#it is very likely that i am never sharing it ever

[xremus-is-deadx]

So, when I first heard about this, I found it VERY fucking convenient that this was the first I'd ever heard of Elon Musk being autistic so I did a little research which... reveals a lot about him.

He openly admitted to being autistic whilst hosting SNL in May 2021, stating "I'm actually making history tonight as the first person with Asperger's to host SNL ... or at least the first to admit it,"... let's unpack

There are fundamentally 3 things I find so wrong about this. 1- the term "aspergers" has not been a diagnosis for 12 years now. It has Nazi origins (how shocking of Musk) and is not a good term to use, we do not use it!! 2- he frames himself to be some kind of awesome person for being the first. He is so fucking obsessed with claiming things it's insane, I mean it's literally his entire career. Just ew. 3- "or at least the first to admit it"... yes, Elon, because whilst hosting a tv show, people's first priority is to share all of their diagnoses... like how self centred do you have to be to drag other people down and make yourself look good in a time when it doesn't matter?

Don't get me wrong, I am all for being open about being autistic. But there are times when it's not necessary.

My other point is that it is highly convenient that this is the excuse used for him. The way people paint the "it's because of his autism" is very reminiscent of people who speak for autistic people who they think don't know better. This has very historically painted an idea that "autistic people are stupid and don't know what they're doing", which firstly, has never been the image for "Aspergers", and secondly just isn't the same as doing something that can only be done knowingly as a Nazi salute.

(Apologies for lack of well put together whatever, I'm very tired, but you get my point)

fyi if you're trying to use the fact that that rancid ass muskrat cunt is autistic to be like "oh he didn't know what he did was wrong" about the fact that he threw up a fucking nazi salute then you are one of the stupidest fucking cunts to walk the earth and since we're in a housing crisis you should start offering the massive amount of empty fucking space in your skull for rent

(signed, an autistic person)

[itadorey]

𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐓! — gojo satoru

pairing: gojo x gn!reader summary: little snippets showing how gojo satoru has always been a pain in your ass genre: fluff and angst #lol #soz word count: ~3k notes: sorry. spoilers for shibuya arc and onwards, mentions of jjk 236. also this is the only thing i've written in months so i'm kinda rusty

Gojo Satoru is a pain in the ass.

More specifically, he's a pain in your ass, especially once he discovered that you're so much easier to rile up than Utahime.

It starts in high school, with meaningless bets made between the two of you that all result in endless lectures and reprimands from your respective school principals. But it's hard for you to stop agreeing to these deals when Gojo offers you a week without his presence if you manage to win.

Victories for you have become more common in recent years, with you learning how to words your agreements in a sly way that makes Gojo huff out a little laugh whenever you manage to outwit him. But your losses far outweigh your triumphs and you constantly find yourself dragged onto missions or out to new restaurants whenever Gojo wins. Which happens to be pretty often.

"I bet that the first years can beat you in a fight," Gojo says, snickering when you shoot him a nasty look. He takes a step closer to you, pouting when you distance yourself from him and speed up.

"I bet you that they can't," you retort, unable to stop yourself from disputing his statement. You don't turn to look at him, merely grumbling under your breath when he easily matches your stride.

You have no idea how you've ended up here, transferred (against your will you might add!) to Tokyo Jujutsu High to teach alongside the only man who has ever made you feel feral. And not in a good way.

The very reason for your arrival is none other than Okkotsu Yuuta, an overpowered, meek-looking teen with a cursed technique that seems to be a little more trouble than you originally thought. That's the only thing going through your mind when you're introduced to him, leaving you inattentive to the way Gojo slings an arm over your shoulders and introduces you as his significant other to the first years.

You're only brought back to the present when Panda— yes, an actual panda— congratulates you loudly, causing you to scowl and push Gojo far, far, away from you. You're the only one who doesn't notice how you actually make brief physical contact with him.

"I am not dating him. I'm your new instructor," you say sharply, introducing yourself before turning and walking out the door. The first years all share a glance before following, Zenin Maki leading the small group as she eyes you with interest. You come to a stop in the middle of the training field before flashing them a grin that can only be described as dangerous. "Now, we're going to see how much combat experience you have, so give me all you've got."

You then proceed to take on all four of the first years, all too aware of the way Gojo's stare never leaves your figure. At the end of the day, you're the proud winner of a Gojo-free week.

Your first year teaching at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech is a tumultuous one.

You learn to treasure your friends a little more, and you find yourself thinking that you've become a pro when it comes to grieving.

(You remember Geto's defeated form as you arrived just in time to see the last smile he ever gave Gojo right before he took his last breath—)

The stress of everything even has you appreciating Gojo's presence in your life a little more, and when you tell Shoko this development, she merely snorts and pulls out a cigarette. You chide her for failing to break her habit even after she's promised you multiple times, only falling silent when you realize just how tired she looks.

You've become a pro at grieving, but that doesn't mean everyone else has, so you silently slide the cigarette packet back towards her and leave her to mourn in a way that seems to work for her.

The months that follow feel like a blur, and you get sent on plenty of missions to fill time. Your bets with Gojo seem to occur more often, and you find that you don't necessarily dislike hanging out with him whenever he wins. You wonder if the previous year has helped him mellow out, and you find yourself thinking a friendship with Gojo is possible. Especially after everything the two of you have dealt with.

Your appreciation for Gojo ends up fizzling out when you learn from Maki that he's been telling the new first year, Fushiguro Megumi, the same lies he tried telling the second years when you first arrive. It isn't long before you find out that Megumi is incredibly perceptive, and he doesn't fall victim to Gojo's lies about your nonexistent relationship.

Unfortunately, the two other first years aren't necessarily as... insightful as Megumi is, and all it takes is for them to see the way Gojo smiles when he's around you to believe that the two of you are meant to be.

Itadori Yuuji is a young boy that you think is a little wise beyond his years. When you hear about how he ate— yes, consumed— Sukuna's finger, you change your mind. He's seen a lot in the past few days, and it almost amuses you to see just how upbeat but jaded he seems. Seeing him interact with Megumi reminds you of sweeter times, back when you were their age and spent your afternoons sharing snacks and chatting with Utahime, and you feel an awful heaviness weighing down your heart when you realize just how small they seem.

You're tending to Megumi's wounds when you meet Yuuji for the first time, and you can't help but roll your eyes when you hear Gojo call out your name.

"This is my partner," he whispers loudly to Yuuji, lips turned up in a fond smile as you give Megumi the all clear. There's a mildly irritated huff that escapes you as you turn to greet the newest first year, but you can't help the way your lips twitch when Gojo tries to pinch your cheek and you swat his hand away. Megumi's suspicious eyebrow raise goes unnoticed by you as Yuuji bows in greeting, an easy smile on his face as he looks between you and Gojo.

"The two of you make a nice couple," he comments before his gaze drifts over to Megumi. You open your mouth to dispute Yuuji's statement but he makes his way over to Megumi before you have the chance to actually speak. "Woah! Fushiguro, what happened to you?"

The two boys walk into Megumi's bedroom, softly conversing as Yuuji pokes at the bandage on his cheek. You watch them fondly, sighing softly before turning around to leave.

"I bet I can also convince the third first year that we're dating," Gojo sings as he walks beside you, causing you to flinch away from him.

"I bet you can't," you respond automatically, feeling your stomach drop when he shoots you a cocky grin. He doesn't say anything before splitting off down another hall, shouting a quick goodbye to the two boys who are still wrapped up in conversation. You hope that Kugisaki Nobara is smarter than Yuuji.

Kugisaki Nobara is not smarter than Yuuji.

You have hope for the first five minutes you interact with her, fighting a smirk when you notice her immediate disdain towards Gojo. There's a judgmental look on her face as he introduces himself, and you can't help but straighten up when her gaze lands on you and her eyes sparkle with curiosity.

"It's very nice to meet you," you say softly, introducing yourself and giving her a soft smile. She smiles back at you, her expression becoming strained when Gojo pulls you into his side.

"We're dating!" he proclaims proudly, earning a quiet groan from you. Nobara looks between the two of you skeptically, and you feel confident that she's going to call out his lie until she turns to look at her fellow first years.

There's a bored look on Megumi's face, but Yuuji is nodding his head enthusiastically, his eyes shining as he glances at you and Gojo. You shake your head in response, and Megumi's lips twitch in amusement at your contrasting demeanors. Your embarrassed state is apparently proof enough for Nobara, and she gives you a sympathetic look as she turns to face you once more.

"You're so brave," she whispers to you, wiping a fake tear from her eye before turning to Gojo. "And you're punching above your weight."

She promptly turns around and walks off before he can respond, leaving you fighting back a giggle as Megumi and Yuuji follow her. Gojo wilts at her words momentarily before turning to give you a dazzling smile, lifting his blindfold just enough for you to see him wink at you.

"I win!" he declares, laughing when he notices the way your eyebrows furrow in frustration. He turns to follow after Nobara, casually reaching for your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours before pulling you along. "Come on! We can't stand here all day, we might lose the kids."

He smiles when you don't really make a move to pull your hand away from his and makes a mental note to take you to your favorite restaurant this time.

"I bet I can take out more curses than you."

Your statement is quiet, a familiar phrase meant to try and calm your nerves. You're met with a bored glance from Nanami, and you huff when he crosses his arms and shakes his head.

The atmosphere in Shibuya is unsettling, and even though you have complete faith in your abilities as a sorcerer, you can't help but feel a chill run down your spine when you think about what's to come.

"You should be making that bet with your boyfriend. Not me," Nanami says in response. You scowl at him in return, rolling your eyes when you catch sight of the amused smirk on his face.

"He is not my boyfriend," you mutter petulantly, all too aware of the way your statement lacks its usual bite. There's a quiet hum from Nanami before silence engulfs the two of you, and then—

"Are you sure about that?"

"Nanami!" you snap, feeling your cheeks warm as you turn to shove him. He barely moves, and you half-heartedly let out a string of curses as he chuckles. The tension you previously felt is broken momentarily, and you feel a brief moment of happiness as you joke with your friend. "Yes, I'm sure."

"I'm just saying," he continues, his tone even as he does his best to not give anything away. "Yuuji seems to think that the two of you are perfect for each other. I've heard quite a lot about how sweet he thinks the two of you are together."

"I can't believe Yuuji believed him," you mutter, shaking your head. There's a part of you that can't help but wonder what exactly it is that Yuuji sees that makes him think you and Gojo are a bona fide couple, but you tell yourself that now is not the time to dwell on that.

"Well, those younger than us tend to be more perceptive sometimes," Nanami says, unintentionally answering your internal question.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

There's another moment of silence between the two of you before Nanami calls your name, bringing your attention to him once more.

"I'll accept your bet, but when I win, you have to take Gojo out to dinner."

"When you win?" you ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow as you stare him down.

"Yes, when I win," he says, doubling down on his statement. "You need to take Gojo out. As in a date. Who knows? Maybe you'll finally understand Yuuji's point of view when it comes to you two."

"Deal," you say, eyes narrowing when he holds out his hand for you to shake.

That's the last time you ever have contact with Nanami, and later on in the night when you find his body, you can't help but wonder which one of you had actually won your silly bet.

But as you discovered a year ago, you're a pro at dealing with grief, so you give yourself fifteen minutes to collect yourself before setting out to find your students.

After all, you now have to figure out a way to get Gojo free from the prison realm and maybe even honor your bet with Nanami regardless of who won.

The relief you feel when you see Kurusu Hana unseal the prison realm is overwhelming.

When you get told by Shoko that she's giving Gojo a checkup, you act before you can stop yourself, bursting into the infirmary and throwing yourself into Gojo's arms. You let out a stuttered breath when he catches you effortlessly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as you hide your face in his neck, and when he laughs you can feel your throat tighten up as you try to hold back your tears.

"Missed me?" he asks, cocky tone still present in his voice. His actions present a stark difference to his tone, and you can't help but think to yourself that he's holding you so tightly because he's scared of being separated from you once more.

So much, you think to yourself. But you're as stubborn ever and so you resolutely shake your head, drawing another laugh out from him as turns his face to press a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head.

"I did," he murmurs, voice soft as he pulls you even closer. "Miss you, that is."

There's a moment of silence as Shoko pulls Ijichi away, attempting to give the two of you some privacy as she gathers up the necessary tools. There's a mischievous glint in her eye when Gojo gives her an appreciative nod, but she refrains from teasing either one of you for the time being.

You make a move to pull away from the hug, a soft gasp leaving your lips when Gojo's arms tighten around you and pull you flush against him. You fight against his hold, pulling back just enough to see the pout on his lips. A breathy laugh escapes you, and your hands come up to cradle his face as you take the moment to process the fact that he's finally back. There's a softness in his blue eyes that makes you choke up once more, and you impulsively pull his face towards yours and press a kiss to his forehead.

He freezes beneath your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his breath hitches. His arms loosen in shock and you take the opportunity to slip out of his hold, cheeks burning when you turn and see Shoko and Ijichi watching the two of you with matching smiles on their faces. Gojo's hand darts out to grab your wrist before you can get too far, and he gently pulls you to his side, resting his head on your shoulder as Shoko proceeds with her checkup.

The days leading up to December 24 are eerily calm, and you make sure to take time for yourself in order to properly grieve Nanami and pray for Megumi and check up on Nobara's condition. Gojo joins you most of the time, silent but always within reach, with his hand holding yours or resting comfortably along your back.

"You know," you randomly say, walking alongside Gojo on your way to meet up with everyone else. There's a pit in your stomach as you glance at him, the knowledge of his upcoming fight weighing heavy on your mind. "I actually made a bet with Nanami before he..."

"I thought that was our thing," Gojo muses. His eyes linger on you before he turns back to face the road in front of you, tucking his hands into his pocket with an air of nonchalance.

"Nanami said something along those lines too," you say, laughing softly at the memory. "He still agreed to it, but he said that if he won I'd have to take you out on a date."

"Oh?"

Your words have piqued Gojo's interest, and he comes to a stop at the top of a staircase. You can see Yuuji's tuft of pink hair in the distance, and you drag your eyes back to your companion as you come to a stop as well.

"Too bad we never found out who won," you say flatly.

"Oh," Gojo repeats, his dull tone matching yours. You turn to face the staircase once more, trying to ignore the way Gojo's stare burns into you. You don't think you'll ever get used to those eyes of him.

"How about we make a bet?" you say lightly. There's a twinkle in your eye that sends a thrill down Gojo's spine, and he smiles before motioning for you to continue. "I bet that you can't beat Sukuna. If I win, you leave me alone for longer than a week, even though I know that'll be hard for you. If you win, I'll take you out on a date."

"Sounds like an easy win to me," he comments, laughing when you toss him a sly grin over your shoulder. "Betting against the strongest? I think you're guaranteed to lose."

"Perhaps, but I can't imagine I'll be all too upset about it," is all you say, shrugging your shoulders before descending down the stairs. Gojo smiles dazedly for a couple more seconds before following after you, effortlessly scooping your hand and entangling your fingers the same way he did when the two of you met Nobara for the first time.

The two of you are greeted with grins from all the students, the sight of your linked hands a welcome reprieve from everything bad that's happened so far. You hold on tight to Gojo until the very last minute, now all too aware of how awful it is to truly have him missing from your everyday life. You are unaware of what's to come.

You thought you were a pro when it came to grieving, but winning the last bet you ever made with Gojo has proved you wrong.

ty for reading. rbs appreciated <3

[starlightkun]

➺ word count: 9.3k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec’s real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ author’s note: agh i had so, so much fun with this one! i know i say that with every new fic, but it’s true! also, i don’t know a whole lot about being an air traffic controller, so this was only loosely based off that (and reader and kun’s jobs are made up anyway), but my dad used to have his pilot’s license and take me flying with him when i was little and i took aviation classes in hs, so i do have a bit of knowledge/experience from that so there’s definitely a lot of influence from american aviation jargon in here (whether or not it’s used correctly is an entirely different thing... we’re in space in the future, after all)

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Hey, Quebec?” You spoke into the mic, knowing that only one other person could hear you.

