#it was meant to be fun and people are being unkind on it so apologies for my tone

[crabussy]

indian people exist

[athreehundredthirtythree]

A Story About Veilguard & Me

I normally pop on here, at infrequent intervals, to mindlessly reblog DA memes and art from mutuals. I very, very rarely post at all, and almost never in my own words. This time, though, I have to. And you'll have to forgive me--what I'm going to say might sound unkind or like I'm not giving the game a fair shake. Also, there will be MAJOR spoilers, and I'm going to get very personal. It will be long.

All this to say, I don't expect anybody to actually read it. Or care, for that matter.

But sharing is a part of grief. And I need to tell you a story.

My parents divorced when I was a kid, and my father moved 1800 miles away (approx. 2900 km for people who live in sensible countries), so my uncle was a formative figure in my life. He was snarky, sarcastic, brilliant, and kind. He was the sort of person who all the neighborhood kids considered a father figure. He was my first DM in my first tabletop RPG, and my first video game was Baldur's Gate, played as I sat on his lap. I made the decisions and he moved the characters and clicked things to make them happen. He was my first Valentine, sending me a Vermont Teddy Bear on Valentine's Day when I was a little girl. I'm in my 30s. I still have that bear. His son, my cousin, had prom the same night as mine since we went to the same school. But my uncle made sure to come over to my house to see when I was ready and tell me I looked beautiful. He was my father in all but name. When I was little, he brushed my hair and tucked me into bed at night, telling me story after story, improvised on the spot just for me.

When I was in college, he got sick. I was the last to know. My entire family knew before I did. My uncle apologized, said he hadn't meant to tell me last. He'd assumed my mom told me. She hadn't because she "hadn't wanted to upset me during the semester." I was upset, but, hey, at least I knew now. And my uncle was doing well and responding to treatment.

Some years passed. I had a kid. Then the worst loss of my life, followed a few months later by another kid. All the while, my uncle's health was in decline. I had to watch him go from being a bright, vibrant presence in my life, a sun I could guide myself around, to a husk of the person he was. But I would talk to him a lot. I tried to get him into Critical Role when he got too sick to play D&D anymore, so he could still keep it in his life. But my aunt couldn't figure out how to make the podcast work, despite my written instructions, sadly. Instead, I told him about anything I was doing--now I was telling him the stories, for a change: about my life, about my kids, about how we were all doing fine.

Everyone told me he was doing okay, he was in a status quo. He'd never get better, but at least he wasn't getting worse. Cold comfort is still comfort.

I came home after the holiday party at my job a few years later when my mom pulled me aside for a chat. My uncle's health was failing, she said, and my entire extended family had kept that from me because they didn't want me to be upset at work. I had a job to do, Mom said, and she wanted me to be able to focus.

It was as she was telling me this that she got the phone call. My uncle was dead.

Her lies made it so I never got to say goodbye in a way he could hear.

I will never forgive her that.

And she knows it. I've told her. And all she can say is she's sorry, but she made the best decision she could at the time. For the sake of a job I don't even have anymore.

All this to say: I hate Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

In this game, the writers at Bioware have just made me relive one of the worst things that ever happened to me. For the sake of a fun little plot twist.

It's not a fun little plot twist. It's not an extra twist of the fictional knife for pathos points. It is a real thing that happened to me--a light in my life went out and I lost a chance to say goodbye when it would have mattered because of someone else's lies.

Dragon Age was, bar none, my favorite video game series, and I have an encyclopedic knowledge of its lines and lore. I have loved it since the moment I booted up Origins. And now I don't know if I'll be able to play any of the games again, knowing how it ends for a character who, by every metric but height and hair color, is a dead ringer for the uncle I lost. Who was a comfort when my uncle died--I don't have my uncle anymore, but Varric was always there, a click away, endlessly supportive, with a one-liner and a story, so reminiscent of the presence I will forever miss.

Is that stupid? Sure. But who said grief has to be smart? I make no apologies.

The fact that Solas can be forgiven for this, can ride off into the sunset with a romanced Lavellan, and Varric's narration sounds approving of it... feels like a judgment. Varric's lines about it being "[his] decision, [his] sacrifice. And you [Rook/player] don't get to take that from me" feels like a very personal "fuck you." It feels like Varric, as an unromanceable character, despite fandom clamoring to smooch the dwarf since DA2, is more disposable than Solas. Fuck it, it's not like anyone loved him, right? It's not like he was integral to anyone's story.

I am aware that Bioware doesn't know I exist. I'm a random schlub on Tumblr, and people who've been callously lied to about a death in reality are a vanishingly small group of people, not an important bloc to consider. But if the entire company had set out to make a game to hurt me personally, if they'd had a vendetta against me and wanted to break my heart--and not in a fun, engaging fictional way like they usually manage, but in a way that reminds me of a very real grief and hurts in a very, very real way... this is the exact decision they would have made. To not just kill him, but to lie about it for the whole game. I could have been okay with a Varric death in this game. Hell, I intentionally bring him with me to do "In Hushed Whispers" in DAI so I can see the terror demon toss his corpse into the room for the extra pathos. Death in stories happens, particularly ones with stakes as high as this one.

But writing that affects you, that makes you feel, makes you think, makes you cry--it's only good as long as it's in good fun. And there's a vast gulf between "a story that made me cry" and "a story that made me fucking despair because I just realized I can't remember what my uncle's voice sounds like anymore and I'll never hear it again." Between "a story that gave my favorite character a send-off in a way I disliked" and "my uncle will never meet my son, and I just got a big, fuck-off reminder of that fact." And Veilguard is the latter.

I wish I could say I loved the game. I wish I could say the ending brought me the closure I never got. But closure is a lie; the wound doesn't close. You just learn to compensate. The story cracked my heart along fissures that will never heal. And it hurts as badly now as it did the day I lost him, when I found out how much my family, my own mother, lied to me and I lost out on the chance to say goodbye in any way that mattered.

A gentle reminder to any writers out there who've made it this far: remember your readers, your players, your audience all bring their own context to your story. A fun twist to you because you watched The Sixth Sense over the weekend can be deeply, heartbreakingly painful to a player, because they bring their own life to whatever tale you tell. Take care with how you treat your characters; they're fictional, sure, but that doesn't mean they're disposable--because what happens to them can matter more than you think to an audience member in grief.

Next month, it will have been five years since he died. A milestone and a tragedy. The son my uncle will never meet is sitting on my lap as I write this and try desperately to remember what his voice sounded like. And this time, there's no one, real or fictional, to offer that missing presence. Because knowing how the story ends changes how the beginning feels.

Thank you for reading.

[heylittleriotact]

Belated WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the lovely @marlowethebard. Thank you <3

Part of the WIP for chapter twenty-five of Open Invitations is under the cut. It wasn't meant to be smut, and then it turned into smut (as so often seems to happen to me lately...) and then it just got out of hand.

Because they enthusiastically encouraged me to sin, I'm tagging @preciouslittlebhaalbae (only if you want to of course <3)

For context, there are morning cuddles and Echo has just told Astarion why he remembers Senna from before he died.

“I offered her a drink and she declined. I remember thinking she was a fool for doing so, for it was unlikely she had the opportunity to drink anything finer in her life up until then.” He laughed softly. “Clearly I was wrong.” 

He traced the shapely curve of her rear, aware of the erection growing between his legs as he trailed the tips of his fingers over the unbelievably soft skin right at the cleft of her ass: she had such an effect on him - it was maddening.

“So what was to happen had fate not played out as it had and I lived? Was it their plan to kill me too - as perceived justice for my unkind rulings?” 

He had known Echo for long enough to comprehend the motivations of her archfey: of course he would have caught the attention of the creature… being who he was back then and all.

“No,” Echo said, “They would have sought to teach you a lesson and humble you - forced you to reconsider some things and be a bit less of an uptight prick, but Senna swears they had no intention of hurting or killing you.”

“Uptight prick?” He hissed teasingly, unable to help himself any longer and pulling her on top of him, slipping his dawn-hardened length easily into her folds that were still slick with his cum and her own juices. “That doesn’t sound like me at all…” He gripped her hips and tilted his own upward, causing her to groan. The ends of her hair tickled his face and she held herself up with her hands on either side of his head.

“So… do you accept Senna’s apology?” She inquired coquettishly as he went about fucking her in the dim morning light of the tent, not ignorant to the sounds of activity in the camp as people began to wake up and go about their day.

“I’m not sure… it was all terribly upsetting, not knowing if he was a villain and all… but I am sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me…” he said breathlessly. “I must say: this is a good start…”

“You’re depraved,” she whispered, though she wore a cheeky smile.

“And you like it, darling. Now sit up and make a good show for me of how sorry you are. Consider it atonement on behalf of your patron for his naughty behaviour.” The command fell from his lips and he stared up at her lewdly as she wordlessly obeyed him and straightened, baring the entirety of her naked form from her place astride him. Her pink nipples were hard and peaked in the chill morning air, and he adored the sight of his cock disappearing into her pretty cunt. She raised an eyebrow questioningly as if she wasn’t sure if he had been joking.

When he first said it he had been, but this could be fun…

“Go on then…” he whispered, reaching up and pinching one of her nipples.

[muu-kun]

❤️ 💔 💖 🖤 ?

munday asks! / Accepting / @yuuwen

❤️ — what are some of your best qualities?

I'm just the chill follower tbh. I really don't care what people write as long as both parties are consenting, everything is properly tagged, and they are understanding that the expectation is to respond with maturity should someone come to them with concerns of the material being explored. I also am pretty flexible at getting along with everyone as I typically have at least one thing in common with everyone I meet and interact with.

💔 — what are some of your worst qualities?

I have a reputation for being an absolute bitch depending on who you ask, and frankly I don't dispute it. I'm not really one for apologizing for words shared in anger as I am so lenient that to get me to anger you have to have done something to instigate the piss out of me. I've been burned and defamed by so many muns, who in the midst of doing that projected their less than satisfactory opinion of me out in the form of treating Muu like he was beneath garbage, so really I can be Kind or Unkind at the indication that his or my livelihood is at stake. I also am mad confrontational as I get up there in years, because I am attempting to avoid blowing up from internalizing. Basically, when people do something I don't like, they'll be made aware of it.

💖 — what was one of the greatest/happiest moments you’ve had in the rpc?

Basically any of Muu's shenanigans in his very early development here on tumblr. His lack of concern what other people thought of him and his untainted mirth were my favorite things of his. Most didn't agree, but I'm a soon to be 27 year old who gets a kick out of remembering itty bitty 16 year old Muu spewing the first things to pop up into his curious mind without even a mild hesitation for how it sounded. One example being telling someone their genitalia resembled a eggplant and then proceeding to tell everyone else he interacted with that day about said eggplant. He gave so little fucks that the tiniest experiences presented themselves with the upmost joy and curiosity.

🖤 — what was one of the worst/most depressing moments you’ve had in the rpc?

Nothing really takes the cake of having to learn muns that you spent the prior couple years as mutuals, interacting with, forming platonic and romantic relationships with were discussing how much negativity they associated with your muse by being unsavory to them. Not to mention the others who even to your face disclosed the fact that they couldn't wait until something bad happened to him before they either initiated such acts to begin Or stood a watchful eye of the whole thing just so they could remind you when it was sufficient to them that they were never going to provide aid to your muse one bit. Knowing your muse is hated and to have strangers and friends alike take space for themselves on a platform meant to be fun and lighthearted just so they could mock, neglect, or abuse him without giving a warning was absolutely the worst thing ever. It actually got to the point I had to leave Tumblr entirely because he was so depressed and I began to really hate being here knowing this thing I love has been marked as unlovable. It also does not help that a lot of the people who were the most prominent voices of negativity back then are still on this platform, so sometimes it offsets Muu into overcompensating his strengths to hopefully avoid further mistreatment from starting up again. I wouldn't go as far as to put them on a do not interact list, but I still associate their identities with being complete bitches. They know who they are and I'm not too apologetic in regards to stating a fitting label for their behaviors.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 125.4: Accidental Bonding (Part Four)

(You can start at Part One, if you’d like.)

"Come on," Harry begged, the following Friday. "Please come to dinner." The bond had only seemed to strengthen in the past eighteen days and Harry found his mind turning to thoughts of Draco almost constantly whether they were together or apart.

And touching the other man was almost second nature at this point. They spent all day every day touching the other without thinking; they sat with their ankles pressed together under their desks, hands brushed against shoulders and backs as they walked past each other, they frequently held hands without even talking about it first, and Harry couldn't remember the last time that he'd woken up without being wrapped around Draco's body or vice versa. Yes, the bond wasn't showing any signs of weakening.

"Your friends hate me, Potter," Draco reminded him as he pulled a wine glass down out of the cupboard.

Harry sighed, "But they wouldn't if they got to know you."

Draco leveled him with a glare, the kind that Harry had learned to recognize as a shield of sorts that the other man used when he was feeling insecure. "They have good reason to hate me," he said as he filled the glass.

"Not anymore," he protested.

The other man rolled his eyes and took a large swallow of his wine.

"Come on," he said again. "If you're there no one will flirt with me."

Draco face twisted in disgust, it was unpleasant for both of them if someone touched one of them with certain intentions.

"If they're rude, you can leave right away," he added.

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked.

He thought for a moment, "A foot rub," he offered, remembering the night that Draco had drunkenly been complaining that his feet hurt and Harry had drunkenly offered a foot rub. There'd been something immensely satisfying about it, he assumed it was something to do with the bond and not with the look of rapturous delight on Draco's face.

(Read more below the cut)

Draco's eyes narrowed, "And I can leave immediately if they're unkind."

"Yes."

"And you'll give me a long foot massage?"

He laughed, "Yes."

"Fine."

Harry grinned at him. "Excellent. Let's go then, they're meeting us at The Night Owl."

"How did you know I'd say yes?" he asked, looking affronted.

"I didn't," Harry lied, even he'd had a strong suspicion he could convince the other man. "They could eat there without us if you didn't want to go."

He didn't seem entirely convinced but he allowed Harry to take his elbow and he apparated them to the apparition point closest to The Night Owl.

Ron and Hermione were already sitting at a booth when they arrived, and Harry slid his fingers through Draco's as he headed over. "Hey," he greeted brightly.

His best friends both looked up, smiling at Harry before doing a double take when they saw Draco standing there beside him.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, eyebrows lifting. "What a surprise!" she said, glancing at Harry.

He could feel Draco's nervousness like it was a tangible thing. "Yeah," Harry said, widening his eyes meaningfully at her, "I told you he might be coming."

"Yeah," Ron said, "But we didn't think he actually would."

"Well," Draco said, detaching his hand from Harry's, "This has been fun but I'm going to-"

"No," Harry said, turning toward him and grabbing his hand again, "It's fine," he said, glaring at his friends, who he had told to be on their best behavior and to just give the other man a chance.

"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Stay, please. We were just surprised."

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment, obviously arguing with himself before nodding once and sliding into the booth.

Harry slid in next to him, the first (and hopefully largest) hurdle out of the way.

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

Dinner went surprisingly well. Hermione and Ron obviously struggled a bit but Harry had asked them to give him a chance and they seemed to be trying.

Everyone seemed to relax a bit once they'd had a few drinks and when Draco got up to use the loo, Harry turned to his friends, "So?" he said eagerly, "He's different, right?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other before Hermione said carefully, "I think it's too soon for me to tell."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, "I know you've always had that thing for Malfoy but," he shrugged, "it's hard to know what's real and what's an act."

"You do know that he like cut ties from his parents, right?" Harry asked incredulously, "he believes that all of that pureblood nonsense is garbage."

"Does he though?" Hermione asked, "Or is that just what it behooves him to have you believe?"

"He lives in a tiny flat!" he protested. "He said that he was so compelled by your arguments about house elves that he couldn't bring himself to have one for his flat."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, "Or does he just hide it from you? House elves are wicked good at magic."

"He knows how to cook," Harry said, "From scratch. And he knows cleaning spells," he added. "Why would he have to know cleaning spells?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe you're right-"

"Just give him a chance," he said. "You won't-"

"Better talk about something else," Ron interrupted, "He's headed this way."

"Well, I tried to get Lugnok to speak with me about the discrimination that Goblins have been facing for ages in the wizarding community, but he wasn't very forthcoming," Hermione started as Draco slid into the booth once again.

"Oh," Draco said as he pressed his shoulder against Harry's and they both relaxed into the pleasant hum thrumming through the bodies, beginning at their shoulders and radiating outward. "I read the last article that you published in The Daily Dilemma," he said excitedly. "It was fascinating," he added.

"Really?" Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

He nodded, "I always wanted to learn more about Goblin magic but good information is so hard to find. When I was young, I'd hoped that it was something they'd teach at Hogwarts-"

"Yes!" Hermione agreed emphatically. "I have been trying to convince Minerva of that for years."

"We don't know nearly enough about magic that other beings possess and honestly," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "I don't know why any other magical being puts up with us. I can't understand it." He shook his head, "I mean for all intents and purposes, their magic is stronger than ours and they've got better control of it. A house elf, for example," he said, "when they want to apparate somewhere it's just a snap of the fingers. And their blind apparation is loads better than ours," he shook his head, "And that's just one spell."

Hermione nodded, "It's never made sense to me."

Draco swallowed, "I'm sorry about that, by the way," he said, not quite meeting her eye, "for making fun of your organization." Then his mouth twisted, "For a lot of things, really," he continued. "Many that were worse than that."

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment. "I appreciate your apology."

He nodded once. "You probably know this already, but Henri Laurence is a real advocate for changing the way we treat other magical beings. He could probably help your causes."

"Who?" she asked, brows furrowing as she tried to place the name.

"Henri Laurence," he repeated.

She shook her head, "I'm not familiar with that name."

"He works in transportation," Draco replied.

"Why would I talk to someone in transportation?"

He gave her a wry smile, "Henri works closely with a lot of department heads to schedule their trips. He's very amiable and everyone loves him," he added. "More than one political career has risen and fallen by his words. He also works with the Minister quite a bit, the Minister is quite fond of him."

"I never would have thought to start there. Thanks for the tip," she said, giving him a cautious half smile.

"Of course," Draco said automatically. "I'd be glad to give you names if you're ever wondering the best way to get things into people's ears. I'm afraid I can't do introductions, though," he said with a self depreciating laugh.

"Thank you," Hermione said, sounding genuinely grateful. "That would be so helpful."

Draco gave her a little smile and Harry felt hope bubbling merrily in his chest.

----------

As the evening drew to a natural close, Harry couldn't help but think that everything went exceptionally well.

