the warehouse." he said kissing the top of your head before going back into the kitchen. After you gave Peaches a bit of egg you walked over to the table where Miles had made a plate for you. 

"Have you done the reading for Bodega Dreams? My English final today is going to be a question-and-response essay. It isn't open book but we can bring a sheet of notes so I'm pretty sure I'm gonna ace it." You said this made Miles laugh. 

"You read that book cover to cover, even if you didn't have notes I think you'd still nail it." he said, starting to eat his eggs. You smile and pour yourself a cup of coffee. 

~ 

School went by fast and not in a good way where the day feels easy. More like so many assignments and tests that you feel like your eyes could fall out of your head. Luckily for you, the only class you had left was English. You studied for so long that you weren't really nervous anymore. When you walked in, the big red marker on the whiteboard was the first thing you noticed. It read: Was Willie Bodega morally wrong for selling drugs even though he was using the money to support his community? You took your seat and pulled out your laptop and waited for further instructions. 

Miles didn't end up going to school. Uncle Aaron called him in early because the computer systems went from slow to usable. Even though you were disappointed you understood, he didn't want to lose business. He promised to be home for dinner though, which was rare these days. 

"Alright, good morning. I know I've been preparing you guys for a question-and-response essay. However, today is the last day before Thanksgiving break and I want to grade all your papers over the weekend about the same way you want to write a 6 paragraph essay; not at all. So we will be having a class discussion." The class all started the chatter in excitement, moving around to sit next to their friends. You were a little disappointed that you studied and prepared for an essay but was happy that you didn't have to stress anymore. You pulled out a pen and paper and prepared for the discussion.

"So.. question is on the board. Was Willie Bodega morally wrong for selling drugs even though he was using the money to support his community?" she read aloud, waiting for a student to raise their hand. 

"Well yeah, even if he was using the money to support people and the community it is still wrong to sell to people in the community. What if he sold to the people who are recovering, addicts who moved to the neighborhood to escape drugs? What about the young men of his community? Does he put a risk to disburse those drugs? Or the children of the people who buy from him?" The entire class whipped their heads around to see who was speaking. Just as fast as they looked, they looked away as someone contradicted that statement, 

"I don't know about that, what about the families who aren't buying drugs? Families that could have just immigrated there are trying to get their footing; Bodega helps them with everything from shoes to housing and those people aren't doing any drugs. They're just trying to make an honest living. Bodega went to school, and legally owns a lot of the community AND doesn't jack up the rent to keep low-income families out of the area." 

"Yeah, Bodega tried to go to city hall and do it the right way. They ignored and mocked him, he has every right to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's hurting anyone other than the people buying the drugs. I know two wrongs don't make a right but if those people want drugs they go seek them out, even if it's not from Bodega." 

"I think it's weird that nobody is asking if the government is morally wrong. Willie tried to do it the right way, by filling out the proper paperwork and trying to arrange meetings to help the people of the community; they snubbed him and his pleads. That was city hall's way of saying: help yourself because we have better things to do. So.. that's what he did. He used his resources and not only helped himself but also helped his community. Yes, selling drugs is illegal, we all know that so we try to condemn Willie for breaking such a regulated law. But if he was some famous rapper you all would be like: 'he did what he needed to do to pull his family out of poverty' or 'Oh my god how inspiring that he went from selling drugs to records' I can guarantee you so many of the lawmakers that ignored him have done plenty of dirt to get where they are today. So let's not come down so hard on Willie for something we praised celebrities for doing on the daily." You said looking directly at the girl who five minutes before said 'Poverty isn't an excuse to sell drugs'. You hoped that your stare would burn her already fried hair off. 

"Very well said Y|N, very mindful to be asking the same questions about the people who forced Bodega's hand on alternative ways of helping his community. I think we've just about-" Mrs.Lawrence was interrupted by the bell ringing, 

"We'll finish this conversation on Monday, everyone has a good weekend, and be kind!" She said, dismissing the class. You were extremely relieved that this was the final class of the day.

As you walked to the subway from school, you were happy that the day was almost over. Now all you had to worry about was work and of course Miles. You could tell that something was off with him. He was never aggressive with you but you could notice when there was something different in their routine. Ever since Miles' dad died, he started working full time with Uncle Aaron, he changed. You just summed it up to the stress of being the breadwinner of the family. You did work and bought groceries or household necessities like toilet paper, cleaning supplies etc. Miles however was paying most of the rent. He didn't need to but you think it helps him mourn the loss of his father. As if trying to live up to his father and the man he was is replacing some of the dull sadness with him being gone. 

You were grateful that your relationship had only grown stronger since his dad passed. Most relationships you've seen where one spouse is dealing with a loss became combative and bitter. It was scary for you to see him break down the way he did but it was so rewarding to be the one who built him back up. Even though you've only been dating for three and a half years, it felt like you lived a lifetime together. You felt so comfortable and protected with him, it almost scared you how much you relied on him as a sense of security. It scared you thinking about how you felt without him, and maybe that was because they were trauma bonded.

When Miles and you first met it was the beginning of 7th grade. You were still living with your father who was an alcoholic. He drank to suppress the memories of your late mother. This almost made you understand his alcoholism. When you thought of Miles passing, all you could think about was how well alcohol must drown the pain out. Even if it was for a second or two. Miles lived next door, you always walked to the bus stop together. He would give you a sympathetic look when your dad would scream at you from the door. It wasn't until the night your father got arrested that things really changed. 

Your father was just going room to room raging. Incoherent yelling that was so slurred you couldn't tell if he was even mentally there. Two empty Everclear bottles sat on the coffee table across from the couch. He was so intoxicated he thought you were your mother. Things were really starting to escalate, pushing you into the wall or pressing his body so that you were trapped between him and the wall. He grabbed the empty bottle and smashed it against the wall above you. A piece of shard flies at your cheek and cuts you. That was when Miles' dad busted in. He didn't arrest him immediately, he just escorted you out safely and helped you file a police report. You'd been living with Miles and his family ever since.

After you stopped torturing yourself with the memories and anxiety about Miles, you realized you were just one stop away from your work. You looked around to make sure you didn't leave anything on the seats around you before exiting and walking the short 10 minutes to the studio. Once you arrived you immediately went back to the daycare. Before you could even set your stuff down, the morning shift handed you an infant before updating you on the day. Apparently it was quite the day, because the daycare was a mess. Toys everywhere, kids running every which way, snacks on the ground ect. You took a big sigh and started picking up toys and hushing children, gathering them to watch a movie. An hour later your other coworker Miley came in and sat down next to you. 

"You okay girl?" Miley asked, taking the baby from your arms. 

"Yeah I'm just tired, I've been feeling a lot of stress lately," you said.

"I feel you, Michael and I have been bickering lately too." she said referring to her boyfriend. 

"It's not that we're arguing more or anything, I just have a feeling that there is something going on that he isn't telling me," you said. 

"Like he's cheating?" Miley whispered.

"No, I don't think it's romantic or someone else. It's more like there is something that is weighing on his mind. He's been acting the way he normally does right before he rants to me about something bothering him," you paused and wiped a few tears out of your eyes, "I don't know, I'm just worried about him and it's causing me turmoil I guess. I feel like I can't say anything because there really is no specific reason as to why I'm worried. It frustrates me because it's just a gut feeling so I don't want him to think I'm crazy or insecure. Sorry I don't know why i'm crying," you said trying to wipe away your tears without messing up your makeup. 

"Are you okay?" One of the little girls came up to you, setting her little hand on your knee. 

"Yes honey, I'm okay. That was very kind of you to ask," you said laughing after sending her off.

"I'm not trying to minimize your suspicions or feelings but, do you think you might be pregnant? Maybe that's why you're having so much anxiety about Miles?" She asked, this made you truly speechless for a minute. You always had irregular periods so it wasn't abnormal to miss your cycle.

"I hope not," you said standing up and picking up empty paper cups that they used to give the kids juice. 

"Would it be so bad? You're about to graduate highschool and you want to become an elementary school teacher. Miles is making good money," Miley said helping you clean up the tables. 

"Let's just move on. I don't even want to think about any of that," you said finishing up the rest of the shift. 

It was 9:30 and you walked to the store that was across the street picking up some stuff for dinner. Miles' mom was working a double and would be at the hospital overnight. Which meant you were in charge of dinner. You stopped at your local deli and picked up some sandwiches with some other snacks. When walking down the pharmacy aisle the pregnancy test was staring at you like a cheetah catching its prey; like it was shaming you. You picked one up out of curiosity, worse case scenario it comes out positive. Thinking about that was making you feel nauseous, such a stressful situation. It wasn't that you didn't want to be a mother but now just wasn't a good time for you or Miles. You also felt slightly insecure about your pregnancy scare. In the book Bodega Dreams Chino's girlfriend Blanca was also with child. It made you feel like you were projecting this book on to your relationship with Miles. 

After taking an Uber home from the deli, you started digging through your purse to find your keys. Once you finally found them and let yourself inside, you began to put away some of the groceries. Your phone dinged from your purse, you drugged herself to the couch to check the notification. It was a message from Miles that read: on a late delivery, an hour or two late tops. After reading the message you couldn't help but break down a few tears running down your cheeks. You weren't mad or anything, it wasn't like he could control if he needed to work over time. You just were looking forward to seeing him after such a long and hectic day. You just needed that reassurance. You got over it quickly and texted him back that you loved him and not to sorry. 