“—eah, Zulu?” A familiar man’s voice came through your headset, the very beginning of his sentence cut off as he hadn’t let there be enough still air before he started speaking.

One might think your job lonely or heroic or an opportunity to travel and see some of what the vast Milky Way had to offer. Space Traffic Control was by no means glamorous, and you certainly didn’t feel like a grand figure of mythology in your standard-issue orange jumpsuit that all employees wore on duty, sat at your desk with your feet crossed under you and your mic in one hand as you used the other for leverage against the counter to spin yourself around and around, the various lights on your control panel turning into a starshower before your very eyes. But you quite liked your job. You had the same shift almost every day, so your schedule was predictable, and while the landings and takeoffs that you oversaw were pretty regular thanks to the advancements in space travel, every so often, something fantastic did happen, and you did get to save the day with your quick thinking and directions. You were very rarely thanked or even acknowledged for it, all of the credit and glory going to the pilots, of course, but you didn’t mind—keeping your head down had always best suited you.

And you could never feel alone, even if you were the only person in your control tower. Not when you had Quebec. It was policy to have two controllers on duty at all times, in case of medical emergency (or non-emergency, since even Space Traffic Controllers had to use the bathroom). While you and Quebec weren’t always on shift at the same time, the shifts that you shared with him were by far your favorite. You’d never met in person, nor seen his face, nor even knew his real name, only his call name (Quebec Kilo). But other than that, you knew everything about each other. It wasn’t against any rules for STCs to know each other’s names, but since you only ever used call names on shift, it was pretty pointless to give out your real names.

The landing dock had two towers facing each other, and while they technically did have windows so you could see outside at the approaching spacecraft, even when the lighting was perfect, you could make out no more than a fuzzy, shadowy outline of a person in the window opposite you.

“What did you bring for dinner?”

“Don’t tell me you’re eating your dinner already.” His voice was clearly exasperated.

You hurried to swallow the chip in your mouth before replying. “No…”

“I can hear the food in your mouth.”

“Just a snack!”

“And now you’re going to get hungry again right after dinner and have to go to the vending machine down the hall for another snack and leave me alone with everything.”

“For like five minutes.”

“Remember when that Class-III Tanker came in for an emergency docking while you were on a snack break?”

“Remember every single other time when that didn’t happen, and it was perfectly uneventful?”

He kept his mic on to sigh directly into it, letting you know exactly how he felt. “Just go ahead and eat all of your dinner, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” you bickered back.

“I just brought a rice ball from the convenience store in Sector II,” he answered your question anyway. “And an iced tea.”

“You like to warm your rice balls up or do you eat them cold?”

“I’ve got a salmon one today.”

“Question still stands.”

“Who eats warm salmon and mayo rice balls?”

“Plenty of perfectly normal people.”

He laughed, his disgust from earlier fading away. “You warm up your salmon and mayo onigiri, don’t you?”

“What’s weird about that?” You immediately defended yourself.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he gave in. “I’ve just never thought to try it. Pork, sure. Beef, absolutely. Salmon or tuna? Never.”

“You should try it today. I know that tower has a microwave.”

“Our towers are exactly the same.”

“Almost.”

“What are you leaving me this time? And where?”

You tried to imagine his grin, despite knowing nothing about what he looked. You had decided long ago that he had dimples, one deeper than the other, because that was obviously cuter. And probably straight teeth, since he spoke like he was well educated, which meant his family probably had the money to afford braces if he needed them.

“You’ll find out,” you replied in a sing-songy voice, having already stashed various gifts somewhere around the office. Days in the towers were long and boring, so you’d been teaching yourself more and more complicated origami, always leaving pieces in hiding spots around the tower for Quebec to find the next time he was in there.

The ten STCs were split into two teams of five. Since the station was so large, it was a chore to commute back and forth between the towers every shift. So, each team of five was assigned to one tower, then you’d swap every two months. This meant that your cabin also moved every two months to the opposite side of the station, but you didn’t mind—crew cabins were impersonal and barebones anyway, and different sectors had different offerings in the convenience stores, cafeteria, food court, and just different people. It was a change in scenery even if you were still stuck in the same corner of space.

“And what do you have for dinner, Zu?” He hummed, imitating your tune.

“Well, I just finished my chips,” you sighed with disappointment, tossing the wrapper away. “They were salt and vinegar. But I still have some fruit—honeydew, it’s my favorite—and a leftover sandwich from the caf from yesterday.”

“The fruit—is it imported? From Earth?”

You scoffed. “Pfft! I can’t afford that! You know how much we make! Wait—Unless you’re making more than me. Bec, are you making more than me?”

“No, no, no,” he reassured you with a laugh. “I just thought you might have saved up, since it’s your favorite.”

“It’s my favorite, but I still can’t justify spending that much on something that I’m just going to digest.” You shook your head. “Ag-bubble-grown is perfectly fine for me, thanks.”

“Practical.”

“It’s what I grew up eating. I don’t have a spoiled palate.”

“Like I said, practical.”

A blip appeared on one of your screens, at the same time that all the information on the craft appeared on the screen beside it. “It’s that civilian craft we’ve been waiting for,” you said. “Rock paper scissors?”

“Because that’s always been great via audio,” Quebec chuckled.

“Hundredth time’s the charm.”

“Rock paper scissors, shoot—Rock!” “Paper!”

“See?” He said pointedly, and you imagined him rolling his eyes. “The person who says it always has the disadvantage because of the delay.”

“No, I think you almost had me that time. Really.”

He sighed and cleared his throat, which you took as your cue to turn your mic off. There was another distinct crackle of him turning his outgoing signal on before he started speaking to the incoming spacecraft.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Sparrow, November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey. Do you copy?”

“Civilian Sparrow November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey, we copy, Space Traffic Control.” The voice of the pilot was even more garbled than yours and Quebec’s, typical not only of civilian spacecraft, but judging by how short the N number was, he had a much, much older craft as well. There had been so many made by now that some N numbers were over 10 characters long and included letters too. After the initial identification was made, the N number would typically be abbreviated to the last three characters to save time, unless another craft was in the area with a similar N number. “We are approaching your portside slightly positive on your z-axis, but we’ll sort that out before we get there, about five minutes out. Do we have permission to land?”

“Control to Sparrow, you are all clear for landing. We’ll see you in a bit.”

“Roger-dodger. Thanks, Control. Fair winds. Sparrow over.”

“Fair winds,” Quebec echoed. “Control over.”

Quebec had hardly turned off his outgoing feed when you caught another blip on your screen, this one you weren’t expecting, approaching quickly. You frowned as Quebec cursed under his breath, the information on the spacecraft once again reading out underneath the information on the Sparrow. This was also a civilian craft, slightly larger than the Sparrow, and definitely newer, the N number at least 10 digits long by the look of it.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India—”

“Yeah, copy,” the pilot of the new spacecraft cut Quebec off.

“I need to finish identifying your craft,” he said through gritted teeth. “Civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India-Zero-Zero-Seven-Four-Two-Zero-Juliet-Foxtrot-Niner-Eight-Delta. Do you copy?”

There was a long bout of silence, so Quebec asked again, “Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do—”

“Yeah, I copy, didn’t you hear me the first five times?” The pilot was clearly irritated now, and so were you and Quebec.

“Were you holding the button to turn your mic on the first five times?” Your coworker asked.

“I’m landing in like, two minutes. It’s clear, right?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“We don’t have your flight on file, and there’s another spacecraft that did put their landing request in ahead of time that we’re expecting to land within the next five minutes. So, no,” Quebec reiterated with no sympathy. “Do an orbit. An eccentric one.”

The pilot sputtered indignantly before declaring, “This is an emergency!”

“All readings from your vessel indicate that it’s in perfect condition. Brand new, even. What is the nature of your emergency? Please give us specific details so we can assist.”

You, meanwhile, were glad that your mic was muted, because you were keeled over at your desk laughing, wiping at the tears being forced from your eyes.

Clearly unable to think of a specific emergency scenario, the Hummingbird pilot gave up. “Fine! I’ll orbit and land in ten minutes.”

“We will process your landing request and let you know if you have permission to land.” There was no response from the pilot, but Quebec nevertheless said, “Control over.”

“Hummingbird over,” he finally replied, not hiding how peeved he was.

The dot signifying the Hummingbird changed course, beginning an oblong orbit around the space station that would thankfully take it out of the path of the incoming Sparrow.

“Asshole,” Quebec muttered over your internal frequency.

“Just because we’re not near any major planet doesn’t mean they can show up unannounced and expect to land whenever they want,” you scoffed. “Nobody seems to get that we’re the last station around for light-years, so everybody stops in. Which is why they’re trying to land in the first place.”

“You would think they’d think about that, but no,” he sighed. “Everybody assumes nobody exists outside their own ship. Including us. We’re just disembodied voices to them.”

“I wonder how many people think they’re talking to an automated system when they talk to us.”

“Lots, I’m sure.”

A few minutes later, the Sparrow landed with no issues, and you waved to the quaint ship of various patchwork panels of tan and browns as it came in, despite the pilot being unable to see you. It was just something you liked to do.

“Bec?”

“Yeah, Zu?”

“You want me to let the Hummingbird know their landing has been approved?”

He groaned. “No, but better you than me.”

You snickered, composing yourself right before turning your external comms on, establishing a connection to the Sparrow with a flick of a switch. “Space Tower Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?”

“Where’s the other guy?” The pilot asked, surprise evident in his tone. He was clearly ready for a round two.

“Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?” You repeated in your most neutral, artificial customer service voice.

“As long as he stays gone,” he grumbled. His time-out imposed by Quebec had clearly done him no good. “Yeah, this is civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta. I copy, Control.”

“Your landing request has been approved. In the future, please submit your landing requests at least twelve standard Earth hours prior to arrival in non-emergency cases.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What’s your ETA, Hummingbird?”

“1743.”

“Copy. Fair winds, Hummingbird. Control over.”

“Fair winds,” he repeated unenthusiastically. “Hummingbird over.”

The Hummingbird was of course a sleek ship, slightly larger than the Sparrow in size, but all smooth, thin, long shapes and a glossy scarlet red paint job with chrome accenting. You flipped it off as it glided by to dock with the space station.

After coming back from your late-night vending machine break, you catapulted yourself back into your rolly chair with enough momentum to roll back up to your station with no extra movements needed. Putting your headset back on, you announced into your mic, “I’m back!”

“No disasters,” Quebec reported dryly. “This time.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” You clicked your tongue.

“No.”

“Anyway, I got cookies, in case you were curious,” you told him cheerily. “And information!”

“What sort of information?”

“There was a paper on the bulletin board by the vending machine advertising skiing lessons on Nixu for this upcoming snow season. Starts in just a couple months. You know what that means?”

“We’re about to get all their tourists coming through here on their way to go ski and snowboard and whatever else,” he sighed. “For the next three Nixiun years.”

“Yup!” You confirmed through your bite of cookie. “How many standard years is that? Five? Ten?”

“Too many.”

“Well, Nixiun summer was peaceful while it lasted. For the whole six months.”

“God, have we really been working here for that long?”

“We started within a couple weeks of each other, I think. My one year’s coming up.”

“My one year was a few days ago.”

“Aw, and you didn’t tell me?” You gasped in betrayal. “I would’ve done something!”

“It’s fine, Zulu. I think I was on shift with Pops anyway.” Pops—another one of the Space Traffic Controllers on your team, an older man who happened to be assigned the call name Golf Papa (shortened to Pops).

“Yeah, but you and me are like—” You gesticulated wildly as you scrambled for the right word. “You know?”

“No, not really,” he laughed. “I need you to elaborate a little bit more.”

“We’re Quebec and Zulu, you know? Bec and Zu.” You could see your pout in the reflection of the glass window as you looked out at Quebec’s control tower across from you. “I know we’re all close but you and me are like extra. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Quebec agreed without a hint of sarcasm or jest. “When’s your one year? I want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

“In six days. I expect fireworks,” you teased.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’re working together that day, I think.” You pulled up the schedule on your computer connected to the ship’s intranet. “Yeah, the 1600 to 2400 shift again. It’s starred, we’re going to have a VIP that shift.”

“What about the day before?”

You hummed as you looked it over. “Wednesday… I’m off, and you are on the 2400 to 0800 shift with Uni. You have a lot of time between shifts on Wednesday and Thursday at least. Ooh… never mind.”

“What?”

“You’ve got alt shifts Tuesday-Wednesday. You’re on 0800 to 1600 Tuesday with Uni.”

With 8-hour shifts and two controllers needing to be on shift at a time, your supervisors tried to give you at least two shifts—16 hours—off between when you were scheduled to allow for adequate rest and downtime. Being scheduled for alternating shifts, on, off, then back on (or god forbid, double shifts), was a nightmare for trying to get any rest, errands, or other personal time in.

“Let me see this,” he mumbled, presumably pulling it up on his own monitor. A few moments later, he groaned. “Kill me now.”

“Hey, I’ve got the 1600 shift Tuesday with Indy,” you scoffed. “I’ll kill you if you kill me.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad…”

“You interact with him for all of five minutes when you swap, I have to deal with him for the whole eight hours.”

“Our crew quarters are near each other, actually. We’ve grabbed lunch.”

You clutched your chest as your jaw dropped in horror. “I thought we were friends, Bec, and now I find out you’ve grabbed lunch with my archnemesis?”

“Normal people don’t have archnemeses, Zu.”

“Well I—” A blip popped up on your screen and you quickly switched your comms over to address the incoming ship. “Space Traffic Control to military Wasp, Kilo-Five-Five-Eight. Do you copy?”

Military ships didn’t have N numbers like civilian crafts, instead they had a much shorter ID number. The first letter indicated the classification of the vessel, while the numbers after were unique to that ship.

“Military Wasp Kilo-Five-Five-Eight to Space Traffic Control, we copy,” the pilot replied automatically. “We’re not looking to dock, just requesting a conditions report.”

“Nothing major in the past twenty-four hours and nothing expected in the next forty-eight. Sending the full specs to your ship now,” you said, quickly doing so on your computer.

A few moments later, she confirmed, “Received. Thanks, Control. We’ll be heading out now.”

“Fair skies. Control over.”

“And following seas. Wasp over.”

It seemed a bit silly to you when you started as an STC, to say an old Naval blessing every time you ended a conversation with someone, considering that you were in space so there were no skies or seas to speak of. But soon it became second nature to you. You found that most civilians just echoed ‘fair skies’ back to you, but military personnel would actually complete the phrase.

As soon as you had turned your outgoing feed off, you got right back into it with Quebec, closing your eyes and putting a hand over your chest as you went on with your impassioned opinion, “I think having an archnemesis livens things up. Especially around here.”

“I thought that’s what I was for?” He teased.

“Do you want to be my archnemesis instead?”

“Could be fun.” You imagined him shrugging with a lopsided grin on his face. “Are you taking applications?”

“Only for you.”

“Ooh, I feel so special.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired of wasting time and brainpower on Indy of all fucking people.” You kicked your feet up on the desk, eyes focused on the other tower now as you grinned at it. You always left shifts with Quebec with sore cheeks. “I need someone more on my level anyway.”

“Are you saying if I become your archnemesis then you’ll think about me all the time?” His voice curled around your ear, still playful but not quite the same friendly banter as before. You weren’t sure when it started, but there were moments like this, between your taunting, and poring your hearts out to each other, and rousing games of audio rock-paper-scissors, and actual work, that the mood… shifted.

You bit the tip of your thumb to keep from literally screaming, taking a second to compose yourself before answering. “Mm… maybe.”

“Because then you’re already my archnemesis.”

Muting your mic, you then literally screamed and pumped your fist into the air victoriously. After a deep inhale, you turned your mic back on, unable to contain your giddiness in your one-word question, “Really?”

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you let out an embarrassing yelp directly into the mic, whipping around to see the STC who was taking the next shift from you. “Fucking—Delta! What the fuck, man?”

Quebec was now laughing directly in your ear over the headset, and you took one ear off to hear what Delta said back to you.