Draco was still talking about Hermione's current project with the Goblins at Gringotts as Harry headed back toward the bedroom, Draco trailing along behind him. "It's invaluable," he said as he started to strip so he could put on his pajamas. "This research could change the way that we think about other beings. We could really have the opportunity to understand them better and then maybe we'd understand our own magic and our own limitations better."

Harry nodded, "You sound just like her. I thought you two might hit it off."

"Did you?" Draco asked curiously as he crawled into bed.

He nodded, sitting at the bottom and pulling Draco's left foot into his lap, pressing his thumbs up the curve of Draco's arch. "You're the only other person I know who likes to talk about Magic Theory."

He let out a low moan as Harry's thumbs rubbed the ball of his foot, "Potter, you are really good at that," he said, thoroughly distracted from the conversation they'd been having.

Harry laughed.

"I'm serious!" the other man protested. "If the whole saving the world, one idiot at a time thing fails, you can go into foot massages."

Chuckling, he shook his head, "Can you imagine?"

"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes and settling further into the mattress, "I'd come see you every day."

"Ah, in that case," Harry teased, "maybe I should think about it."

"You do that," he said, in that distant voice that meant he wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Read something," Harry said.

The other man opened one eye to look down at Harry, "What?"

"Read me something," he said. "Grab a book off your nightstand," he said, nodding to the pile, "And read. But don't pick something boring."

Draco reached over and plucked a slender book off the nigh stand, "I think you'll like this one. He gets everything wrong but it's delightful." He cleared his throat, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

Harry listened as he read, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with warmth.

This was nice, Harry couldn't help but think. Living with someone, sharing meals with someone, having someone in your bed when you went to sleep and when you woke up. It was nice to have the sound of someone else's voice and the feeling of someone else's hand in yours.

He wondered if he'd miss it when the bond ended in twelve days.

More importantly, he wondered if Draco would miss it.

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

Part 3 | Part 5

[thiswasinevitableid]

If you are still taking meet ugly prompts, sternclay 22 nsfw???

Here you go!

22: you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship.

Note: I interpreted "first date" loosely. Slight content warning for mentions of blackmail, including blackmailing someone into a relationship.

It’s hard to tell where the sting of gin on his tongue ends and the sharpness of the pines through the window begins. The combination would invigorate him were it not for the conversation playing out at the other end of the short bar.

“...Last time, I’m not leaving.” The bartender, a mountain of a man who Joseph would love to climb, has been dealing with a persistent suitor for the better part of an hour. They’re the only people in the place; ski season is far behind them and summer isn’t here yet.

“C’mon, you’ve got no reason to hang around.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” The bartender finishes cleaning glasses, turns to put them up.

“Don’t you fucking turn your back on me! I’m not through with you, oughta drag you outta here by your hair you cheap, dull-”

The next word is an unkind name for men who, like Joseph, prefer men in their beds. The bartender doesn’t respond, though his hands tighten around the glasses. Damn it, the world did not go for a second war just for him to let everyday evil slide by.

“That’s enough.” Joseph stands, moving to where the other patron wobbles on his stool, “him being uninterested doesn’t give you the right to abuse him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy.”

“I know that if you don’t leave, I’ll escort you out.”

The man throws up his hands, spits at Joseph’s feet before stumbling and stomping for the door, “Three years, Barclay, you’re throwing away three years in one night, and you’re gonna regret it. I’ll make sure you do!”

“Don’t think you will.” Barclay mumbles as the door slams. He’s twisting his dishrag to the point it’s ripping.

“Three years? Good lord, I thought he was just a run-of-the-mill drunk.”

“Nope. If you can call him tracking me down every few months a relationship.”

“I’m sorry.” Joseph pulls out his handkerchief, kneeling to clean up the spit, “still, I apologize for getting in the middle of a, um, lovers quarrel.”

“Please don’t, I’m glad you stepped in. Don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t.” His brown eyes study Joseph more closely, “have I seen you here before?”

“Through there.” He indicates the pass-through to the kitchen, “I come here as often as I can since the food can’t be beat.”

“Thanks.” Barclay smiles, starts wiping the counter, “yeah, Dani usually tends bar after the kitchen closes but her wife is down with the flu. Only seemed fair to let her take time to look after her.”

A big heart to go with a big frame? Joseph’s in big trouble.

“You, uh, you up here for the lakes or…” He’s now directly across from Joseph, sliding a fresh gin and tonic in front of him.

“I’m a private detective, a one man operation as of 1949; Kepler’s the optimal spot for me, since it’s between the mountain towns and the eastern edge of the city. That’s a lot of people who might need help. Not to mention lots of the residents closer to the lakes are wealthy, the kind where they’re always looking for someone to trail a straying spouse or track down the pearls their no-good layabout son sold for dope.” He lets a little bit of scorn enter his voice in hopes of letting Barclay know he doesn’t always agree with his clients, but that a man has to make a living.

Barclay rolls his shoulders, then leans forward, “any fun cases so far?”

Joseph pulls off his jacket as he thinks; if Barclay’s really interested, they might be here awhile.

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

He’s an early riser, so the banging on the door to his house (and office) interrupts his breakfast and not his rest. Joseph opens it and then fights to keep it that way.

“Detective Hayes. This is a surprise.” He smiles.

“I’m not here to catch up, Stern. I’m here so you can answer one, simple question: where were you between eleven-thirty and midnight last night?”

“In the dining room at Amnesty Lodge, talking with the bartender. If you need to verify that, just go to the Lodge and ask for Barclay.”

Hayes glowers in a way he recognizes as, “this won’t be an easy case like I assumed” and turns without a word. Two officers follow him. The third, Dewey, hesitates. He’d always been a pal. Joseph shoots him a confused look.

“Guy got shot in the woods near the Lodge last night. His only known contact in town was the bartender, and everyone else we questioned said the two had been arguing for a few days. Hayes thought the cook was a shoo-in to book but, well, his alibi aligns with what you said. Plus, some ranger Owens talked to said he saw Barclay talking to someone in the dining room at the time of the murder. Guess he was walking by the window on his way to-”

“Dewey! Get the hell over here!”

As his informant scurries up the hill to join the others, Joseph steps back inside to finish his toast. He only gets through one piece before the phone rings, summoning him to the managers office at Amnesty Lodge.

Madeline “Mama” Cobb sits behind her desk, whittling with the kind of force that suggests she’s doing this in place of putting her knife to another use.

“Barclay tells me you’re a detective.”

“That’s right, Miss. Cobb.”

“Great. I’m hirin’ you to find out who the hell killed his useless ex and is tryin to frame him for it.”

He sits down, intrigued, “I thought the police were handling the investigation.”

“I ain’t inclined to trust ‘em. Barclay can’t think of someone who’d set him up, and the police don’t think he was. Yet. But I happen to know there were scraps of a shirt Barclay owns on the trees nearby and that the fella who died had this on him.”

She holds a crumpled paper out. He unfolds it, reads, “Come to the old mill at a quarter until midnight. B.” He looks up, “meant to stand for Barclay, one would assume?”

“Yep. Whoever wrote that did a decent job forgin it.”

“How can you be sure it’s fake?”

“Because I got plenty of documents where Barclay describes a time. He just uses numbers, not words like ‘quarter until.”

“Did you suspect a set-up before you lifted this from the body so the cops wouldn’t find it?” Joseph tucks the note into his inside pocket.

“Course I did. You’re new in town, but there ain’t a person here who’d say Barclay is anythin but gentle. He ain’t about to shoot someone in cold blood, even that fucker.” She sighs, takes off her hat and runs a hand through greying hair, “that boy is as good as a brother to me. I know he’s been through some rough shit. He don’t deserve to get caught up in some goddamn murder scheme. So name your price, Mr. Stern; so long as it keeps him outta trouble, I’ll pay it.”

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

He’s elbow-deep in Barclay’s dresser when the cook returns from his shift; he gave Joseph permission to search his room for signs of whoever took his shirt, but still, the other man doesn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“I’m sorry, but I have to be thorough. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“S’fine.” Barclay slumps down on the bed. After a moment he murmurs, “I know Mama hired you, but is there anyway I can convince you to quit? She, the Lodge doesn’t have much cash to spare this time of year. I don’t want anyone going without on my account and, and maybe this will all blow over if I just lie low, y’know?”

“It might. But until I think that’s the outcome, I’m inclined to agree with Miss. Cobb that we should work to keep you clear of this. And” he watches Barclay stand, moving to the window so he won’t have to see Joseph rifling through his life, “I promise that if it comes down to getting paid or bankrupting the Lodge, I’ll stop taking my fee. This is a good place and, um, it clearly means a lot to you. That makes it worth some belt-tightening on my end.”

“Thanks.” Barclay stares into the woods, then looks over his shoulder, “Joseph, I-”

It’s only because the mirror is above the dresser that he sees the black barrel peek from the trees. With no time to yell, he dives forward, pulling Barclay to the floor as the first bullet makes shards of the window.

“What the fuck?!” Barclay covers his head as another shot flies over them

“I think we just confirmed Miss. Cobb’s theory!” He pops up, fires once, and drops back down. Whoever’s in the trees isn’t expecting someone armed, so in place of another bullet they get breaking branches.

Joseph gives chase, leaping out the window and sprinting into the trees. Were they in downtown L.A, hell, even if he was still in Chicago, he’d have a better chance of staying on his target. But there’s no paths, no short-cuts, and every tree looks the same at this speed, cloaking the shape in the distance. Worst of all, he discovers that instead of dead-ending at a brick wall, he dead ends at a rockface.

Oh, and his hand is bleeding. He must have cut himself jumping out the window.

It looks like his investigation just took on a bodyguard element, and his wish to spend more time with Barclay could end with them both looking like swiss cheese.

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

“You could talk to Duck.” Barclay finishes bandaging the slash on the back of Joseph’s left hand, “he works in the state park near here and knows a ton about the layout of the woods. There, not too tight?” He sits back on his heels as Joseph tests the tightness of the bandage.

“It’s great, big guy. Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“I don’t mind it” he winks, “pretty boy.”

His visit with Duck the next day, while informative, doesn’t give him much insight into how their assailant disappeared, especially when Duck points out that the rock face he ran across is over a mile long and hard to climb without equipment or a death wish. At least the ranger outfits him with a map with written-in details; most are about trails that are likely to be muddy (and thus hold prints) or spots where a person might be able to hide. And some hike recommendations, just because.

He tries not to think about taking Barclay on the one to a secluded lake and fucking him under the stars.

His schedule alternates between sitting in his office taking and making calls, shadowing Barclay when he’s out on errands or otherwise vulnerable (he’s spent more than a few nights on the floor of his room, that velvety baritone talking to him until they both fall asleep), and scouring the woods for clues.

A jay heckles a squirrel, which surrenders it’s pinecone and scrambles along the rocks. He’s wishing he could be so nimble when it climbs up and then...disappears. Following it, he discovers what he dismissed as endless rock is an optical illusion; the rocks above and behind align with the ones in front and below to make it seem as if it’s a flat face. But when he climbs over the bottom rock, he finds a narrow slot canyon. One big enough for a human.

Fifteen minutes of granite scratching his back later, he’s at the other side of the rocks. Smoke curls up his nose, and he trails the scent to a cabin which, according to Duck, is on a strange pocket of private property, just up a frontage road. Stranger still is the sign out front.

I.C All

Tarot, Palm Reading, and Other Psychic Services.

He knocks as wind chimes sing lazily around him.

“Come in!”

The first room is divided by a curtain, the half he’s in a rather eclectic waiting room. The dining room and kitchen are probably on the other side of the pink and yellow cloth.

Waiting for him in the next room is a man with a distinctly beatnik air about him, from his red glasses down to his brightly colored shawl and shoulder length hair. Laid out before him is a tarot deck, crystal ball, and several black candles. But that’s not what concerns Joseph.

“Before I sit down, can you ask your friend hiding in the bureau to come out?”

“Fuck” the beaura hisses, “uh, I mean, uh, there ain’t, uh, fuck-”

“It’s alright dearest, I suspect we may all benefit from this.” He gestures for Joseph to sit, “Apologies, but my hope was you were either a client I could turn away or one in search of a brief reading that I could perform before returning to more...pleasurable activities.” He grins as none other than Duck Newton steps from the creaky wooden bureau, looking like he’s been wrestling a very amorous tiger.

“Afternoon, Joe.” Duck sits on the nearby couch, “didn’t take you for the fortune tellin’ type.”

“I’m more interested in whether Mr…”

“Cold, but my friends call me Indrid.”

“Whether Indrid has noticed anyone coming and going on his property without permission?”

“I can’t say that I have, though it’s hard to do so; the walkway is guarded by Beacon, our dog, and everything but the walk up to the cabin is fenced off or, well, a massive wall of rock.”

“...Come with me.”

Soon, Duck is studying the slot canyon while Indrid worries his lower lip.

“I had no idea this was here.”

“No one did. It ain’t on any of the maps, and I never heard of anyone findin it on accident.” Duck pulls back, popping his hat on as he turns to Joseph, “this got somethin to do with Barclay?”

“I think whoever shot at us used this to get away. For all we know, the person who killed Mr. Douglas did the same.”

“To think, I encouraged Barclay to come here even more often once he told me his predicament; I thought no one could approach us without me seeing them coming. No, no this will not do at all” he shakes his head, “he needs to go see her.”

“You know he won’t, sugar.”

“He must. It’s the safest place for him. And the last anyone will look.”

Joseph looks between them, but before he can ask Indrid simply says, “You should ask Barclay about the Greenbank House. That story isn’t ours to tell.”

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

“Home sweet home.” Barclay grumbles as he and Joseph step out of the car and into the shadow of a mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in Lakeshore. It took all of his friends telling him he should go--and Joseph assuring him it’s location meant it wouldn’t look like he was trying to run away from the scene of the murder--for the cook to agree to a stay at his family home.

“What are you afraid of?” Joseph keeps his tone gentle as they climb the front steps. His friend had simply said he had unhappy memories of the house and would rather live in a mausoleum then stay there.

“It’s more dread. You’ll see when we get inside.” He knocks on the front door. It’s opened by the least congruous face imaginable; a man with greying hair and a groundskeepers clothes. When he sees Barclay, a smile bursts across his face.

“Barclay! How are you kiddo?”

“I’m...I’m okay. It’s good to see you Thacker.” He offers a genuine smile as he opens his arms and gathers the older man into a hug. When they separate, Joseph offers his hand and introduces himself. Having an extra guest delights Thacker, and he ushers them in with a promise that he’ll have rooms ready to go in a jiff.

“How’s Maddie doin’?”

“She’s good, and she’ll still slug your arm for that nickname.”

“Good old Maddie.” Thackers cheer falters, “do you wanna go see your ma? If I didn’t know you were comin, gonna guess she didn’t neither.”

“Yeah. Yeah I should go see her. Joseph, you don’t, uh, you don’t need to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s only polite to meet my hostess.”

Barclay leads him up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway where dust substitutes for walllpaper. Waiting for them in a red and orange toned bedroom is a woman with greying, black hair and a face not unlike Barclay’s.

“Dear heart” she rises from her armchair, drawing her son to her, “you came back.”

“Just to visit, Ma. Uh, this, this is Joseph. He’s a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here too.”

She studies him with a critical eye; Joseph thought Hayes had a judgemental gaze, but she could beat him any day.

“Hmm. The more the merrier, as she always said. How long will you stay?”

“A few weeks.”

She nods, regards the photo of another woman above the mantelpiece as if seeking council, “You’re not here for pleasure.”

“No.” Barclay rubs his arm, “I...I got into some trouble. Andrew Douglas was shot the night I broke things off with him. The cops are leaving me alone for now but someone else wants me dead.”

The woman’s face suggests she both recognizes and despises that name, “We will keep you safe.”

With that, she sits once more and picks up her book. Barclay hesitates, then bends to kiss her forehead before pulling Joseph from the room.

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

“How long ago did your mother die?” Joseph kicks his legs up onto the ottoman. Barclay alluded to her passing previously, but never gave details.

“When I was eighteen. Car accident. She went off the Kepler bridge. They, uh, they never found her, and just found part of the wreck.”

He intends to leave it there; they’re on the back porch overlooking the garden (“Thackers pride and joy”), early summer dusk on their skin and their arms occasionally brushing from the edges of their chairs. No need to kill the mood further. He just wanted some kind of context for the house and the widow within it.

“Ma never recovered. She loved mom so much that losing her was like losing a lung; she can get through her days, even enjoy them, but it will always be hard. She tried to keep mom around however she could; the whole goddamn house is the same as it was the day she died, even my room. She wanted me to stay too, but Mama offered me the job and I just...I couldn’t live in a haunted house anymore.”

Joseph tips his hand to the right, extending his fingers into the space between them. Barclay takes it and holds tight.

“I’m so sorry, Barclay. You had every right to leave, to make your own life.”

“I know.” He runs his thumb across Joseph’s knuckles, “okay, pretty boy, my turn for a tough question; why’d you really leave the police force.”

It’s not that tough a question, not when he knows the man he’s confiding in won’t go running to Hayes, “I joined the force because I wanted to solve mysteries and help people. But it turned out there was a lot less seeking justice and a lot more chasing off drunks who just needed a place to sleep off benches and harassing certain neighborhoods. Then I worked out that the chief was taking bribes from all kinds of places and was naive enough to think someone might listen to me and help me when I told them. Instead they threw me off the force. In hindsight, it could have been worse; they could have killed me and covered it up.”

“Jesus.” Barclay polishes off his drink, contemplates the ice, “glad they didn’t. Both because, y’know, world is better with you alive, but, uh, also because if they had we’d never have met.”

Joseph meets his eyes, smiling in a way that makes the other man blush, “that would’ve been a damn shame.”

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

This is turning into one of the stranger cases he’s worked, in good ways and bad. The good is that his work days, when he’s not on the phone or digging through his notes, are spent with Barclay. His friend insists on cooking, has even brought him lunch at his desk, and usually the two of them have dinner with Thacker in the garden. They read or play chess in the study, take walks through the labyrinthine grounds, and even swim in the open air pool. Barclay in his swim trunks is a fine sight indeed. Joseph wonders if he ever brought boyfriends here, ever kissed them in the blue water or let them have their way with him in some hidden patch of lawn.

But it’s not all roses and revelry. The more he roots around in Andrew Douglas’s past, and in Barclay’s, the more questions he has. Why did Andrew come and go? What happened to large portions of Raquel and Sylvia (Barclay’s parents) fortune? And who wants to kill someone with no criminal record, no known enemies, and no heirs? If it’s the same person who murdered Andrew, killing Barclay would remove their fall-guy, so that makes no sense as a move.