To take your mind off things you hopped in the shower. The hot water did help relax you, like all the muscles in your body loosened all at once. You sat in the sweltering steam until you felt at risk for passing out. You walked back to the room and laid on the bed in your towel for a while. It wasn't until you laid down that your exhaustion became apparent. You eventually sat up to avoid falling asleep before getting a couple more things done. You didn't want to go to bed with wet hair and you needed to eat, the only thing you ate all day was breakfast. You changed into some sweat pants and a tank top and began blow drying your hair. Sitting up and doing something was taking your mind away from how tired you were. Once you are done, you go to Peaches' enclosure to see if he is awake. You gently move some bedding around until you see the Syrian hamster pop his head out.

You laugh and grab him, taking him back to the bedroom. While you are in the living room you grab your purse. After getting back on to your bed, you rummage through your bag and pull out the pregnancy test. You stared at it for a while, like it was a spider that you were figuring out how to kill. Somehow the anxiety of not knowing was more comforting than having the actual answer. You grab the plastic hamster ball, placing Peaches inside and letting him roam around the room. You walk into the bathroom and rip open the box, unpackaging the test. You quickly follow the directions before exiting the bathroom. 

Even if it was embarrassing you really did hope that this was just a pregnancy scare. That you were so stressed and busy that you were projecting your life onto the book you've been analyzing, studying and breathing for the past 3 months. You were on the bed, taking a video of Peaches rolling around the room. You heard a bang so loud it made the bed feel like it was shaking. Your video ended abruptly, you quickly grabbed your hamster who was equally as scared. He tried scurrying away so fast that his nails weren't giving him any traction, giving the illusion that he was running in place. You stand up and open the door without making a sound. You could immediately hear people talking, well more arguing than conversating. You slowly made your way down the hallway, you were worried that whoever was there would be able to hear your heartbeat. It was the only thing you could hear at this point. 

Once you round the corner, you were shocked by what you saw. Miles tied to a punching bag, Uncle Aaron standing there with his arms crossed. At first you thought Aaron was hurting Miles, until you saw.. him. Your Miles, covered head to toe in The Prowlers gear. The only reason you recognized it was from how many news articles and videos you had looked over. You gasped so loudly that it surprised yourself. All three men in the room whipped their heads to face you. Miles' face immediately went from practically snarling to what you considered normal. I shook you to the core, the facial expression he had when he turned around; before he noticed it was you. He starts to walk over to you but your flight instincts kick in and you bolt back to the bedroom. As you ran down the hall, you could hear the metal pieces of his gear dropping to the ground. Once he got to the room, he was only wearing his street clothes. 

"What the actual fuck Miles," you said running your fingers through your hair. 

"I know, I know. I really didn't mean for you to find out this way," he said, approaching you cautiously. 

"Do you really think that I'm more mad about how I found out than the fact that you're the fucking Prowler? What the fuck," you said begining to cry.  

"i'm sorry. I'm sorry that this is hurting you and that I kept it from you. That- I was wrong for that but, I can't apologize for who I am," he said resting his hand on your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. For a second, you wish you could stay in this moment; the feeling of him comforting you after everything that happened today. Once you processed what he said, you left that moment in the past. 

"Oh so this is who you are. You're nothing more than The prowler? You're not Miles anymore?" you asked rhetorically, taking his hand off your face. 

"I know who I am. I'm the type of person who won't apologize for helping the people I love. I help people who are deemed unworthy of support. I won't apologize for that. 

"Are you gonna apologize for the people you're hurting in the process?" you asked as fat tears rolled down your face.

"I'm sorry that I kept this from you. I'm admitting that I was wrong, and I understand that this is alot to take in. I have to handle this though, please just stay in the room and I'll be back in 30 minutes. We can sit down and talk about all this. Please?" he asked, pulling you closer to him. You nodded your head and wiped away your tears. He gave you a kiss on the forehead before exiting the room. 

You sat on the bed, trying to take in everything that was happening. You had just seen what appeared to be a perfect copy of your boyfriend. With everything going on, you truly had to talk yourself out of the possibility that you truly may be delusional and not in the hot girl kinda way. Tears were unstoppable at this point, flowing so fast that the collar of your shirt was completely soaked. The Prowler was responsible for so many manslaughters due to careless fighting. The Prowler was feared by many, and was showcased on the news more than the Kardashians on TMZ. You had even told Miles that you were scared of being caught in the crossfire of chaos caused by this person. What scared you the most was how comfortable Miles had gotten in his lie. What terried you more than that was you had fallen for it so easy. Thinking that a villian that you so deeply feared was the same person who kissed you goodnight made you feel nauseous. You run to the bathroom. 

You vomit into the toilet, the anxiety you were having was becoming unbearable. You sat hanging over the toilet until Peaches started bumping into your leg in his ball. You redirect him and stand up, rinsing your mouth with water. Without thinking you pick up the test you were holding earlier, dropping it and throwing up more when you see the bold + sign staring back at you. 

In memory of the real Peaches; May his cutie patuti soul rest in peace

[ancat-dubh]

A friend died a few weeks ago and I dreamed about him last night. I say friend – he was my boss at my first bartending job when I was 18, and for a few years after that at the theatre where we both acted, did the box office, and served drinks. That was a big transformative period of my life, though, and a lot of the grown-ups around me then – charismatic actors living out of their suitcases, often in addiction, doing some of the greatest art I’ll ever see, also my first dose of queer elders – have had an outsized lasting influence in my life.

He was a friend in my mind, even though we mostly only exchanged birthday messages and pleasantries when I was in town or, once, a black-out drunken run-in at the dive bar where he didn’t recognise me, but smiled and pirouetted me on my way to the bathroom. He was a strange, intense poet who’d won Jeopardy one year, given it all away, and tried and tried to make it work as an actor. He drank more as he got older, and his frequent Facebook posts got angrier, lonelier, occasionally blaming unnamed women for the pain he was in; his spot-on range of accents, sleepy gentle bookseller’s regard, and ability to flick into uncanny, ecstatic states onstage in an instant stayed the same.

He’d grown up in the Green Mountains, and it was there I was driving to see him in my dream. I’d been late getting up to meet him; we’d planned to get a drink at the bar in the town where his mother lived. We were having a text exchange while I drove, the kind you sometimes have in dreams where everything’s shaky and the buttons aren’t working and the conversation’s high stakes. (Or maybe you don’t have those – it’s been a while since I’ve dreamed regularly, years, maybe, but I’ve had a few these past few weeks). After getting tired of waiting for me, he’d gone off to a local environmental demo in support of a rare species of snake. While he was there, a counter-protestor had lit the forest on fire; he was texting me images and videos of the fire, of himself yelling and shouting trying to direct the firefighters, alongside downloaded images of the rare snake they were there to save. Are you okay? I was trying to ask as I drove further up the Mountains towards his house. I stared at the image of the snake bouncing in my lap while I waited for his reply – yellow belly, iridescent black body blazing a dull rainbow.

I haven’t been a ~visual artist dahling since about age 16 and I shan’t pretend to be so it surprised me how much the automatic drawing I did tonight to charge my quarter of our Imbolc ritual looked as it did on the phone in my dream. It looked, too, like the banner my friend and I painted together in the dream when we both arrived at his house safely – him smoky and tired, me out of breath from my anxious drive, cracking open a few beers and an old bedsheet and almost wordlessly painting the snake against the smouldering woods together to hang on his wall. It didn’t occur to me he was dead until after I woke up, but when I remembered the overall feeling of relief, contentment, ease in my body remained alongside grief.

I slowly worked some protection magic into a snake drawing tonight doing a little improvised ritual digesting after our feast (Guinness and honey glazed salmon, my v non-tradish version of colcannon, cheese platter with dried apricots, clotted cream and madeleines). After two of us left, my friend who was hosting and I made our own sketches of snakeskins with intentions and offerings written between the scales, and burned them while pouring out some libations to the ancestors and local gods. I thought about one story of Brigid, particular to Scotland, where the goddess emerges from the ground as a snake to start the spring; snakes fleeing fires through canyons and across hot asphalt in LA; the quiet, tactical prudence of the Wood Snake and the days-old Chinese New Year.

It occurred to me once or twice too, as I thought about my dead friend’s insistence on sending me this image of a snake, of all things, burning vibrant and don’t-touch-me colourful over a pine forest sparking into flames – I’m scared of snakes. Ever since I was four years old, and nearly stepped on a baby copperhead wriggling across my path while I walked barefoot through a dusty summer meadow. But this one felt like so much of a Sign showing up the way he did, I felt like I knew him already; there was no question of being afraid. God is change, I wrote on my paper sketched snakeskin; my friend and I wound ours together and set them alight and they burned right through into a perfect circle of black ash, so perfect and simultaneous we both shrieked and clapped our hands. (I’d had us read some of the maxims in Parable of the Sower for our ritual – I’d started rereading it the other week with images of the LA fires echoing in my brain and had to stop because the whole thing was a little too real and relentless and my brain’s only a few weeks out from feeling like a sharp trap). Spring’s not here yet but the change is here already. I thought of the snake-goddess sticking her head from her winter burrow, tongue tasting the air to confirm – yes. We’re in it; it’s here.

[howlsofter]

Nextdoor ii.

John Wick moved in last year but you’re just home for the summer. He hires you to dog sit for him while he’s on business trips but it doesn’t take long til you’re pushing the limits of your “professional” relationship. Part 2, first here. John can’t keep ignoring your desperation for him, especially not after this.