“I’ve been here for the past two minutes. I thought you saw the light.” He indicated to the red light above your station that flashed when someone opened the door to your tower. You must’ve had your eyes shut when Delta came in and missed the signal. Delta looked entirely unamused and a little disgusted as he looked down at you, continuing, “Anyway, I’m ready and I can’t listen to you and Quebec do… whatever that is anymore.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass at his words. What the hell did your conversation with Bec sound like to other people? Apparently bad. You barely knew Delta, only interacting with him during shift hand-offs, and, yeah, he seemed a bit uptight, but still, this was embarrassing.

Quebec was no longer laughing, now coughing and sputtering on the other end of the line too. You meekly put the mic back on the desk and took the headset off, handing it over to Delta. He took disinfectant wipes to the headset, waving them in the air for the solution to dry before putting them on and taking the seat which you had just vacated. You shuffled over to the table by the door where your bag was, as well as the IN/OUT log, which you signed before hurrying out.

Returning to the hall where your crew cabin was, you walked by an open door and stopped to poke your head in, beaming at the woman sitting on her bunk. “Hey, Uni!”

“Hey, Zulu,” the STC on your team—Uniform Lima was her full call name—lifted her hand in greeting. “Just get off shift?”

“Yeah, I was going to grab something to eat and head to the gym before sleeping. Want to come?”

“I already worked out, but I could eat,” she agreed.

“Let me get out of my jumpsuit then we can go. You pick.”

Indy was the only STC who was a gym rat to your knowledge, but being in space, working out and supplements were just a fact of life in order to prevent muscle atrophy and other deterioration of your body. You were used to it, having spent plenty of time on spaceships growing up. Going to the gym with a buddy made the mandatory exercise regimen go by a lot quicker.

After changing into casual clothes appropriate for the gym, you grabbed Uni and headed out. She was a few years older than you, not nearly Pops’ age, but you knew she had been here for a little while before you started. Uni was a tall woman, tall enough that you had to crane your neck a little to look up at her, with dark black hair that she kept cropped close to her head. There were a few premature specks of grey at the back, which you never mentioned to her in case she hadn’t noticed.

“You were on shift with Quebec today?” She asked casually.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you answered. “You… checked the schedule?”

“Just to see when I was working. You had your dopey little smile on, so I figured.”

You covered your mouth with both your hands, squinting at her over them. “What are you talking about?”

“No, I think it’s cute. You guys are so cute when you talk about each other.”

“He talks about me?!”

She burst into laughter, fondly patting the top of your head. “Gotcha.”

“You’re mean,” you huffed, swatting her hand away. “Mean and awful and a liar—”

“I wasn’t lying!” You friend defended herself. “He does talk about you when we’re on shift. And it is very cute, too. I just also gotcha by bringing it up.”

The two of you had arrived at the food court that never closed, and she started towards one of the options. You followed, not caring where you ate right now, and also desperately needing to continue this conversation.

“What does he say, Uni?” You pleaded, shaking her by the arm as you got in the short line. Time was pretty meaningless on a space station in the middle of nowhere, constantly getting travelers arriving and departing, so people ate whenever they pleased. The only ones who tended to keep a pretty regular schedule were the crew—except STCs, of course.

“He talks about you the most, out of all the STCs. It’s always Zulu this, Zu that. He knows we’re friends, so he asks about how you’re doing if you guys haven’t been scheduled together for a while, stuff like that.”

You dug your toe into the metal panel under you as you thought about it. Suddenly, your friend was pinching your cheek and cooing at you, “Cute!”

“Uni!” You whined and smacked her hand away, cradling your now-tender skin. She laughed as the two of you shuffled up in line.

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

Because of where you were in space, the last station for a very long while along the intergalactic travel routes in this region, it wasn’t unusual for you to receive special arrivals. Politicians, ambassadors, military leaders, celebrities, you’ve seen a lot in your one year as an STC. Today, an ambassador from Earth was stopping over on their way to an intergalactic peace conference. You and Quebec had received the briefing for the landing in advance to your crew emails, so the ship information that appeared along with the dot was already familiar to you. When the VIPs were of this caliber, all of the higher-ups on the ship would be at the docking port to greet them. The protocols for landing were also slightly different, meaning that having two STCs was necessary for much of it.

“Space Traffic Control to military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner. Do you copy?” Quebec took over the initial paging.

“Military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner to Control, we copy,” the pilot’s voice came back quickly. “Sending out recognition codes…”

An incoming message from the Heavy flashed up on your screen, and you accepted. Quebec read his out first, then you got on the mic to read out your three-number code.

“Great, thanks,” the pilot acknowledged. “Are we clear for landing?”

“Yes,” Quebec confirmed.

The two of you seamlessly worked through the pre-landing protocols with the Heavy’s pilot. Finally, you just had to wait for the craft to get closer before you could begin the next phase: landing. The pilot dropped off the comms momentarily to address something internally, promising to get back on when it was time to begin the landing. That just left you and Quebec again.

“Wonder why they even keep having these intergalactic peace conferences,” he mused. “They only invite the factions that are already at peace, never the ones with any tension.”

“It’s symbolic, I guess,” you shrugged. “Maybe they talk about how to go about achieving peace with the ones that aren’t there? Or to promote continued peace among the ones that are there?”

“It’d probably be worse to stop at this point, huh?”

“Yeah, might not look good if they stopped holding the intergalactic peace conference that’s been going on for the past couple decades.”

“Still, Th’irin always has something to say about—” A heavy clunk punctuated the end of his words, followed by silence. Not fuzzy silence, like when the mic was on but the person on the other end was quiet. Dead silence, like the mic had been shut off entirely.

“Bec?” You said uncertainly. Someone must have come into his tower, and he was addressing them off-mic.

When he still hadn’t responded a minute later, even to tell you to hold on or wait a minute, you started getting nervous. Sitting forward in your seat, you futzed with cover on your microphone as you called into it again.

“Quebec? You there?”

Nothing.

You paged him properly this time, hitting the button to flash the lights in his tower as you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Space Traffic Control Tower One to Tower Two, Quebec Kilo, do you copy?”

At the same time, your hands rushed to send a message to him via the STC system.

[TOWER1: Q? DO YOU COPY?]

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as you desperately went to send another message via the ship intranet to your superiors instead. As soon as you had started drafting it, though, you cursed under your breath and deleted it. They would be down at the dock waiting to receive the ambassador, not at their usual stations with monitors ready to receive emergency alerts from the STC towers.

“Military Heavy to Control, do you copy?” The pilot’s voice cut through the sound of your heartbeat, and you banged your fist on the desk in frustration. You quickly went into the system and switched it over to be a dual STC setup on your monitors since Quebec apparently wasn’t going to be able to help.

Turning your outgoing feed back on, you confirmed, “Control to Heavy, we copy.”

Now with both set of STC controls, you had to move twice as fast to input everything and go through the landing protocols with the pilot. All the while, in the back of your mind, the black put of worry in your stomach only grew and grew.

In between operations, you were drafting a new message, this time to the other STCs. You doubted any of them were going to be checking their staff emails not on duty, but you needed some kind of help. It was a succinct SOS, and you had to focus back in on landing the ambassador’s ship again, and sent it off without another thought.

“Your partner’s quiet,” the pilot commented, their tone light, and you knew they meant nothing by it. “Did you guys rock paper scissors for who would take what parts?”

“Mm, yeah,” you forced out a laugh through gritted teeth, smacking the page button for Quebec’s tower again—just in case.

The light in your tower flashed, and your heart nearly exploded with hope that it was Quebec signaling back to you, that something had just gone awry with his mic and he was still there. Then a hand tapped your shoulder, and you were thrown back into despair again.

It was Pops, the lines on his forehead clear as he furrowed his brows in confusion. He held his digipad out to you, your SOS message on it. You held a finger up to gesture for him to wait a moment as you were receiving pertinent information from the pilot.

“Seven-Five, Two-Zero,” you echoed, entering the numbers as you said them. “Copy.”

Taking one ear of your headphones off, you switched your outgoing comms off before immediately rambling, “It’s Quebec! He dropped off the mic like five minutes ago and he’s not answering, Pops!”

The older man held his hands out in a ‘calm down’ motion. “You’re sure he’s not just getting a snack?”

“No, no, he’d tell me! It was in the middle of his sentence, and we’re literally landing an ambassador’s ship right now!” You sputtered out, gesticulating between your controls and the large ship right outside your window. “He wouldn’t just leave! Something’s wrong!”

His jaw set and he gave one solemn nod. “How far are you?”

“The rest is automated now. But I can’t—”

“I’ll monitor,” he cut you off. “You go check on Quebec.”

“He’s all the way—”

“Now, Zulu!”

You shot to your feet and threw your headphones off and onto the desk. Running from the control room, you didn’t even stay to see Pops take over the station like you’re supposed to.

The space station was huge. It was a thirty-minute walk on a good day from one side to the other, but now that you had fully been overtaken by panic, all of the worst-case scenarios playing in your mind, your stomach consuming itself in fear and anxiety crushing your lungs, it felt insurmountable. Probably your only saving grace was the fact that word had gotten around about the ambassador’s arrival, so lots of people were down on the observation decks above the landing bay to watch the ship dock rather than milling through all the halls that you were currently sprinting through. Even the crew-only shortcuts that you had access to—which you knew were faster—felt like agony to wait for. Standing around in the elevators felt like standing in lava despite the fact that you knew they were moving 100x faster than it felt. The crew corridors were narrower, and you cut corners too close, banging your shoulder or elbow a few times. In your impatience, you lost the location of Tower 2 a couple times on the directory when selecting your destination in a transporter, screaming and kicking the wall in frustration. The pain distracted you from all the what-ifs, and grounded you back into this moment, so you didn’t actually mind it much.

You clutched the handles of Tower 2’s elevator so tightly your fingertips went numb, gnawing on your bottom lip until well past the point you tasted blood. Finally, you were at the control room, and you damn near pried the doors open yourself. Pushing yourself through the doors as they opened, you probably bruised your shoulder again, but you hardly registered it.

Under the red light that flashed to announce your arrival, a man was sprawled on the floor between the chair and the control station. You ran over, pulling the chair away to reach him. He was face-down, and you took his headphones off to roll him over.

“Quebec!” You shook his shoulder a little less than gently.

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet to lunge for the bright blue medical emergency button by the door. The button lit up, and you ran back to grab his headphones and mic.

“—ation EMTs will be at your location in less than two minutes. Please communicate the nature of your emergency if you’re able,” the dispatcher’s voice requested.

“I just found the STC in this tower passed out. He’s got blood coming out of his ear and he won’t wake up,” you said.

“Do you know how long he’s been in this state?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Okay. Any sign of injury?”

“No, nothing. He was fine, he was talking and just, I don’t know, collapsed I think!” You didn’t mean to snap at the dispatcher, but you were freaked out by how little you knew.

“Alright, okay. I understand. The EMTs will be there very soon. Can you stay on the line with me in the meantime?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the patient?”

“An STC—call name Quebec Kilo.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an STC too. Zulu Echo. We were on shift and he just dropped off the mic in the middle of a landing.”

“Got it, got it.”

“Where the EMTs?” You asked, feeling for Quebec’s breaths again.

“They’re in the elevator now.”

The elevator door opened then, and your throat seized up anxiously. “They’re here. Thank you.”

“I’ll hang up now. Goodbye, Zulu Echo.”

You took the headphones off as the two EMTs swarmed Quebec’s body, watching them start evaluating his vitals with their field scanner.

“We have the information you gave dispatch,” one EMT informed you. “We’re going to take him to the infirmary in this sector.”

You grabbed the edge of the desk to pull yourself to your feet. “I’ll—”

“Elevator isn’t big enough for all of us,” the other informed you regretfully as they had started loading him onto a stretcher. “You can take the next one.”

“Right. I’ll be right behind you.”

You watched them take him out, and as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, felt your knees buckle under you. Barely catching yourself against the desk, your eyes filled with tears, which you barely saw the flash of a red light through. The elevator wasn’t opening again, though, so you figured it must be a page.

Picking up the headphones and mic, you kept it on the internal system as you croaked, “Pops?”

“Oh, Zulu, there you are,” his relief was evident in his voice. “How is he?”

“Bad, I think,” you confessed, tears slipping down your face. “He was out cold, and there was blood coming from his ear. The EMTs took him—”

“You know where?”

“Sector 2 infirmary.”

“So what are you doing still talking to me?”

“Right. Bye, Pops.”

Your hands were trembling as you set the headphones down on the desk. With a trembling breath, you recalled the elevator. It was empty when you stepped on, and you numbly selected down. The infirmary was close by to the tower, and you wiped your eyes in the hall outside before entering.

It was eerily empty, and your stomach dropped. You dug your nails into your palm to try to get control of yourself again. Finally, a nurse came out of the hallway and into the main hallway where you were, clearly surprised when he spotted you.

“Sorry about that.” He focused a frazzled smile on you. “How can I help you?”

You were sure you were mirroring his expression. “I’m here to see somebody. He should’ve just come in with the EMTs…?”

“Yes, the doctors are working on him.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to where you can wait.”

You were put into a small patient room with a bed and one chair. After pacing for who knows how long, your feet finally got tired enough that you sat down in the chair. You didn’t sit for very long before you were back on your feet, pacing again. That repeated at least three times before you finally heard something from the hall.

Your eyes were already on the doorway when a gurney was pushed in, Quebec laying atop it. Stepping out of the way of the two nurses who transferred him from the gurney to the bed and started hooking him up the monitoring equipment, you were then pulled aside by the doctor who had come in with them.

“Are you a friend?” She asked.

“Yeah, we work together,” you confirmed. “I called it in.”

“Good timing,” she commented lightheartedly. She filled you in on the issue—most of the specifics went over your head, but it didn’t sound good—then gave you the prognosis, “We plugged everything back up. He’ll have a headache for a few days, and needs to take it easy for the next week. But other than that, he’ll be fine.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“How far medicine has come, huh?” She chuckled. “Something like that would’ve killed him a decade ago. But he can go on like it never happened now.”

You looked over at where Quebec’s eyes were still closed, still unable to calm your panicked heart despite the doctor’s reassuring words and relaxed demeanor. “When will he wake up?”

“An hour or so.” She nodded towards the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a couple other patients to check on.”

“Oh, go for it.”

“Push the call button if you need anything, or just holler. Small infirmary, someone will hear you.”

With her departure, it was just you and Quebec. You pulled the chair up to his bedside, gathering your knees to your chest in a self-soothing grasp. His heart monitor beeped steadily in the background, and you noticed that his hand was hanging off the bed a little bit, so you reached forward to pick it up and rest it over his abdomen like his other one. There was a small piece of gauze affixed under his ear, and you recognized it as the ear that had been bleeding earlier.

“I’m never letting you live this down, Quebec,” you stated through a sniffle. “Every time you bring up that Tanker showing up while I was at the vending machine, I’m going to bring up you passing out while we were in the middle of landing an ambassador’s ship.”

He continued resting, chest rising up and down.

“So you better wake up soon, so I can start teasing you.” You poked his shoulder before taking your hand back and wrapping your arm around your knees again.

For the first time since you entered Tower 2, you took a moment to process what Quebec actually looked like. Dark brown hair, bangs falling out of the way of his forehead and pieces curling around his ears, and a freckle under his right eyebrow.

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Of all the times you’d let yourself daydream about finally meeting Quebec in person, this was absolutely not how it went. Usually, it was something like bumping into each other while you were switching crew cabins, or you just so happened to go to a more centrally located place to eat and started talking to a handsome stranger and found out that it was him. Funny enough, you never thought of actually asking Quebec to hang out off-shift. You were more than happy with what you had, fully content with the knowledge that nobody in the universe knew him better than you, and vice versa. So what if other people knew what he looked like or knew his real name? That never felt important.

Before you realized it, your eyes were fluttering shut, your ears continuing to listen to the rhythm of the vitals monitor. Eventually, a confused grunt caught your attention, and you looked up quickly.