His best lead comes when he learns Barclay’s family and Andrew Douglas lived in San Francisco at the same time. A friend in the city agrees to do some sniffing around there for any information that might point towards their killer. Two days later, he calls back and says he’s sending Joseph a “fucking brick” of evidence in the mail.

It’s been several days and he’s still waiting. He dozed off in his room after dinner, intending to cat nap, but it seems he’s overshot; it’s after ten. At least the mail must have come by now.

“Barclay? Did anything come--you have five goddamn seconds to explain yourself.”

His friend stammers from his seat on the bed, surrounded by papers, photo’s, newsprint, and a manila envelope with Joseph’s name on it.

“I, uh, I, it isn’t-”

“This is all evidence collected for the purpose of protecting you, so if you have something you’re afraid of me finding you’d better start talking now.” He snaps, looming over the other man from the edge of the bed.

Wordlessly, Barclay hands him a piece of newspaper. It details a kidnapping, one that ends--happily--with the victim being returned to their family. Four names are mentioned, but none of the perpetrators are the man in front of him.

“I was sixteen. A stupid kid. I had this perfect life and I got a little stir crazy, a little bored, and fell in with some other rich kids who felt the same. It started out harmless. Then James, the guy in charge, decided we should dream bigger. I was so, so fucking in love with him, I didn’t try to stop him. Not right away, anyway. I...I was their look-out for that kidnapping. But I couldn’t let them keep it up.”

“You struck a deal.”

Barclay nods, “Best part is, I managed to do it without either of my parents getting wise. We moved here soon after. I thought I could put it behind me.”

Joseph takes a closer look at the paper. The byline for the article is one A. Douglas.

“He blackmailed you.”

“Not at first. He, he” Barclay takes a shaky breath, “he went to mom first. Asked her how much she’d pay to keep my name out of the papers. James had told him about me and he was going to spread the story. That’s why she was on that fucking bridge in the middle of a fucking storm; she was meeting him.”

“Oh, Barclay.” Evidence crumples under his knees as he sits to comfort his friend.

“Then he came to me; now not only was I paying to keep the story quiet, I was paying to keep him from telling Ma why Mom died.”

“She died because of a blackmailer, wet cement, and a weak guard rail. Not because of you.”

Barclay looks at him, eyes coffee cups of sorrow, and simply shakes his head. Then he crumples forward and Joseph catches him, holds him tight while he finishes his story through his tears.

He paid off Andrew for three years. Ned Chicane, owner of the Kepler Museum of Curiosities, helped him with the family accounts so Raquel wouldn’t notice anything suspicious. Whenever Andrew came around, he demanded Barclay act as his “boyfriend” for the duration of the visit.

“Everyone must think I have terrible taste in men.”

Once they establish that, as far as Barclay is aware, only Ned knows about the blackmail, Joseph cups his face and says, as firmly as gentleness allows, “From now on, I need you to be truthful with me. You said you didn’t want me putting the pieces together because you were ashamed, but all I want is to help you. I can’t do that if there are big things you’re hiding from me. Understand?”

Barclay nods, and apologizes the entire time they’re gathering the strewn pieces back into the envelope.

“Barclay?” Joseph cuts him off and eases him down until he’s on his back, “I forgive you. Now please go to sleep before you pass out from stress.”

The cook smiles at him, eyes already fluttering closed, “You’re the boss, Joseph.”

He ignores all the urges that kickstarts in him and leaves his friend to sleep in peace.

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

“Y’know, kind of wish we’d known each other back then.” Barclay looks up from where he’s helping Joseph sort the new evidence on the floor, “when I was in San Francisco, I mean.”

“It would have taken more than just a change of scene for me; my family does alright, but I’d have been way outside your circles.”

“So? Maybe then I coulda had a boyfriend who was ‘disreputable’ for bullshit reasons instead of real ones.”

“I’ve never once been disreputable.” He looks up from the photos in his hand, “and is that your way of telling me something, big guy.”

“Yes. I, uh, you can tell me to knock it off, but I, uh, I think you’re swell. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way but you said I should be…” he trails off as Joseph leans into his space,”honest.”

He kisses him once, so brief it barely counts but the larger man whimpers and tries to grab him before he pulls away.

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise me that you’ll tell me to hit the brakes if you need to; it won’t change my dedication to the case.”

“I promise.” There’s no dishonesty in his face, just boundless hope and affection.

“In that case, big guy” he lunges forward, pinning him to the rug, “you’re all mine.”

An unexpectedly high whine leaves his lover.

“You like when I’m rough?”

“Uh, uh huh, so much, people always want me to be and I don’t want to, wanna be, wanna beAHHHhhnnn” he arches his back as Joseph bites the patch of skin just below his beard.

“You’re so gentle, big guy, I thought you’d go straight to making love but” another bite, another gasp, “I think I’d better fuck you instead.”

“Please.” Barclays hands glide up to cup Joseph’s face and guide him down into another kiss.

Joseph rolls his hips forward and his sleeves up as speaks, “Now that you mention it, I can see how things would’ve gone if we met earlier. I was an obedient son but not beyond sneaking someone into my room when my parents were away” he undoes Barclay’s shirt, keeps grinding against him and licking his lips as he feels him getting hard, “or maybe we met down here, and you’d sneak me into the backyard.”

“Fuck, yes.” Barclays chest heaves as Joseph cards his fingers up through the dark hair to tease his nipples, “god, if how I, fuck, feel now is a clue, I’d have been so fucking mad for you.” He makes a charming groan as Joseph tongues his nippls and then nibbles his way up to his ear.

“It’s funny” Joseph kisses his cheek, “I knew so many guys like you on the force. Not you now, used to hard work and worry, but you then; spoiled and softer than a boiled egg.” He allows himself a moment of savoring their cocks teasing each other through their pants before continuing, “always wanted to discipline them, because it was clear no one ever did.”

“Please show me how.”

“Why?” He grins down at him, toying with his left nipple until it’s bright red.

“Because I wanna be good for you, Joseph. Wanna be every fantasy you ever had.”

“...Lord god almighty how am I supposed to say no to that?” Joseph undoes his suspenders, laughing at Barclay’s triumphant smile, “you’re a dream, big guy.”

He crawls so he’s straddling Barclays face, cock dripping pre-cum onto his lips. Barclays tongue keeps peeking out from between them, but doesn’t go further without permission.

“Since this is disciplinary, you don’t get a say in how it goes. You’ll take my cock as long and as deep as I want it, because I’m superior to you and you’re here to do what I say”

“Fuckyeah” Barclay paws Joseph’s thighs, opens his mouth so he can guide the head in.

“That, ohyes, that being said, if it’s really too much, tap my thigh twice.”

Barclay nods to show he understands, but is already pre-occupied sucking his cock like he’s starving for it.

“A good start, big guy, but if I just wanted my cock wet I’d have gone swimming.” He cups the back of Barclays head in both hands, “I want something to fuck, and your face is it.”

The man beneath him moans, fucks the air uselessly as Joseph pushes further in. He finds the resistance of his throat with a half-inch to go, and decides that’s good enough. He pulls halfway out, pushes back in, repeats the process a few times before finding his rhythm. Weeks of wanting mean it’s hurried and greedy, but the resulting moans suggest Barclay approves.

“You look so good like this, Barclay. God, if you’d been some fresh-faced officer, one look of those doe-eyes is all it, shit, would’ve taken for me to make this the only discipline you ever got. Any time I needed to put you in your place or just, fuck, just needed to let off some steam, I’d do this, get my, my cock in your mouth so often you’d run out of spit and be thankful for my cum in, in it’s place.”

Barclay is groping him again, eyes bright and lips managing some upward curve as his cock forces them apart.

“Then again” he tenderly massages Barclay’s scalp, “there’s no reason I can’t do that in this universe. Oh, ohshit, Barclay-” his words desert him as he cums, the other man swallowing eagerly and sucking him clean before he pulls out.

Joseph glances over his shoulder, “Can I take care of that for you?”

“Fuck, please?”

He rolls off of the cook, stays on his side and slips one arm under his shoulders. Then he sets his palm on the monstrous bulge in Barclay’s jeans and sets to work.

“I, I should unzip-”

“No” he kisses him, “we’re surrounded by evidence that I can’t have you cumming on. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess you make cumming in your pants like a teenager.”

“Promise?” It’s an odd thing to say, but Joseph thinks he understands.

“I promise.” He quickens his pace, Barclay’s grunts growing louder when he does, “I’ll take care of you, big guy. I’ll look after you. You don’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.”

“Joseph.” Is all the reply he gets, Barclay already turning as cum spreads across his fly and clinging to the detective. His breath is hot, stays shaky even as his cock stops pulsing.

“Barclay? Baby, are you alright?”

“So fucking good, babe. I, I uh” he holds him tighter, “this is the first thing to make sense to me in years. Loving you, having you in my life, I get how we fit together so easily. Everything else, the murder, Ma, this person lurking around the last place that feels like home waiting to hurt me or hurt Mama or someone there, all of it, it’s so goddamn tangled I’m worried it’ll never get straight.”

Joseph rests their cheeks together, “We’ll figure it out, big guy. I promise.”

[thran-duils]

From All Sides (P.5)

Title: From All Sides (Part Five) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Pirate Tony. Tony is obsessed with a certain barmaid at port and showers her with gifts to try to bring her to his bed. She is resistant to his advances, her eyes elsewhere, specifically on her coworker, the cook. Although, that love is unrequited and always will be. The reader is forced into close quarters with Tony unexpectedly and sailing the sea, she slowly bends to his will. And he plans to give her all the affection he can to make sure she stays. Words: 2,761 Warnings (for the whole fic): Eventual smut, violence, angst, possessive behavior

Part Four || Part Six || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Tony stormed up the ramp to the ship. Steve, Bucky, and Sam were sitting out and spotted him.

“You look terrible,” Sam commented, jokingly.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Tony snarled, walking past them towards the way towards the helm.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve exchanged a look and noticed Tony stumble.

Taking the dive, Steve called out, “What the hell is wrong with you? And where do you think you’re going?”

Tony came back, a finger in Steve’s face, almost poking him. Steve jerked back, and his eyes went to Tony’s feet where he had stumbled again.

“You’re first mate. Don’t question the captain!”

“I’m just asking what is wrong?”

“Set sail.”

All three of the men stared at him in disbelief. Bucky got out with a weak laugh, “Tony, everyone’s nose deep in a pint! And you’re probably down about most of that bottle just by yourself?”

Tony exploded, “I don’t care! Just set sail!”

“Where is Y/N?” Sam asked him.

“Who cares?” Tony sneered as he walked off, throwing his arm out before bringing the bottle back to his lips.

Steve, Sam, Bucky exchanged another worried look as Tony went towards the stairs. All of them knew that if he was not giving a shit about where Y/N was, that was a huge red flag. And something must have happened between the two of them.

“Are we on clean up duty?” Bucky asked reluctantly.

Steve narrowed his eyes and Bucky and Sam sighed heavily, standing up from the table. “Find her,” Steve demanded.

“I was just trying to enjoy my night…” Sam muttered as him and Bucky took off towards the ramp to go search for Y/N.

Steve caught up to Tony who was approaching the wheel. Steve cut in quickly and Tony looked murderous. “What did I just—”

“Tony, you’re drunk. And obviously something happened. Don’t be rash. No one is going to set sail when you are like this. And frankly, most of the crew is not even on the ship!”

Tony let out an aggravated noise, taking another swig from his bottle.

“You wanna give me that?” Steve asked and Tony glared at him. Steve held up his hands and said, “Fine, keep it. But what happened?”

“She loves Eloise. She never loved me!” Tony blurted furiously.

Steve looked taken aback for a moment before he asked, “Did she say that explicitly?”

“She said she loves Eloise, yes.”

“And she said she doesn’t love you?”

“Basically.”

“‘Basically’. What does that mean?”

Tony threw his arm out, laughing maniacally. “She doesn’t believe me when I say I will settle with her. She said we are only meant to be physical because of me! That I could never truly marry her because I’m married to the sea! What a bunch of bullshit! She would have rather pretended to have a life with Eloise than settle with me. She knew it was never going to work with Eloise because Eloise didn’t love her back! That’s what she said. Because of… all that utter shit she said about me and marriage.”

Steve was silent for a pause before asking seriously, “You really believe she has no feelings for you whatsoever?”

“What am I supposed to think?” Tony snapped. “She brushed off my advances for over a year! And then when she’s forced to, she finally gives in!”

“I think people can love more than one person at a time.”

Tony scoffed.

Steve pressed on. “And she may have felt helpless. Eloise was there before you were. She was in love before you got there Tony.”

“What are you?” Tony sneered. “A woman now with your grasp on emotions?”

“No. I’m being a voice of reason through your drunk stupor!” Steve snapped harshly, catching Tony’s attention. Steve noticed he had too, and he nodded. “You are wallowing. I’m sure it hurts to hear it from her she had feelings for another when you’re so fucking hung up on her you can’t even function right now feeling like you’ll never have her. But you should take a moment to think about what I said. From my prospective, yes, it was unfair of her to string you along. But having one foot in and one foot out is a thing someone does when they’re protecting themselves. The love she claims she had for Eloise – before you came along – was shattered. And then here you come, offering. She couldn’t let go, Tony. Not fully. She always had one foot in and one foot out, with both you and with Eloise. She was straddling the line. You gave her the push she needed and even if it was because you were forced to because of Teague, you still did it. And you still got her in your bed, and she gave in. Finally.”

Tony blinked as Steve’s words sank in. “She still has feelings. It’s not severed. And I will not bring her back to her home port! I told her that!”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not severed. You cannot blame her for having feelings. I’ll always have feelings for Peggy. And that’s even when I find someone else. What matters is if she stays true.”

“I cannot expect her to if Eloise is still alive. Peggy isn’t alive.” Tony did not apologize for saying this and Steve wanted to sock him off the bench, but he did not, keeping his anger in check knowing it was not productive. “It would be easier for a woman to forgive you for feelings when she knew there was no chance of fleeting romance.”

Steve chewed his lip before saying, “Then keep her, Tony. You told her you would not take her back to her port? Then don’t. Don’t give it an opportunity. If that’s what it’ll take for you to be comfortable. Keep her. Just for you. The ship is open to her. So is this port. Both can be under your watch. Right under your thumb.”

“I told her I would leave her here. Considering she doesn’t seem to care about who is between her legs! And I would pay her next time if that’s the route she’s going,” Tony scowled.

Steve sighed heavily, “Probably not the best choice of words…”

“She deserved it!”

“You’re going to regret that, Tony,” Steve said. “Listen to what I said. Keep her on the ship. You were already ready to take it up with the crew if they thought having a woman aboard was bad. Just… don’t let her off. And we won’t go back to her port. Then she’s yours. Just like you want.”

“You don’t think I was already thinking of that? I was going to lock her in my quarters if that is what it was going to take. I worked too damn hard and want her too damn much to let her pine away to some fucking fantasy,” Tony returned sourly. “She will realize how good I can be to her if she would just do as I ask. I guarantee she will. She’s not leaving me. I will make sure of that. I’ve got her right where I want her and I plan on keeping it that way. She owes me.” He took another long swig.

<><><>

You could not believe Tony had just left you on the beach. You had made sure to put the fire out before walking back up the path by yourself. You just wanted to sleep.

But the sounds from inside drug you back towards it. Maybe you should just try to have fun despite him.

Inside, you saw the barmaid that you had gotten along with well enough and asked her for a couple shots of rum. You sat at the bar by yourself and thanked her and she knew to put it on Tony’s tab without asking. You frankly did not care he was going to have to pay for them right now. One went down quickly, and you exhaled sharply, feeling the burn.

A man leaned on the bar next to you, far too close for comfort.

“Stark done with you?”

You eyed the man up and down, taking in his disheveled look, his tattoos. He was bulky and had an aura of cruelty. You did not like it in the slightest. You should not have wandered away from the cabins. You should have just sucked it up and gone back to Tony’s, even if it meant him yelling at you or finding him with another woman.

“No.”

You said it with more confidence than you felt. Deep down, you worried that Tony was truly done. He had been so upset by your admission. And you had said some unkind words that you did not truly mean.

The man inched closer, and you kept your stance, although you tensed. He commented, “Sure looks like it if he’s letting you wander around without him. Seems to me you are free game now.”

“I’m not game for anyone,” you replied, and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

“What’s your name anyway?” he asked, eyeing you up and down.

With difficulty, you answered, “Y/N. And you, sir?”

He smirked at the term and winked, “Ivan.”

His arm came around your waist pulling you to him. You tried to pull away, but he was strong.

“Let me go!” you said through gritted teeth.

“Unescorted women here are available. Do you have someone to speak for you?”

“Yes!” you slammed his chest and that only made him smirk. “Myself! Let me go! That’s the last time I’m going to ask nicely!”

Ivan leaned in and smiled devilishly. “Nicely? What is you being unkind? I’m sure I would love to see it.”

You huffed, your mind racing about how to get out of this. You were far too imbibed to think completely on your feet.

“You have such alluring eyes… I’m sure that is what drew Stark in to begin with.”

Ivan yanked you closer and you were held fast against him. His lips brushed yours and you breathed unsteadily.

<><><>

Bucky turned the corner through a doorway into the main building, the smoke and boisterous noise hitting him full force now. He looked around, searching the room. By the bar, he saw Y/N pressed against the stool behind her, Vanko holding her tight.

“Fuck,” he swore seeing Vanko lean in, his lips brushing hers. Y/N did not pull away.

He let out an aggravated noise before turning on his heel and walking off. Tony had let her go off. That she was picked up by another captain on the island was not uncommon and he was not about to start a fight when it seemed Y/N was all too ready to engage.

<><><>

He pressed in deeper, and you gave him a quick kiss back before pushing off his chest. “There. You got your kiss. Now leave me be.” Sometimes that was enough to satiate drunken men.

Apparently not him though. Ivan chortled, “Just a kiss? That’s all you’re willing to give? Was that all you gave to Stark?”

“That is none of your business,” you said stiffly.

“Y/N?” a voice said from down the bar.

You almost let out a cry of relief at the sound of his voice. You turned your head, seeing Peter standing there. He saw your distress clearly and strode the rest of the way up, coming up to both of your sides.

Ivan’s tight hold on you loosened and he asked, “Boy, what do you want?”