Word: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: weed, drinking, smoking, voyourism, masturbation, no sex yet but def nsfw

John ignores me. Really I just think he’s busy working, he’s back on his usual schedule. I’ve heard him walk outside with daisy, talking to someone on the phone looking serious. He doesn’t ever glance my way from where I peak at him from my second story window. I wonder if he can feel my eyes. He doesn’t act like it, but John likes to play it cool.

My room is small, and it’s mostly items from before college. All my dorm stuff is packed up in boxes. My bedsheets are different and my room is more normal, since guests are the only ones who get any use of it besides me. I don’t mind, I don’t want to feel like I’m in my exact childhood bedroom.

I feel stupidly needy for his attention, getting all my shit out to go to the back porch. I don’t preroll myself one this time, bringing all my items and setting up my phone flashlight so I can see.

I don’t put on anything to drown out my thoughts, biting my lip as the metal grinder softly clinks. I dumb the herb out onto the small tray I’d brought, carefully pinching the end of my paper.

It’s not that noticeable at first, the burning smell of nicotine. It’s so out of place in our suburban neighborhood, the smell of cigarettes are saved for college. Imprinted in my mind for when I’m hazily stumbling onto the back porch of some fraternity, easily bumming a cigarette from the nearest person perched against the wall.

It’s John, I know it without checking. That empty ash tray on his porch. In all my nights out here I had never caught him smoking. I tsk to myself like he’s my kid.

I roll my joint hurriedly, scared he might finish before me. When it’s mostly done and I don’t think any crumblies will blow into the wind, I push myself up. The grass is soft underneath my socks, it makes a quiet crunching sound I try desperately to mumble. Up against our wood fence, I grab the taller metal post that stand between the wood panels. Hoisting myself up how I used to when I was young so that I could peak out into John’s yard.

Sure enough he’s sat, white button up tucked into his loose slacks. He’d ditches his belt and tie, the top mostly undone and a cigarette perched between those strong fingers.

“Smoking kills, you know,” I try not to yell, my normal talking voice carrying enough in the silent neighborhood for John to peer over to me. He looked shocked, like he’s 12 and I’m a police officer.

Once he realizes it’s me he relaxes back, flicking the ash off the tip. He reaches out to his glass in front of him, the amber liquid still just above the ice. He tries to move it from my view, turning his head away in a chuckle.

“And what are you about to do?” He throws back, I readjust my hand. It’s getting sweaty against the metal, my foot slips from the thin ledge I’m balancing on but my hold is firm.

“…it’s a different kind of smoking.” I can’t see but I feel John roll his eyes. Already caught, he takes another drag and gestures for me to join him. I lower myself from the fence, considering.

I finish up my joint and pack my shit, dumping it by our front porch before heading out the side gate into John’s.

He’s almost done with his cigarette, not bothering to sit forward when I join him at the table. He blows the smoke away from me, ashing it against into the tray in front of him and taking another small swig from his drink.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I light mine up, watching him stare into his cup.

“On occasion. I’m not a smoker.” He says it while reaching for another. I hold the joint out for him and he pauses, shaking his head, “no I’m already… it’s fine for now.” He retrieves the second cigarette and I pass him back his lighter.

“You look like one,” I tease him carefully.

“What else do I look like?” He asks, turning his gaze up to me and tilting his head. I stare at him in silence, suddenly feeling wayyy higher than I thought I was already.

“Like, uh, hmm,” suddenly scared I’d say something insanely offensive, John blinks back to me with real expectations, “a tired business man.”

John actually laughs. He follows it with another sip, trying to shut himself up. “That I am.”

“What do I look like?” I ask him. He focuses in, I’m actually kinda intrigued. This John is different, more casual. Even looser than high John. He has to be drunk.

He seems to bite his tongue, his eyes scanning me like Sherlock deducting clues. “You look… bored, usually. Like you’re waiting for something to happen.”

I take another hit so I don’t have to explain myself. If he knows what he’s talking about he’s onto me. And what would that be, John?

“Trade me,” I hold out the joint so I don’t have to confirm his analysis. He hesitates before passing me his cigarette.

I watch him take a shallow huff and he watches me take a long drag, blowing the heavy smoke from my nose. It coats all my senses just like weed, smells utterly familiar. Maybe this was the key index to John’s scent, the ever fading smell cigarettes. Subtle nodes I wouldn’t have been able to identify prior.

He passed it back in the silence, staring off past the fence.

“I think you’re waiting for something too,” I break it, John doesn’t even throw me a glance.

“Waiting for what?” He finishes his drink finally, pushing it away from him. He answers almost bitter, like I had struck something in him.

“Tired is really just another synonym for bored,” I explain, going quieter so he could move on if he wants.

“So what do we do?” He throws it back at me.

I should kiss him now, but he won’t look my way. I carefully nudge his outstretched foot with my sock.

“Continue to wait, I guess,” I shrug, he still doesn’t move, “or do something about it.”

Now he turns, making eye contact with me in the darkness. He takes another drag of his cigarette.

“You’re so…” he begins, burying his face in his hands, “fuck.” A response is better than none, I set the roach against the corner of the tray, not moving my foot away from his.

He sits up straight, putting his cigarette out beside the joint and peering back at me. He had reset, suddenly looking like a professional in the remnants of his suit.

“So you’re just offering yourself up to me, like that?” He asks, resting his elbows against the table and I’m in the second round of interviews.

“Well- no, I was just saying.” I stammer, loosing all the courage I’d mustered up the past thirty minutes.

He leans forward slightly, my eyes dip to his lips, “really? You’re not just waiting on me?”

That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Word for word. But hearing it come directly from him has me out of commission. I blush, turning my face away.

God himself set this moment up for me, but I’m cracking under the pressure.

“Why don’t you do something about it?” I ask weak, the words almost getting lost in my throat. John is still looking at me when I manage to turn, blinking back in thought.

He readjusts in his chair, turning to me more fully. I want to sit in his lap so badly, let him cradle me. I can tell he feels blurry, probably a little crossed. He rubs his palms against his clothes thighs, biting his lip.

“It’s not that easy,” is all he can say. I am stoned, sliding my heavy arm over to touch him where his hands had just ghosted over his thigh. He breathes in sharply, I can see him debating with himself.

“Why?” I coo, trying to lure him into me. John. John John John, I’m begging him in my mind, dragging him closer to me. He doesn’t move in his seat. He already knows where I stand, there’s no point in my shame now.

John takes my hand off him him, pulling me this time. I follow his directions promptly, pulling my chair up closer so I could kiss John with ease. He meets me halfway lazily, pressing firm lips against my soft open mouth. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes. I hate whiskey with a passion but on John’s tongue it’s intoxicating. He lets me push up into his lap, tilting his head up and to the side as I climb there. I don’t straddle him, sitting sideways and keeping my legs up on my own chair. He wraps his long arms around my waist, holding me loosely.

I moan into the kiss, tilting my head slowly and making John chase me. We stay like that for awhile, it feels too nice to stop. I run my fingers along the line from John’s ear down his neck, he tilts to let me into the sensitive space there.

Trying to deepen it is useless, John cuts me off when I lick inside his mouth. He turns his head away, catching his breath.

He excused himself in the next one, but not before requesting I watch Daisy in a few days while he’s gone for the weekend.

I fucking hate him. His sudden coolness and casual glances to my window when he comes home from work. He sends me a thank you the day I go over to check on Daisy and I have to stop myself from sending him a Fuck you back.

I come over to check on her and let her out, keeping an eye on the camera in the living room.

I’ve reran our conversation through my mind a hundred times over, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong. No man has ever expressed interest in me and not wanted to fuck immediately after.

Maybe I haven’t been waiting on John, but instead a challenge. Stubborn John Wick giving me enough confidence to strut in his house in my bikini, all my other items for the night tucked away in my tote bag. It’s 7pm when I decide to go settle in over there, telling my mom I love her before rushing off.

He’s not checking the cameras when I’m first there, dumping my belongings on the kitchen counter as usual.

He doesn’t check until that evening. took a quick shower and changed into my tank top and sweatpants, climbing down the stairs carefully to the living room. He’d sat in that spot on our movie night, the corner of the couch the camera had the perfect view of. I grab the remote and switch on HBO, lounging back as I try to find what to watch. I restart the Last of Us.

I try to lounge casual but sexy, which just results in me splayed out, leaning up against the arm rest. I let my hand rest in my sweatpants, pressed right up between my thighs warm and comfy. Halfway into the first episode the light of the camera flicks on.

I try not to panic, it was part of my plan, but now I’m embarrassed. I wait, frozen there, trying not to look directly at the camera, seeing if he’s going to click out.

When the light stays on for a solid few seconds I start to move. I carefully lift my hips, pushing my sweatpants down to my thighs. I expose my black underwear the the camera, looking up to see if he’s still watching. The light is unwavering.

My heart begins to race as I lean back, continuing to look through the camera to him. I run my hand along them tantalizing, pulling my lower lip between my teeth. Just the pressure feels good. I slide my middle finger passed the material, dipping into my unacknowledged heat.

The lights still on.

I slowly fuck myself with one finger, bending back against the arm of the chair. I angle up the best I can, grinding against the single digit. I peek once in awhile, reaching my other hand forward to touch my clit. Both the feelings the repetitive drum of John echoing in my brain got me close quickly. Already shaking and stuttering over myself I forget about the whole goal.

I cum hard, whining as my hips stir. I slowly pull my fingers out, wiping them off on my sweatpants and slumping back. I breathe shakily before I’m shocked awake, remembering where I am.

That stupid red fucking light flicks off the second I look back up to it.