Quebec was hesitantly squinting one eye open, rubbing his other as he seemed to be struggling to adjust to the bright lights in the room. You stayed quiet as you let him wake up a little more and acclimate, getting two eyes open and blinking as he registered first the hospital gown he was wearing and infirmary bed he was laying in, then did a sweep around the room, brown gaze landing on you.

“Hey, Bec,” you greeted him gently, offering a small smile. “How do you feel?”

“Zu?” His voice was hoarse, gaze unblinking as he reached a hand towards you.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you confirmed, taking his hand between both of yours. “You had uhm, a problem. The doctor can explain—But you’re better now.”

He clutched his head, and you winced sympathetically.

“Your head will hurt for a bit, but other than that, all better,” you corrected yourself. “You feel okay?”

He nodded, sitting up a little straighter. “You came all the way here?”

“You passed out in the middle of us landing the ambassador’s ship,” you told him frankly, a hint of teasing in your tone. But your voice wavered as you added, “I was worried sick. Found you on the floor of the tower.”

“Ah, sorry. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand.

“No way I was going to let you die, Quebec. I mean—What if they started putting me with Indy instead?”

He was just staring at you, mouth parted, before a soft smile came across his features, two dimples marking his cheeks. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You chuckled nervously.

“That you’d be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You covered your face as you laughed and shook your head. “Quebec—”

“Kun.”

“What?”

“That’s my real name,” he hummed. “Qian Kun.”

“Kun,” you sighed fondly. “I knew you’d have dimples.”

“What?” He giggled, touching one of his cheeks. “You could hear my dimples?”

“It was a hunch.”

He looked down at the IV in his arm. “They’ve got me on some good stuff.”

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed.

“I mean it, though.”

“Mean what?”

Kun turned over on his side to face you. “You’re beautiful, Zulu.”

You traced the lines of his brows, his freckle, his eyes, his nose, the curve of his smile, his cupid’s bow, and his jaw with your eyes. “Y/N. That’s my name. Y/L/N Y/N.”

He mouthed it to himself first, slowly, then said it aloud, “Y/N. Thank you.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Kun.” You pressed a fleeting kiss to his hand that you were still holding. “Really.”

You kicked your feet up on the desk, tapping your toes in the air along to an imaginary beat. Clicking your internal comms line on, you asked, “So what are you doing after this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kun immediately teased back.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked, asshole,” you scoffed.

“Ouch, first day back on the job and this is how I’m treated?”

“Doctor said you’re fine, no need to throw yourself a pity party.”

He laughed, but answered your question nevertheless. “Gym and then dinner. Missed enough required exercise thanks to that little incident I’m going to start withering away.”

“I’ll have to find another archnemesis if you do.”

“So I am your archnemesis.” His grin was audible, and you could perfectly imagine it now, bright and dimpled. “Well, I can’t have you thinking about anybody else.”

You looked over your shoulder before offering, “Want some company?”

“Sure. Sector 1?”

“Damn, you really that afraid of withering away you’re willing to come all the way over here?”

“I was being a gentleman—”

“Wait, your favorite restaurant is in the Sector 1 food court,” you said knowingly. “Would that have anything to do with it?”

“It’s a win-win—you don’t have to come all the way over here, I get to see you…”

“And eat at your favorite spot,” you snickered. “Smart, Bec.”

“I would’ve offered even if I hated all the food in Sector 1, Zu,” he declared dramatically. “Hand on my heart.”

Despite knowing each other’s real names, it was still habit (and technically proper) to use call names on shift. You checked on him every day during his recovery over the past week, so you’d gotten used to calling him Kun as well.

“Uh-huh,” you agreed mildly. “I’ll meet you in the gym at 1630 then.”

“It’s a date.”

After getting through your mandatory workout for the day, you and Kun meandered over to the Sector 1 food court. Despite your teasing, you also got food from the same restaurant as him. He didn’t move to take a seat in the food court, however, jerking his head for you to follow him. With your bag of food in one hand, you did so, intrigued. Kun apparently had a destination in mind, weaving through the crowds with intention and reaching back to grab your free hand to not lose you.

Soon, you arrived at a crew-only observation deck devoid of other people. You couldn’t recall if you had been to this particular one before, but the door slid shut behind you two and the sounds of the rest of the ship faded away. This particular deck was pointed directly at a large plasma cloud, glowing with energy and all sorts of swirling pinks, purples, and greens.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” you gushed, sitting on the ledge under the window.

“I like seeing how the cloud has changed whenever I’m in Sector 1,” Kun said, sitting next to you. “It’s different every time.”

You drew your gaze over to him, eyes catching on the faint line under his ear, marking where he’d been operated on just last week. It had healed very fast, of course, as all surgeries now did, and you reached out to touch the skin under it with a fingertip. “Do you feel okay, Kun?”

“Brand new.” He took your hand from the incision and laced your fingers together. “I promise, Y/N.”

“Good.” The two of you ate your dinner like that, hand-in-hand, watching the plasma cloud and stars, sometimes talking, and sometimes in silence. And that was more than enough.

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

@classicroyalty @fairvtale @giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01 @fae-renjun

[luvo27]

Should i like. Be plugging my fics here? Because to be honest i kind of was of the mind that everyone who would care to read the things i write had already seen them

[short-honey-badger]

Hello!

This is the first time ever that I ask for a writing to a headcanon and it’s exciting. :) I have been eating up your Shamrock/Shanks writings, love them!

There is this idea living in my head that the female reader

a) falls very ill

b) gets poisoned by rivals of the Figarland family

And is then discovered by Shamrock who comes looking for us, wondering why we don’t react to him calling our name.

In both scenarios mentioned, the reader is then lying in bed and very weak, suffering and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Meanwhile, Shamrock deals with guilt, fear and shock about this even happening right under his nose

Shanks of course would be there too, angry with his brother for not looking out enough for Reader

I know this is very angsty (think about that scene from Gone with the Wind where Scarlett fell down the stairs and was ill) and I am not sure if you said anywhere that this isn’t something you would like to write about.

Still, I would love to see what you make of this little snippet. :) Your Shamrock characterization is great 👍

Okay anon. This was probably one of my favorite ones I've done so far so thank you dearly for the wonderful prompt. I hope I have done it justice! ❤️❤️

Watch me Wither

Pairings! Shanks x Female Reader x Figarland Shamrock

Warnings! Not many? Angsty sick fic

Shamrock Masterlist-> HERE

Shamrock stands vigil over your still form, lips set in a harsh frown. It's been three days, and still your condition has yet to improve. Guilt eats at him, knowing that if he had listened to his brother for once that this wouldn't have happened. That you, their most precious person, would not be lying here still as a corpse. How could he let this happen when he had sworn to you that you would be safe here with him?

When you don't come to his office to share lunch with the leader of the Holy Knights, Shamrock knows that there is something going on. He stands from his desk and leaves his office, booted feet slapping against the stone of his home as he navigates the halls to the room he had set you up in a month ago.

Shanks had argued against you staying in Marie Geoise with Shamrock, seemingly convinced that you would be happier, safer with him and his crew. Shamrock had scoffed and rolled his eyes at his younger twin, lips pursed and arms crossed.

“She will be perfectly fine here with me, safe where no bloody pirates can steal her away when you aren't paying attention.”

Shanks had rolled his eyes but backed down, face set in a scowl as he turned on his heel to go tell you goodbye.

Shamrock knocks on your door, knowing that you value your privacy, but when you didn't answer after several moments, the holy knight turned the handle and strode inside. He stalks forward, scowl on his face as he comes to a stop beside your bed. He can see the lump you make under the blankets and calls your name, but still, there is no response from you. He rolls his eyes and reaches out, pulling the quilt down and freezing when he sees the yellow pallor of your face, your hair weighed down by sweat.

His heart siezed in his chest, eyes going wide as he reached out, on ehand wrapping around your shoulder and shaking you gently, “Darling, my love, please, wake up.”

A wretched groan left your mouth, eyes cracking open just enough that he could see the way your pupils had shrunk, tiny pinpoints surrounded by the dull color of your iris and bloodshot white sclera.

He had jumped into action when you fell back into unconsciousness seconds later, eyes drooping and body going lax in his hold. Shamrock had scooped you up and ran like he had never before, heedless of puting up a front in front of the servants and other members of his household until he made it to the room that their personal healer stayed. He’d woken Jurgan, demanding that the old man examine you, and what he found had made dreaded guilt well up inside the holy knight.

Someone, either an enemy of the Figarland household or one of their enemies, had poisoned you.

Now Shamrock could do nothing but regret his choice in keeping you here. He had called Shanks on the second day that you were admitted into the medical ward, and had sat still and silent as his twin lay into him, furious at Shamrock for allowing this to happen right under his nose. He deserved the dressing down, and it only added to his guilt and fear that because of him, they would never see that shy little grin that was only meant for them, ever again.

Shanks had told him that he would be back as quickly as he could, wanting to be there for his twin and for you if you ever happened to wake for longer periods of time. Shamrock had just quietly agreed, not feeling the need to argue against his younger brother, not when you were in such a delicate position.

You would wake long enough each day that Shamrock for drip water into your mouth, his eyes intent as he watched you slowly consume the liquid before you would drop back off, still too weak to do much but slowly recover. Jurgan had purged your system with a concoction of drugs, but even then, the doctor had informed him that it may not be enough for you to pull through. Only time would tell.

Shamrock didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t make it. You had become an extension of his life, a need that he would happily let consume him if only to receive your soft hands and sweet attitude that you rewarded him and Shanks with. Raging guilt eats at him, knowing that he failed you, that the promise he had made you and Shanks has been broken by being too prideful, too sure in the knowledge that you would be safe in his home.

A low groan gains his attention, and Shamrock cuts his eyes down at you, loping forward to grasp your hand in his own when he sees your hand twitch in his direction. You grip his fingers weakly, and the holy knight kneels by your side, burgundy eyes soft as he reaches out with his other hand to gently card his fingers through your hair. You look pitiful, but it gives him hope that you are beginning to feel better when you crack your eyes open to meet his own.

“Sham?”

Your voice is scratchy with disuse, but Shamrock is just happy to hear your voice. He squeezes your fingers, the hand in your hair smoothing down to cup your cheek, “I’m here, darling.”

Shamrock doesn’t know what to do or how he could make you feel better other than just by being at your side. His father had huffed and sneered, telling his older son that he needed to get over this, and get back to his duties, but the redhead found that he was always pulled back to your side, unable to be away from you for too long.

“Red?” You rasp quietly and frown when Shamrock shakes his head.

“Shanks is on his way, my love,” he murmurs, and the knowledge that the other twin was on the way seems to settle you, face smoothing out into something peaceful. He watches you for a while longer until your hand goes slack and you seem to slip back to sleep. Shamrock sighs and carefully disentangles his hand from yours and stands. He knows that you are unlikely to wake again in the next couple of hours, so as much as it pains him to leave your side, Shamrock does. He must before his father comes to collect him.

The next several days passed the same way, Shamrock would come and stay by your side, the guilt inside him eating away at him as he stared at your pale form resting under warm blankets. He would hold your hand, a silent sentinel. He seethed and raged inside his mind, furious that he was no closer to finding out the culprit behind your poisoning. He watched you wither further every day, and it killed him on the inside little by little.

Shanks arrived on the seventh day, running through the halls of a home he held no fond memories of. He ignored the sneers that were directed at him, not caring that the household thought of him as lesser just because he refused to bow to their whims. He found his twin sitting beside you in the medical ward, the other redhead looking worse than Shanks has ever seen his older brother.

“How is she?” He asks as he shuts the door behind him. He comes and stands at his twin's side, eyes wide as he stares down at you. He wanted to touch, to feel you, to make sure that you were still holding on, but he was terrified of making your condition worse.

“Better,” Shamrock murmured, voice rough from disuse. He watched his younger brother, seeing the look of fear etched on the face that looked so much like his own, and felt that same remorse well up. He drops his eyes quickly, averting them back to where you lay, “Jurgan says that she will recover, but the poison did a number on her internal organs. She will never be as strong as she once was.”

Shanks grits his teeth, his anger at his brother coming back with a vengeance. He doesn't bother looking at the other man, but his voice is tense and full of displeasure, “I told you that she wouldn't be safe here. You should have known better than to keep the one weakness you have so close. Her staying here was doomed from the start, Sham.”

Shamrock grits his teeth, shoulders hunching. He knows that Shanks is right, having already berated himself mentally more than his brother ever could.

“So you've already said last time we spoke,” He murmurs, and thankfully, Shanks doesn't say anything else about his failings. The two sit in silence, both content to watch your chest move up and down in your sleep. It isn't until there is a catch in your breath that they snap to attention.

Your brow furrows, and soft sound leaves you. You shift on the bed, arm snaking out from under the blankets, and Shanks stands, beating his brother to grasp your hand in his own. Your eyes crack open a moment later, blurry but more focused now than you seem to have been in days. You turn your head, lips pulling up in a tiny smile when you see both of your boys sitting beside you. You squeeze the hand you hold, voice scratching and throat sore.

“Shanks, you're here.”

The redhead smiles sadly, squeezing your hand back tightly, “Yeah, baby. I'm right here. How are you feeling?”

You shift with a wince to lay on your side, sliding your other hand out and reaching for the older twin. Shamrock easily slides his hand into yours, eyes soft as he stares at you.

“Better now that you're both here,” you say quietly and give them both a meager smile. You can tell, even in your pained and muddled state, that there is more than the usual tension between the two brothers. You sigh softly and squeeze Shanks’ hand again to gain his attention.

“Don't be mad, Red. This is my own fault. I should have been more careful.”

Both men widen their eyes, confused and about to argue that they are the ones who are supposed to take care of you, but you plow on before they can get a word out, “You can't be by my side every waking hour, loves. I knew this place would be dangerous even when I agreed to stay here. I got too comfortable, and that cost me.”

“But-”

You cut the holy knight off, “But nothing, Sham. You have duties, and Shanks, you have a crew to take care of. I don't want the two of you beating yourselves up or each other up.”

They watch you swallow harshly, lips moving into a weary smile full of sadness both men dearly wished they could wipe away.

“I heard what you said, Shamrock, and if it's as bad as you say it is, then I'm going to need you. Both of you.”

Shanks nods immediately, crouching down so that he can be at eye level with you. He leans forward, lips kissing your brow before he pulls back to give you a smile, “We'll be here, baby.”

Shamrock clutches your hand, still feeling that raging guilt that threatens to suffocate him, but he shoves it down for now. You were right. They would need to be there. He leans in and kisses your knuckles where they wrap around his hand, voice a soft promise, “Always, my love. We have you.”

You give them both a small smile, exhaustion suddenly eating away at you, and you squeeze their hands again, grip going slack as moments later, “I know.”

You are asleep seconds later, but neither man has any plans of going anywhere, not when you would need them when you woke up next. You had a long road of recovery ahead, but you would get there with them at your side.

@mit-suri @mfreedomstuff @sanjisleggy @nocturnalrorobin

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens - January reads part #2 - fanfics recs 🤓🩷

Follow along for short summaries and recs on the books i read🩷 The numbers are for funsies - i want to count my reads throughout 2025.

I only read finished stories and one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Ratings in ()

Multichapterfics

13] Or Be Nice (E) by @charlottemadison42

Aziraphale ist happy to move into his new appartment in Soho after his breakup. What he is not so happy about is the noise nuisance of a neighbour he has, who likes to play his drums in the middle of the night. When the nice and polite way of finding a solution through talking seems futile, its time to try another way.

One of the best enemies-to-lovers human Au i ever read, a classic must-read for everyone in the fandom. The banter is hilarious!

Best laugh:

Aziraphale: "You can walk."

Crowley: "Allegedly." 😂

14] Any foolish Thing (E) by @caedmonfaith

Human Au. Crowley is a lawyer - and a real asshole. His businesspartner threatens to cancel their partnership unless Crowley takes a month off. So Tadfield it is. Surprised by sudden rain he stumbles into a shop full of books and candies. You'll never guess who the owner is. 😉

15] Arise my Darling and go forth (E) by @naromoreau

Human Au. Father Aziraphale likes his perish and is shocked to learn that a second priest will join him. But father Crowley is rather pleasant to be with and soon they both find themselves questioning ... everything.