“I want my captain’s… girlfriend,” Peter said, faltering on what to refer to you as for just a moment.

“You ‘want’ her?”

Peter’s expression hardened and he said, “She’s coming to my chambers now that the captain is unable to care for her. He imbibed a lot. I will take over for him.” His arm jutted out, his hand open towards you. “Y/N. Come with me. Now. You shouldn’t be out. He told you that, but you have a problem with listening and following his directions, as per usual. You’re giving off the wrong impression.”

Gods above, he was a saint with his act.

Ivan looked unconvinced and Peter pressed on, “Captain Stark will be very upset if he finds out she’s been mistreated. And taken by another man that’s not him.”

There were a few moments of tense silence, the two of them staring each other down. Peter, a  young man and Ivan, this imposing captain. Ivan finally smiled through, his hands leaving your sides. He held them up and said, “Wouldn’t want to be causing any problems by taking another man’s property, now would I? This is neutral ground. If she’s his, then she’s his. But he’s right, girl.” He shot you a look now. “You’re giving off the wrong impression wandering around on your own and taking shots by yourself at the bar.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose before grabbing your other shot and downing it. He smirked at your defiance, and you turned on your heel, letting Peter grab your arm and lead you away from him.

When you were out of the bar area, Peter leaned in and hissed, “What happened?”

<><><>

“You left her on the beach though?” Steve asked, eyeing Tony.

Tony sighed heavily and shrugged. “Fuck. Yes. I did.”

“By herself.”

The reality of that seemed to weigh down on Tony now. Tony began to stand up, but Steve held out his hand, catching his attention. “Bucky and Sam went looking for her. They’ll find her.” Tony looked around as if he was just now realizing they were not there, and Steve suspected that was the truth of it; he had not noticed.

“I’ve got to find her,” Tony insisted. “Even if I am furious with her.”

Steve shook his head, “They’ll—"

Bucky was coming back aboard quickly, catching Steve’s attention. He spotted Tony and Steve at the helm and took the stairs by two.

“You’re back soon,” Steve commented sounding surprised. “You find her or…?”

“Uh… yeah,” Bucky said sounding extremely reluctant.

“Then where is she?” Tony asked impatiently.

Bucky shot Steve a look and Tony did not like that Bucky was deferring to Steve. He stood up, meeting Bucky to stand in front of him, locking eyes.

“Barnes. Where?”

“The game room, by the bar. Um…Vanko was… kissing her.”

A dark cloud passed over Tony’s face and Steve sighed heavily, his hand coming up to his face, rubbing at his mouth.

“I didn’t interrupt. You said you had left her and with the code, she’s free game. Especially since Vanko is another captain—”

He was cut off as Tony burst, “You should have interrupted!”

Bucky threw his hands out and exasperated, “Captain, come on! What was I supposed to do! I’m second mate! And not even on his ship!”

Tony slammed the rum down and went towards the stairs. Bucky looked at Steve for assistance and Steve was already standing up, following Tony.

<><><>

Tony stormed into the cabin he knew Ivan was staying in and kicked the door in violently.

He came to the bed, grabbing Ivan’s shoulders and yanking him off. To his surprise, Ivan came off easily, tumbling to the floor. He shouted furious that he had been interrupted.

“You keep your hands off of her!” Tony shouted at him.

Ivan’s eyes focused on Tony as he scrambled up and he looked confused for a split second. Which was not missed by Tony. Both of them were drunk and the reaction time was about the same.

He turned his head, finding a woman cowering on the bed. It was not Y/N. Her body was on display, holding her hands up afraid. Tony relented, stepping back, realizing, almost tripping over his own feet.

Ivan stood up straight, naked still. He let out a loud laugh. “Oh, Stark… she was not lying. You weren’t done.” He waved Tony off as he walked back towards the bed. “Leave me be to finish off with this beautiful woman. You go find your little harlot. She went off with that boy!”

Tony’s attention was back on him, and he snarled, “What boy?”

He had no shame asking now.

“The dark-haired boy. Said he was collecting her for you because you had drank too much and he was going to keep her safe for you,” Ivan answered.

Tony ground his teeth and shot another look at the woman. “My apologies,” he got out curtly before he turned and stormed out of the room to where Steve was waiting looking and feeling less than amused at his Captain’s behavior.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

[rougebangtan]

it’s a new year!

hello. long time no see.

to be honest, i wasn’t planning to write a new year’s post. i wasn’t sure as what to say because i didn’t want to come across as self-absorbed or unnecessarily critical and skeptical of the past, present and future. i’m used to keeping things to myself, and not sharing them is as much of a relief as it is a burden.

i must confess it’s easy not to say anything. it’s easy to lose myself in this plethora of unvoiced thoughts which end up being burried very deep within. i am not sure what was the primary cause behind my sudden change of heart, but why not...?

this blog was created as a way of me rejoining tumblr. i’ve always been in here, but i had spent some time away before returning four years ago. in january 2017, this became mainly a fan account for bts when it wasn’t meant to be at first. yet, it still became something personal and very close to my heart, and the reason was because i met amazing people in here. i learned things and reached personal milestones that impacted me positively on a daily basis.

we don’t even need to look in reprospect to know 2020 was far from ideal. i’m certain it has been this way for everyone. on my end, i spent my time erratically and i oscilated with the tide. i was extensively creative at one point, and because of that, i stretched myself too far and i couldn’t make ends meet. i socialized and made friends, and then it became too much for me to handle and i isolated myself. i became tired of myself like i always have.

the first thing i realized when it was finally january 1st 2021 is that what i’m actually tired of are things feeling pointless. i’m tired of trying to salvage the broken pieces of something i don’t even know why was broken in the first place. i’m tired of being on the verge of giving up, but not doing so because there has to be a purpose. the biggest realization to me was that i’m tired of all of the things i aforementioned mainly because those are self-centred sentiments which are never going to lead me anywhere but a dead end. the selfishness, the self-absorption, and stubborn lack of enthusiasm... those are the hindrances to whatever it is i want to accomplish. 

so, even though i’m lost and have nothing concrete to grasp on to yet, my main goal right now is to focus on loving more freely, on accepting happiness and sorrow as they come and go, on being a better friend. i haven’t accomplished many things thus far, but i met a lot of people whom i’ve come to love and appreciate beyond words. there are really special people who have paved their way into my heart, so thank you so much for so many sweet memories!

it’s a new year! hopefully we’ll move on to bigger and better things <3

mutuals from a-z:

#:

@1999164 · @4-sun ·

a-c:

@autumnnflowers​ · @absoluteyoongit​ · @an-annyeoing-writer​ · @astrowicc​ · @btsaudge​ ·  @bangtanloverboys​  · @bubble-tae​ · @beamingmaylyn​ · @birbdae​ · @bratkook​ · @captaindelhiver​ · @crazy4myself​ · @cultleaderyoongi​ · @cutechim · @cest-la-tae​ · @chelsea-chee​

d-i:

@dewykth​  · @dylanxmin​ · @dearlytea​ · @dani-of-the-cosmos​ · @dawndrms​ · @ditttiii​ · @excusemin​ · @flowerseok​ · @fl0ra​ · @ghibliu​ · @gossamie​ · @gukssunshine​​ · @honeylovecult​​ · @hobicomeholla29​ · @hopeworldsavedmylife​ · @hoseoksyn​ · @heartyclouds​ · @happytata​​ · @h-heaveninhiding​​ · @i-am-today-we-will-survive​​ · @illneverrecover​

j-o:

@jaelouvre-main · @jamlessness · @jogeumdeo · @jour-de-printemps · @justalwaystired​ · @joonieshibui​ · @jamaiskook​ · @jingerines​ · @joonsdiary​ · @kimvvantae · @koosgrl · @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ · @leftonraed · @lovejeons · @lavenderandluna​ · @lunarlxve​ · @minflix​ · @mlkydrms ·  @moonchildsblack​ · @megahwn​ · @meowstea​ · @nam-jonie​

p-v:

@pars-ley ·  @poutyjimin · @pinkprincesslauren  · @primarybts  · @pjmsdior  · @rosielips · @rkivepacks  · @sakuramotion  · @salvejoon  · @sugasmoonlight  ·  @slaypjm · @sukiroki · @salade-tb · @saysammydandy​  · @sleepybby  ·  @taelepathic​ ·  @thefouranemoi​ · @talismaniccream​ · @tokkituzi · @tipsydipsydo · @utopiajeon · @unoriginal-username15432 · @untaemedqueen · @vinterjeon

w-z:

@wajood​ · @wonderoghosa​ · @wrappedinpetals​ · @wwilloww​​ · @xjoonchildx​ · @y6ongi​ · @youaresadwhaticansay​ · @yeojaa​  · @yoongiroses​ · @yvessaintyoongi​  · @youremeimyou​ · @yoongs-jeontae​ · @youarejesting​

👻 honorary mention for all my ghosties 👻 

love letters:

💌 @4-sun: hey, sunny. i remember when we met, and it’s so crazy how time flies by. you’re already entering college, and i don’t know why but i feel so proud of you. you’re so smart and i’m always impressed by you! i hope the college applications have gone well for you, and that 2020 hasn’t been the most unkind. i know we haven’t talked as much, but i still hold our friendship very close to my heart.

💌 @absoluteyoongit: bueller, my astrological twin! you’re so dear to me. thanks for all the laughter and joy you’ve brought into my life this past year. i hope 2021 is kind to you, and you and your family (especially your dad) are healthy. date a lot and have lots of fun this new year.

💌 @apotaeose: you have such a soothing presence in my life. i admire a lot, and our conversations always make me reflect and dig deeper. you have a healing essence to you, and your words and actions express that. you’re a dear friend and an amazing writer. i really really, from the bottom of my heart, hope we can meet soon <3

💌 @breadoffoxy: sam!! you’re the sweetest and i love to talk to you about whatever. you’re one of the most endearing people i’ve met. you make everyone around you feel so special. we’ve talked many nights to the point of falling asleep, and i wouldn’t have had it another way. your drive is honestly so admirable. the way you managed to gather everyone together and make us enjoy ourselves is exceptional, and i’m so grateful to be your friend. who knows? maybe 2021 will be the year will meet hahah. i digress.

💌 @bangtanloverboys: dippie! you’re the funniest person i know, and you are so uplifting. i don’t know if that’s how you feel inside, but you do have a positive impact on others. the way i just know you probably give out the best hugs ever. you’re the best, and i love you. happy 2021! btw, i forever dislike the bee movie

💌 @cutechim: hana, i didn’t expect to meet you this year, but girl did you rock my world with your talent and kindness. i hope this upcoming year we can get to know each other even better, and that many blessings and opportunities come your way.

💌 @strwberrytae / @lavenderandluna: hello luna!!! i don’t even know if you remember me, but i still find you one of the best writers i’ve come across here on tumblr and i still hold our conversations dear to my heart! i don’t know how 2020 went down for you, and i hope you managed to keep yourself sane in the midst of uncertainty. wish you well xx.

💌 @leftonraed: val, happy new day, my friend. we haven’t been the most talkative lately, but my love for you is still strong. i wish you luck and health this 2021. love you.

💌 @salade-tb: kat. oh lord. your quirky ass has swept me off my feet, and rendered me helpless to your charm. you’re so funny, and i love your energy. you’re indisputably the og ghostie even if you joined the net on the 5th or 6th round. happy 2021, my fellow south hemispherian.

💌 @taelepathic: isabel, it’s been a long time, but i love and miss you! i hope you’ve been healthy all throughout the past year 🤍

💌 @tokkituzi: seoyoon! hey sweetie. i’ll forever be grateful you reached out to me after i chased you down on jamaisjoons’ asks 😂 your english skills are going strong, girl! maybe we can both become better at our respective goal languages. your brother still amuses me to this day. happy new year! 🎉

💌 @yoongs-jeontae: ava, my love! 🥺 i still have these urges to book a flight to your city and just give you the biggest hug and stay at your house lmfao. you’re so talented and i love the fact you’re an architect and i’d love to talk to you just we can speak in both english and pt all day every day. you have such a beautiful family. i admire and love you so much! sending you lots of positive energy for 2021. happy new year.

ps. i probably missed a few people and i apologize beforehand!!! love love love to all of you forever and ever.

[hermannsthumb]

Please do holiday prompt 85 (unexpected apology)!

85. we haven’t been friends for years but we both end up at a mutual friend’s holiday party and you apologize for how things went down between us (which I wasn’t expecting in a million years)

from winter writing prompts here

it’s that time of year again everyone.....ive been so busy with school and zine stuff that im taking a little break to write this today ☺️ set very late 2019, before the Events of 2020

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

It occurs to Hermann as he stands amongst a handful of society’s most monied and high-ranking—mulled wine in hand, stiff suit buttoned too-tight around his neck—that he is not only completely out of his element, but residing at a level of desperation that he cringes to even consider. Hermann does not schmooze; Hermann has never had the capacity to schmooze; in all of his previous attempts at schmoozing (typically at the bequest of his father, who would tote Hermann around as a conversation piece at fundraising events), Hermann would come across invariably as disingenuous, uptight, and arrogant, and certainly not someone with whom one would entrust large cheques made out to the PPDC for.

Yes; desperation. To borrow the cliché, desperate times call for desperate measures. To borrow another, war changes man. Robots wage war on monsters from another world, the UN wages war on the jaeger program’s budget, and Hermann must wage war on prospective PPDC donors if he wishes to still be employed by the New Year. He can’t decide which sounds more horrendous, really.

“Would you like more wine, Dr. Gottlieb?” a passing waiter asks Hermann, and Hermann shakes his head.

“No, thank you,” he says. Hermann has always been a maudlin drunk; he doesn’t fancy risking over-drinking tonight, and making an embarrassment of himself by confessing to perfect strangers that his parents never loved him or that he fears he’ll never make a true human connection.

“Dr. Gottlieb?” someone says, incredulously.

Oh, bugger. He’s been found out. Hermann sighs, flattens down his cowlick, and plasters on a fake smile: the time has come for him to, er, lie back and think of the PPDC, so to speak. Hopefully it’ll go fast.

But when Hermann turns, it’s not to find some acquaintance of his father, or a perfect stranger familiar with his work, or even a distant colleague; it’s to find one Newton Geiszler (who Hermann may have considered a colleague, once, but certainly not anymore), dressed in a horrendous eyesore of a gold (gold) suit, nursing a large red cocktail in each hand, and staring at Hermann like he can’t decide if he wants to say something or turn and run. Hermann mirrors his stare. A pin could drop between them, and Hermann reckons, despite the undercurrent of music and chatter, they would be able to hear it.

Hermann is the one to break it. “Newton,” he says. Then he amends, quickly, “Dr. Geiszler. I wasn’t aware…” He coughs. He suddenly wishes he took another mulled wine, and wonders if it’s too late to summon back the waiter. “You are…here.”

“Uh,” Newton says. “Yeah.”

The last time Hermann saw Newton Geiszler, they were standing under an awning outside a Starbucks while a torrential downpour of rain pounded against the sidewalk and soaked their shoes. Hermann was shouting. Newton was shouting, too, and he may have also been crying. They had been asked to leave the building on account of it. That was nearly three years ago. “Er,” Hermann says. “Business? Or pleasure?”

Newton has hardly changed in the almost-three years; his hair remains thick and unruly, his jaw in bad need of a shave, his glasses smudged and slightly crooked. The suit is a bloody eyesore, though. Hermann imagines Newton thought it was festive. “Business.” Newton snorts. “God, you think I’d come here for fun? I haven’t had the money for a new sample in months, it was either this or, I don’t know, sticking mutated fish under microscopes. Kaiju blue poisoning. Been there done that, and not what I need to be doing now, you know? And you can thank your dad for that too, not having any fucking samples to work with, I mean, and his stupid wall—but I guess that’s why you’re here too. I heard they’re talking about pulling the plug on the jaeger program.”

Newton speaks quickly, and with a bewildering tendency to leap between topics like a game of hopscotch, something Hermann had quite forgotten. (They’d only met the once, after all, and Newton disguises it better in writing.) He follows it nonetheless. “Yes, well, they’re still only just rumors,” Hermann says, though he knows (with a certainty) that one more major failing of a jaeger might spell the end of it, “and I certainly hope they stay as such. I take it you’re with the PPDC now, then?”

Newton jerks a thumb towards the waistband of his gold suit, spilling a bit of his cocktail on the floor; Hermann at last notices the PPDC badge clipped to it. Newton’s grin is identical to the one in his photograph. “Hell yeah, dude,” he says. “They finally hired me about a month after we—” The corners of his mouth twitch down, ever so slightly. “—uh, got coffee.”

It had been a long-standing complaint of Newton’s, back when they wrote each other, that the PPDC was perfectly happy to use his research but turned a blind eye whenever he submitted yet another application for their k-science research team. Personality conflicts, Hermann always presumed. He and Newton certainly had plenty. Perhaps Hermann’s not the only one who’s grown desperate—a thought he scolds himself for the unkindness of a moment later. Newton is a brilliant scientist despite his difficulties and their past. “Of course,” Hermann says. “Well, congratulations. I hadn’t heard.”

“Wine?” a passing waiter asks them.

Newton shakes his head. Hermann takes one this time, gratefully.

“It’s been alright,” Newton says. He downs the entirety of the red cocktail in his right hand. “Like I said. Not many samples to work with. They had me stationed over in Vladivostok, but I got leave for the holidays. And for this I guess.”

“I’ve been in Seattle,” Hermann says. “I reckon they’ll be transferring me soon, though I haven’t an idea where.” More rumors, of course.

For a moment he allows himself the brief fantasy of being transferred somewhere with Newton, or perhaps it’s more of a fear than a fantasy—year after year of this sort of insufferable awkwardness? Being forced to work together? It’s something Hermann had longed for in the past, spending every day with his marvelous penpal at his side. It instills a sort of nausea in him now. Newton touches his arm before Hermann has the chance to excuse himself hide in the loo. “Hey, dude, listen,” Newton says. “About us getting coffee. I feel like I owe you an apology.”

Hermann can’t help it; he snorts, though he immediately regrets it. Newton, at least, does not look offended. “Do you?” Hermann says. Two and a half bloody years too late.

“I mean it,” Newton says. He blinks earnestly at Hermann, and squeezes Hermann’s arm. “I screwed it all up that day, and I could’ve—I don’t know, written, or texted, or anything to apologize, but I didn’t. And that was shitty of me. So I’m sorry, I really am. And…yeah. That’s it, I guess.”