I can excuse my insane actions with weed. To myself anyways. Maybe cumming on his couch isn’t the right path of action after feeling mildly rejected, but it sure made me feel better. I sleep in the guest room and wash the sheets in the morning before fleeing back to my own home. John venmoes me $200 for the weekend without saying else.

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter seventeen : the apostate's cabin

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 3.5k

summary : you finally get to see din's cabin

warnings, etc. : language

Just Din. 

It’s sinking in as you walk in silence, holding his hand tightly as he pulls you towards his home. It’s hard to see where you’re going, the only source of light out here is the moon, you’re mostly relying on him to guide you there as you stumble sort of blindly after him. 

It’s all happening very quickly in your mind. 

He didn’t just want you. 

He had said so many things and they all swirl around in your head but none of them compare to his name. His real name. Nothing he could have said to you compares to those three letters. He could have flat out said the words I love you, and it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as ruinous as this. Anyone can confess their adoration, this was special. This was just for you. This was an admission, this wasn’t just an empty promise, this was a secret that was only yours.

Din was all yours. 

No one else gets to know Din, just you. 

The sound of him clearing his throat snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Watch your step, princess…” You don’t get a chance to look down at your feet because his hands grip your waist and lift you over whatever it was you were meant to be watching. It sounds like his boots are sloshing around in water. He does this a few times, lifting you up over obstacles you can’t see until you finally hear the sound of a door creaking open. It's far too dark to see anything but you can recognize the feeling of wood floors under your still bare feet instead of the soft, damp grass. 

There’s a soft hum as several lamps turn on simultaneously and you can see him flipping a switch next to the door, which he quickly closes, latching it locked. Your eyes are still adjusting as you take in the cabin. You realize rather quickly that it’s less of a cabin and more of a room. 

He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t really hover much either, like he’s letting you observe everything on your own first, without his interference, as he takes off his soaked boots. It’s the strangest thing to take note of but his socks have holes in them, you notice them as he softly pads across the room to the dresser where he retrieves another pair of holey socks. You tear your eyes away from him and begin to explore his home. 

It certainly is cozy. 

He’s so large and imposing, it’s hard to imagine him here, in such a domestic place. Everything is wooden. He’s a man made entirely of metal and he lives in a wooden box. 

“Put these on, don’t want you catching a cold.” He’s on the bed, peeling off his wet socks and tossing you a fresh pair, you hadn’t realized he’d grabbed two. You walk over to the table in the kitchenette, sitting and pulling the socks up your calves, they’re far too large for you, the heels ride up the backs of your ankles and on the left one your toes stick out of a large tear. 

He stays on the bed, twiddling his thumbs like he’s unsure on the next course of action. In his own home he looks out of place. 

“Do you sleep in all your armor?” You can’t help but ask, it certainly doesn’t look like it’d be comfortable. 

“Sometimes, if I don’t feel like taking it off. It’s secluded enough out here that I’m not worried about removing it but at the very least I usually sleep with my helmet on.” 

It’s nice. To get a straightforward answer. Like he really does just want you to know him. You stand, and begin exploring the room. It’s weird, to snoop, especially when he’s present, but your curiosity is getting the better of you, and this is technically what he had wanted. 

His kitchen fills one corner of the cabin. It’s barely a kitchen of course, just a few cabinets and a stove, a waist height conservator tucked against one of the walls. You crouch beside it, he’s got one of your drawings pinned up on it. This must be the one he took. 

The ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111. 

You reach out to open it, it looks scarce inside as the cold hits your skin. A few ration packs are stuffed inside, it makes you frown, to know that he’s still eating those when you had insisted he go get real food. Standing up you begin to open the cabinets, the only things inside appear to be more ration packs, in one of them you find a sleeve of blue cookies, uneaten. You’re about to stop searching and scold him for his eating habits until you open the last cupboard and several small wrapped cakes fall into your arms. You recognize them immediately from the Solar Markets, you had given him one to take home. 

“Is this all you eat?” You turn to face him with a stern look forming on your face, he’s still sitting on his bed, he’s rubbing his neck, embarrassed. 

“Well, I still eat ration packs for most of my meals, but then you gave me one of those and I sort of realized that they require less prep, and they’re easier to carry around, and I like the way they taste…” You start stacking them back in the cabinet. 

“Are those all you eat when you aren’t here?” You’re frowning as you say it. 

“They’re easier than ration packs…” He mumbles. 

That’s why his mouth tasted like vanilla.

It wasn’t because he was some vision of the perfect man, it was because he was practically surviving on snack cakes from the markets.   

“You need to start eating real food, Mando.”

He doesn’t respond as you shut the cabinet. 

“Did it help when I packed food for you? I can do that again.” You turn and start walking to the corner opposite of the kitchenette, just a worn out sofa and a shelf. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“That answer confirms that I should.” You say as you trace the spines of the books he has. 

One in particular catches your eye, the Mando’a translation book you had been looking for. As desperate as you are to know, you decide to wait, there's too many other things here, you can’t allow yourself to get distracted just yet. You recognize several of the books from your first visit to the library at night, Interstellar Bride, My Barbarian Love, and a few others, it doesn’t look like he’s read them but it’s still shocking that he kept them. 

Your fingers trace the hilt of what appears to be a sword with no blade and then two bars of Beskar, holding one up and turning towards him again. 

“Are these real?” You pinch the cool steel between your fingers.

“Yes, I took a bounty when I first arrived on Naboo for them, I haven’t had time to leave and do anything with them yet.” You set the bar back on the shelf. Most of the items here seem to be parts that you aren’t familiar with, and have no idea why he would be keeping, you don’t ask because you’re picking up something familiar instead, something you’d completely forgotten about. 

“You thief!” You point the vibroblade at him. “You stole this from me, I’ve been looking everywhere for this.” 

“You didn’t even realize it was gone.”  He shrugs and you know he’s right but that doesn’t make you any less irritated. 

“I’m taking this back when I leave.”

“You’ll forget about it again, besides, I only took it for your own good, I didn’t want you accidentally losing a finger.” He’s standing now and it only takes a few short strides for him to be right next to you, prying the knife from your hands and putting it on the top of the shelf, out of your reach. 

“That hardly seems fair.” You mutter, but you don’t make an effort to retrieve it. “What are all these for?” You point at the several hunks of metal lining the shelf as he picks one up to observe it. 

“Can’t tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.” He sets it back down and his helmet settles on your face.

“Very funny, come on, tell me.” 

“I’m serious, it’s a surprise.”

“Fine.” You grin as you walk to the only separate room in the cabin, a small fresher in the back corner. It’s simple. Metal fixtures fill the room and everything looks to be generic brand. All of his soaps are the basic ones typically used by soldiers. On the edge of the sink there was a razor and a pair of scissors, he must have recently cut his hair, there's a brown curl next to the faucet.  

He didn’t follow you into the fresher so you have no shame in snooping, so when you open the cabinet behind the mirror he isn’t there to see the confusion on your face for two reasons. 

The first is the seed packets. There's an assortment of flower seed packets shoved into the shelves, some are open, some are untouched. You’re reaching for them but the second thing in the cupboard catches your eye and you stop dead in your tracks. 

Two toothbrushes. 

The instinct is to feel envy for the owner of the second one but you don’t get to because when you pick it up to observe it, it’s tiny.

It’s been used but it’s also clearly for a child. 

Something about it fills you with a profound sadness and you don’t want to hold it anymore, putting it back in the cup and closing the cabinet swiftly before rushing back into the main room and towards his bed. His night stand is mostly bare except for a flower.

You recognize the plastic lily you gave him for his birthday but what you don’t recognize is the black lace wrapped around the stem, when you go to reach for it he grabs it first, putting it behind his back. 

“Let's look at something else.” There’s an edge of anxiety in his voice and you can’t help but smirk.

“I thought you wanted me to know you?” You poke your finger into his chest plate as you try to get behind him but he turns on his heel before walking back over to the shelf and putting the flower on top. “You can’t just keep putting things up there, eventually I’m going to bring a step ladder and then you’re screwed.” He shrugs in response. 

“I’ll move them tonight after you I take you back to your chambers.” 

Your fingers play with his linen sheets, everything is a different shade of gray on his bed. 

“You don’t want me to stay the night?” You tease as you turn your head slightly to look at him. You don’t know why you say it, you don’t actually want to stay. Well. You do want to stay, you just aren’t sure you want to do the things that are expected of a sleepover. Luckily he seems a bit taken aback by the idea, stammering for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“I… umm, of course, if you wanted to you could, I just sort of- I assumed you wouldn’t want to but if you do that’s fine-” For someone who’s been inside of you several times he’s surprisingly flustered at the mention of you spending the night. 

“It’s okay.” You try your best to give him a reassuring smile but you’re sure your confusion is apparent on your face. “If you don’t want me to, I won't.” He sighs as you say it, like he’s still battling within himself what to tell you what to not. 

One side clearly wins as he blurts out his next few words.

“I’m not going to touch you.” 

You’re a bit speechless at that. 

An awkward silence begins to fill the cabin until he decides to continue. 

“I just mean that I won’t touch you unless you ask me to… I don’t want you to think that’s all I want from you, so I won’t try anything, I’m not going to put any pressure on you, ever.” He sort of mumbles it all out and you can’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Ever?”

“Ever.” There’s a nervous laughter in your voice when you say it but he seems deadly serious.

“Even if I never decide I’m ready?” You say it as a joke but he nods.