The story takes turns in the POV and lets the reader glimpse into their inner turmoil - they are men of God, after all. Beautiful language and art! 🩷

This wonderful art is unrelated, but i am so in awe with it that i wanted to share it. You will find it here and it is by @flypanegg88 !

16] Epistolary (E) by @maaikeatthefullmoon aka Imposterssyndrome

Set after the end of S2, Crowley discovers Aziraphales diaries in the bookshop. He learns like A LOT about how the angel feels and their missunderstandings throughout the centuries. As he can´t talk to Aziraphale any more, Crowley starts a diary as well.

This is part-1 of a series!

17] 1888 (T) by Imposterssyndrome aka @maaikeatthefullmoon

Technically a oneshot but it is part of this series. 1888 is a diary-entry of our angel about this one time he tried to learn the gavotte.

Can be read as a stand-alone but probably doesnt make any sense without

18] The Angel Miscalculated (E) by @imposterssyndrome aka @maaikeatthefullmoon

This is part 3 of Epistolary, we get to know Aziraphale´s point of view while up in heaven.

The whole series ends practically in between S2 and S3. I don´t know whether further installments are planned - but i´ve got you covered!!

19] And i did [E] by @di-42

This is so funny, i was the beta for this story and it fits perfectly after the end of part-3 of Epistolary (see above). This story starts out with Aziraphale up in heaven and Crowley being the Grand Duke of Hell. They are on opposite sites - aren´t they?

"The angel deserved to know how marvellous he was being and how enraptured he was making Crowley feel.

“Angel... ngk... fuck!” he squealed. Nailed it, Crowley, well done." 😂

20] Aziraphale´s naked man friend [M] by @naughtyspirit

Set between S1 and S2, Aziraphale opens to door of his bookshop to find a naked Crowley outside. The demon has lost the memory of the last 24 hours and together they go on a quest to find out what has happened. If they happen to choose a "date" as cover-up for their investigations, it is only because it would help their quest. Of course.

Very funny and nice read, biggest laugh: "Once a wily serpent, always able to wiggle."

Oneshots

21] Bless you (T) by @terrorandchaos

Its been a nice afternoon in the bookshop. That is, until Crowley sneezes and Aziraphale mindlessly says "Bless you." To a demon.😅

22] Strokes make clean the innermost parts (E) by @depraveddame

Father Crowley feels the need to punish himself after a night with his gardener Aziraphale. Things do not go as planned ... pls do mind the tags!!! 🌶️

23] The co-pilot (e) by @e-rated-beardo

Human Au. When policeofficer Aziraphale sits in the Pub on a friday evening, he is quite happy to see his friend Crowley joining him for a pint. Though - honestly - the bottle of wine Aziraphale has up his flat light be a better idea. 😁

24] A wish your heart made (G) by @avoicebehindthestars

Set after they averted the second coming. Crowley asks Aziraphale about their future.

Be careful with this one and do mind the tags - this is my big exception from the "only good endings"-list. Still - worth a read! 💔

25] My songs know what you did in the dark (E) by @hazelsage

Aziraphale learns that humans fear dangling their legs out of bed, because a demon might lurk underneath and grab them. He tells Crowley about this ridiculous fear. And dangles a leg out of bed that night. 😉

26] You're Back (T) by @avoicebehindthestars

35 years after hell has taken him, Crowley finds himself back in London with a splitting headache, unable to do anything but lay still in the ground. Aziraphale finds him and helps him recover. 🩷So tender!

27] If you were church, i'd Go down in my knees [E] by @hazelsage

When Crowley gets to watch an angry Aziraphale defending his bookshop against measly investors, he only knows one way of worshipping his Angel. 🌶️

28] Hot Whiskey Eyes [E] by @hazelsage

Sometimes Crowley needs his mouth stuffed to be able to shut up his incessantly brain. Thankfully Aziraphale likes to help. 🌶️

Reading keeps me sane. Thank you all for writing! 🩷🤗

[traumaticemphaticfantastic]

“GOLUS” — 2024

“It’s a verb! It’s a verb! Freedom is a verb. Something never finished, never done. It’s something you must make, it’s something you must take, it’s something you must constantly become.” — Song lyrics by Daniel Kahn and The Painted Bird from their album “The Butcher’s Share”

This is the first time I’ve posted one of my more politically motivated pieces, inspired by the I.L. Peretz quote as included in the piece, it depicts the often not talked about struggle that we minorities must all undertake when living in the diaspora or even in our own occupied homelands. In this case it focuses on the Jewish people, as I am a Jew, but this also applies very much to many other people, to many degrees much more severely. “Golus” is a word of Hebrew origin meaning “Diaspora” or “Exile.”

I don’t think anyone should ever say that living in a multicultural society is an easy thing, as of now I believe saying that would make you a liar. Of course it *shouldn’t* be so difficult, but it seems to be the nature of the world we live in that in a multicultural society there will always be some group or groups who inevitably decide that they must take ultimate supremacy over others, they will fight to obtain or in the most cases *maintain* that supremacy at all costs. And so for the minority or the diaspora community, in many ways the mere act of living or existing becomes an act of resistance in what will often feel like a battlefield.

But we have in many cases grown the diaspora, and even if you’ve just arrived you have the right to live anywhere so long as you do not seek supremacy over others, and so when they ask why we stay in such a situation, why we don’t just run away, we say to them that it is because the lands we live on are our homes, homes that deserves to be shared with all people. We will not let the ethno-nationalists and racial supremacists take our homes from us, we shall fight on the battlefield for a better tomorrow, and we do so not just in the name of self-preservation but in the name of justice and peace for all people.

To run away from the battlefield is to let yet another bordered piece of territory become an ethnostate in the control of the racial-supremacist, we do not run away from the battlefield.

[n1ghteeea]

UNIVERSITY RGB HCS BC THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO SHARE THEM ‼️‼️

Disclaimer: this only contains Egon, Ray and Peter as they are the ones who were in uni together (sorry Winston and Janine). Also this is long and self indulgent as hell.

I am NOT taking up the responsibility to say at what exact ages they got into uni, but let’s say that during their first year Peter is 18, Ray is 17 and Egon is 19.

Now, Ray is doing electrical engineering, Peter is doing engineering in hopes that it relates to trains (spoilers: it doesn’t, but he doesn’t find out until after his second year), Egon.. well Egon actually isn’t a student, but rather an instructor. I got this idea from an uncited wiki trivia point, and just ran with it. Maybe he was in uni instead of school bc he’s just that smart, maybe something else, idc really. He’s a physics instructor who is the same age as most of his students.

Ray and Peter are roommates and while it takes some time, eventually they bond and become best friends. And when I say best friends, I mean it to an almost unhealthy extent. In my head, Peter was always alone. Absent family, constantly moving around the country, unconventional interests, autism - I don’t think he ever really had friends. In the show we see him TRYING to be a charmer, but most of the time people do not buy his act, and I think the same thing happened in uni. He wanted friends, desperately wanted to fit in, but never really managed to. So when suddenly his roommate turned out to be a great guy who genuinely liked his company he immediately grew almost unhealthily attached. We won’t blame him.

Ray, on the other hand is liked by many due to his kind and charming personality, but doesn’t have many close friends, again, due to his unconventional interests and hyper behaviour towards them (ADHD). He isn’t that bothered by it, though. Good for him.

Now Egon is taking his unique position very seriously. He is no doubt popular at the uni - people have to be curious about this super young, clearly genius and handsome (canon in the show, not my words!) guy who works as an instructor. However, he does not engage in personal conversations, doesn’t seek out human connection or fun activities. He is focused on studying, working, getting experience and progressing in the field. He has many older mentors, but no friends of his age and is perfectly fine with that.

——————————————————————

So, first semester, first year. Both Ray and Peter take Egon’s physics class (though in different sections). Ray and Egon do not interact in class whatsoever, Ray is simply a good student: he studies well and does all his assignments on time (or mostly on time). They have no reason to talk and so do not know each other personally.

Peter, on the other hand, hates physics, finds it extremely boring and useless and makes a loud statement of not studying for it. It upsets Egon, who doesn’t want such morale to spread around his class, so he invites Peter to after-class talks.

This attitude pisses Peter off immensely because the audacity of this guy to tell him what to do and what to study for?? And from that point on Peter makes it his life’s mission to piss Egon off at any chance possible. He doesn’t bully him or set him up in front of people, he just acts like a dick and shows his disrespect in any way he can. Egon doesn’t like him back. This goes on for a while.

Now, aside from classes and physics, Egon also does parapsychological research on the side, as at the end of the day, that is his main area of interest. One day, as he goes into a lab to work on some experiments, he meets Ray who, very expectedly so, is also doing parapsychological research since that is his biggest interest, too. They bond over it and become lab partners and eventually friends.

I also want to specify that a moment when their relationship transforms from formal to friendly is one silly heist of sneaking into the patron section of the uni’s library at night to borrow a book necessary for their work. Adrenaline and oxcytocin do their job well and they go from “Mr. Spengler” and “Mr. Stantz” to “Egon” and “Ray” 🫶

⏩️ Fastforward to the second semester. Neither of the guys are taking Egon’s class anymore, but Ray and him are still working together and progressively becoming better pals by widening their conversation topics as well as hangout occasions. Peter still hates Egon’s guts, luckily they don’t have to meet too often. At least until one day.

That day electricity malfunctions in Egon’s room right when he needs to mark his students’ assignments. As usual, he does it late at night when the library is already closed. Ray, as a good friend, offers him a spot in his and Peter’s room to work which Egon accepts, becoming a horrible surprise to the latter. After spending about fifteen minutes trying to get a reaction out of Spengler with no visible result Peter notices just how exhausted the guy is and for the first time it really hits him that surprise!! Egon is human too. He even grows slightly worried, after all, he doesn’t want the dude to pass out in their living room. They don’t begin interacting more after that, but Peter as if slightly cuts back on the teasing. But he still calls him “Spengs” out of disrespect.

⏩️ Fastforward to the second year. Egon and Ray hang out more, forcing Peter and Egon to interact, and good news! They now tolerate each other. And yes, they do go to “Egon” and “Peter” though “Spengs” and “Mr. Venkman” are still present, mostly to show annoyance and displeasure.

At some point in the semester Ray makes a new close friend named Max and that fact makes Peter crash the fuck out. Ray is super excited about this new guy who also studies engineering, loves comic books and horror movies, is super smart and funny. They hang out a lot and study together and whenever Ray comes back to the room he just cannot shut up about how good of a time he had. And Peter (need I remind you, lonely and self-conscious Peter who was always left behind by everyone in his life, including his father) watches, listens, gritting his teeth, until he just can’t anymore. Did I mention he has an unhealthy obsession with Ray?

He goes through a full mental breakdown, and they talk about it and partially resolve the situation (though the one-sided Max beef in Peter’s head continues, it’s hilarious).

⏩️ Christmas break comes and Ray announces that he is going to be leaving to spend it with his family in Bronx, and only here do we see just to what degree both of these people really are dependent on him.

Peter crashes out, yes, again. He’s lonely, he’s bored, his plans are ruined and he has no idea how he is going to survive three weeks alone in the dorm.

Egon takes it more calmly, he’s Egon, after all. He doesn’t complain or act upset, but two things happen. First, his work slows down significantly, and second, with his support system being gone he falls back into the unhealthy habit of overworking himself to a point of total exhaustion (speaking from experience here, it’s really hard to stay consistent with your healthy habits and routines when the person who is usually there to help you with them isn’t around).

To not die of boredom and exhaustion, Peter and Egon organise hangouts, sometimes sitting in the library and trying to get work done, sometimes watching TV or getting lunch together. Their relationship improves significantly during that time, and Ray is very happy to see that upon arrival.

Not much to say from that point on. All three of them become best friends, Peter switches his concentration to psychology, they rent an apartment together and go on with their academic lives. If I had to somehow describe their relationship I’d say they are a qpr. Not in love whatsoever, but still very emotionally intimate, physically affectionate and are the most important people to each other.

Also they don’t know it yet, but the moment they met each other they met the rest of their lives 🫶

[truelovepolinator]

It's so sad to see you turned into a 🐜Luke and a Jakola, you used to be one of my favorite Lukola blogs. So girl bye, go follow Tiff and the other clowns. I'm sure they'll love you over there

Actually, Anon, this take is the exact opposite of what I said. I explicitly said that I do not believe Nicola and Jake are romantically involved. I also said explicitly that IF Luke is really dating A, I cannot respect that choice and I don't think it reflects well on him.

In fact, I'll go further. If by some wild twist of fate Nic and Luke really are dating these other people, and they go on to have the longest, happiest relationships in all of celebritydom, then good for them. I'm glad they're happy. But I will never ship those pairings. Not ever. The only ship I care about is Lukola. That ship is why I'm here.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. This is my one and only real world celebrity ship. Lukola is special. And I never said I believed the story we were told this past week in N's interview and L's hard launch. I said, they've told us something very clearly and we owe them the courtesy of listening and considering the possibility that what they've told us is true.

I also said that the only version of all of this that actually makes complete sense, even now, is Option 1 (where they are together). However, they have asked us to take a step back this past week, so I am respectfully doing so because I believe this is a critical time in their lives. I want to give them the time and space they need, so I'm turning down the heat for my part. I'm just a tiny nobody account and my choice to back-off will likely make little difference, but I want to respect their wishes in a time that feels especially important.

And if you read between the lines, what I've just said is the literal opposite of jumping ship.

For reference, here’s the blog post in question.

[thyras]

→ of great blessings

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.5k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → visions, pregnancy, lots of angst, dad!sauron

SUMMARY → your visions and premonitions since wearing nenya have never been wrong, and what you see now frightens you to your core.

AUTHORS NOTE → alright this chapter has been the bane of my exsistance and i am washing my hands of it. writers block took over so much for this that i kinda will not be surprised if y'all don't like this chapter. i'm drained after this one. we are going to start steam rolling to the end now. the timeline is gonna shift a little as pregnancy for elves take for fucking ever, so yeah. 

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

The warmth of the sun kissed your cheeks as the soft bristles of pale purple blossoms trailed across your skin. A youthful giggle filled the air, mingling with the golden light. Your eyes turned toward the toddling infant as she struggled through her first steps among the blossoms. Her red hair gleamed in the sun’s glow, a striking inheritance from her father.

“There you go,” Mairon encouraged, pride lacing his voice. “Just a few more, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finally landed on your husband, his arms stretched wide, ready to catch her should she stumble. His eyes sparkled with a fatherly love that warmed your heart. You leaned back on your hands as the infant tumbled into her father’s arms, a fit of giggles bubbling from her lips as he scooped her up and pressed a gentle kiss to her small head.

Watching him with her sent a warm, steady thrum through your chest, a love so deep it left you breathless. This was all you had ever wanted to give him—the peace and harmony he had spent a lifetime searching for, the same solace he had once found in you in those elder days. Yet, there had always been something missing, a fragment of your fëar left unhealed, a wound time alone could not mend. It had always been your desire to share in this great joy, as was the way of all Elves—a love that endured beyond the confines of time, woven into the very fabric of Arda.

You had longed to be like Thingol and Melian, bound in a love so profound that it transcended the ages. To love as one, to bring forth a fëa as pure and radiant as Lúthien herself—a child who was a reflection of both your souls, a harmony of light and strength. And now, as you watched your husband cradle your daughter, her laughter ringing like the sweetest song, you knew that dream had finally come to life.

But something twisted deep within you, and suddenly, your eyes burned with unshed tears as the scene before you shifted. The sunlit meadow and the laughter of your child faded into darkness, replaced by the acrid scent of smoke and the searing heat of fire. The riverbank lay scorched and marred by the devastation of war, its once-tranquil waters reflecting only ruin.

Behind you, Eregion burned—just as Laureandor had, long ago. Panic seized your chest, your heart hammering as your frantic gaze swept through the chaos, desperate to find the fiery hair of your daughter.

And then you saw her.

Hand in hand with her father.