It’s the last thing Hermann expected to hear today. It’s the last thing he expected to hear from Newton. The radio silence following that disastrous day at the coffee shop had been awful—and it’d been infuriating, too. Where had they even gone wrong that day? Hermann can’t remember anymore. Probably a fight over something inconsequential. “I see,” Hermann says. “Well. Er. Thank you, Newton. Your apology is...appreciated.”

“Cool,” Newton says.

He stares at Hermann expectantly.

“Oh,” Hermann says. “And I’m sorry, too, I suppose.”

“Cool,” Newton repeats.

He smiles at Hermann, and Hermann is momentarily suffocated by it, and the sudden reemergence of feelings he thought he’d quashed years ago. Newton is still very attractive. Very, very attractive. Hermann’s arm is warm and tingly from where Newton touched him, and he realizes the warmth is spreading up to his neck and cheeks—he’s blushing. “Hey, wanna check out the snack table with me?” Newton says. “I love the rich people food at shit like this. The last one I went to had oysters, which is totally weird. Like, it’s a gala.”

Hermann decides to accept it as the strange peace offering it obviously is meant to be. “Alright,” he says. “Though, I insist you explain your monstrosity of a suit first.”

“It’s classy,” Newton says. “Anyway, you’re one to talk, buddy.”

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 8

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: Snapshots of life with a fussy brat over the three-year time jump. Including: a few holiday specials. 

3,949 words

With the lease up on your apartment, Frederick invited you to move in with him. It seemed like the next logical step in your relationship, especially considering how frequently you slept there anyway—though he had to justify the choice by saying he “could not stand seeing you live in squalor.” The house was certainly big enough for two people (or several less-wealthy families).

It was nice living with him, because you lived very different lives. Rather than finding it stifling to be trapped in the same house, it was freeing that you could spend so much of the day apart—or weeks, as it often was, traveling for cases or book promotion tours—and yet always be connected by the home you would return to at the end of it all.

You were planets of the solar system orbiting the same sun. 

The stability of that was comforting. So much had changed—Will Graham left and cut ties with the FBI, Hannibal Lecter was imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where Alana Bloom now held Chilton’s old job, and you were considering following Will’s lead and pursuing new career options. It made you glad to have someone familiar to keep you company, and always be there when you needed him. 

For all the good, living with Frederick Chilton was not always easy. He was a shameless snob who did not believe in laundry chairs, and panicked when his state-of-the-art kitchen was filled with sugary cereals with cartoon characters on the box. There were many clashes of egos early on, some of which never fully disappeared. Now that his star was rising, he insisted you dress a certain way when you were to be seen in public together—particularly at any sort of publicity event or psychiatric conference, but anywhere really that he might be recognized. He was yours, and that meant you reflected upon him. He updated your entire wardrobe like you were starring in an episode of Queer Eye, and had your hair professionally styled.

You couldn’t even be annoyed at the controlling implications of it—you were never great at dressing professionally, and it was exciting to see yourself looking so sharp in the mirror. You could surrender that to him. He enjoyed sophisticated things, like the opera and restaurants where celebrities eat, and now you didn’t feel so out of place when you joined him.

“You actually look quite elegant,” he nodded in surprised approval at your new attire.

You stuck out your tongue.

“Do not tempt me with that,” he said with a feline wiggle of his shoulders. “We have engagements to get to, and I do not want to re-do my face.” He wrapped the hand not gripping a cane around your hip and kissed you, coaxing your naughty tongue into his mouth with a lustful growl.

Any time he was too fussy and judgmental to the point of being unkind, you were quite practiced at flicking him back down to earth. He rarely apologized, of course, but would look up and purse his lips in thought before admitting, “You may be right.”

He was a sassy bitch, but you knew that. It’s why you loved him.

You loved him.

You did. It was strange to realize how much you loved someone you used to hate, whose traits you would normally find incompatible with your own. He was a miserable little rich boy with a self-satisfied sneer, a flare for drama, and perpetually questionable ethics, yet you would do anything to keep him safe. You wanted to stay by his side forever.

And there was something to be said about his difficult personality when you were not on the receiving end of it. 

Being on his side was fun—his hand at your back as he verbally destroyed someone with a catty insinuation that left their eyes glowering with indignation. That used to be me, you thought. Now you were up on his throne with him, and the view was much better.

You wanted to stay through all the medications, physical therapy, and regular hospital visits to tweak his prosthetics and make sure his remaining organs were all still functioning properly. You wanted to stay even as you questioned how much of your affection for him was pity in disguise, as he had suggested the first time you slept with him in a fit of explosive passion—that you liked wounded birds.

If it was pity, and being pity meant you would have to leave, then you resolved to stuff your fingers in your ears and ignore it. No psychoanalysis would make you give him up. You wanted to keep orbiting the sun together.

  *****

Calliope music paraded through the air with aggressively cheerful pneumatic whistles that grabbed your eardrums and pulled them screaming into the 1920s. Shrieks, laughter, bells, and shouts rushed by.

Frederick Chilton stuck close beside you and mistrustfully held a greasy paper plate like it was a venomous snake.

It seemed only fair that in return for dressing up, you made him dress down and do normal-person things, like go to the county fair and eat deliciously greasy fried foods. It was like a cultural exchange program.

“Every moment I am not writing my next book is another moment the world goes without a groundbreaking revelation on the human psyche,” he had snipped when you first suggested the outing. He barely looked up from his computer, where he sat typing in a suave leather office chair.

“Oh come on, you owe me,” you persisted. “I am sick and tired of fancy museums and fancy restaurants and fancy psychiatric conventions. Next time we’re in a hotel, there should be Star Trek costumes involved!” He straightened like you’d shoved a rod up his spine, and you chuckled inwardly at his petty aversion to being seen at that type of convention. “Come on, it’s just the fair,” you rubbed his shoulders and he groaned with annoyance. “Nobody important will be there. You’ll be totally incognito. Be a commoner with me.”

“I suppose it is the least I can do,” he caved in at last, leaning his head back to rest on your chest, glancing up at you through his eyebrows. “Since it is so important to you, I shall partake of your proletariat festivities.”

“Don’t say proletariat when we’re at the fair, you bougie dork.”

He wore a plain black t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t quite as primly styled as usual, letting a few strands fly free. The less he stood out from the crowd, the less likely a professional acquaintance or fan would recognize him.

Even living with Chilton, it was rare to see him dressed so casually, and you had expected it to be disconcerting. Instead, you found yourself drooling. He was sexy in a suit, but so was everybody with the correct fit. The unstructured t-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed those alarmingly muscular arms that were usually a secret hidden under sleeves.

It was odd seeing your private Chilton—reserved for nights and mornings—out in the world, and a reminder of how lucky you were.

He managed to look dapper even with powdered sugar on his shirt.

“Funnel cake?” he cringed, as if the word itself was in poor taste. “Are we certain this is food?”

“You are ridiculously hoity-toity.”

“I do enjoy the finer things in life,” he boasted in a smooth, self-congratulatory hum.

You were about to sass him when you realized his admiring eyes were fixed on you, and he wore an expectant smirk on his lips. Your scowl cracked open into a tender laugh, and you linked your arm with his, giving him a playful hip bump.

His eyes widened at you in mock horror. “You would attack a man with a cane?” He awaited your answer with that same peevish smirk, but you didn’t have anything clever on your tongue, so you pulled him into a kiss instead. He melted against your lips, having gotten what he wanted.

Frederick refused to go on any rides, citing safety concerns and his delicate viscera, but you perused a hundred breeds of chickens, pet the World’s Tallest Clydesdale, watched pigs racing, browsed local artwork, and sampled craft beers which he had to admit were pretty good. You paid far too much money to shoot water guns at a spinning target faster than other carnival-goers so you could win an oversize plush of a corgi, which turned out to be filled with disappointing foam stuffing.

After finally placing a piece of sugary fried dough in his mouth, his eyes closed, and when they opened again, he declared it “not terrible.” Then inhaled it and spent the rest of the fair surreptitiously looking for another funnel cake stand.

When you got home, he confessed, with his most stern and dignified demeanor, that he may have, perhaps had fun, juvenile as it was. Then he quietly suggested that he would make an excellent Spock.

  *****

“I am never going to be perfect enough for you, am I?” you cried after another petty argument over another petty thing like stacking the cups in the cupboard in precisely the correct order. “How do you live with me? It must drive you crazy.”

Months of feeling inadequate bubbled to the surface all at once. Everything he did was so controlled, so exact, you really did wonder why he would ever be with someone like you.

“No,” he frowned, and as he gently took your shoulders his heart was crumbling in his eyes. There was a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but this was not the lottery-winning occasion he would say the word itself. He didn’t need to. He would say it in other ways.

His warm lips pressed your forehead as he rubbed loving circles on your arms with his thumbs. “Do you know who was perfect? Hannibal. I would rather live with a hot mess than a cold-blooded monster. One of us should be warm, anyway,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I must do better to remember the beauty of imperfection, because you are perfect to me.”

  *****

The front door opened well after the sun had disappeared and the stars had begun to come out. Frederick came home drained and exhausted from being on his feet all day trying to dominate professional rivals who were all, in turn, out to get him.

Conferences were invigorating, an exciting place to strut one’s superiority, make connections, and scope out the competition… until they were not, and they became whichever circle of Hell it is that makes one have to continually defend oneself to people for whom one will never be good enough.

You looked up from the book you were reading. You didn’t get up from the couch cushion’s gravitational embrace, but smiled with stars in your eyes, and called, “Frederick!”

Home.

He crawled onto the couch next to you, and laid his head in your lap. You set the book aside and ran your fingers through his hair, listening to the sweet, sleepy noises of pleasure the action evoked. Fantasies of this moment had kept him alive all day. You caressed his neck and the prickly stubble along the side of his jaw, and he turned his face into your palm and kissed it. He adored the way you touched him with your gentle, caring hands. Yawning, you reclined into the deep, plush cushions, and he shifted so you were both laying next to each other, content in each other’s embrace. He cuddled into your chest, face buried in your shirt.

“You smell like tacos.”

It was unclear how peevishly he intended the observation, so you simply replied, “I made tacos for dinner.”

“The cheap American kind that are nothing but ground beef, shredded cheese, and an insult to Mexican culture,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Mm-hmm,” you said.

“They are not real food.”

“Do you want some?”

“God, yes.”

  *****

With physical therapy, Chilton was finally able to walk comfortably without assistance again.

Technically, he had been able to for a long time. The cane was a crutch—in the figurative, not the literal, sense. In the literal sense it was very much not a crutch, or even a cane. At best, it was an expensive, silver-topped walking stick. He clung to it like a security blanket, or as a prop to garner pity, or simply because it was a dramatic accessory. The threat of physical therapy simply convinced him to let go of the pretense.

Like the spiral staircases of his home, some things about Dr. Chilton were fussy and theatrical for no reason.

It was almost a shame, you thought. That thing was the epitome of his dapper style (he might as well put on tap shoes, a top hat, and put on the Ritz with Fred Astaire), and it brought to mind such kinky images.

It was not one of those lightweight BDSM canes, and therefore was far too heavy to do any spanking with, assuming you wanted to be able to sit down any time in the next month. However, you recalled with some excitement his tapping it on the inside of your heels to get you to spread your legs open, using the pommel to gently tip your chin up to him, or running it slowly along the inside of your thighs.

You would miss that cane.

You still argued sometimes—but not as often. You were accustomed to his haughtiness and felt less need to try and change it, and he knew you well enough to relax when the two of you were alone. He took your advice that life was not a competition... but only when it came to you, not to his career and public reputation.

He was still obsessed with proving his superiority to the world. Still obsessed with seeing Hannibal Lecter grow old and feeble inside a cell. Those edges were so integrally a part of him you could never smooth them out.

  *****

You were good for his book tour.

Though he never raised his voice or threw insults around, Chilton still had the journalist sitting in your living room on edge. She gripped the recording device harder, nails turning white. Flanked by imposing towers of leather-bound books, he stared her down like a shark, bragging about his psychiatric achievements and describing grizzly details of the Lecter case with a heartless detachment—he smirked when the more graphic parts made her squeamish.

Dr. Chilton was (contrary to his own opinion) not the best mind in the psychiatric field, but there was one thing he was the preeminent expert in, and that was leaving people with the impression that he was a callous douchebag who thought he was better than everyone else. Which was more or less accurate.

When you entered the room, his whole demeanor softened.

“Hey honey,” you poked your head in with a plate of cookies. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had that interview today. Should I come back later?”

“Nonsense, darling, come in.”

The haughty stare he’d been giving the journalist broke and turned to a warm gaze and a kind smile as he crossed the room to escort you in, his hand on the small of your back. You sat down on the sofa next to him, and set the plate of good-will-bribery cookies down on the coffee table between you and the journalist. She politely refused, at least until the recording was over, but instantly seemed more relaxed, loosing her death-vice on the recorder. You quietly leaned your head on Frederick’s shoulder and discreetly clasped his hand on the cushion between you through the rest of the interview, which he spent blushing and unable to maintain the coldness of his stare.

You brought out a side of him few were able to see. Whenever you made an appearance during his book promotions, the article published was always just a bit more favorable.

  *****

“Gotta go!” you called across the house, slinging a pack over your shoulders. Dawn was barely cresting the purple sky, and Frederick was barely awake. He didn’t even have his prosthetic maxilla in yet; he was only up to say goodbye. “I’m going to be in the field for ten hours straight today!” You thought about that for a moment, and groaned with anticipated exhaustion. 

“You have water?” 

“Yes, mom.”

“You cannot blame me for worrying,” he smiled with some pride at his gallant adventurer. You were wild in ways he would never understand, and it terrified as much as thrilled him. He smoothed a few wrinkles out of your shirt—a rugged garment for outdoor wear—and said you looked presentable enough for what you were doing. You kissed him, and wished him luck with the book signing he was attending that day. 

He wandered into the kitchen to search for breakfast, when an idea occurred to him.

“Take some of my meal-replacement bars,” he offered, opening the pantry. He had the organic superfood detox variety that he was able to digest. 

“I already did, thanks!”

He sighed with annoyance. “I noticed. It looks like an animal went through the packaging.”

“You love me,” you grinned cheekily in the doorway.

He prowled up to you, eyes narrow, trapping you against the door. He growled. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you and sucking a small bruise just under your collar. Yeah, he loved you. You purred, arching your back so you were pressed more firmly against him, and breathed in his scent. If only you didn’t have to leave.

“Come home safe.”

  *****

Halloween was your favorite holiday. Perhaps it was gauche for one involved in investigating real murders, and real dead people, but then, that might have been what made it so appealing—on Halloween, all the blood was corn syrup, the skeletons danced to 80’s rock, and the serial killers wore their identities on their sleeves and carried plastic weapons. It had been your favorite holiday as a kid, and it still was.

“No.”

“Please?” you begged, drawing out the E. “It would be so awesome!”

“No.”

“But—”

“I am a bestselling author. An esteemed expert in my field. I will not be subjected to such an undignified, childish display.”

“But you would have the best costume and nobody would know!”

He wasn’t sure how you talked him into it. It must have those adorable pleading eyes he could never resist, or the enticing appeal to his ego that it would be an extraordinary costume, certain to leave everyone guessing how the effect was done. Somehow, he was walking into a Halloween party as a zombie. Without his contact lens or prosthetic jaw.

He frowned. It was humiliating.

You were dressed as an apocalypse survivor with an infected bite, and were hamming it up, telling the other guests you were fine, totally fine, with a shaky panic-edged voice and a tremor in your limbs. You had done an impressive job on the makeup, too, giving your complexion a sallow haze and reddened eyes. The bite itself was a gory masterpiece constructed from latex and tissue paper, with dark veins spider-webbing up your arm.

He didn’t have to ham it up. He only needed to walk in the room and Shrek and Fiona, Pennywise the clown, and a sexy velociraptor all gasped in horror at his face. How was that meant to make him feel?

“So cool!” someone said before he could turn on his heel and walk out of there. Words like, “There isn’t a contest, is there? I should have put in more effort,” and “did you hire a movie SFX artist? No fair,” started to get tossed around—including toward costume elements that you had designed and had nothing to do with his natural grotesqueness. Then they offered him a drink and moved on to the next impressive costumes and regular party chatter.

You were right. Nobody knew it was real, and while it stung to be stared at and called grisly—you would later apologize profusely for being too gung-ho and not thinking through what would happen—he had never imaged being able to have a normal conversation in public with his real face exposed. There was something daringly vulnerable about it. He had never imagined not being ashamed, but at least in this niche context, his old injury made him the leading man of the evening.

By the end of the night he got so into it, he was chasing you around snarling for your brains, and getting a kick out of scaring trick-or-treaters.

  *****

He took you to Paris for Valentine’s day. Last time it was Italy, and you strangely suspected he was touring the shadow of Hannibal Lecter as much as he was trying to impress you. You had suspected, that is, until you asked, and he rather bluntly admitted to it. He hadn’t expected you not to notice by the time you got to Florence, although Venice had been purely about romance (he loved all those touristy gondola rides that he swore he hated and were just for your benefit).

Now that he finally had the chance to lavish his considerable means upon someone, he was throwing himself heart and soul into the holiday, and would not stop until he had spoiled you senseless. When he was single and accustomed to spending the day alone, he used to loathe February 14th—Valentine’s had seemed a cruel joke directed specifically at him. He couldn’t even spitefully ignore it by staying late at work, because the more perceptive inmates always took notice.

“You do not know hell,” he told you, “until a man convicted of raping his mother’s severed head taunts you about your lack of sex life.”

This year, he treated you to everything Paris had to offer: the Louvre, Notre Dame, an opera at Palais Garnier, a morning stroll through the gardens of Versailles, delicious bakeries, cafes, chocolate, and macrons. You insisted upon seeing the Catacombs, of course.

When you went to the Eiffel Tower and he showed up with roses and dinner reservations for sunset in its refined first-floor restaurant, your gut clenched. You were terrified he was going to propose. Of course he would make a grand gesture! You carefully inspected every champagne glass for hidden engagement rings, but found only bubbles. After dinner, when you ascended to the top of the tower to watch Paris light up at night, you knew that was when the proposal was coming.

But it didn’t. And you found yourself disappointed.

You had never talked about it, so there was no reason to assume it was something he wanted. It seemed far too soon to you, too, until it was snatched away and you realized that after three years together, you still couldn’t imagine wanting a life without him in it.