“Even if you decide you’re never ready. If you ever decide again that that’s something you want I will gladly give you anything you ask of me, but if not then I will be happy with the parts of you you’re willing to share with me.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t decide right then and there. 

You knew the moment he said “if” instead of “when.”

If you ever decided. Not when you decided.

You already know your answer based on that.

But you don’t want him like that, at least not tonight. 

“So I can spend the night?” You tilt your head to the side as you smile at him and he nods. 

“Just for tonight, because everyone will be too preoccupied with the party to notice you aren’t in your room.” He begins carefully removing his armor, setting the pieces on top of his dresser as you sit on his bed, watching intently. 

He starts with bands around his calves, setting them aside before carefully removing the pieces on his thighs. He’s precise with every move, everything has its place. There’s several belts across his torso that he takes his time removing.

It feels far more intimate than it is. After all he’s fully clothed still under the armor, it just seems so personal. He’s seen you completely bare but this is the most you’ve ever seen him without. 

After a few more minutes of careful deliberate removal he’s standing before you in just his flight suit and helmet. 

“Do you want to borrow some clothes to sleep in? I can help you back into your dress in the morning.” He opens the dresser, handing you simple cotton pants and a shirt, they must have been supplied by the castle because there appears to be an assortment of sizes as he hands you yours. You can’t imagine him ever wearing these.

“Do you always wear the flight suit? I can’t imagine that it's comfortable in the heat.” As you say it he motions for you to turn around, as you do he sets his gloves on his nightstand and begins unlacing your gown.  

“I usually do.” He finishes pulling the ribbons loose, his knuckles brush against your spine and you let your head fall back slightly. “It’ll be easier for me to get my armor back on if I need to.”

You nod. It must be exhausting. Never getting a break, always worrying about things like that. Maybe someday you’ll try to get him to relax. Not tonight, he’s already given you so much tonight. 

He helps you out of the dress, never letting his hands linger anywhere for too long, and turning around when you put on the pajamas he had given you, giving you a moment of privacy as he adjusts the lights in the room so only one of the lamps is still lit. 

You aren’t really sure what to do next but it seems he does as he gets into bed, laying against the wall to give you as much space as possible on the twin sized mattress. He’s got one pillow, his helmet rests on the edge of it and you pull back the covers to crawl in beside him, laying down so you're face to face with him. Your nose is nearly poking Beskar.

“You can touch me a little if you want.” You whisper, your breath fogging up the steel and in an instant he’s pulling you against him, his arms locked around you, your face settled against his chest. 

He holds you like a child holds their favorite blanket or toy.

Like you’re the only thing he wants.

After a few minutes once you’re settled, you look up, your eyes immediately squeeze shut as you catch a glimpse of his chin under his helmet. He feels you tense up against him and his grip around you goes slack. 

“What’s wrong sarad?” He whispers as he looks down at you. 

“I can- I can see your jaw.” You mumble as you bury your face in his chest, you can feel a low rumble there.

He’s laughing.

“It’s okay, want me to turn out the light?” He’s pulling you close again. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I guess I just don’t understand how it works, I’ve seen your hands and…” Your face gets a bit hot. “other parts. What am I allowed to see?” He’s silent for some time, your only indication that he hasn’t fallen asleep is the small circles his fingers are tracing against your back. 

“I should probably be stricter. I just can't help but make exceptions when it comes to you. Normally I wouldn’t show you any of my skin, but I’m technically an apostate so I’ve allowed myself some liberties.” He says it like it’s nothing but you sit up a bit.

“You’re an apostate?” He nods and one of his hands rests on the back of your neck trying to calm you a bit, bringing you back down against him. “What does that mean?” 

“It means that I am not Mandalorian until I redeem myself.” He hesitates for a moment. “It also means that I removed my helmet in front of a living thing.” 

You knew that. You had asked before, you just didn’t know who he had removed it for, you both know you’re waiting for him to say it.

“I had to say goodbye to someone very important to me, and I wanted him to see me. That’s really all there is to it.” He sounds small as he says it and you think about the little toothbrush.

You decide not to press further. 

“You’re Mandalorian to me, so I won’t look.” He holds you tighter as you say it. 

“Then don’t look.” Your eyes flutter shut as you hear the hiss of air again, he reaches over you to turn off the lamp next to his head board, even though the room is dark you keep your eyes closed when you feel him set the helmet completely aside this time. You’re waiting for him to do something but you realize that he truly meant he wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want it. So you find his face with your hands first.

You had intended to just use your hands to find him but once you’ve got a hold of him you don’t want to do anything else. There’s a soft gasp from him as you cup his jaw. 

It’s softer than you’d expected it to be. His whole face is soft, you let your thumbs trace the apples of his cheeks, his stubble is patchy, the pads of your fingers find the gaps in his facial hair. His jaw feels rounded but he has a defined chin. You let your hands continue to roam the peaks and ridges of his face, eventually settling on his nose. 

It’s a strong nose. Prominent and proud on his face, a nose like this should be revered. 

You’re careful to not poke his eyes but you realize very quickly that his are closed as well. How often is his face held? Or at the very least touched by another living person? There’s a crease in between his brows that you smooth out with your thumb. 

And then there’s his hair. 

You have always, in all circumstances, imagined him with short, cropped hair. Especially after seeing the scissors in the fresher, but you find waves, a whole mess of them. It makes sense, knowing that he cuts his own hair, because everything seems to be different lengths, like he waits until it becomes an inconvenience and then trims whatever gets in his eyes. 

Now you kiss him. 

Using his hair as leverage you pull him down to meet your lips. 

It’s so much easier like this, with no helmet in the way. If you had known it would be this good you never would have made that stupid no kissing rule. He kisses with every part of his face when he’s unencumbered. 

His stubble scratches your cheeks, his nose crashing against yours, he lets the bridges scrape against each other. When he lets you go for air he presses his forehead to yours. The taste of vanilla fills your mouth when he drags his tongue across your bottom lip. 

He doesn’t press further after that, eventually pulling you back against his chest. You plant one last kiss onto the bottom of his chin before nestling against him. 

“Goodnight sarad’ika.”

“Goodnight Din.” You inhale his scent one last time before letting yourself succumb to sleep. 

Smoke. Metal. Fresh Linen.

It’s the first dreamless sleep you’ve had since your arrival on Naboo.

tag list : dm or reply to be added!!

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[autisticandroids]

someone sent me an ask about soulless sam and in order to successfully answer it i actually have to give my opinions on soulless jack. basically this post is about what being soulless "means" in different episodes and whether it actually matters that jack is soulless.

i'm only going to talk about s14 because i don't have a lot of respect for s15 and also it doesn't super matter that jack is soulless in s15.

so the episodes in which jack is soulless are peace of mind, don't go in the woods, game night, absence, jack in the box, and moriah.

jack's actions in those episodes are

going to see donatello about soullessness, killing the snake to put it out of its misery

playing with the girls from lebanon, trying to show off to win their approval, eventually causing them to get scared but not listening when they tell him to stop, losing control and accidentally injuring one of them, and then healing her

torturing nick to death to keep him from resurrecting lucifer while mary begs him not to, then accidentally killing mary

running away because he's freaking out, trying to resurrect mary, kidnapping and threatening rowena in the process of trying to resurrect mary

trying to be good by doing what the angels tell him without understanding that what they're telling him to do is bad, failing to show sufficient contrition for killing mary, trying to be good by doing what salmondean tell him without understanding that they mean him harm (partly because he's unable to empathize with them well enough to understand that they're angry), busting out of the box because he realizes they lied to him and mean him harm

telling everyone to stop lying, going to see his grandparents in the hope that someone out there still doesn't see him as a monster, telling cas that he can't love him back [because he's soulless], and trying to allow dean to kill him

that's not like every action he took in those episodes but i think it's all the relevant ones and i'm not rewatching that shit again. well, i probably will. but not right now.

the rest under a cut because holy shit 3k words.

so in peace of mind, it definitely matters that jack is soulless, but what that means is kind of an open question. that's the point of the episode. donatello gives this whole speech about being soulless where soullessness is primarily framed as tragic for the soulless, which makes sense, because donatello became soulless in season eleven. in season eleven, soulless characters play a dual role as both victim and problem, and so get to have way more complexity than soulless sam or soulless jack, both of whom exist narratively only as problems. watch 11x05 "thin lizzie" for my favorite example of eleven's distinct handling of soullessness. len the lizzie borden nerd losing his soul and therefore both losing his capacity for fear and his capacity for joy, which is what allows him to be heroic (because he's not afraid and also has nothing to lose), is like a perfect way to take soullessness and turn it both tragic and positive. actually sometimes when i think about spn soullessness i actually think about this hyperbole and a half comic. mostly because thin lizzie and to a lesser extent peace of mind are both playing in kind of a similar space.

so we have this tragic framing of soullessness as primarily about a kind of emptiness. but then also there's this other thing more relevant to the rest of the arc. which is donatello's framing of soullessness as "without moral guidance." this is obviously kind of silly and very spn, but it's also kind of... inherently giving the lie to the premise, isn't it. donatello asking himself "what would mr. rogers do" is in fact a kind of morality. he is able to successfully simulate moral behavior in his mind, which means... he has a sense of morality. just like anyone else's. but it does set up the way in which jack's soullessness causes problems for him later on (not just a lack of an inherent sense of morality, but also because he (maybe?) lacks an internal moral compass, where he gets his guidance becomes very important).

this is also a thing that comes up in 6x09 when dean offers to be soulless sam's jiminy cricket. more on that coming in another post.