His golden hair gleamed like molten gold amidst the flames, his striking presence unchanged—except for the smile that curved his lips. A smile not of warmth, but of something darker. Something cruel. His icy eyes, once filled with love, now glowed with a devilish light as he looked down upon the fragile, childlike frame beside him.

Your breath hitched. The world around you trembled.

No.

Your body jolted upright, the sudden movement nearly sending Annatar tumbling from the bed. Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each sharp intake searing your lungs. The dream clung to you like smoke, vivid and raw, its horror so tangible that you struggled to separate illusion from reality. It had felt so real—too real—so consuming that for a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure if you had truly escaped it.

“Mori?” His voice was laced with concern.

You turned to him, your wide eyes locking onto his face. Fear curled in your chest, rising like a tide, for in his gaze—those piercing blue eyes, that familiar smile—you saw the echoes of your nightmare. A cruel reflection of what could be.

Everything you had dreaded.

The pain of a child born into his shadows.

The inevitable weight of his past, now intertwined with yours.

As the haze of the dream slowly receded, his eyes—no longer filled with the malice of that nightmare—softened with quiet concern. The piercing chill you had seen within the dreamscape had vanished, replaced by the worried tenderness you had come to know so well.

Gently, he reached out, brushing a few strands of damp hair from your sweat-slicked brow before his fingers trailed down to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, an anchor pulling you back from the lingering edges of fear. You exhaled shakily, leaning into his palm, finding solace in the familiar heat of his skin, the scent of him—real and unwavering.

A small, fragile smile ghosted your lips as you closed your eyes.

“It was only a dream,” you whispered against his palm, as much to reassure yourself as to ease the worry in his gaze.

Annatar's brow furrowed, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your cheek. "What did you see?" he asked softly, his voice laced with quiet concern, yet tinged with something else—something unreadable.

You hesitated, the weight of your dream still pressing upon your chest. How could you put into words the beauty you had witnessed, only to watch it twist into something dark and terrible? How could you explain the unbearable fear that had gripped you when you saw him, standing amidst the flames, leading your child away?

"I…" Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "I saw us. And… a child."

His hand stilled against your skin, his sharp blue eyes flickering with emotion—too fleeting, too complex for you to decipher.

"A child?" he echoed, his tone carefully measured.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "She was beautiful, Mairon," you murmured, your voice trembling. "She had your fiery hair and green eyes. We were on the riverbank, surrounded by sage blossoms. You were teaching her to walk, and she was laughing…"

For a brief moment, the warmth of the dream returned, the golden light, the sound of her laughter—but it was fleeting. The memory of what followed crashed over you like a wave, drowning it in fire and shadow.

Annatar’s fingers tightened slightly against your cheek, his gaze searching yours.

"But?" he pressed gently, sensing the fracture in your voice.

You inhaled shakily, trying to steady yourself, but the words still came out fractured. "But then… everything changed. The meadow was burning. Eregion was in ruins. And you—" You stopped, the image of him in the flames seared into your mind. "You were different. Your eyes were cold… cruel. You were leading her away into the fire."

A heavy silence settled between you, thick with unspoken fears.

Annatar’s hand dropped from your face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, laden with unspoken fears and painful truths. Annatar’s hand slipped away from your face, his expression unreadable, carefully composed as he processed your words. Yet you saw it—the flicker of something beneath his guarded exterior.

You watched him, your heart aching at the distance that seemed to widen with each passing moment. The warmth of his touch had already begun to fade, replaced by a cold uncertainty that settled deep in your chest.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “It was just a dream, Mori. Nothing more.”

But you heard the strain beneath the calm, saw the tension in the rigid line of his shoulders. This wasn’t just about a nightmare—it was about something deeper. The unspoken fears that had lingered between you since the beginning. The shadows neither of you dared name.

"Was it?" you whispered, the words fragile, hesitant. "Or was it a glimpse of what could be?"

His eyes snapped to yours, something sharp and unguarded flashing through them—pain? Anger? Fear? For the briefest of moments, his mask slipped, revealing a piece of his carefully shrouded thoughts.

Annatar’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the smooth expanse of his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, carefully controlled—but the tension within it was unmistakable.

"You doubt me still."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, weighted with something raw—hurt, resignation, the quiet ache of an old wound reopened.

Your heart clenched at the distance in his tone, the way he withdrew not in body, but in spirit. Desperate to bridge the widening space between you, you reached for him, your fingers brushing tentatively against his arm.

“No, Mairon," you murmured, your voice soft, pleading. "I don’t doubt you. I doubt…” You faltered, struggling to give shape to the gnawing fear in your heart. How could you explain the unease that lurked in the edges of your love? The whisper of doubt that no matter how fiercely he fought against it, no matter how much he tried to change, the darkness within him might one day rise again—might consume you both?

Annatar’s eyes—brilliant, piercing—locked onto yours, holding you there, unraveling you. His hand hovered for a moment before settling over yours, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You doubt what?" he pressed, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. His gaze burned, searching you for something—an answer, a reassurance, a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Because you knew that whatever you said next would change everything.

You took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that your next words could shift something irrevocably between you. The weight of centuries—of love, pain, betrayal, and forgiveness—hung thick in the air, pressing down on your chest.

"I don’t doubt you, Mairon," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of your heart. "I doubt… the darkness that still lingers within you. The part of you that you’ve fought so hard to control, to change."

Annatar’s expression remained carefully composed, but you caught it—the flicker of something in his eyes, brief yet unmistakable. Pain.

His grip on your hand tightened, so slightly it might have gone unnoticed, but you felt it. A silent plea. A warning.

"I know you’ve changed," you continued, your voice steadier now, gaining strength. "I’ve seen it, felt it. The love you show me, the tenderness… it’s real. I don’t question that. But I also know the darkness hasn’t disappeared. It’s still there, buried deep, waiting."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to speak the fear that had haunted you since the dream.

"And I fear…"

The words trembled on your lips, but you could not stop now.

"I fear that one day, it will call to you again. And I fear that when it does… you will answer."

A heavy silence settled between you, deeper than before. Annatar did not move, did not speak, yet something in the air shifted, charged with an emotion you could not yet name.

And for the first time, you did not know what he would say.

Annatar’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between you stretching wide, a chasm neither of you dared to cross. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

“You’re right,” he admitted, the words falling heavy between you. “The darkness is still there. It will always be a part of me, just as the light is a part of you.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “But you’re wrong if you think I would ever willingly choose that darkness over you. Over us.”

His hand tightened around yours, almost painfully so. “Do you think I don’t fear the same things?” he asked, a rare, desperate edge creeping into his voice. “That I don’t lie awake at night, terrified that I might one day lose control and hurt you? That I might become the monster I once was?”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. The carefully constructed walls he had built, even with you, seemed to crack, revealing the turmoil that lay beneath.

“But I fight it,” he continued, his voice fierce now. “Every day, every moment, I fight against that darkness. For you. For us. For the life we’re building together.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, moved by the passion, the pain in his words. You reached up with your free hand, cupping his cheek, your fingers brushing against skin that had known both cruelty and tenderness.

“I know you do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And I see that struggle, Mairon. I do. But the dream…”

“Was just a dream,” he interrupted, though his tone was gentler now. “A manifestation of your fears.”

But you knew it was not.

You had seen too much, felt too much. In the time since you had been chosen to bear Nenya, visions had come to you—fragments of what was to come, glimpses of futures that others could not see. And every one of them, in its own way, had come true.

And now, here he was.

He had persuaded Celebrimbor to forge the Rings, using your gentle guidance to shape their purpose. He had earned the trust of the people of Eregion, weaving himself seamlessly into their world. And now, he stood before you, offering what he knew you most desired.

A future. A child. A life beyond war and shadow.

But at what cost?

Your fingers trembled against his skin, your heart caught between love and doubt, between the man you cherished and the darkness you feared.

And deep within, you knew—this was not just a dream. It was a warning.

You took a slow, steady breath, steeling yourself for what you needed to say.

“Mairon,” you murmured, voice gentle but unwavering. “I know you believe it was just a dream. But… it wasn’t. Not entirely.”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering through his features, shadowed by something deeper—an unease he did not yet understand.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the weight of your words pressing heavily upon you. How could you explain? How could you make him see what you had seen? The visions that had plagued you since you accepted Nenya, the fleeting glimpses of futures unfurling at the edges of your consciousness—both breathtaking and terrible?

"Since I began wearing Nenya," you said slowly, carefully choosing each word, "I’ve had… visions. Fragments of what is to come. And in their own way, every single one of them has come to pass."

Annatar stilled.

For the first time in this conversation, you saw something shift in his eyes—not just surprise, but something colder. Sharper. A flicker of wariness, of understanding.

You knew what he was thinking.

If your visions had always been true, then what you had seen in your dream—the fire, the ruin, the cruelty in his gaze—was more than fear. It was prophecy.

And that, more than anything, was what unsettled him.

He held your gaze, his expression unreadable. But you could feel it—the quiet storm brewing behind his eyes, the unspoken thoughts racing through his mind.

“And what is it you saw?” he asked at last, his voice deceptively calm.

You swallowed hard, but you would not falter.

“I saw you,” you whispered. “I saw our child.”

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to continue.

"And I saw fire. I saw Eregion burning. And you..." Your voice wavered, but you pushed forward. "You were leading her away. And you weren’t the man sitting before me now. You weren’t the man I love."

The silence between you grew heavier, denser, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of what had been spoken.

Annatar did not move. Did not speak.

And you feared, deep down, that in this moment, your vision was already beginning to come true.

Annatar’s expression hardened, his eyes turning cold and distant. A wall rose between you, thick and impenetrable, the warmth in his gaze vanishing like embers smothered by ash.

For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between you, vast and unyielding. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension thrumming beneath it was impossible to miss.

“So this is what you truly think of me,” he said, his words sharp, each syllable cutting deep. “After everything we’ve been through, after all I’ve done to change, you still see me as a monster waiting to emerge.”

Your heart clenched at the pain woven into his anger.

“No, Mairon, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” he cut you off, his eyes flashing like cold steel. “You’ve just told me you’ve seen a future where I betray you, where I lead our child into darkness. How am I supposed to interpret that?”

Desperation surged through you as you reached for him, but he pulled away, rising swiftly from the bed. The loss of his warmth was instant, leaving you cold, bereft.

“Mairon, please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking beneath the weight of your emotions. “I’m not saying this is what will happen. I’m saying it’s a possibility we need to be aware of.”

He turned to face you, his jaw taut, his expression a careful mask of control—but you could see the fury and the hurt roiling beneath the surface.

“A possibility?” he scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. “One that you seem all too ready to believe in.”

You flinched, as if struck. His words, so sharp, so heavy with pain, tore into you.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, the ache in your chest unbearable. “I love you, Mairon. I believe in you. But I can’t ignore what I’ve seen.”

Annatar’s gaze darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what would you have me do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Abandon our plans? Our future? Everything we’ve worked for?”

You shook your head, tears burning at the edges of your vision. “No, of course not. I just… I need you to understand. To be aware of the danger.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, devoid of anything but frustration. “Aware?” he repeated bitterly. “Mori, I am always aware. Every moment of every day, I fight against the darkness within me. For you. For us. And yet, it seems it will never be enough.”

His words shattered something inside you.

You rose from the bed, closing the distance between you once more. This time, when you reached for him, he did not pull away. But he remained rigid beneath your touch, his body taut with unspoken emotion.

“Mairon, please,” you whispered, your voice thick with sorrow. “I’m not asking you to abandon our future. I’m asking you to be cautious. To be vigilant. To remember what truly matters.”

His eyes bore into yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

“And what is truly important, Mori?” he asked, his voice low, intense. “Tell me.”

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, reaching for the truth that lay at the heart of everything.

“Us,” you said, your voice firm despite the tremor in your chest. “Our love. The life we’re building together. The life that was torn from us. That’s what matters most.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, only searching your face as if trying to decipher something hidden within you.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his body eased.

And for the first time since your dream, you felt a sliver of hope. 

As if your vision had been nothing more than the manifestation of your own fears—born from the weight of what he was trying to accomplish here, from the precarious balance he walked between light and shadow.

Annatar’s eyes softened, the sharp edges of his anger beginning to crumble. Slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours where it rested against his cheek.

“Us,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word, testing its weight. “Our love.”

You nodded, feeling the first stirrings of hope pierce through the fear that had settled so deeply in your chest.

“Yes,” you whispered. “That’s what matters most. That’s what we need to protect, above all else.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching yours with a depth that sent a shiver down your spine. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Do you truly believe I would ever willingly choose darkness over you?” he asked. “Over the life we’re building?”

Your breath hitched.

He had before.

He had chosen to run from you rather than face the curse at your side, rather than fight for you, for himself. He had believed, then, that his only choice was to protect you by abandoning you. And if that choice had been easy for him once—what would stop him now?

You hesitated, the weight of history pressing heavily between you. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“I want to believe you wouldn’t,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But, Mairon… you’ve chosen darkness before. You ran from me, from us, when the curse first took hold.”

Pain flickered across his features, old wounds laid bare in the space between you.

“That was different,” he argued, but the fire had faded from his voice. “I was trying to protect you then.”

You shook your head, your hand slipping from his cheek to press against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“And in doing so, you nearly destroyed us both,” you reminded him gently. “Your intentions may have been good, but the outcome…”

You trailed off, overwhelmed by the memories of those dark years. The weight of his absence. The devastation of believing he had chosen power over love. The aching, unrelenting certainty that he had abandoned you because he had feared himself more than he had loved you.

Annatar’s expression softened further, sorrow and regret etching deep lines around his eyes. He covered your hand with his own, his fingers twining between yours, grounding you.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, rough with something raw. “I made the wrong choice then. But I’ve learned from that mistake, Mori. I won’t repeat it.”

You wanted to believe him.

Oh, how desperately you wanted to believe that the love you shared, the bond you had fought so hard to rebuild, would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But the vision lingered, a shadow curling at the edges of your mind, whispering that love alone had never been enough to save him before.

“I want to believe that,” you murmured, the tremor in your voice betraying the doubt you couldn’t silence. “But the future I saw…”

“Is not set in stone,” he interrupted firmly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and grounding.

His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, as if he could soothe away your fears with touch alone.

“We shape our own fates, Mori,” he murmured. “No vision—no prophecy—can take that from us.”

It came as no surprise when the first stirrings of new life graced you just days after your vision. The power of the ring upon your finger had known—had always known—that you would be granted what you desired most.

But it did not quell the fear.

A fear born of that very ring.

There were days you longed to slip it from your finger, to cast it aside and free yourself from the weight of its premonitions. To unshackle yourself from the knowledge of what was to come. Other days, you wished to turn a blind eye, to live out your immortal life in blissful ignorance—unburdened by foresight, untouched by the shadows of possibility.

And yet, deep within, you understood the truth. Futures could change. Paths, ever winding, could shift toward another destination.

But Morgoth’s curse remained.

It kept the ring upon your hand, bound you to its whispers, to the knowledge you could not unlearn. And despite everything, despite the fear curling like smoke in your chest, the need to be in his arms—to be enveloped in his aura—surpassed it all.

You trusted him, of course you did.

But doubt had crept in, insidious and unrelenting.

He could reassure you a thousand times, but you knew him. Truly knew him. And just as surely, you knew what this darker version of him was capable of.

Your fingers ghosted across the fabric of your gown as you sat at the table in Celebrimbor’s study. Excitement stirred within you, a quiet thrill at the thought of the new life you would grow, shape, and mold in your image. Yet beneath that joy lurked the deeper, unspoken truth—you knew what they could inherit. And you knew what that would mean to him.

Turning slightly, your gaze drifted down into the forge below, where Celebrimbor and Annatar stood, engrossed in pleasant conversation with Durin as they handed over the newly fashioned rings. The soft glow of the dwindling fire illuminated their forms, flickering off Annatar’s golden hair as he gestured fluidly, speaking in that smooth, measured cadence that had once soothed you beyond words.

Your thoughts drifted, lingering upon your husband.

Would they inherit this form’s features—the golden radiance of Annatar? Or, by some chance, would they be marked by Mairon’s truer essence?