Arriving home at last, you breathed a sigh of relief into the still air. Paris was exciting and rich with history, but you were glad to be home in the peaceful familiarity of that snobbishly oversized house with its ridiculously spiraling staircases and its somewhat-less-fastidiously-pristine rooms, which now accommodated both of your things. All of the picture frames that once held impersonal stock photos displayed real snapshots of your lives together.

You weren’t even going to shower. You were so tired, you just wanted to rip all your clothes off and drop into bed. Frederick pulled his tie off. Hair frumpy from the long plane and taxi rides, his fingers worked to undo the top buttons of his shirt as he lumbered to the bath. He stopped at the door and turned back. You were taking a sip of water before leaving the cup on your nightstand.

“Marry me?” he said.

[intramoon]

I dunno I think they were just asking an innocent questions,, they could be new to tumblr and confused too. Idk I love the content you make but I feel like sometimes you could be nicer to your followers especially since not everyone is as experienced on simblr/ tumblr and sims as you..

I have answered the question “where can I find your goddies” multiply times and in the two most recent responses (here and here) I included a SFS folder with all of the downloads for those who either are not able to access a computer and/or may not be able to find downloads.

I added the “scavenger hunt” because I create resources and presets on a regular basis and wanted to share them without having to go through the process of previews. I wanted to share my content in a different way, if I am able to take the time to create I feel it is fair to expected others to take the time to, at minimum, go through my ask tag before then send me an ask. The answer to their question could be found on the front page.

I agree we should consider if a user is new but you haven’t considered all of the help I have offered others, people do treat me as a resource primarily. I created my ReShade Troubleshoots because so many new users needed assistance. And despite my request people do not send my ReShade help questions  (which is written in my ask header and on my FAQ) I still receive them every week and if they are not on anonymous, I still answer them. I understand the learning curve of being new, someone new asked me yesterday what WCIF meant, I do not mind to help but you also have to help yourself at some point because in all honesty I do not enjoy being a resource.

About how you feel I have been unkind and should be nicer; I have been on Simblr since 2015 and the unpleasant experiences I’ve had contribute tremulously to my demeanor on my account. I am not going be bubbly in my response, not matter the question, that is not me. I am patient with the messages I receive and I respond respectfully 9 out of 10 times. I apologize if my previous response was the 1 where I wasn’t. If I could allow you a day in my shoes perhaps you’d have a better understanding.

I have struggled with being a resource for a while, I do not feel apart of the community. I feel I am outside the party; I watch other people enjoy the interaction from their followers/mutuals/friends, enjoy fun ask games, tags challenges, and jokes while I stand on the outside envious of everyone else’s position. I am genuinely jealous of those who have a following that is interested in their characters, legacy and stories. You have no idea what I would do to be in that position rather the one I currently hold as a “ReShade creator”. I’ve always had the unwavering support of my friends but beyond that, I do feel out of place on Simblr. I struggle to be more myself and, less professional if you will, because the experiences I’ve had on Simblr. I’ve been told that creates separation between me and others but man, what I would do to be “new”. As much as I enjoy creating ReShades, I wish I had more worth to the community than presets and photoshop actions. There is so much more to me than what you see on your dashboard, it feels as though people are not interested in that side of me and only the “resource” side.

[sometimesrosy]

Anonymous said:

Umm... I'm pretty sure the anon on the 'sad for bellarke' meant as in not feeling optimistic about their endgame and wanted to look back at some nice moments to get happier. Anyway, I've found you to be pretty rude on your account. I'm sure you don't care about my opinions and trust me, I'll unfollow and block you after this. But as a person who has seen much from you, I'd hope that you'll consider talking in a kinder tone as the world doesn't need more rudeness and negativity. Good luck.

+++

Listen, kiddo. If setting boundaries is taken by you to be rude and unkind and negative, then it’s a good bet that you’re the kind of person who thinks you are entitled to my time, mental health and energy.

It’s the people who want to abuse and use you who get offended when you tell them no.

Me saying “no,” is NOT rude. I am not obliged to answer any of these questions. So let’s go over what I DID say and why I wasn’t being rude, I was setting my boundaries.

I apologize, explain what my blog is for. When I say I can’t take on their anxiety, that’s because answering these anxious questions makes me anxious. This blog is for people who believe in bellarke, not for those who don’t. Not anymore.

I offer a suggestion for how they can find hope in bellarke without making me do the work for them. Oh that means I DID answer their question, just not in the way they asked me to as if I were a performing monkey, which you seem to think I am. 

This explains WHY I wasn’t going to do the work for them. It shows that I am a human being being who is affected by all these people asking me questions and how it’s difficult for me when the fandom has decided to ignore me, degrade me, call me names, harass me and judge me... until they want something from me. I’ve answered this question a million times. It’s actually what my blog is FOR. So go read the blog. Make the slightest effort. Dont’ make the effort all mine. That’s just damn selfish.

Another apology. This is also alluding to how much time an energy some of these posts take. Some of these survey posts, where I talk about all the ways Bellarke are a canon relationship through the seasons, literally take me all day. Sometimes it can take me days to finish a post. But you all have the same canon I do. Why am I the only one who is asked to think back to why bellarke is real? Did you know that if you are a passive audience to something, you don’t really absorb it the way someone does who does the work themselves? Figure it out for yourself and maybe you’ll believe it, instead of deciding it’s fake and gossip is more real.

Here I am wishing anon well. Giving some hope, talking about why it’s better to figure it out for yourself. Or how a changed mindset is probably also more fun. Also give some tips on how to do that. This “good luck” is not sarcastic the way yours is. It is sincere.

This is me setting boundaries. Your fandom experience is YOUR responsibility, not mine. I don’t appreciate being given the responsibility for your mindset. This is not rude. It’s saying you can do it yourself.

As usual, I’ve spent FAR more energy on my asks than the asker does. I did all the work. You were judgmental and mean. While telling ME to be nice. Oh the hypocrisy. Does this world need more positivity? 

Do you think it doesn’t start with YOU?

You should unfollow. I don’t want bullies who think it’s okay to send nasty anons to follow me. 

A “kinder tone”. LOL. I am plenty kind. But I’m also a human being. I get to be snarky, I get to be tired, I get to be fed up. I have ACTUAL kids, who I am responsible for. I am not responsible for fandom. I tried to be. It was like keeping the tide back with a ladle and made my fandom experience far less enjoyable and in fact caused more anxiety in me. That’s what I meant when I said “taking on your anxiety.” It’s not going to happen anymore. Be a grown up. And if you’re a minor, this is a grown up space and you need to step up and act more adult.

You don’t want me to be kinder. You want me to be a doormat.

And that is not gonna happen. Bye.

[ragewerthers]

Autumnal

Summary: All Prompto wanted to do was have a nice evening ready for Gladio when he got home from the Citadel.  Sadly Ramuh seemed to have other plans in store.

But with the help of a caring Alpha, poor eyesight and a Christmas gift gone wrong... maybe this evening won't be so terrible after all?

A/n: Hello there!  This is an F3S work for my friend @bgn846​!  I had far too much trouble deciding on which prompt to write so... I did them all in one fic!  The prompts were:

'1.One of the bros gets locked out of their apartment in the rain or snow or something terrible.  They call someone to come help, cuddles and fluff may occur.

2.A/B/O if you wanna try or just regular… Alpha Gladio surprises Omega Prompto with some flowers or something after a long day.  This is purely an excuse for fluff and purring.

3.”Is that a boob mug?”  This has absolutely no context for a reason. Hahah'

They were all so fun how could I pick?!?!? XD  

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590126

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 4187

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

“You have got to be kidding me?!” Prompto growled under his breath, his fingers fumbling inside his soggy pants pockets as he tried to desperately locate his house keys, shifting his couple bags of groceries from one arm to the other in his search.  Was it unseemly for an Omega to growl?  Maybe.  Did he give any butts about it now?  Absolutely not.

The poor Omega had found himself swept up in an early fall downpour on his way back from a quick excursion to downtown Insomnia and really, why wouldn’t it have happened on today of all days?  It had been spiracorn dung since the beginning and no matter how much he’d hoped for it to get better it appeared it truly wasn’t in the cards.

Another gust of wind whipped its way along the street where his and Gladio’s townhouse resided, sending sheets of rain cascading over him once more.  Why was Ramuh being such a dick today?!

He could hear other people rushing behind him along the sidewalk, seeking shelter in their own homes because they could at least remember to grab their keys from the little bowl at the front door.  Hadn’t Gladio literally put it there months ago to make sure he would remember to grab his keys because he knew something like this was bound to happen?

After coming up short in searching his jacket pockets as well, the sound of something tearing and things hitting the ground instantly made Prompto want to scream.  And so he did.

“Oh come on!” Prompto shouted to no one in particular.  Glancing down he saw the paper bags he’d been using had become so soggy that literally everything he had bought now lay scattered along the stoop or was rolling down the few steps that led to the sidewalk.  At this point, though it stung to see his purchases become waterlogged, he couldn’t bring it in himself to chase after them.  If Ramuh wanted his groceries that bad he could take them! With another unseemly growl that made him feel slightly better, he thumped his head against the door as he tried to figure out what his next course of action should be.

There was always trying to call someone, but at this point his phone was probably so full of rain water it was useless.  Even then who was he going to call?

Noct was in an incredibly important meeting with the delegates from Altissia. It was supposed to help rebuild some of the trading deals that had been in place before Insomnia had fallen all those years ago.  He’d been working so hard to rebuild everything from the ground up and there was no way that Prompto was going to bother his best friend for something as silly as this.  Besides, he could stand some soggy underpants if it meant that Noct could continue to raise Insomnia back to where it should be and far beyond it as well.

There was always Ignis, but today really would be an ill advised day to bother the Beta as well.  If Noct was busy working on building trade deals then Ignis was more than likely pulling the work weight of five men to ensure that it happened.  The man had become more and more reclusive when it came to his time in the archives and pulling out as much info as he could to help create a better and brighter Insomnia.  And while there was definitely a reckoning coming for the Beta in the form of his three friends forcing him to take some sort of break or vacation, today was not going to be that day.  That being said, he would also rather face a thousand feral daggerquills then interrupt Ignis while he was in extreme Adviser mode.

Bringing a hand up, Prompto went to wipe at his face to clear away some of the rain water cascading off his fringe, but aborted the movement a moment later.  At this point it would be replaced in a nanosecond and he couldn’t find the energy to care anymore about it.  With a deep sigh of defeat he took a seat on the soaked cement stoop and tried not to think of his last option.

Gladio.

Prompto gave a quiet, little whine as he thought of his Alpha.  Gods he wished he could just warp back to this morning, wrapped up in the man's arms without a care in the world.  It was a simpler time.  A less soggy and cold time.  He remembered only briefly waking to the brush of soft lips against his brow, his nose and then his own lips as Gladio promised to be back as soon as possible.  The next time Prompto woke, the early morning sun had been replaced with fluffier autumnal clouds and the bed was far cooler without the living furnace that was Gladio

The Alpha had to get up early to be at the meeting with Noct and though the threat from Altissia was non-existent after everything, it still was better to err on the side of caution.  And if there was going to be a force to dissuade any brazen acts of unrest, Gladio’s presence was more than capable of stopping it.

So sadly that meant enjoying a little breakfast together, or a few extra stolen kisses on the front stoop before Gladio went off were off the table for the day.  Prompto found lonely mornings like this to be the roughest to start.  However, he also knew that Gladio preferred them having their mornings to themselves as well and that always filled the Omega with a little extra warmth in his chest.  Knowing that Gladio was going to have such a full day and that his own presence was not needed at the Citadel he’d decided that he would surprise his lovely Alpha with a nice home cooked dinner for when he returned to their cozy apartment.

Thus after spending the better part of the day buying groceries for a ramen dish he knew Gladio would love, and maybe buying a small dessert for them to share together later, everything went to heck in a handbasket.

If he’d spent more time thinking to grab his keys and check the forecast instead of imagining the smile on Gladio’s face he wouldn’t be in the predicament he was in now.

Soggy groceries strewn about the pavement, a chill settling deep in his bones and a wish in his heart greater than anything that he could just be back inside and restart the day from the beginning.

“Prompto?  Prom, what happened?!” The sound of someone shouting to him through the downpour and rumbling thunder had Prompto’s head shooting up, not even realizing he’d ducked his head down to hide against his knees to begin with.

His eyes had to take a moment to focus, but as soon as the familiar warmth of the person’s hand touched his cheek he instantly sagged forward.  Strong arms wrapped around him without hesitation and he felt the rain lessen minutely against his shivering frame.

“Gl-Gladio?” he stammered, nuzzling his face into the crook of his Alpha’s neck, taking in the scent of cool forests and wildflowers.  A scent unmistakably Gladio’s, but with an underlying hint of firesmoke.  The man was upset and Prompto hated knowing he’d caused it.  “S-Sorry… sorry, Gladio.  I… I was st-stupid and for-forgot my…!”  His voice was cut off by a rather unmanly squeak that escaped when Gladio’s arms shifted and he found himself being lifted like a blushing bride and held against his Alpha’s broad chest, shielded from the unkind weather.

“No apologies, Sunshine,” Gladio murmured softly and Prompto felt the way his partner easily moved toward their door with him.  After a little jostling he heard the familiar jingle of keys and soon they were entering into the small hallway of their home.  Prompto could tell he was without a doubt drenching the little carpet they had down with the water coming off of him and he was probably making Gladio chilled by being held so close in his soggy mess of clothes.

A miserable little whine escaped Prompto without him meaning to and he felt Gladio give him a soft squeeze.  “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.  You feel like an ice cube,” he murmured softly and this only made Prompto frown more, especially as he felt himself being carried toward their bathroom.

“I-I can go myself… you… you were wo-working all day.  I’m s-sorry,” he stammered only to find a soft kiss pressed to his forehead.  Looking up he caught the small smile on his Alpha’s lips.

“Please stop apologizing, sweetheart.  It’s not your fault.”

“But…,” he murmured only to find the man's lips now pressed against his own to stop him from finishing his sentence. As Gladio leaned back he nuzzled against Prompto’s nose, the deep rumble of a small purr vibrating through his chest and making Prompto’s bones feel like they were turning to liquid.  It only lasted a few seconds, but it was more than enough to quiet him and make him pliant for what Gladio had to say next.

“None of that,” Gladio murmured softly as they finally reached their bathroom. “The only time you should ever have to apologize is if something is directly your fault.  Do you control the weather?   No.  Would you have apologized to me on a sunny day?  No.  This isn’t your fault, Sunshine. Just a little bad luck.”

Prompto felt himself carefully set down on the bathroom counter, Gladio’s large frame moving around their small bathroom easily as he went to turn on the shower spray and grab his own towel for Prompto to use.  “Why does it always seem like I have bad luck though?” Prompto asked as Gladio closed the shower curtain and turned back to his mate.

“I don’t see what happens to you as bad luck.  Merely… inconvenient moments?” Gladio tried to offer, getting an unimpressed looked from his Omega as water still dripped from his fringe and down his freckled face.  “Okay… so maybe some of it is bad luck.  But it just means I get to come in and be your knight in shining armor and you know how much you love that.”  

The cocky little smile Gladio flashed him after that made Prompto snort, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth to quiet the noise. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured.

“But I’m not wrong,” Gladio teased, stepping forward and sweeping his mate’s damp fringe to the side to press a gentle kiss to his brow. “Now go on.  I’ll leave you to warm up a bit and I’ll bring in a change of clothes, okay?”  With another soft kiss to the tip of his chilled nose, Prompto already felt himself warming just from the presence of his Alpha.

Once Gladio stepped out, Prompto scooched himself off the edge of the bathroom counter, moving a bit slowly as his fingers still felt a little numbed and chilled from the rainfall.  Soon he was free of his soggy clothes, quickly put in the hamper, and was stepping into the wonderfully warm spray of their shower.

It wasn’t much longer that he was feeling more human and less like the Astrals personal punching bag.  The feeling had returned to his fingers and toes and if he chose to use Gladio’s body wash to wrap himself up in the man's scent a bit more he was sure his Alpha wouldn’t mind.  Pulling the curtain back he saw that his favorite pyjama’s, the sweats with chocobo’s on them and his favorite band t-shirt, were already on the counter waiting for him.  Apparently he’d been so engrossed in getting the icky feelings and weather off of him that he hadn’t heard the door open and close.  For such a big guy it always surprised Prompto how stealthy he could be.  Which generally made impromptu games of hide and seek a nightmare for him because the man was a walking shadow!

Soon he was changed, his hair toweled off with Gladio’s towel and hung back up to dry.  Now to figure out how he was going to save the evening from his ridiculous ‘inconvenient moment’ and do something nice for Gladio! Opening the door to the bathroom, Prompto only had a moment to think before he found himself literally enveloped in a blanket and hoisted back into the air with a squeal that would’ve put the best horror actress to shame!

Gladio’s booming laughter echoed through the hall a moment later and as Prompto wriggled his face out of the warm fabric he glared at the man.  “Wh-what are you doing?!“ he squeaked, finding himself once more being carried around in his darling's arms like a bride in a quilted gown.

“Making sure my Omega is taken care of, sweetheart,” he cooed, making Prompto try to hide his flushed face in the blanket which, he realized, was radiating heat.  He nuzzled his cheek against the fabric and a soft little trill of content escaping him making Gladio chuckle again.

“I see putting the blanket in the dryer for a little bit worked its magic,” he teased, making Prompto flush more, though his soft smile on his lips stayed.  Soon he was being deposited on their sofa, his favorite tv show already playing and something warm and delicious smelling steaming on the small coffee table in front of them.

“Did… is that Cup Noodle?” he asked as he saw the noodles presented in a far fancier mug then he had ever realized their house had and a fork already nestled in it, only waiting for him to pluck it up to dive into the meal.

“It is. I went back out to clean up what was left of the groceries and I saw what you wanted to make,” he murmured, taking a seat beside Prompto and wrapping his arm around the man to hug him close to his side. “I know it’s not homemade, but I hope it will still do.  If nothing else it should help warm you up even more.” Prompto felt his cheeks heating for the umpteenth time now at the sweetness of his mate, but also at how spectacularly he had failed.  Sighing quietly he nuzzled closer to Gladio, taking in a deep breath and just focusing on his Alpha’s warmth for the moment.  “I wanted to surprise you,” he whispered quietly. “You had such a busy day and… I just wanted to give you a relaxing evening.  All I managed to do was make you worry about me and look after me.”

Closing his eyes as he spoke he curled up a bit more in the blanket.  “I’m sorry.”