also this introduces the concept of "what would the winchesters do" as jack's guiding light. which like. lol. that COULD be thematic. if you wanted it to be.

and then jack kills the snake which is like. totally a thing that's a result of him having a mistaken belief about what's best because he lacks an internal sense of it. which makes sense as an answer to the questions of the episode and the themes of the arc. so him being soulless matters in this one.

so being soulless matters in peace of mind and what it means here is that jack doesn't have enough moral compass to figure out what the Right Thing To Do Is, despite wanting to, so he needs to find an external moral compass to follow. it also means he feels empty and lacks emotion, which is mostly a problem for him.

then there's don't go in the woods. and this one is supposed to be about how him being soulless is Scary. there are several moments in it where we're meant to be scared on the girls' behalf, because Something Is Off With Jack.

but the thing is... jack behaves normally in dgitw. he tries to fit in with and impress some kids who are narratively framed as his own age-peers, normal kids who he would have grown up playing with if he'd lived a normal life. jack trying to fit in with and impress people is normal, he does it all the time. the fact that he does it via tools of violence (throwing knives) is offputting, but that's a result of him being raised in a bunker full of serial killers, not of him being soulless. that's what he knows. jack also loses control of his powers and injures one of the girls. which is in fact totally par for the course with jack. he doesn't have very good control of his powers, and he's very powerful. see tombstone for details. he then panics and tries to fix it. which he succeeds in doing, although the girls don't forgive him.

the only moment in dgitw where him being soulless actually seems to impact his behavior is that there's like a quick moment, just before jack loses control, where the girls from lebanon become nervous and ask him to stop messing around, and jack doesn't pay attention to them. potentially if he had, maybe he wouldn't have lost control. but even this is overstating things - the boy who is their friend remains impressed with jack and encourages him to continue to mess around. jack not immediately stopping because the girls are scared is not exactly outside the range of normal behavior, though it kind of is for jack because he is normally mr. sweetheart goodboy.

so if being soulless matter at all in dgitw, it means that jack can't quickly read, react to, and acquiesce to to emotions of others. he can't, when things are split second, notice and care about the girls' fear, and then react in the most deferent possible manner.

it's also notable that what scares the girls is jack's otherness, his powers, and not his emotional affect. which kind of matters for how all this is framed, and is again, more continuous than discontinuous with things that happen to and around jack when he is ensouled.

alright. now we've come to the big one. game night. man it doesn't matter that jack is soulless in game night at all.

jack tortures nick to death because torturing enemies to death is normal. he JUST did it to michael and everyone clapped and cheered. sam and dean torture people all the time. they love torturing people. they love killing people. they love combining the two things. the only problem here is that it's jack who is doing it. also maybe that nick is human, which means killing him is more bad for some reason.

additionally, jack has tortured a person before, the gas station kid in let the good times roll. (yes what he did was technically torture). (man not really related but you guys should watch that one jacob geller video). torturing is clearly normal and acceptable to jack. i would say this is because he was raised by serial killers who torture people all the time.

also, people freak out when jack tortures that kid too, because the idea that jack isn't capable of correct moral judgement doesn't actually start with him being soulless. jack is frequently framed as the Creepy Threatening Weirdkid Who Can't Be Trusted To Distinguish Right From Wrong throughout season thirteen, except then it's because he's not human. the idea that a soul prevents him from being like that is kind of silly given how often he's framed like that while ensouled.

killing mary is also easily something that could've happened while jack was ensouled. i direct your attention once again to tombstone. jack simply does not have very good control of his powers. he did what teenagers do: he had a moment of "i wish you were dead" type anger toward a parental figure because he was frustrated, but unfortunately, due to his godlike powers, his wish was granted. this has nothing to do with him being soulless (and in fact is kind of. antithetical to soullessness as a concept. since that should mean he shouldn't be able to get that angry).

(man. doesn't really add a lot to my analysis but the two people jack tortures and kills while not soulless are people of color. like come on. this show is so racist.)

the only moment where it MAYBE matters that jack is soulless is that mary freaks out while he's killing nick and begs him to stop and he doesn't listen, just like in dgitw. also like in dgitw, this isn't necessarily like, crazy behavior. salmondean torture people all the time. it's not insane to think that he's just asking himself "what would the winchesters do."

then in absence, jack is framed as menacing but like..... all he does is panic and try to fix what he did to mary. also it's worth it to talk about how all these episodes but ESPECIALLY absence utilize gender in order to make their case that jack is dangerous. like the fact that it's rowena he goes to and not like, cas, is because the show wants you to see him as threatening, wants you to empathize with A Woman Menaced By A Man (even though rowena is certainly in less danger from jack than, say, sam or dean would be), wants you to see threatening a woman as uniquely morally bad. but what he does in absence is just. run away, panic about the fact that he killed mary, be wracked by guilt, kidnap rowena (which, sure, bad, but the winchesters kidnap people and force them to do things for them all the time. jack has SEEN them do this. they have DONE THIS to rowena. more than once!), and try to fix mary being dead. which like. in tombstone when he killed the security guard, he also panicked, tried to get someone to fix it, then ran away. fully consistent with his ensouled actions. it does not matter at all that jack is soulless in absence. the episode frames him as scary and unsettling but his behavior is not at all different from his usual behavior.

then jack in the box. ohhhhhhh jack in the box. stupid episode. genuinely almost everything about it is bad. the buckleming special. honestly season fourteen would genuinely make more sense if you just took jack in the box out because it comes pretty much out of left field, actively contradicts a bunch of shit and is generally inconsistent with the characterization of every single character except maaaaybe cas, and then doesn't end up mattering very much. i guess i could say that i kind of like the sam stuff, in theory, but even that.... like the execution is not great. man i hate jack in the box. like, bottom ten spn episode, easily.

anyway jack being soulless ABSOLUTELY matters in jack in the box and it like...... matters in a way that impacts all of his characterization. we return to the idea of soullessness that peace of mind proposes - lack of emotion, lack of emotionally-guided moral compass, need for guidance. except that what happens in jack in the box is quite explicitly that jack, because he lacks an intrinsic, emotionally guided moral compass, takes guidance from the wrong source and does bad things. that's explicitly the issue.

and then. and then buckleming argue that jack is insufficiently contrite for killing mary. that he does not understand the harm he's caused. which like, okay, that IS consistent with the characterization of soullessness that they've gone with. but it's not consistent with everything that has happened in this arc. like, absence JUST happened. this is just clearly not... accurate. jack clearly does understand the harm he's caused, he's clearly horrified over killing mary, and in general he's been highly emotional while soulless (desperate for approval in dgitw, angry and stressed in game night, panicked and upset in absence). this characterization of soulless jack would make sense if you skipped straight from peace of mind to jack in the box but i didn't, lol.

jack is also genuinely impaired by this emotional emptiness. he is unable to accurately predict the winchesters' actions because he can't comprehend the depth of their hurt, and therefore he can't predict the depth of their anger. he also can't just tell that they're lying, because he can't directly empathize.

which honestly. is actually pretty interesting and cool. for being soulless to be portrayed as having serious personal drawbacks in this way, rather than just making you an Evil Guy. like soulless sam was a "better hunter" for some reason, even though "difficulty empathizing" would obviously cause you problems in a people-facing activity such as hunting. but jack is actually impaired by it. it's not an impairment in morality. it's an impairment in general, and one of the things it affects it the ability to act morally. which is conceptually one of the better ideas of soullessness that's presented in supernatural. joss whedon (the guy who invented soullessness) (this is why soullessness is so stupid in spn. incompetent cribbing of an already bad concept) is rolling in his cancellation-grave. that's what soullessness means in jitb.

but it's still wildly inconsistent with the rest of the arc. and stupid. and jack is throughout the episode framed soooooooooo scary it's dumb. like there's a different soulless jack arc that could exist that centers on a better version of jack in the box. but in the soulless jack arc we have, jack in the box is an incoherent diversion. a narrative cancer.

alright. okay. moriah. time to talk about moriah.

so the first thing jack does in moriah is run away again, and then he does the no lying thing. which is more about him having bad control over his powers than being soulless.

then the next thing. the next thing is the fake out with his grandparents. we once again get this moment where jack is menacing a female civilian (his grandmother) and we are supposed to be afraid for her. except..... it's a fakeout. maybe jack is harmless after all and we were being unfair, the narrative says.

then we get this:

JACK: And then I tried on my own, but every time I try, it- it never goes right. It never... All I ever wanted was to be good. But now I'm just empty. Even this. I know you're here because you love me, and I want to love you back. It's just, I can't.

so we return to soullessness as emotionlessness as personal tragedy. actually, given that andrew dabb is a consummate trekkie, i would bet you real money that this is an intentional concept-quote of lal's death scene in tng 3x16 "the offspring." jack's soullessness is fully portrayed as a personal tragedy here, not a threatening thing. it matters, but it only matters to him, not how he interfaces with the world. jack wants to be able to feel love, but he can't. he can't feel and this is sad.

his soullessness may impact his decision to let dean kill him, but it may not. jack is routinely suicidal while ensouled, very happy to accept that he deserves to die for various things, starting way back in 13x02. this isn't outside the range of normal for him. but on the other hand, he could be like len in thin lizzie - willing to destroy himself because he has no fear and nothing to lose. it could be the soullessness talking. it's not clear.

so. that's an overview of whether soullessness matters and what it means in every episode of the moriah arc. stay tuned for another post about soullessness coming soon (tonight or tomorrow), this time about sam.