You hoped for the latter.

Fiery red hair as bright as the sun itself and soft sea foam green eyes that would shine like emeralds in certain lights. Would they have those delicate, reddish freckles across the bridge of their nose?

But in truth, you did not know. How could you?

You understood little of how Maiar conception worked, nor did you care to unravel its mysteries.

All that mattered was this—you were finally having what you had dreamed of for Ages.

Your nurturing nature finally felt satisfied—whole—as your fingers idly traced the silken fabric of your gown. You would raise them in the light, in the beauty of all living things, ensuring they would never feel the touch of shadow.

"Everything okay, my lady?"

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Immediately, your hands slipped away from your stomach as you looked up to meet his gaze. His brow was raised, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

"Yes," you answered quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. "How do they like the rings?"

Celebrimbor stepped closer, settling into the chair across from you.

"They are satisfied with them," he replied, his tone measured, thoughtful. "They will let us know if any problems arise."

You nodded, a small smile touching your lips as you glanced down at the papers spread before you.

A beat of silence passed.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Celebrimbor’s voice softened, his perceptive gaze studying you carefully. "You look pale."

"I am fine."

It was a lie, but a necessary one.

Celebrimbor seemed satisfied with the answer, though the weight of his questioning gaze lingered, unwilling to fully retreat.

You seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. "What was this I heard about a gift?" you asked, picking up your quill and turning your attention back to the designs before you.

Celebrimbor’s expression softened into a smile. "I wish to gift the Dwarves with something—to honor the great friendship we have built."

You glanced up at him again. "What do you have in mind?"

He exhaled, thoughtful, but before answering, his gaze flickered over you once more.

"I have ideas," he admitted, but then his tone shifted, firm yet kind. "But after all this hard work, Thilwen, I think you should rest. I'll handle this myself with the other smiths, and you—" he gestured toward you, his brows knitting slightly, "you take a break for a few days. You look like you need it."

"I can—"

Celebrimbor held up a hand, stopping you before you could argue further.

"Please," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Do it for me. You have worked night and day since we began forging the rings, and I will not have you running yourself into the ground on my account."

You exhaled softly, offering him a half-smile. Before you could say more, he reached across the table, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance. His thumb brushed absently over the top of your hand—a small, familiar gesture of comfort.

"I will finish up here today," you conceded, squeezing his hand lightly, "and then I will do as you ask."

Celebrimbor smiled, warmth flickering in his eyes as he gave your hand a final, reassuring squeeze.

"Good," he said. "Besides, I know Erynwen has been upset that you haven’t had time for her."

You giggled, already picturing the little girl’s excitement. She was probably chomping at the bit to spend an afternoon at the riverbank, eager to hear more of your husband's stories. You had been so consumed with your work that, in the past few weeks, she had been the furthest thing from your mind.

And that thought—more than anything else—made you realize just how much you truly needed the rest.

Erynwen sat beside you amidst the soft grasses and blooming flowers, both of you gazing up at the vast expanse of blue sky. Wisps of white clouds drifted lazily across it, shifting and reshaping as they danced upon the wind.

Every so often, Erynwen would point out a pattern—a creature, a ship, a story waiting to be told. Her wondrous imagination had always captivated you, a gift as pure as the light itself. You had only ever wished to nurture it, to encourage her to see the world with the same boundless wonder she so effortlessly carried.

Erynwen’s small hand slipped into yours, her fingers warm and trusting as she turned to face you, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Thilwen," she began, her voice soft but eager, "will you tell me another story about him?"

A smile touched your lips, warmth blooming in your chest at her request. Erynwen had become enamored with the stories of your husband, her young mind filled with visions of the great smith who had captured your heart so long ago.

Since opening this part of your life—since allowing yourself to speak of him more openly—it had become second nature to share his story, to weave the tale of who he was now.

It felt only right.

To tell of his light.

"Of course," you replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "What would you like to hear about today?"

Erynwen's brow furrowed in thought, her lips pursing as she pondered the question. A long moment passed before her expression brightened, her grin spreading wide as excitement sparked in her gaze.

"Tell me about when you first met him," she said, bouncing slightly where she sat. "What was he like when you first saw him?"

A wistful smile tugged at your lips as your mind drifted back to that golden day so long ago. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sweet scent of of the forest carried on the breeze, and that first glimpse of him, standing tall and radiant against that tree.

"He was unlike anyone I had ever seen," you began, your voice soft with reminiscence. "His hair was like molten copper, shimmering in the sunlight. And his eyes... they were the most vibrant shade of green, like the first tender leaves of spring."

Erynwen’s eyes widened, her imagination already painting the image in her mind. "Was he handsome?"

You laughed softly, giving her hand a playful squeeze. "Oh yes, very handsome. But it was more than that. There was something about him—a presence, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within. It was as if he carried the very essence of creation, a spark of the divine."

Erynwen sighed dreamily, resting her chin in her free hand. "That sounds so romantic."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at her innocent wonder. If only life could remain so simple, so untouched by the shadows that inevitably crept in.

"In many ways, it was," you agreed, your thumb absently brushing over the back of her small hand. "I had never felt the need to bind myself to another, but something deep in my fëa told me that his song matched mine in ways no other could."

You paused, the memory wrapping around you like the embrace of a long-lost friend. That time had been simpler, effortless. To love Mairon had been to love divinity itself, and back then, he had been just that.

A wider smile touched your lips as his words echoed in your mind—the image of him standing before you, a book clutched tightly to his chest, lingering just for a few more stolen moments in your presence.

Then, Erynwen’s voice pulled you back to the present.

"You love him still? Even though you are with Lord Annatar now?"

Your breath caught slightly as her icy-blue eyes searched yours, unblinking and filled with childlike curiosity. She did not know. She could not know.

Your fingers moved to gently cup her cheek, and you offered her a reassuring smile.

"I do. More than anything." You paused, your thumb brushing tenderly across her soft skin. "But in a way, Lord Annatar reminds me of him."

You would never tell Erynwen the truth—that he and Annatar were one and the same. It was a secret you could never risk sharing. For if the darkness that still clung to him ever returned, you would not let it taint her innocent image of him.

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the distant hum of nature filling the space. Then, her voice came again, softer this time—uncertain, vulnerable.

"Are we going to stop reading once you have your baby?"

Her fingers tightened slightly around yours, and when you looked at her, you saw something fragile in her expression—a fear she had not voiced before.

Surprise flickered across your face. Surely, no one had a clue yet. But then again, Erynwen’s curiosity surpassed all others. She had always known more than she let on.

Your heart softened at her innocent question, and you wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her close against your side. She nestled into you, her head resting against your chest as you stroked her silky hair.

"Of course not, dear one," you assured her, your voice gentle but firm. "Having a baby will change some things, but it will never change how much I care for you. Our reading time is special, and that won’t go away just because I become a mother."

Erynwen looked up at you, her icy blue eyes wide and hopeful. "Promise?"

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I promise. You are like a daughter to me, Erynwen. And that bond is unbreakable, no matter what changes life may bring."

Relief washed over her delicate features, and she hugged you tightly, her small arms wrapping around you. You held her close, your heart swelling with love for this precious child who had become such an integral part of your life.

As you sat there, embracing Erynwen amidst the swaying grasses and wildflowers, a gentle breeze caressed your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of the blossoms. The moment felt suspended in time, a brief respite from the worries that had plagued you since your vision. Here, with Erynwen's innocent trust and unwavering affection, the shadows felt distant, less threatening.

But even as you savored this peaceful interlude, you knew it could not last forever. The weight of your secret, of the life growing within you, pressed against your consciousness. You would have to tell Annatar soon—and you knew that conversation would not be easy. Though he had reassured you after your vision, promising that your love would be enough to keep the darkness at bay, the fear still lingered. How would he react to the news that your dream was already becoming reality?

As if sensing your unease, Erynwen hugged you tighter, her small hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. You focused on the warmth of her embrace, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, allowing her presence to ground you in the moment.

You knew you could not hide from the truth forever. But for now, in this peaceful glade with Erynwen in your arms, you let yourself believe that everything would be all right. That the love you shared with Annatar, the life you were building together, would be strong enough to weather any storm.

You closed your eyes, resting your cheek against the top of Erynwen's head as you held her close. The gentle breeze continued to whisper through the grass, carrying with it the distant chirping of birdsong. For a few precious moments, you allowed yourself to simply be present in the tranquility of the scene, your fears and uncertainties temporarily held at bay by the warmth of Erynwen's embrace and the serenity of the meadow around you.

After a time, Erynwen stirred, lifting her head to gaze up at you with those perceptive icy-blue eyes. "Thilwen," she began softly, her voice tinged with a wisdom beyond her years, "it's okay to be afraid sometimes. My aunt says that's how we know something really matters to us."

A lump formed in your throat at her words as you blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, moved by Erynwen's innocent yet profound wisdom. You gently cupped her cheek, offering a watery smile. "Your aunt is a wise woman," you murmured.

Erynwen beamed up at you, leaning into your touch. "I just want you to be happy, Thilwen. You and the baby. And Lord Annatar too."

Your heart clenched at the mention of your husband. If only it were that simple—to ensure happiness for all of you. But life was rarely so straightforward, especially when it came to Annatar and the complex tapestry of your shared history.

"I want that too, little one," you said softly. "More than anything."

Erynwen studied your face for a moment, her young features etched with a thoughtfulness beyond her years. "Sometimes the things we want most are the scariest to reach for," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a truth you had long known but struggled to embrace. How many times had you allowed fear to hold you back, to keep you from fully surrendering to the love you shared with Annatar? Even now, with the miracle of new life growing inside you, doubt still shadowed the edges of your joy.

You drew in a deep breath, letting Erynwen's wisdom settle over you like a balm. "You're right," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Fear is a heavy burden to carry.”

Erynwen's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Yes,”

You couldn't help but return her smile, marveling at the purity and wisdom of her young heart.

Erynwen nodded sagely, her expression so earnest it made your heart swell. She settled back against you, resting her head on your chest once more as you both gazed out over the sun-dappled riverbank. For a while, you simply sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle whisper of the breeze and the distant trilling of birdsong.

As you held Erynwen close, her words of wisdom echoing in your mind, a sense of calm determination settled over you. Love had always been the most powerful force of all, and it was time you trusted in the strength of the bond you shared with Annatar. The fear of what the future may hold had haunted you for too long, casting shadows over the joy and wonder of the new life growing within you. But no more.

You would not let the ghosts of possible futures rob you of the happiness of the present. Annatar deserved to know the truth, to share in this miracle with you. And together, fortified by your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead. United as one, just as you had always been meant to be.

You stood on the balcony, gazing out over the starlit expanse beyond Eregion. The crisp night air was a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside. The gathering had grown overwhelming—too many eyes, too many whispers. They all thought they were discreet, but you could feel their curiosity, their speculation.

You had not yet found the strength to tell him the truth, and in your avoidance, you had begun evading his presence altogether. Even in the same halls, you had ensured that your paths did not cross, retreating into your work or your chambers whenever he entered a room. Not even allowing him to lie with you anymore.

But he noticed.

Of course, he did.

And yet, he did not push.

For all his persistence in other matters, he had given you space. He had honored your silence, though you knew it was not without effort. He remained close, always lingering just at the edge of your awareness, watching, waiting—never pressing, but never straying far.

So it was no surprise when you felt his presence behind you now.

"Needing some air?" he asked softly as he stepped beside you, his voice gentle, careful.

You turned to him, forcing a pleasant smile, though you did not answer his question.

His icy gaze studied you in the dim light, flickering with something unreadable. "Mori," he breathed, his concern slipping through the carefully controlled cadence of his voice. "Is it something I said that night—"

You shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.

"No," you said quickly, but the way his face twisted in suspicion told you he did not believe you.

He knew. He always knew.

He could sense when you were hiding something, could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you. And now, as he studied you, his icy eyes darkened with quiet resolve.

You knew he would not let this go. Not this time.

Not until you told him the truth.

Annatar stepped closer, his hand rising to gently cup your cheek. His touch was warm, familiar—a tether in the storm of your thoughts. For a moment, you leaned into it, craving the comfort only he could provide. But then, the fear came rushing back—cold and sharp, curling around your heart like an iron vice.

You pulled away.

"Mori, please," he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something rare—desperation. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. The words were there, lodged in your throat, desperate to be spoken. But how could you tell him? How could you burden him with this knowledge, with this responsibility, when the shadows of your vision still lingered at the edges of your mind?

And yet—when you met his gaze, saw the love and concern shining in those icy depths, you knew.

He deserved to know.

He had the right to share in this moment, to experience the joy and wonder of this new life growing within you. This was not just yours to carry.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you reached for his hand, your fingers twining with his.

"Mairon," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "There's something I need to tell you."

His fingers tightened around yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

"Whatever it is, divine, I'm here. Always."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your heart swelling at the depth of his devotion. Drawing strength from his touch, from the unwavering love in his gaze, you found the courage to speak the words that would change everything.

"I'm with child," you whispered, the words hanging between you, heavy with meaning.

For a long moment, Annatar was silent. His expression was unreadable, though you felt the slight tightening of his fingers around yours, heard the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath.

Then, slowly—as if realization was unfurling within him in waves—his eyes widened. Shock. Wonder. And something deeper—fear, perhaps—flickered across his features.

His free hand drifted toward your stomach, hovering just above the fabric of your gown, not quite touching.

"You're certain?" he breathed, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of the gathering inside.

You nodded, a watery smile touching your lips despite the anxiety still curling in your chest. "Yes. I've felt the stirrings of new life for a few weeks now."

Annatar exhaled slowly, his eyes closing briefly as he absorbed the magnitude of your revelation. When he opened them again, they shone with something raw, something unguarded. Love. Awe. And the barest flicker of uncertainty.

"A child," he murmured, almost to himself, as if testing the weight of the words on his tongue. 

His hand finally settled over your stomach, his touch gentle, reverent. You placed your own hand over his, your heart fluttering at the intimate contact. For a moment, everything else faded away—the distant chatter of the gathering, the cool night breeze, even the fear that had plagued you for weeks.

There was only this.

The warmth of his touch. The love shining in his eyes. The miracle of new life blossoming within you.

Without another word, Annatar pulled you into his embrace, his arms encircling you, his face burying into the crook of your neck. You could feel it—the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, betraying the depth of his emotion.

He held you tightly, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

"Mori," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "This is… I never thought—"

He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

You understood.

The idea of creating life, bringing a child into the world—one who was part of both of you—was overwhelming in its magnitude. It was a responsibility, a blessing, and a vulnerability all at once.

Gently, Annatar pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness so deep it made your breath catch.

"Mori," he breathed again, his hands trembling slightly as they held you.

His gaze, filled with wonder and reverence, washed away the last remnants of your fear.

This was right. This was how it was meant to be.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was at once tender and consuming, fierce and full of devotion. He poured everything into it—his love, his devotion, the quiet awe that radiated from him in waves.

And you melted into him, your hands slipping into his golden hair, holding him close. For this moment, there was no past, no future. Only now. Only him.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar rested his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he whispered fervently. "Both of you. More than anything in this world or beyond."

Tears of joy trickled down your cheeks as you smiled up at him, your heart so full it felt fit to burst.

"And we love you, Mairon. Always and forever."

A quiet chuckle left him—almost disbelieving—before he slowly knelt before you.

His hands settled over your still-flat stomach, awe flickering in his gaze.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, sensing your hesitation. "We will appear as if we are merely speaking."

You glanced toward the gathering beyond the balcony, ensuring no one was watching, before looking back down at him.

Reverently, almost as if in silent worship, Annatar caressed your stomach, his hands warm against you. "My sweet child," he murmured, his voice soft, filled with tenderness. "You will be as radiant as your mother, and I will love you with all my being, just as I do with her."

Your heart swelled at the sight before you—this powerful being, the one whom others feared, kneeling in devotion before the life you had created together.

Your fingers combed through his golden hair, marveling at the strength of your bond, the depth of this love.