Gladio’s arm around him moved slightly and soon Prompto felt strong, calloused fingers gently soothing through the damp knots in his hair.  “You have nothing to apologize for, Sunshine,” Gladio whispered gently.  “And I’ll keep reminding you of that.  That you don’t have to apologize for things like the weather, or dropping something, or forgetting something... until one day those apologies don’t happen anymore.  Because there is nothing you could ever do that I would think you should be sorry for.  You’re my sunshine.  And sunshine has only ever made me smile and happy. No apologies needed.”

The soft reassurances and the gentle soothing to his hair was almost enough to make Prompto’s barely held together composure break and a quiet sniffle escaped him.  “Y-You’re too good to me, ya know that?” he murmured, a watery little giggle escaping when he felt Gladio ruffling his hair lightly.

”No… you deserve the world, Sunshine.  Don’t ever doubt that,” Gladio murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple before shifting and leaning forward.  “Now.  I think the noodles have cooled long enough and if you wait any longer they’ll lose their chewy integrity.”  

“Chewy integrity?” Prompto questioned, bringing a hand up to soothe his hair back down and feeling the weight in his chest lifting more and more.  “I feel like only Cup Noodle addicts would believe in such a thing.”

The dramatic gasp that left Gladio and the scathing look he was given had Prompto fighting another round of giggles as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth.

“I am not an addict!  I’m a connoisseur!” Gladio huffed before passing over the ceramic cup, fighting a smile of his own.

“Mmhm.  And I’m the queen of Duscae,” Prompto teased, stirring his fork into the noodles in search of a few veggies.  

“I’m gonna tell Iggy you don’t believe in the integrity of noodles.  You’re going to get such a lecture,” Gladio huffed, leaning back with his own cup and twirling a fair amount of the noodly goodness onto his own fork.

“Oooor… you’ll get an earful about your sodium intake again and… then… uh…,” Prompto paused as he turned to look at Gladio, watching as the man stared back at him in confusion.

“And… what?  Everything okay, Prompto?” Gladio asked carefully around a mouthful, but Prompto’s eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“Is… is that a boob mug?” he asked, looking at the coffee cup Gladio was currently enjoying his meal from.

Gladio almost choked on his half chewed bite, coughing and smacking his chest before looking at Prompto like he was the crazy one.

“What?!  No this isn’t a boob mug!  Look at it,” he said, raising up what was clearly the mug of a female torso.

Prompto stared at his mate in disbelief before pointing at it.  “I am!  It’s a mug… with boobs!  Where did you even get that thing?!”  In the few years they had been living here he had absolutely no recollection of that hideous thing and if he had seen it, it wouldn’t have stayed in this apartment for very long. “Cor gave it to me last year for Christmas.  He said it was a bag gift, which was weird because it was wrapped, but still!” Gladio groused as he narrowed his eyes at the mug, apparently trying to see what Prompto was seeing.  “It’s obviously two moogles next to each other!  Look!  They even have their bright red noses!”

Prompto slowly started to see all the pieces coming together in this one moment and honestly, it was both endearing and hilarious.  “Uh… I’ll be right back, big guy,” he said lightly, only just keeping the tremble of laughter out of his voice as he wiggled out of the warm blanket and ran to their room.  Quickly locating what he was looking for he returned with his old glasses in hand and handed them to his Alpha.  “Would you please, please, please humor me and put these on?”

Gladio had waited patiently for his mate’s return, but seeing the glasses instantly had him grumbling.  “What are you trying to say?” he questioned, holding the glasses as if they had personally offended his honor.

“Nothing!  Nothing, just… please?” Prompto asked, jutting out his bottom lip and making his eyes go extra wide in that way he knew Gladio couldn’t fight against… adding in a little whine making it a sure thing.

With a growl, Gladio begrudgingly unfolded the glasses.  “Fine.  But I’m gonna tell you the same thing I said earlier,” he reassured as he perched the glasses on his nose before picking up the cup again.  “This mug is just an innocent picture of… shiva’s tits!”

“Exactly!” Prompto crowed as Gladio’s now seeing eyes beheld the world’s most atrocious mug.  The absolute shock that crossed his mate’s features had the laughter Prompto had been trying to hide finally break free.

“It’s not funny!” Gladio whined, still gripping the mug in his hands and staring at it with betrayal.  After a moment his eyes widened in horror.  “I’ve been drinking from this at the Citadel!  I brought it home because it chipped and wanted to fix it!  Oh my gods I must’ve looked like such a dick!”

Prompto was positively beside himself now, his laughter high-pitched and squeaking as tears of mirth clung to his eyelashes.  Oh his poor sweet Alpha!

“Y-You… dihihihihidn’t?!  O-oh my gahahahad!” Prompto wheezed out, laughing so hard he was leaning on Gladio who looked like he wanted nothing more to have the sofa swallow him up.  The mug was now abandoned on the coffee table and Gladio had his head in his hands.

Slowly Prompto started to calm, a few stray giggles still bubbling up as he wrapped his arm around his Alpha’s shoulders.  “I’m sorry, big guy.  But… I think what Cor might have said to you was that it was a ‘gag’ gift.  Not a ‘bag’ gift,” he murmured softly.  Gladio groaned even louder as he heard that and shook his head.

“So not only is my eyesight going, but I can’t hear as well?” Gladio mumbled and Prompto smiled gently, pressing a soft kiss to the man's shoulder and soothing his hand over his broad back.  

“First of all, I was at that Christmas party and if the music was any louder you would’ve had to send flare signals to talk to anyone,” Prompto said gently, getting a little huff from his Alpha as he wrapped his arm around him and hugged the big guy closer.  “But as for your eyesight… you’ve definitely been squinting a bit more lately.  But… those glasses are cute on you.”

Prompto watched as Gladio’s ears tinged red at being called cute and he bit his lower lip as a smile appeared over his lips.

“Shields don’t wear glasses… and they aren’t cute…,” came the haughty little reply and Prompto found himself rolling his eyes.

“Well… my Shield just mistook a boob mug for moogles so I think there maaay be an exception to the rule,” he giggled softly.  “And while I hate to argue with my Alpha… he most definitely looks cute in glasses.”

Gladio finally peeked his eyes out, his cheeks matching the light pink of his ears and making Prompto’s heart flutter a bit.  Leaning forward he pressed a soft kiss to one of those warmed cheeks and finally saw his Alpha’s smile returning.

“I guess we both had a tough day, huh?” Prompto murmured softly.  “I got caught in a rainstorm brought on by the rage of Ramuh himself… and you found out you’re getting old,” Prompto teased his Alpha lightly, giving his side a little pinch and earning a squeak from the man.

“Hey!  I’ll show you old!” Gladio growled, quickly tackling Prompto onto the sofa and gathering up his giggling Omega in his arms, pulling him flush against his chest. “Do old Alpha’s cuddle?  I think not!” he mumbled from somewhere above Prompto’s head, making the blond giggle harder as he wrapped his arms around Gladio’s waist and snuggled closer to the warmth he adored. “I don’t know.  Should I do tests to find out?  Find some nice young Alphahaha’s!  Okahahay!  I won’t!  I w-wohohon’t!” Prompto squealed out as Gladio’s fingers teased at his vulnerable side, tickling him mercilessly for a few seconds before stopping.

“Shush it, you,” Gladio chided with a soft smile, glancing down at Prompto with a look that always managed to melt Prompto’s insides.  The omega gave a happy little trill at that and snuggled closer as Gladio’s arms wrapped more snugly around him.

“Well… now that your Cup Noodles have lost any and all texture and you’ve managed to lure me into a cuddle pile… why don’t you get some rest, Sunshine?” Gladio murmured, the quiet, deep timbre of his voice already starting to have an effect on the Omega.

Cuddling closer and hiding his face against Gladio’s chest, Prompto felt his eyes already starting to close.  The warmth of his mate’s embrace that he had missed since this morning enveloped him completely and finally, finally every bad thing from the day felt like it was starting to ebb away.

He felt Gladio shifting for a moment, hearing the faint sound of his glasses being placed on the coffee table before the man settled once more.  A hand soon made its way up to his hair, gently running through it and lightly scratching over his scalp and truly, this was all Prompto ever wanted or needed.

It wasn’t much longer that Prompto found a soft purr starting to escape him and a little smile flickered over his lips as Gladio soon responded in kind.  The Alpha’s deeper purr made Prompto’s mind go wonderfully fuzzy and he sighed softly.

Finally, after the struggles and ups and downs of the day he was able to be back where he had longed to be since the beginning.  In the strong arms of his Alpha, a soft smile on his lips and knowing that regardless of what little turmoils and inconvenient moments happened, he would always have Gladio there to pick him up, making him laugh and offer him comfort.  Hopefully he could do the same.

Perhaps he’d start by getting rid of that mug for him?

But that could happen after a nice autumn nap.

[overplannedbutunnamednpc]

Ecstasy: 4, 31 Legacy: 13, 22 Zephyr: 19, 26!

Ecstasy

4. Things you said instead of “I love you”

“Where’re you getting off to so quickly, darling?”

It wasn’t as if Raini had never stayed the night before. Rather, Ecstasy was hoping that it had become something of a routine. Or if it wasn’t, Ecstasy was big enough to admit that she certainly wanted it to be. Not even for the reason of morning sex - though she did have to admit that there is something very gratifying about how good a mood Raini’s in one hour after waking versus one minute after waking.

“Motherfuckers,” comes the reply, which isn’t actually very surprising.

Ecstasy lies back down, her interest in waking up waning now that she’s got no real reason to stay in bed. “What do they have you doing, then, angel?”

Raini waves her hand vaguely. “The usual. Danger for the reason of doing good.”

“Mm. Classified, huh?” Ecstasy opens her eyes to watch Raini getting dressed, and finds herself sitting up. There’s a scar on her back, angry red, the kind of thing that healing magic was only able to patch up superficially, relying on Raini’s body to do the rest of the work while it went on its merry way to help out with the other deep cuts and breaks that would also have been life-threatening.

She finds herself reaching out to touch it, only interrupted by the curtain of fabric as Raini tugs her robes over her head. Ecstasy blinks, the image of the scar curdling her good humor as Raini pops the cork on the healing potion Ecstasy has so kindly left out on the vanity, Raini taking a few sips every time she comes over to clear away the hickies Ecstasy leaves every time. She imagines that it clears some of the redness of the scar, as well, but finds that her mood is still sour about the whole thing.

Regardless, Raini is responding, in the infuriatingly blasé way that Raini can respond when something either matters a lot or not at all. “And dangerous. I’d never bring you into it. Safer that way, etcetera. Plus Lent would hate it if you interfered.”

Ecstasy has to remind herself not to pout about this. Something about “danger” and “Raini” going together has started to ruffle her feathers, and seeing the physical evidence of that when Raini was meant to be staying way back and being protected by her party -

Well. Anyway.

“You wound me, princess,” Ecstasy says, and lets Raini get her put-upon sigh out of the way before continuing, “Sure you can’t be a few minutes - well, maybe a few hours late?”

She watches Raini turn around, probably intending to give a very clear negative, but then again, Ecstasy cuts a pretty nice figure sprawled across the bed, naked with her tail flicking in something Raini doesn’t have to know is frustration at the ‘danger’ part of this situation. So as soon as there’s a flicker of considering on the wizard’s face, Ecstasy pounces.

“C’mon, cupcake. I’ll be gentle with you.”

And it gets her a scoff and an eye roll, of course.

But it also gets her a kiss before she makes her way out.

31. Things you said that you wouldn’t have if it were light out

It’s absolutely on Ecstasy, the fact that Raini’s sound asleep and she’s not. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be, it’s just that she’d gone out to piss after everything and Raini had fallen fast asleep in the two or three minutes she’d been gone.

Ecstasy unwraps the robe she’d donned to keep the crew from being alternatively intrigued or affronted by her naked body, thanks her lucky stars that she has hooves and doesn’t have to worry about putting on and taking off her boots for a trek like that, and, however illogically, doesn’t lay down yet. Instead, she sits on the edge of the bed, the slight movement making Raini stir but not bother waking up yet, and she cocks her head down at the wizard.

“Angel,” she tries, wondering.

Raini barely reacts. Hm.

Ecstasy’s already put out her lamp, so her wizard’s face is all shades of gray with her darkvision. Still, she can imagine every color that lights itself on Raini’s face usually - the pink of her cheeks, the gray-blue of her eyes, the slight glow of the arcane sometimes buzzing around her. It’s probably good that it’s dark, though, because Ecstasy doesn’t think she’d be doing this if it wasn’t.

Not sure what “this” is, exactly, but it culminates in her brushing Raini’s hair back, shushing the discontented mutter it gets her, and pulling the sheet up over her bare shoulder.

Hm.

Ecstasy rolls her eyes at herself and crosses back over to her side of the bed, pulling the sheets down and joining Raini, slotting her body against Raini’s back. Raini’s pulled herself into a ball, but she’s still expressed that she likes Ecstasy’s warmth (“So you really like how hot I am, huh?” “Would you shut up?”) so, spooning it is.

Ecstasy, even as she makes fun of herself for doing so, moves Raini’s hair out of the way and presses a kiss to the side of her head. “Sweet dreams, firefly,” she says, relishing in the lack of a response. That’s better, for her. “See you in the morning.”

And then she settles in to sleep, herself.

Legacy

13. Things you said that were important to you

It’s kind of more what she doesn’t say. The conversation is already moving on without them, but Legacy is caught, just a bit, in Frey’s gaze.

She has the sudden feeling that Frey Holt is the kind of good that makes just about everyone figure out just how bad they are.

It twists something in her stomach, and Legacy’s lips press together when Frey tells her, “Kindness is free, even to people it’s easy to be unkind to.”

GD and their new friends are talking about dinner, so Legacy doesn’t say, “Kindness is never free. Especially not to people who are unkind to you. It’s not even free to people who are.”

She doubts that Frey would agree with her, first and foremost, and more than that she doesn’t know what, exactly, her argument would be. Coming from Legacy, the argument would be rich - hypocritical, considering she’s spent part of her life lying to strangers for money. But it isn’t free. If Legacy were more inclined to be shitty towards Frey she’d probably give a jab about how Frey doesn’t even know how banks work, how should she know what’s free and what’s not?

Frey’s kindness isn’t free. She can’t really think it is. Frey’s kindness, at least the kindness that Legacy’s seen, is turning herself into the smallest dog possible because GD is scared of her, even when it’s obvious how much she likes being large and wolfish and wild. Frey’s kindness is hurricanes and lightning storms in the middle of a city, just to keep people safe, people she met only a few days prior. Less than a few, even. Frey’s kindness is sinking a spell into nothing more than a scrape. Maybe Frey means that her kindness doesn’t put someone in debt to her for it, but there’s still a sunk cost. It’s still not free.

And it’s not naivete, either, Legacy doesn’t think, because she’s seen other types of kindness, too, even just from the few people she’s interacted with so far in the city.

GD’s kindness is letting herself feel the fear when Frey transforms, just so Frey can be that dog or wolf. Sunk cost. Cardea’s kindness is sitting for an hour listening to flutes so she can make sure a criminal is at rest. Sunk cost. Wén Xuěliàng and Yáo Jìngwǎn approached a couple of people talking about murder just to put a ghost to rest, Arianell gave a protective contract to a bunch of basically-nobodies because they’d done a good job and agreed in good faith not to hurt anyone unnecessarily, Klymene granted a random wizard protection just because they’d asked. Sunk cost, sunk cost, sunk cost. None of it is free.

And that’s all to people they like. To people they have no reason to be unkind to. If Frey thinks she’s taking nothing from herself to apologize to a man who only doesn’t want her dead because his people fled in thirty seconds, she’s lying to herself, and she’s certainly lying to Legacy.

But she doesn’t say any of this. And the rest of them are already walking, talking, insisting on paying for dinner.

(More kindness. More sunk cost. Gratitude, sure, but kindness, and still - not free. Quite literally, in this case.)

Legacy wonders how much of that Frey can read off of her, as she starts walking, too, leaving Legacy a little lost.

She stomps a hoof on the ground, once, casts her eyes upward, and walks a bit faster to catch up.

22. Things you said after making a bad decision

(for my dnd party, just to be clear: bad decision is HEAVILY in quotation marks. i love party coherency and so does legacy. but also aren’t all bad party decisions (and there by definition have to be Many) precipitated by One decision, the one to BECOME a party? i rest my case.)

There’s a scream on the docks, which isn’t really a new thing because the crush of the Os Kvelya docks are always loud and there’s always someone screaming at someone else.

But this is a scream. Proper, horrified.

Much more interesting than a walk home, anyway. Legacy alters her course immediately.

She’s not the only one. None of them are city guards, or anything, but there’s three - creatures, considering one of them is a large white wolf - and a clearly distressed human woman, pale as anything and probably the reason for the screaming. The other three, wolf included, seem to have “inspecting the body” down, so Legacy focuses on the woman instead. Having a possible witness passing out on them won’t do anyone any favors.

She keeps an eye on the investigation, though. After a minute, she decides to involve herself. The woman-who-was-a-wolf gives her findings first: “He got stabbed! With a big knife. In his ribs.”

And Legacy replies, invested: “You hate to see it. Do any of you three know him? I'm assuming not.”

Considering the screaming woman is the only one who looks with any fear towards the corpse, and no one else seems to be taking time from their investigation to grieve quietly, sob loudly, or beat their chests in misdirected anger, Legacy has to assume.

It takes her on a bit of a whirlwind, too. Stabbing on a dock leads to necromancy leads to a boat to brunch then to a criminal court, and so on and so forth to a fight with a necromancer. It’s about there that Legacy realizes that she should regret this. Chalk up the whole thing as a bad decision and get back on the road after a few more days in the city.

Except.

She finds herself in a bathhouse with them later, her wounds healed, instead of bandaged like they would have been if she were alone, scrubbing grime off of her and enjoying easy conversation with the two women who aren’t deep in their own heads right now.

The bard, GD (whatever that may stand for), says, “It’s nice to be among friends, if you all would like to stick around.”

And Legacy finds herself not minding the idea. It’s only hours after they meet, with Legacy only half-trying to keep her eyes off a very pretty set of tits, and she says, “GD, I think I'd like to stick around. Those who solve a murder together stay together, etcetera.”

And that, despite what she intellectually knows, the fact that necromancers and Reveries and Asmodeus and going after them all are generally considered bad decisions - well, she’ll just see what happens. She’s got a good feeling about it nonetheless.

Zephyr

19. Things you said when nothing bigger concerned you

“Sir Gentry,” Zephyr coos, chuffing him under his chin. “Pretty boy.”

He chirps at them and blinks, and Zephyr grins. “Okay. Off the desk. I have to study and you’re not very conducive to that.”

They pick him up and set him down, turning back to the spellbook she’d used the Academy funds to buy. Before this it was a shitty three-copper notebook that she took great pains to conceal, but this is a proper spellbook, with thick pages and a pretty purple leather cover. It’s the most luxurious thing Zephyr’s ever owned, and smells a little bit like lavender.

“All I have to do is impress them,” Zephyr tells themself, though she’s not sure exactly who “they” are yet, and don’t yet know how to impress. Their innate magic is very different from the spells they’ve been able to grasp so far - where Zephyr can remember the sparkling feeling of accidentally casting dancing lights or faerie fire on herself, this is nothing of the sort.

This is memorization, more, going over and over incantation and effect and intent and theory in their mind until they have magic concentrated like a beating heart and mind together in their body, just waiting to be released.

It’s the way they’ve learned to make it work. Their professors describe something different, but Zephyr has felt the welling feeling of possibility on the tip of their tongue, and can’t imagine any other way of casting. They’re no longer casting with her joy, but they’re still casting with everything of herself she can throw into it. Today, they’re content.

They open their spellbook proper, the lines on their face hardening as they concentrate. They know how to do this, or something like this. Like they’d said, all she has to do is impress. They’ll start breathing magic.

That’s plenty impressive.

26. Things you said while lying about yourself

“Zephyranthes Mirimm,” she says, holding out her hand.

Lona Mirimm looks at her with vague distrust in her eyes. Zephyr tries not to make it seem like it matters to her.

“I’ve never heard of you,” Lona says.

Zephyr waves that off. It’s easy to rebut, that. She’s practiced it a thousand times, preparing for this. “I doubt you would have. I’m not one of the generational Mirimms like I expect you are - my parents aren’t even Rosohnans. I’m from Asarius, originally. It’s so nice to meet you!”

She gives Lona a wide smile that they hope isn’t going to be seen through, and Lona finally takes her hand, then. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

One Mirimm down, Zephyr thinks to themself. Hopefully no more to go.

They’re not sure how far their pedigree will actually stretch, though she’s sure that when she does better than good in the Academy, no one will think to check.

She looks over her shoulder as she leaves Lona, accidentally catching her gaze. Zephyr blinks, jerks her head back to the front, and focuses on the tap-click of her new heels as she hurries down the hall.

[contentforthecrystal]

SkekMal reacting to someone flirting with his s/o~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Let me preface this by saying that obviously headcanons about jealous Skeksis is not a place you should be looking for examples of a perfect partner.)

- First things first, people flirting with you is going to be a rare thing because of SkekMals status and behavior. Rumors spread fast within Thra especially when it revolves around the skeksis, so if one of them is courting someone everyone or nearly everyone is going to know and no one dares defy or try in any way; whether purposefully or not, to disrespect them.

- Not to mention you are rarely around other beings since SkekMal is a hunter at heart and prefers to remain in the forests of Thra or away from civilization. There are only going to be so many chances in which someone has the opportunity to flirt with you and even then most will know who you are and not dare to. Although there is always going to be one poor misinformed soul.

- He notices nearly instantly considering he is pretty much always at your side or watching from afar. If he doesn’t notice then it means you’re not in his line of view which most likely means you snuck away from him for some reason. This will make him even more furious considering this predicament is occurring “because of your insolence”.

- His immediate thought is to have their disrespectful tongue as a trophy. It’s an insult in itself that they would even dare try to take what’s his. It’s the same as blatantly stealing from him.

- He’ll stalk behind the daring or just plain ignorant creature, towering over them as they attempt to woo you. The atmosphere will grow silent as the Skeksis shadow looms over the two of you. Soon enough the creature will notice especially as your eyes become trained above and behind him. Thra help him as he turns to see what’s distracting you.

“Skekmal please.”

- He’ll say nothing in return, the room will grow incredibly tense and the creature will attempt to leave offering his sincerest apologies. Skekmal will fix his eyes on you, tilting his head to the side and studying you, trying to figure you out, figure out “why you feel the need to test his restraint” (not like he has any).

“He meant nothing by it, I promise you. Please.”

- You pleading will only make him angrier; why are you so interested in the wellbeing of this lowly creature? He won’t listen to your attempts to reassure him and will immediately leave to find the creature all while you quickly run after him trying to stop the inevitable.

- And he’ll kill them before you, like a true cold blooded sadist while you stand in horror, eyes wide in fear. Try to run from him after that and he’ll throw you over his shoulder and take you “home” as you scream.

- If you wish to calm him and ensure that he doesn’t kill the poor fool, you’ll have to distract him. Brightly greet him, pretend as though you hardly noticed the creatures attempts at flirting, come up with some excuse as to why you left his side, do anything to keep him from acting on his feral urges. If you’re good enough than you can maybe convince him that ‘no, of course he wasn’t flirting, that’s merely how these creatures act with each other’.

- He’ll be tense all day, it doesn’t even matter whether or not he killed the creature although he will be in a worse state if he doesn’t. He’ll make you feel greatly uncomfortable as he stares at you, refuses to speak, stays just far enough from you that it feels as though you’re being stalked rather than being in the company of your beloved.

- You’ll have to soothe him, approach him yourself as he watches you suspiciously, curiously. Wrap yourself around him, praise him, insult the creature who flirted, boost his ego as you tell him how he’s the only thing in Thra that you could ever imagine being with. You might just have a chance at calming him and ridding him of his anger.

- Other times or rather most times he’ll be loud, growling, barking, bellowing out demands for you to explain yourself, tell him who you belong to,tell him that you hate him, that you prefer that dirty creature over him because it’s obvious you do. A Skeksis is above any other creature on Thra but he’s aware that it does not matter to you and that bothers him more than anything else. It’s his insecurities about his own nature that fuels his jealousy.

- He’s the hunter, skilled and beautiful and powerful but what if you do not see that? What if you wish to run from him? Surely he’d chase you, track you down and drag you back but that would never solve you losing the love you had for him. He could capture you as much as he pleases but he could never force you to feel, no matter how hard he can try.

- And what has he to offer you? Forget his status; the fact that he is a Skeksis, and think. He’s cruel, uncaring, unkind, he does not know how to love, how to be gentle and show you how much he cares, it’s not in his nature. What do you want with him? That creature, that disgusting sniveling worm could love you better than he and why wouldn’t they. If you were precious to him, he who feels nothing and has no fondness for anybody, then surely you would be precious to them.

- Don’t take offense when he insults you, his rage is ugly and you’ll see have to get used to it if you wish to be with him. You’ve effectively made him feel things he’s never felt before; inadequate, worthless, small, no matter if you meant to or not. He’s just lashing out in a way that’s normal for him, he doesn’t want to face his feelings, they aren’t comfortable and he’d like to keep them buried deep and far from your eyes.

- He’ll be rough with you, pulling and pushing, nails digging into your skin. He’ll pin you to things and make sure that you cannot escape his harsh voice.

- You will not be allowed out of his sight again nor will you be allowed outside of the campsite for quite a while afterwards.

- In conclusion having a jealous Skekmal seething at your side is not a fun time so it’s best to reject those who flirt with you as quickly as you can, hopefully before Skekmal can notice.

[popatochisssp]

Purely because I can and because no one can stop me, the Diamond AU version of this post...

Sans (Undertale): Blue Diamond’s court is very relaxed and casual. Not many stand on ceremony and there’s a lot of free-floating Pearls and Sea Glass that don’t particularly belong to anyone and are just sort of snagged by whoever needs them and then dismissed when they’re done. You’re one such Sea Glass, plucked up at random by a bored Blue and told to do...whatever it is you do best, just go for it. You’re almost frozen by nerves for a moment, but you do your best to get over it and perform your talent for your Diamond...who promptly falls asleep. You spend a solid week thinking yourself a boring failure and awaiting a dismissive shattering, but the next time Blue Diamond picks out a gem to entertain him, he chooses you again. On purpose. Apparently, you’re not boring, you’re lulling, and there’s nothing your Diamond loves more than sleeping. You guess...you’ll take it???

Papyrus (Undertale): You’re at a gala hosted by the illustrious Orange Diamond... or at least, you’re supposed to be. It’s the first ever party he’s thrown and no one’s quite sure how to act, what to do, how much fun, precisely, is allowed to be had... Even the highest ranking aristocratic gems are uncertain wallflowers, to say nothing of the servants like you who have so much more to lose by accidentally offending. Orange Diamond doesn’t look particularly pleased by the hesitance either, though, or the feedback-loop of anxiety that seems to be causing in everyone else. You suppose it’s chance that in a sweep of the room, it’s your eyes he meets. He marches straight to you, his physical form lighting up and beginning to change, shrinking around his gem, and by the time he reaches you said gem fills up his entire rib-cage but he’s your size...holding a gentlemanly hand out to you and asking if you’d care to dance. You can’t possibly refuse-- and seeing a Diamond dance with a simple Sea Glass certainly sets a standard of what’s ‘allowed’ at one of Orange’s balls. It may be your first dance, but it’s far from the last.

Sky (Underswap Sans): Yellow Diamond is always so busy, poring over budgets and reports and communications from all the other Diamonds, answering all kinds of questions, figuring out what to do and how the best way to do it is... It’s complicated stuff, lots of moving pieces, but he stays on top of it, for the bright future of the Empire! He has Pearls to assist with the minutiae anyway, plus fellow Diamonds to consult for the big stuff and he figures that’s probably about all he needs. He’s not sure how to take it, though, when a gem in a mostly unnoticed menagerie pipes up one day, unprompted, that he looks tired. You certainly have his attention when you say as much and you only double down when he picks you up to see you better. As a Sea Glass, you insist, you have a good sense for these things-- when’s the last time he took a break? Well, he................ Huh. You’ve got him there and as soon as he realizes it, he starts to laugh. Yellow Diamond is a straight-shooter who appreciates your brand of frankness and he thinks that maybe you’re the kind of gem he ought to keep around...? He’s been looking for an excuse--any excuse-- to go visit some more of Homeworld’s gardens and arboretums and you may be just the little enabler he’s been looking for!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): As far as Diamonds’ niches go, Green Diamond’s isn’t necessarily a glamorous one, but it’s one he’s proud of. Gems need working warp pads and well-maintained spires, after all, and maybe most in his position wouldn’t actually go check on the status of repairs personally, but... Well, even he wants to get up off his rear-end occasionally, and he finds it reminds the people that he’s around and invested, which is always good to do. He’s only cursorily looking things over on one such visit, half-listening to the Peridot reporting to him on the status of repairs when a much louder voice pulls his already distracted attention elsewhere... to you, a poor, frightened looking Sea Glass getting screamed at by your Malachite. He can’t quite figure out, from all the yelling, what it is you were supposed to have done wrong, but the longer he listens, the less he cares. Your Malachite looks utterly horrified when he makes his way over and they start apologizing profusely for the unseemly display, but he’s never been big on the whole punishment thing. He’d rather just...right the wrong. For you, that means being plucked up by a Diamond and settled on his shoulder, casual as anything as he announces, “this one’s mine, i’m takin’ ‘em.” So... you guess that makes you... Green Diamond’s now??? This is...probably going to take awhile to process...

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Red Diamond doesn’t have much of an entourage when it comes to non-combat-specialized gems. He’s always refused Pearls and cited the rough and tumble nature of fighting on the front lines to expand the empire as the reason he won’t even keep a harem of Sea Glass for entertainment. One Sea Glass is more than enough for him and that’s you, your Diamond’s tiny treasured favorite. You are utterly spoiled for your gem type and you know it, spending most of your days lounging on the small army of pillows he’s amassed around you to keep you safe, even if you should somehow poof. It would be easy to write yourself off as his pet... if you hadn’t seen firsthand how attentively he watches you when you perform for him, or the way he only really relaxes when he’s alone with you, stroking your back or telling you jokes or asking you to glow for him. As crazy as it seems, you’re pretty sure that Red Diamond’s heart is truly yours... and maybe someday, you’ll actually work up the courage to ask him if that’s true.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Black Diamond has many Sea Glass and a handful of Pearls to attend him. You’re among their number and you’ve started to notice something. Something... upsetting. In public, all his other servants and entertainers seem to have free rein when it comes to his person-- they’re allowed to stand by his feet, to hop into his open palm, even to perch up on his shoulder! But not you. Whenever he sees you, you’re promptly picked up and held like a doll in his closed fist, forbidden to roam about or stand where you choose and you have no idea what that means. Does he...not trust you? Does he think you’re the type to run away? You certainly can’t do much to entertain, held like that, so does he...not want you to perform where others can see? Are you an embarrassment?! You spend a lot of time fretting about this, worrying yourself to be inadequate, before you finally understand it. Black Diamond’s brought you to a war meeting, holding you in his gently closed fist as always, and you watch a fusion of quartzes-- enough to be more than half the height of your Diamond himself--run in with urgent news. Carelessly, they run into a Sea Glass and you flinch to see the poor gem poof and then shatter under their feet... and when her owner starts to squawk in outrage, Black Diamond’s hand squeezes around you. “THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LEAVE PRECIOUS THINGS OUT TO BE TRAMPLED,” he says to quiet the other gem before demanding the update from the quartz. The war meeting continues on all around you, but protected there in your Diamond’s grip, his thumb idly stroking your hair... you start to feel warm.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): The gem who made you is not your master. You don’t know that you’d want the Ametrine with wild and unpleasant mood swings to be your master, but you also don’t particularly love your situation because you’re meant to be a gift for the luminous Purple Diamond...a gem who’s never once taken a Sea Glass and who only begrudgingly allows an assistant Pearl. The Ametrine seems confident that you’re well-made enough to be an exception, something that will win her a Diamond’s favor, but when the moment comes that you’re to be handed over... Purple Diamond hardly seems impressed with you. You kind of want to run and hide as he stares you down and the Ametrine just keeps talking about what a good gift you’ll be and how much you’ll enrich his life and you really just want her to shut up, but she won’t and you are genuinely starting to fear for your future at this point. And then Purple Diamond’s Pearl speaks up, saying... well, all manner of unkind things about you and how you’re unnecessary, just a knockoff, bootleg Pearl that is obviously not needed in the presence of the real thing. Apparently, this is your saving grace: as you come to find out later, Purple Diamond isn’t all that fond of his Pearl--mostly because he hates to be spoken for--and nothing in that moment made you quite so appealing as the opportunity to be contrary. He reaches down, offering his hand for you to step into as his Pearl sputters and protests and just like that, you are a Diamond’s Sea Glass, exactly as planned. ...You wonder how it’s going to pan out.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): You never expected to end up alone, on a colony-in-progress, standing over Violet Diamond’s gem. The organics were supposed to have been driven off and no one had thought they had the power to dissipate a quartz’s body, much less a Diamond’s. The rest of the entourage had already scattered, not wanting to stay and find out what these lifeforms could do to lesser gems if they could take down the most powerful among them. The Sea Glass like you, you could understand, but the soldiers and guards you cursed out vigorously for leaving you here alone, with organics closing in on you. You...probably should’ve run with the rest, but... Violet Diamond was always kind to you, holding you carefully and letting you rest in the hood of his cloak and showing you interesting and usually fuzzy things from each new world he explored... Those fond memories wouldn’t let you leave him defenseless, and even though you’re only one fragile Sea Glass, you find the strength somewhere in your gem to summon something to defend yourself with. Luck is on your side and you don’t have to fight for long, Purple Diamond and a whole host of troops arriving to drive back the little rebellion and all you can do is stand there shaking and clutching your rudimentary weapon. Violet Diamond reforms quickly and when Purple tells him what you did, he looks at you with...the softest and most sincere smile you’ve ever seen. “guess i know who my real friends are, huh?” he muses, scooping you up into his hand. It takes a lot of shushing and soothing before you can calm down, but he gets you there. You feel like there’s been a shift in your relationship, though...and it feels like a good one.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): You’re the first-- the prototype for a new kind of gem, a Sea Glass. You’ve gone through all the preliminary analyses and tests and now you’re being presented to Gray Diamond to decide if your type is viable. His expression is too hard for you to read as he looks down at you from his impressive height, asking quiet questions to your handlers about your cut and specs and purpose. You’ve never been more scared in all your four or five planet rotations than when he picks you up in his massive hand, using his other to carefully tug at your limbs and nudge your face this way and that to get a better look at all of you. “...cute,” seems to be his final judgment, and then looking you right in the eye, “woulda loved to’ve been there when you formed. bet it was a real sight to see.” It’s...it’s probably the most flattering thing anyone has ever said about you, and the fact that it’s your first compliment ever doesn’t cheapen it at all. You’re flattered, happy, and totally beyond your control, you start to do something you’ve never done before: you glow. It surprises everyone, most of all yourself, and Gray Diamond looks at you with one wide eye-socket, practically awed (which does not make your glowing problem lessen at all). “think i’ll hold onto this one,” he tells the engineers. “try ‘em out, see if we could use more.” There are many more Sea Glass made after you, but you’re the only one kept by Gray Diamond.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): You’re a cracked Sea Glass. If there’s one thing gems in your situation aren’t, it’s ‘in short supply,’ so you are only one of dozens sitting in Brown Diamond’s research facilities. Nobody’s ever really explained to you what they’re trying to do here and it’s never been your place to question, but neither are you stupid and you realize, sitting beneath all their scanners and nodes and experimental devices, that the technicians here are trying to fix you. You can’t imagine how beneficial that research would be to the Empire-- to more important gems than you, especially-- so you continue to comply with all the tests and treatments obediently, understanding your purpose as a guinea pig; the coal-mine-canary. Brown Diamond himself comes to speak to you one day and he’s kinder than you expected him to be, even shapeshifting himself smaller to talk to you easier. He seems unduly concerned with your comfort levels and you feel compelled to assure him that you don’t mind experiencing pain or unpleasantness if it’s to find out how to fix broken gems like you. He looks at you strangely, like you said something silly. “You Don’t Need To Be Fixed,” he says. “You’re Not Broken, Just Hurt.” And to your surprise, he goes on to say that you and the others like you aren’t expendable in all this research, like you’d thought-- in fact, everything stops if it looks like a treatment may hurt you or damage your gem any worse than it already is, no matter how promising it is otherwise. “I Want To Help Gems Here,” he explains, “Not Hurt Them,” and just like that, in that one moment of moving empathy... you think you may have a crush on a Diamond. Much as you’d very much like to not be cracked anymore, you hope that it takes the scientists a long time to figure out this healing thing, so you can see him a lot more often...