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

One person asked for my plot idea for Wordgirl the Musical and that’s enough people for me so let’s go:

Stuff under the cut because long lol

Opening number basically is just an intro to the all the important characters. Yes the Narrator would be an actual character. Maybe there could be a gag where the actor playing the Narrator would sit in a top box area where you could only see their silhouette. Most of the ensemble consists of fan favorite side characters, like lesser villains and civilians like Reginald.

I said this in the other post but the story would follow a similar structure to SpongeBob the Musical: Same vibe as the og show, but darker themes and tones. Plus a lot of fan service

Ok actual plot time: things are all fine and dandy in Fair City, until Mr Big gets an idea. He wants to somehow recreate the Invasion of the Bunny Lovers plan, but with more backup then last time. He recruits the Coalition of Malice crew (+ Tobey) for the plan, and they agree only because they’re sick of Mr Big betraying them and taking everything over.

Their plan isn’t 100% like IBL, because they’re much more subtle about it so that Wordgirl can’t pick up on anything. Becky talks to Violet and Scoops (because this would take place after Rhyme and Reason) and is like “guys something sus is happening and I can’t tell what.” But because they go to the same school, Tobey overhears Becky’s convo, and later goes to the other villains like “uh guys she knows-.” Malice crew then decides to create another one of those “city turns against Wordgirl” situations so that Wordgirl is distracted.

Wordgirl is stressed because she lowkey knows somethings going on, but pretty much no one is listening to her. She gets extra upset when she overhears her own family (minus TJ obviously) also have doubts about Wordgirl. Bummed, her original plan is to go ‘defeat’ one of the weaker villains so that she could re-earn the trust of the public. In an attempt to find one of these lower tier villains, she stumbles upon pretty much every single Tier 3 (LRW, Whammer, etc) and Mischief Maker villain just chilling in the Coach’s apartment. Wordgirl is immediately confused, until it’s revealed that they’re all chilling together because they all know that Mr Big is up to something, and they’re just waiting for them to inevitably be put under mind control. Once that’s cleared up, Wordgirl is like “uhhh.. I’m here to fight you all! Yeah 🫵🏻” and the villains are all like “Bro really 😑?” Ok, tbh, this part is one of the like three actual song concepts I have. The style of the song would be very a similar style to Will Wood, and the song would be the villains sort of taunting Wordgirl for trying to get heroism points off of them (it’d probably be called something like Bottom of the Barrel)

Anyways after the bullying session, Wordgirl is just fully prepared to give up, and decides to just sulk outside the Coach’s apartment. Some of the villains come outside to be like “Uh- you good?” After a bit of venting, one of the villains brings up how none of them are actually taking this whole ‘party before the inevitable’ thing seriously. While they are deciding to spend their last moments conscious together, they aren’t being too bittersweet about it because they’re pretty confident that Wordgirl is gonna stop Mr Big eventually. Wordgirl tries to deny that she’ll be able to stop him, but then it’s pointed out that she pretty much has a clean win streak. No matter how bad it gets, she always defeats the villains in the end. While Wordgirl is flattered, she does admit she thinks she’s gonna need some help. The villains admit that they don’t really plan on helping at all, because they don’t see the benefit in helping or in sitting out, but LRW, Ms Question, and Whammer do decide to tag along for shits and giggles.

Act 1 closes out with a dramatic song of Becky on her way to try and confront Mr Big, all while everything looks super grim. Things are starting to spiral because it’s obvious some people are already mind controlled, and the Wordgirl hate is getting worse.

Act 2 focuses more on the Coalition and how despite so far being successful in their plan, it’s clear things are falling apart. No one’s communicating and they’re arguing a majority of the time. The focus is overall more on what each villain wants to do with world domination. This act also has the two other song concepts I have: a Tobey song on his relationship with his mom and how it fits in with the current plan, and a Leslie song focusing on how she’s exclusively the sidekick no matter what. By the time Wordgirl’s in the building, there’s already a swarm of mind controlled people in her way trying to get her mind controlled. Wordgirl desperately fights her way to the top of the building, and on the way the villain trio coming with her get caught, and she’s left alone. Whole alone sad trope, but Narrator and Captain Huggyface gives her an encouraging song. Wordgirl confronts some of the villains one on one, and it’s clear the plan isn’t gonna work because of emotional feelings

Coalition crew’s plan falls a part because of how pissed they are at each other. Mr Big tries to take over completely, but Wordgirl cuts in and interrupts. Chaos ensues, and the villains try to fight both Wordgirl and each other to get control of the Mega Mindcontrol machine thing. Mr Big once again nearly manages to take control once again when everyone else is tangled, but in the end, Leslie is the one who betrays Mr Big, breaking the machine and freeing everyone from the mind control.

Plan is foiled, Wordgirl wins. People learn to not over and underestimate each other, bla bla happy ending

Some gags: Exposition guy of course showing up. Captain Huggyface would probably be a plushy, like how Gary in SpongeBob the Musical is a doll on a skateboard. There’s also a running gag that Leslie would absolutely refuse to sing for a solo because stage fright, and even refuses to sing her own mentioned song at first. Her song starts off with a sort of rap-vibe because of how she speaks the lyrics, before Two Brains is like “stop being a pussy,” and zaps her with the singing ray from Two Brain Quartet; cue the trope that she’s a really good singer. Two Brains also has a gag of having really random rays that he pulls seemingly out of nowhere. There’s a gag that they may throw an F-bomb out at anytime, and they tease it the whole show. Either Wordgirl or Leslie get it in the final fight.

The last song will end with the Narrator doing the whole “tune in next time” thing, just tweaked for a musical. The song also ends with everyone singing the ending ‘wordgirl’ jingle played at the end of every episode

Yeah ok that’s it goodnight Fair City

[channwie]

𓍯 NONVIOLENT COMMUNICATION ⋆ GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU ─ ⋆

maybe satoru forgot he wasn’t the only one who got left behind .

no wc ⋆ fem!reader ˖ implied satosugu x reader ˖ angst, hurt no comfort ⋆ notes ˖ wdym suguru’s not coming back?

He stands in the doorframe of your newly bought studio apartment, cardboard boxes piled on top of each other and scattered across cold white tiled floors.

“How much more stuff you gotta bring up?” He asks, dark sunglasses perched atop his nose, snow white brows scrunching up as he looks around the barren place you’ve told him you’re about to call home. He’s judging you. He really doesn’t know any better, you can’t even blame him.

“Just the silverware and sharp stuff.”

You’re just as unenthused about this clean slate as he seems to be. Something's missing. You both know that.

But when Satoru Gojo asks you to pack your life away in boxes taped shut and cushioned with styrofoam, you do it.

There’s a pregnant pause in the room, arms crossed over your chest as you lean against a pristine wooden bookshelf, a gift from Nanami, empty and lounging in the passage of what’s to be your living room. From one hopeless friend to the next.

You don't even own enough books to fill it.

You hear Satoru thinking of words to say.

“Did he call you?” Gojo asks, a pale and slender middle finger pushes his sunglasses up, blue orbs hidden behind tinted lenses. He never liked it when anyone looked into his eyes for too long. Is it that? Or is he steeling his nerves for more?

No, you know better.

He doesn’t want you to see his eyes when he asks you. He doesn’t trust what they’ll say.

Satoru can’t lie to you with those eyes.

“No, he hasn’t called.”

It’s been days since the incident. Almost a week.

You woke up on a random Sunday with ten missed calls from Satoru and a text that made you drop everything, abandon your post overseas training new freshman and book a flight to Japan the next day.

‘Suguru left.’ It said.

And you, of all people knew, Gojo couldn’t be left to his own devices. Not when Suguru, the one person you and Satoru held dear, ran off overnight.

He hums in response, shrugging your words off with a chuckle, one that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, doesn't rumble from his chest like it should, and you dig your fingernails into the wood of the bookshelf.

I'm not strong enough for this.

“He’ll come back.” You say, and it comes out way shakier and forced than you mean it to. “He always does.”

Suguru wouldn’t leave us like that. You’re insulting him when you talk like that, ‘toru.

Suddenly, your heart betrays you, and you wonder if spending your third year as a transfer was worth it. Maybe if you’d been there—

You're not Suguru.

You can't be what he is to you and Satoru. Geto’s mind is stronger than yours, his resolve unshaken, his temper stalled, his love for you, his love for Satoru—

“He blocked my number.” Satoru says, and you retract your nails, without sparing a glance towards him. You scoff, thoroughly unamused. “No, he didn’t.” You oppose, stalking towards the empty kitchen.

The conversation ends there, Satoru.

Suguru would say.

You wished you had the strength.

But Satoru is persistent, and he pushes his body forward off the doorframe, posture slouched to hell as he follows you. “My calls won’t even go through.” He says, and you ignore him, busying yourself with sorting through a miniature looking cardboard box on the marble counter.

Satoru calls your name and you ignore him again. You dig through the half full box of styrofoam and resurface an egg timer, decorated like a penguin. It’s old, you think. Where did you even get this?

Satoru slides his palm across the counter, contemplates holding his tongue, it’s cool on his fingertips and he pulls back, intruding in your field of vision, forcing you to look at him.

What would Suguru say to you?

There’s no cord. Is this thing electronic? You shove past him, moving to the parasol shaped kitchen table to test the thing out.

“Don’t pretend like I’m invisible.” Satoru complains, his footsteps lag behind you. “If you’d just listen to me—”

Ah, you remember now. No wonder the stupid thing’s so old, must’ve been a dumb drunken gift from Suguru. He only ever gifts quirky household items when drunk.

“And just, I don’t know,” He groans, creeping closer behind you. “Call him from your phone or something.” Cold hands take his sunglasses off, and rake through his hair in frustration.

You click a few buttons on the silly little device, it doesn’t do anything. Did Suguru ever give you a manual with this thing? You inspect it a little closer.

“Will you just fucking look at me, please?”

Satoru never shouted at you. His hand grasps your wrist to turn you around and the egg timer clatters to the ground, the plastic hitting the floor makes a sharp plap sound.

You barely react for a moment. Satoru’s hand is cold on the skin of your wrist, his fingers wrap at your pulse point, and you tilt your head up to look at him— his eyes are dim.

In your gaze, for a split second, he sees Suguru, and he drops your arm as if he’s been burned.

You still scold him when you aren’t even in the room, Suguru.

“I’m sorry—” Satoru begins.

You cut him off, “It’s fine.”

It isn’t.

He’s hurting, Suguru.

Satoru takes a breath. Suguru would kill him if he saw him lay a hand on you like that.

He calls your name, and you shake your head. Satoru takes a step back and you bend down to pick up the egg timer.

He’s not stable, he knows that. Suguru’s been gone for days, he knows that. You don’t deserve this, he knows that all too well.

Something inside you grows tired of housing memories of Suguru in the corner of your heart while Satoru looks for him in every crevice of the earth.

Come home already, Suguru.

Satoru calls your name again, it’s softer, he’s mulling over the syllables on his tongue.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, and turns away from you.

You’re silent, back turned to him as you kneel on the floor, egg timer with bright painted penguin eyes looking at you.

“You’re not the only one suffering, Satoru.”

It’s a punch to his gut, and he exits, fresh wound reopening. You loved him too, didn't you?

Sorry, Suguru.

I can't even protect her while you're gone.

The egg timer goes off the moment Satoru heads through the door, and you grip it so tightly in your palm, you’re afraid it’ll break.

The three of you have run out of time.

[spectralgecko]

*Clears throat*

How.

How do you make something this good? As good as Eclipsed Eden.

You do not understand. How hard it is for me. To come up with story ideas. I have tried, for multiple years. Most ideas never stay. All of my work is just AUs. Granted, so are yours, but like... You make it your own. EE literally feels like it's own thing. That's how GOOD it is.

My friend, how????? How do you do it? What's your secret?

... I've no doubt asked this before, but that just goes to show how continually impressed I am by you 😭.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Hm.

My brain is like a slot machine - insert interest, and it will go ham just... constantly thinking about it? My mind is a strange place. It's an idea hoarder. You've seen what physical hoarding looks like? My mind does that with ideas. And my imagination has been very active ever since I was little. I was raised on winnie the pooh and thomas the tank engine and The Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I looked for and found series like Wings of Fire and Mistborn and the Enchanted Forest Chronicles and the Prydain Chronicles and A Wrinkle in Time. My entire education, especially my Literature classes, gave me book after book that has had its contents poured into the well of my head. Stories are soul food and you are what you eat, so a lot of what goes on upstairs is just... seeped in those roots of imagination and fantasy. Everything I see goes through this river of wonder. It doesn't seem to matter if I never specifically recall the details, I consumed it and it's back there somewhere.

Projects like Eden Eclipsed are, invariably, and outpouring of that river. That's what I've cultivated and what's been cultivated in me, and so that's what comes out. When you give me a slate like Worldless, that's juuuuust blank enough for me to have a lot of free range, my imagination will go wild whether I want it to or not.

And believe me, you've been seeing the tidy end of the process, the finished products that get posted. That river gets stuck sometimes. A lot, actually. There's a reason Eden Eclipsed isn't written past chapter two. The delta gets muddy and the stream gets clogged. I spend days staring in frustration at the word document, or getting asphyxiated by my own worldbuilding and intimidating myself out of something fun.

In a lot of ways, I can't take credit for some of this. My parents and friends encouraged my writing. My mom loves talking about what I've made up. I have multiple people in my life who are happy to be sounding boards when I need someone to check something. My entire school life taught me writing in many stripes because I was blessed with an amazing school and amazing teachers.

What you're seeing with Eden Eclipsed is some... glorious, messy combination of a little talent, some developed skill, and a lot of learning from everything around me.

Really, it's also an outworking of my need to practice. I have an original novel I've been working on very slowly for years. Eden Eclipsed - and the sand box of Worldless - is a chance to do something a little less intimidating, and to work in someone else's wire frame to exercise the muscles for that story.

I wish I could give a more specific answer, or some magical formula to what I do. The truth is, an aurora borealis explodes across the sky of my head and I spend hours chasing the photons trying to get it all on paper. Rarely do I fully succeed. There is so much lost information. So many ideas I will never be able to express properly. But if I agonized over all that, I'd never enjoy writing again. So I take the tools I do have and use them as best I can. Some days go well, some don't. But this is a gift I've been given and I will run with it for as long as I am able.

If I could boil it down to advice, it'd be this:

Consume good stories. If you want to make something good, you have to learn from good sources, so fuel that fire with good wood.

Exercise the muscles. Where you can, take opportunities to practice. Once you build a skill, it takes a while to go away. If you spend two years building a skill it'll take two or more to fade.

Not everyone worldbuilds the same way. I build in a very structured, architectural method. I'm always asking how things work. I build the story around the wireframe of worldbuilding. Other people start with the story. Some people work with characters first, some with magic, it goes on. What works for me might not actually be the system that you thrive in.

Don't give up. Please don't give up. You're your own worst critic 99% of the time. Don't stop digging right before the diamonds, yeah?

Imma shuddup before this goes souther XD

Thank you, Mystic. I will forever be floored at how highly you think of my writing. It's an honor. And I hope you don't shortchange yourself, either - your writing is very enjoyable, and I've loved seeing your worldbuilding. You're better at this than you give yourself credit for. Your writing is fun, and you handle characters so well, and I look up to you in your skills as well.

[in-maidjan]

3, 8, 17 for grey, aeca and one other of your choice!!

finally posting these after not one but two hot minutes dgjhfks

thank you alana!! i used a random generator and ended up on vivienne for the extra <3 // intimate + sexual headcanons ask meme

03. what traditional 'turn on's' apply most to your muse?

i’m going to do this in two parts for things that turn my muse on and what traits they have that might turn on others because that’s fun lol

GREYSON – cooking and cleanliness would be really conventionally attractive traits for him i feel. also being a handyman with his carpentry skillset? nothing like having a man who spends eight weeks in the wilds hunting monsters coming home to the cabin he built with his bare hands, cleaning up really nice with a spritz of cologne, and then making a hearty stew. things that grey would be turned on by… i think he finds confidence / self-assuredness attractive because he does suffer from some terrible self-doubt sometimes, so i think he would seek it out and find it really attractive in another person? as such, dominance is a definite turn on for him.

AECA – the bard multiclass here gives him some of those classic artistic traits that can be attractive; lovely voice, good with his hands, passionate, so on and so forth. aeca would find charisma attractive but more than anything it’d be honesty that appeals the most, and dirty talk would be something that turns him on.

VIVIENNE – her composure and competence come to mind but i think the big one is trustworthiness. she’s a good listener, keeps secrets, and knows well enough that difference between wanting a shoulder to cry on or looking for a solution. she finds humour really attractive in others, and i think with the right person she’d be turned on by someone that isn’t afraid to question / challenge her too.

08. outside of the bedroom or domicile, where has your muse had sex?

GREYSON – well absolutely the public bathhouse in novigrad. beyond that? i think we can tick off: the woods outside his cabin and surrounding lakes/rivers; forests in general; i’m certain he’s gotten frisky in one or two ruins; farmhouses/barns; taverns; outside taverns, probably in a stable; maeve’s estates; various boutiques owned by maeve…just to name a few.

AECA – sooo the elemental planes for sure. i could see him getting handsy in some semi-public spaces for the thrill with a partner he trusts, like a quiet alcove in a quiet corridor; in an alleyway off of a bazaar, a secluded courtyard, places like that. a theatre box deserves an honourable mention i think as well for style points.

VIVIENNE – probably a half dozen training / shower rooms on various Alliance Military bases in space, but the real hero of this answer is the mako. that bad boy has the suspension to handle anything she tries in it.

17. how confident is your muse in expressing their desires?

GREYSON – this is a trick question depending on how deep we go. when he’s with someone he’s really close to and the more vulnerable he is, the less confident he is. matching someone else’s energy and expressing a mutual, casual desire is one thing. expressing an absolute need for someone he loves is terrifying, and he’s so terribly afraid of being alone at the end of the day, he’d feel safer keeping that desire close to his chest so he doesn’t end up losing what he already has.

AECA – at first, oof, he’s in the negatives. no confidence whatsoever. total 180 from the way i played him during the campaign when it was alive, but after rehashing him i think it makes much more sense that he’s pretty reserved and progressively becomes more confident as he starts to really understand who he is and what he wants. by the time the little (still in the works) genasi polycule i have in mind for him is fully formed, he’s confident enough to admit when he needs some kind of physical/emotional connection without being worried that the rug is going to be pulled out from under him.

VIVIENNE – she’s very comfortable asserting herself and what she wants and needs from a partner, and communicating desire is easy…unless you’re in the middle of a galactic war against an ancient race of hyper-advanced synthetics that want to annihilate advanced organic life, so she feels pretty guilty thinking about indulging desires, but every so often she gets brought down to earth and reminded she’s only human.