Slowly, Annatar pressed a gentle kiss just below your navel before rising to his feet.

He gathered you into his arms again, holding you as though you were the most precious treasure in all of Arda.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nestled closer, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"No, my love," you murmured, "thank you—for giving us what I have always desired for us to share in."

Annatar tightened his hold around you, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his love chase away the last remnants of fear.

The future was uncertain. But in this moment, you knew—together, you would face whatever came.

For a long while, you simply stood there, entwined in each other’s embrace, the world beyond fading into insignificance.

Until—

A quiet throat cleared behind you.

You both turned just as Celebrimbor stepped into view.

Before the illusion fell away, you and Annatar slowly, reluctantly, separated.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Celebrimbor said quietly, his voice careful, measured.

You shook your head, gathering the folds of your gown as you took a step away from Annatar, placing distance between you before the illusion of normalcy could break.

"No, not at all," you replied smoothly, forcing a composed smile. "I was just about to rejoin the gathering."

You stepped past Celebrimbor, pausing only briefly before glancing back at your husband.

Annatar stood where you had left him, his golden gaze steady upon you. A small, knowing smile graced his lips—a silent promise, an unspoken bond only the two of you shared.

And in his eyes, that glint of something more.

The love you now bore together, for the tiny life growing within you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet joy that only he could truly understand.

With the slightest inclination of his head, Annatar acknowledged you—not as the godly being he was, but as a man who loved you, who had just learned he would soon love another.

And with that, you turned back toward the gathering, slipping once more into the world that did not yet know the truth of the miracle that now lived within you.

[hannieehaee]

ive been told another one of my fics (over my head) seemingly draws too much inspiration from another preexisting fic (hits different cause its you).

while i 100% do not believe this belief to be true, ill be taking it down to avoid any issues (ill be leaving it up for the rest of the day in case you'd like to save/archive it for ur own reading and then will be removing it altogether). my fic and this fic were posted one month in difference and my full-length fics usually take me months to complete, so any similarities in plot were purely coincidental.

id like to take this time to clarify that a few of my fanfics do utilize tropes/concepts ive seen other authors use but that id never actually copy or steal the actual subject matter of someone else's writing in my own. i was told by this same author that apparently there's been other writers who have issue with some of my fics copying their own, so if you're one of those people, i invite you to come forward and let me know so i can remove whichever fic you feel is similar to your own.

i want people to understand that a lot of writing on here will reminisce one another due to being about the same thirteen individuals who all share specific dynamics and personality traits, along with tropes and trope progressions being similar (if you read my fics i use the exact same trope progressions 90% of the time). and that i could easily pull up a few fics that read similarly to each other but are not the same.

i will remove any 'copied' writing (despite me knowing this is false) to avoid any issues because i dont want to entertain this. though i completely admit my fault regarding my imitation of another writer in my previous post, i wont entertain the idea that most of my writing is copied, because it is not.

with this, i will post the last few works i had already been planning on posting and move onto removing the rest of my work from tumblr altogether. for full transparency, i have a few other works i am in the middle of writing and will be posting those to patreon (i frankly dont care about anyone's opinion on my use of patreon, by the way).

i have a lot of stressors in my personal life, which is why i would only ever pop in here to post writing and leave immediately after, so i am not entertaining anything that makes this space the slightest bit uncomfortable/annoying for me lol sorry! writing has been fun, and the few people ive met on here have been very nice and i will miss them, but im not sitting and waiting for false accusations about my writing due to a mistake i made and admitted to as soon as it was pointed out to me.

id also like to clarify about my patreon since ive gotten complaints before: i do not feel any type of way about it. that money has been incredibly helpful for real-life money issues ive had and im incredibly appreciative of anyone who's supported me. ill continue posting there for a while before ultimately stopping my writing altogether.

im sorry to anyone who liked my writing on here. i'll keep it untouched for a few days in case anyone would like to save it or archive it for their own personal reading. and if anyone would like to read 'closer' (the fic i took down yesterday) message me and ill send you a google docs of it so you can personally keep it for yourself.

bye lol idk if anyone will be sad about my departure ik i sure as hell wont be

[sailornymph]

Hey! Can you please do a relationship dynamics with Sasuke when they were genin ? Like wether they were on the same team or not and how they act together Infront and off front of people, something like that. You write what you want, because I don't really have a preference for something , I'm just not good at describing what I want 🥹

‘IMPERFECT FOR YOU’

genin!sasuke x genin!reader

authors note : a big thank you for 200+ followers in just a month. i am super grateful and excited for what the future brings!! and your description was perfect anon, thank you :)

— you never intended on getting the attention of sasuke uchiha, originally, only trying to prove a point to your parents. you may have been a rainbow baby, but you were far from weak and did not need their constant overbearing protection

— you weren’t the quickest fighter, but you relied heavily on strategy and it carried you thus far, finally taking the genin exams. embarrassingly pushing your mother, as she hugged you, telling you that you didn't have to do this

— passing your exam, you receive the second highest score, only missing a question or two more than sasuke

— you are placed on team 8, alongside kiba, hinata, and shino. while there were talks of you being placed on team 7, many of the sensei disagreed pointing out that while you had the second-highest score, you didn't have any special qualities

— while you are aware of the uchiha’s presence, you aren't initially attracted to him. there are too many girls in the class who already like him, and he is very rude, so why waste your time?

— you have your first encounter, when you cause a scene, arguing with neji. it was no secret that he was mean to hinata, but no one seemed to ever stand up to him

— you knew he was stronger, but you still stood your ground, defending your friend. you couldn’t even remember what happened. your last memory conscious was seeing kakashi and guy sensei standing in front of neji…and sasuke, before blacking out

— waking up in the hospital, with a broken arm and a blackened eye, you are immediately bombarded by your worried parents, scolding you, as they pepper your face with kisses. was this not enough proof that the shinobi life was not meant for you? not exactly. they stick around until you convince them that you are fine and they can go back to working

— as they are leaving, kurenai sensei enters along with your teammates, with gifts and hugs, glad that you are okay. despite having to scold you, for fighting, she is also proud of you, for standing up for what thought was right. spending time with them, hinata shares a bit of insight from the fight

— before neji could deliver the final blow, the uchiha had intervened. no one even knew he was watching, the two of them shared words no one could hear, but from the look of it…sasuke and neji were about to fight next until their sensei’s showed up stopping it

— with a stunned look on your face, you accepted their hug as they left, allowing a few other friends to visit. by the afternoon, you could only imagine your expression, when there was a soft knock before sasuke entered

“you’re okay,” he said, his usual stoic expression in place.

“i am, i heard about what you did, thank you,” you smiled, as he let go of the door, allowing it to shut behind himself.

“tch, why would you think you of all people could fight neji?” he asked you, frowning, catching you off guard.

“the way he treats my friend is unacceptable, because of something she had no control over-

“so you pick a fight with a hyuga, you’re smarter than that, y/n,” he glared.

staring perplexed by his choice of words, you furrowed your eyebrows. sure, you had the second-highest scores, but that could have easily been a matter of luck. however, you were never around sasuke, you weren't even friends with sakura or naruto, so how would he have known if you were smarter than picking a fight?

“i’ve seen you training until the sun is setting, you want to be stronger, you aren't annoying like the girls in our class. all they care about is getting my attention, yet, you never spared me a glance”

“what is your point?”

“you're smart and i find you…interesting,” he found himself struggling to form his thoughts into words, a dark pink hue appearing on his cheeks.

“oh? sasuke, you are interesting to me too, you're very cool and i’m sure you will be an amazing shinobi,” you smiled, making him shift his eyes.

“would you like to have some food? everyone has brought me so much, i don't want it to go to waste,” you offered, hoping to lighten the tension.

“what do you have?”

“chocolates, mochi, onigiri, and soup”

“just a bit, i don't care for sweets,” he mumbled, joining you.

— the cycle continued and you don’t think too much of it. sasuke visited you every evening, sometimes he would talk (it is usually you talking and he had short responses) but he mostly listened, only leaving once you started yawning too much, or the nurse told him he had to go

— finally the day came that you could leave, and struggling to pack your things, your arm in the sling, you were unsurprised by sasuke picking up your bag. following close behind you, you thanked him, leading him to your house

— as you arrive, before you can wish him farewell, your parents open the door. staring at sasuke, they immediately began to thank him, inviting him inside for dinner. he wanted to say no thank you, but your mother was already tugging him into your home, saying he could wait with you until dinner was ready

— apologetically leading him to your room, it was awkward sitting next to each other. your eyes glued to the floor, as he stared at all of the pictures you had on your wall. from trips with your parents, pictures with your teammates, or other friends who weren’t in your class

— your father finally entered the room, letting you both know that dinner was ready. you proceed to endure the most insufferable dinner. your parents continually praising sasuke, how he practically saved you, and how he should talk you out of becoming a shinobi, you should focus on taking over the family business, etc

— after it was over, you quickly walked sasuke out, apologizing once again for your embarrassing parents. he tells you there is no need to apologize, but you can see on his face, he is holding something back

“what is it? i know my parents can be annoying, but you're so red in the face,” you laughed, walking beside him.

“no, they're not that bad, naruto is worse,” he said, making you laugh.

“i guess, he seems cool enough to me, so what is it?”

“would you like to get ramen with me, tomorrow?”

“sure, is that all?”

“yes, good night,” he said, turning to walk away.

“good night,” you waved, going back to your house, stopping as you noticed your parent's eavesdropping.

“can i help you?”

“did sasuke ask you to go somewhere with you?”

“yes, we’re getting ramen tomorrow,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“our baby is going on her first date,” your dad squealed like a schoolgirl.

“date?”

“honey, you didn't see the way he kept looking at you?”

“no, i’m going to bed,” you said, weirded out by them.

— all night you found yourself thinking about your parent's words. sasuke was being nice, even if he wasn't showing it on his face. did he like you? could you even like him back? you would have too much competition

— forcing yourself to go to sleep, you would let it go, until tomorrow and take things one thing at a time. from the time that you woke up, to the time that sasuke knocked on your door, were your parent's words. you had never even thought about dating, but here you were questioning everything

— going to the ramen shop, ordering your meals, you began to make conversation, until your food was placed in front of you

“you still have that distant look on your face”

“i-i like you a lot, y/n,” he admitted, his face turning red, as you didn't respond. were you surprised? disgusted? was the feelings mutual? sasuke felt sick to his stomach at the fact that you weren't responding.

“i like you too,” you finally said, smiling him.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“sure,” you shrugged, picking up your chopsticks.

— he eventually walks you home, this time, his hand brushing against your own. stopping in front of your house. your heart is racing, as you peck his cheek, running inside

— your relationship remains lowkey until it is exposed on accident. he had been sick when a few classmates decided to stop by and check on him. he slept downstairs, letting you have his room, when he heard the knock. opening the door, he was met by multiple voices asking if he was okay. making your way downstairs, you froze making eye contact with your classmates. naruto pointed out loudly that you were wearing sasuke’s pajamas before the uchiha slammed the door in all of their faces.

— only for the two of you to eventually let them in, acting as if nothing happened, admitting that the two of you are together, but you quickly change the subject, while sasuke continues to ignore everyone

— sasuke is very cautious and dating isn't even a priority for him, so for him to be so willing to be in a relationship with you, he feels deeply for you

— genin sasuke has a wall around him that only you have managed to climb over, to get to his true nature. around others, he acts like everyone is insufferable, even you

— however, when you spend the night at his place, or he visits you, while your parents are away on business trips, you get to see the real sasuke

— he’s gentle, clingy, and quite sensitive. from the moment that he let you in, his arms around you, as he mumbled a small apology for ignoring you earlier

— he seeks your approval, without even realizing it, did you see him training today? what did you think? did he seem like he was getting stronger?

— he is easily jealous but tries to act like he's not. you, hinata, and kiba are like three peas in a pod, but he can't stand the boy. hinata is very clearly only into naruto, but the wild boy is always near you, taking your attention. he also can't be too sure, but he saw him staring a little too long at you for his liking

— while he is jealous, he can hide it very well because his ego keeps him in check, he is the last uchiha, which made him better than kiba, right? also, you were his girlfriend and didn't even think of other boys in that way

— going back to his gentle and kind nature, while he usually starts immature arguments, he is also the one to want to make up first. you were trying to include him in some fun with your classmates, but he wanted to seem cool, so said no, mumbling how you were being lame. passing a few words, you scoffed, going to hang with your friends, then going straight home

— later that day, your mom called you from your room, saying that sasuke was here. concealing your frown, you invited him into your room, his arms were around you the moment the door shut. his breath shaking, his heart pounding, as he apologized, scolding himself for how he spoke to you

— doesn’t say much during conversations pertaining to if you were married when you get older, your dream wedding, etc. he just states that he will eventually want to restore his clan, when he’s older, while blushing

— leading up to him leaving, he becomes colder, and distances himself. you’ll sleep over and he won’t say a word to you, simply holding your hand, deep in his thought

— during the night that he left, not even you could stop him, completely changing your entire relationship

running as fast as you could, you came to a stop, seeing sakura knocked out, while sasuke was about to walk away.

“sasuke, don’t do this. you’re going to leave everything behind, kakashi, your friends, me. he just wants to use you-

“i have to become stronger, y/n, to k-

“to kill itachi, i know, but this isn’t the way, please”

“i’m sorry”

“sasuke, you promised we would grow stronger together, we would get married and restore your clan,” you cried, as he turned to face you.

“i cannot restore my clan until i’ve had revenge,” he told you, holding your face, as you cried harder.

“take me with you, if you have to go. i can’t be without you”

“no”

“please, sasuke”

“you have your parents, friends, teachers, many who would be broken at the thought of you gone. you can not go where i will be”

“you said you loved me, if you love me, why are you leaving me like i mean nothing to you?” you shouted angrily, tears pouring down your face.

“meeting and loving you has been my greatest privilege. you’ve brought emotions to me that i haven’t experienced since my clan was still alive. my love for you is the exact reason why i must leave you here,” he said, appearing behind you, knocking you out — leaving you and sakura both on a nearby bench, as he left, going to join orochimaru.

[lavenderprose]

too scared to admit this off anon (here or ao3 lol) but,,,,

i am not immune to emmrich breeding fic.

:0

Anon, I am going to hold your hands while I say this...allow yourself to be horny. I wasted so much of my life holding the weirdness and the loudness and the horniness inside. The Maggie LavenderProse of three years ago would have never posted anything but the most vanilla of softcore smut under her main username on Ao3. Then I had a fucking awakening, born in part from the realization that I had been censoring myself for basically my entire life and I didn't want to do that any more.

Let me tell you a story. Two years ago I had a serious medical event that I am still feeling the effects of. Without going into too much detail, my ability to have children was threatened and we're still not sure if I'm healthy enough to conceive. This was devastating to me, and continues to be a source of angst for me. I cry about it on a pretty regular basis. I lay awake at night and wonder if I'll ever meet my children. If I didn't have the outlets that I do--one of which is, YES, writing breeding porn--I would have probably lost my mind by now, out of grief if nothing else. I would have been content to just write it for myself but happily I have discovered that MANY people share my story, or at least sympathize, and many more people enjoy that particular kink/my take on that. What a revelation! Huzzah!!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that people are going to try to censor you your whole life and you should under no circumstances help them. While I understand the urge to hide it from people, these feelings are very normal and even good. And way fewer people will judge you for it than you think. Multiple people I know IRL follow me on Tumblr and they've been known to throw a like on my horny nonsense. Which is CRAZY. I went to high school with some of those guys. We were at our most repressed together and now they see me posting breeding porn and presumably think, "Good for her."

Be horny! Embrace what makes you horny! Feel free to stay on Anon but at least allow yourself to enjoy these things without feeling guilt ❤️

And yes. There is nobody on Earth who is immune to Emmrich Volkarin breeding porn. I mean LOOK at him.

[an-unraveling-unknown]

*very slowly shoves half-baked clusterconundrum lore-bursting bonkers up the wall passion project (big passion, like imagine that I throw out my arms to the point where they're very slightly teensily dislocated THIS big) of an undertale au underneath my bed*

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems