#it's one of those times I write in one go and end up posting it

[blossoms-phan]

What The Hell. like genuinely do we realize. just their cadence of speech and the way they carry themselves now is so different to the way it was years ago, and that shows itself in everything from videos to what they post on social media to what they’ve been doing on stage for the last few months but like. god. i hold ii as a stage show and the whole era like very close to my heart it really hurts to know how much dan struggled in that time and that it was supposed to be the end of Dan and Phil (it wasn’t!!) but I’ve been thinking about just how completely different ii and tit are as stage shows and the way dnp perform them and it’s like i saw someone wondering about the acting in ii and though it was heavily dependent on audience participation a lot of the show was also acting and it’s not that they didn’t do it well! they’re great performers and maybe I don’t remember bc I wasn’t super into the phandom ar that time but it just felt like they were a lot stiffer performing it and that they didn’t really let themselves mess up or be silly a lot (outside of what was scripted I mean). someone lmk if you have different thoughts on this bc I haven’t rewatched it in a while this is just a ramble but i am so so happy about everything that tit is and that I got to experience this version of them as a longtime fan because it is so, so evident that they are really in the dgaf era, being unapologetically themselves, no one can tell us what to do and just having the most fun ever- that all comes out through the way they carry themselves on stage, improv silly little things for fun, genuinely laugh and smile through it all and dan calling phil babe. that’s the whole reason I started writing this like. cheers dear. it’s okay honey. we let ourselves phannie out over those moments as well but this feels so different?? and we haven’t even gotten audio yet but idk how to explain this I just feel like if phil had messed up a line years ago it would’ve been like a more performance level reaction y’know, like an eye roll and a this guy which dan still very much does, but just genuinely letting an “it doesn’t matter babe” slip out like????????????? they’re literally just boyfriends partners in life actual soulmates who live and work and do everything together doing this stupid silly fucking stage show together every night and dan can just call him babe and they move on and do the show talking about them sharing a bed and the ways they’ve supported each other through this whole thing and how they’ve gotten to this point of beautiful shared authentic fun with their audience and fucking press their hands together and go back to back after that song like this has no fucking clear point to it and yet im losing my mind. does anyone hear me

[fillinforlater]

The Archive of Smite

This page belongs to the writer named Smite. He wrote fics starting in September of 2021 up until April 2024. In these 2,5 years, over 8.000 people followed him to read some of the craziest k-pop girl group smut out there. Almost 150 stories of sex in all kinds of positions, for many reasons, all over the world (and in outerspace), with too many kinks to count.

"When I started, I kinda wanted to become the best. I wanted my favorite writers at the time - Levi, Peach, Sins, and many more - to know that I could write as good as they can. I wanted to go wilder and crazier."

Smite, though ambitious, was also stupid and naive. At roughly the same time he started writing, two other community legends began their careers. IZ and Kaede crushed everything in their sight, especially the former becoming an absolute legend.

"Writing was fun. At times, it was escapism from everyday worries. At other times, it was fulfillment of fantasies I could never reach. Mostly though, it was just horny. BFH that just became words. If you go through my Masterlist, you might see which idols had some random heights or were just... Always on my hot list."

Smite never really stopped writing, not for long stretches that is. It didn't really occur to him that there might be a sudden, drastic reason to stop. He considered doing so anyways. Something about writing porn about irl people without them knowing or wanting - needless to say, it is an odd hobby. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it amd the community it brought with it.

"I fucking love these guys. So many hilarious peoplefrom all over the world. One became like my best friend, a rock during my emotional struggles. Another was my boyfriend for a short time. Man, I screwed up with him kekw. There are too many to mention. I've had long talks with some, others just came by and listened to me mald or something. I love you all, some of you I consider true friends - part of my soul - and I feel connected, even if you are thousands of miles away."

2024 started stressful for Smite. The pressure of Uni started to collapse on him. Even the thought of big kpop concerts wasn't enough to cheer him up. Luckily though, there was this girl. Sweet, kind, caring and in the same position. Soon, he had found something that seemed impossible. She was in love with him and he in love with her. And when everything unraveled.

"I stopped writing. I burried my drafts. I finished only one story and released it way later. I'm sorry I didn't announce it properly, but I just felt that this smut writing career was over. I don't regret it - I gained something beautiful I want to keep for the rest of my life. She is at least as pretty as Minju, so I call that the biggest win imaginable lol."

So no more smuts from Smite?

"99% no"

No more fanfictions/girl group stories in general?

"Eh, 80% no. Still some unfinished angst that I would love y'all to read tho"

Will you ever reach those 150 fics?

"We will see. In this count there are fics with less than 1000 words. I might just sneeze and finish it kekw"

Any fic you regret not writing?

"Not really? Maybe a proper ending for Starship: Horizon? Or yet another Minju fic? Futa stuff? Gaeul angst x female reader? Or how about a fic with 69 different idols at once? Who but me would dare to write something so stupid?"

Do you think you reached your initial goal?

"Do I consider myself the GOAT? No. That title belongs to either Peach, Levi or IZ. But I know that of my now 8.700 followers some consider me their favorite writer. I'm flattered and thank you very much for reading amd enjoying my work."

Now for the most important question: does this post mean you are finally leaving the community behind for good? Is this your last hoorah?

"..."

"Never."

[chithereader]

playing it cool / aaron hotchner

[credits to the owners of these photos!!]

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff!!!!!!

cw: sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, so much of aaron’s thoughts because we know that man thinks soo much more than he speaks!!

a/n: hiiii this is my third post so far and tbh i was so nervous to post the first two as that was my first time ever posting any of my writings anywhere!! but i’ve been getting so much more love on those than expected and i just really wanted to say thank you so much for all the likes and reblogs <33 i was honestly only expecting less than 10 notes as a newbie and reaching up to 200 is so so so wonderful. and especially for the love of hotch i– ugh!!!!! i already love u all 

The team had worked a straight 5 weeks worth of cases prior, which had warranted Strauss to grant them all a mandatory 3-day rest. This simply meant that for 3 whole days there are no cases, no deadlines, and no new case files. They could come to the office at whatever time they’d like as long as they finished some reports at the end of the day. 

Aaron being Hotch the boss man still aimed to arrive at the office at a reasonable time– 7:30am. To be fair, this is an hour and a half later than when he usually arrives at the office. And in his mind, the earlier he arrives, the more he can get done, and the more he gets done, the earlier he can come home. 

This is the only reason why he is up at 6:00am on a supposed rest day. He did expect that he’d struggle a bit more to drag himself out of bed, knowing you’d be keeping him hostage with limbs that wrap around him in ways he can’t begin to understand, but to his surprise, you weren’t there. 

Dragging his feet across the carpeted floor, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and white shirt fitting him oh-so-snugly, he tries to find you. He’s rubbing the sleep of his eyes as he peeks his head into your shared bathroom. No sign of you. 

He’s covering his mouth as he yawns when he quietly opens the door to Jack’s bedroom–still no sign of you. Remembering his son has been nursing a stomach bug since yesterday, he opened the door further to check on him. No fever. No chills. No sign of discomfort. 

When he’s sure Jack’s okay, he turns around to go back to find where you went. He even checked the backyard as he passed by a window to see if you’re at your favorite swing reading, that perhaps you just woke up early and wanted to feel the morning sun because you claimed it lightens you. 

He smiles a little to himself as he treads downstairs, finally hearing your soft murmurs as you spoke with someone presumably over the phone. As he neared the kitchen he realized that the person on the line was your colleague and friend Tilly, and that she was on speaker phone making it easy to listen in. 

He slows down his steps as he nears the landing and pauses when he gets behind a wall near the kitchen. He doesn’t know what came over him. He doesn’t usually sneak around to eavesdrop, nor did he ever feel the need to especially when it came to you. You tell him everything, prompted and unprompted. 

But perhaps it was the haze of the morning or the curiosity of what could possibly get you out of bed this early when you’re usually the one snoozing away as he’s getting ready for work– he stayed quiet behind that wall and made it his mission to understand the conversation. 

He clears his mind and strains his ear, going as far as making his breaths slow and far apart. 

He hears Tilly giggling, “Don’t get me wrong, Adam from Finance is really cute but.. isn’t he just a little too serious? He’s always got that frown going on.” 

You sigh a little loudly, obvious that it’s a sigh to humor and not of exasperation, “Tilly, you know I love you, but every day you complain about being single. And every other day there’s a decent guy who you always always find that one flaw in that just crosses them off for you forever.” Tilly lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. 

“That is so not tr–” “Oh, Hugh’s just too clean. And Frederick’s too hard, it’s like- scary. Yes, veiny hands are hot but there’s veiny and too veiny, and Jason was just a double too veiny.” 

Aaron momentarily pauses his listening and looks down at his hands, suddenly conscious where he fit in that category. Factoring in his age, his work, and the action he gets from the field– these all show. He tried thinking of a time you could’ve shown any dislike or disgust towards his hands but all he could think of was that one night when he cupped your face and you leaned towards it more, turning slightly to take his thumb into your mou–

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears Tilly asking about you leaving, “What time are you getting to the office by the way? I just don’t want to get there without you. Adam might ask about that second date and I just need you as my bluff, my beautiful girl.” He makes a mental note to message Jessica before you both get ready for work. 

“Riiiight. Remind me how many guys have I scared off for you now? And how many times have I helped you scare them off? Besides, I can’t go today and I’ve already told Bobby I’m on leave.” 

In a slight surprise and panic Tilly whines, “What?! Why? You’re such a traitor. You know damn well I get so bored without you.” Aaron didn’t even know you were planning on staying home. You hadn’t mentioned anything about it last night which made him even more curious what made you decide. 

He hears your soft laugh, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll manage a day without me. I mean you have to– my son caught a stomach bug yesterday so I just want to make sure he’ll recover completely.” 

Aaron can hear Tilly responding, something about soup and warm baths, but his heart has just stopped so he’s not really processing any new words at the moment. 

My son. My son. My son. My son caught a stomach bug. 

He feels lightheaded. His heart kickstarts again, his pulse is ringing in his ear. He can feel his chest pounding to his heart’s beat. The words that rolled off your lips so effortlessly, so mindlessly, echoes in his head. 

Jack may be young but he is smart. So so smart beyond his years. And he has grown to understand what had happened to his mom Haley, but not once has he– and even you allowed Jack to forget who Haley is and how much she loves him. 

Images of you joining in their traditions of honoring and remembering Haley plays in his head in flashes. You helping Jack arrange a bouquet for Haley’s death anniversary. You helping Jack make a card for her birthday. You mixing the paint to get the right shades as Jack paints a portrait of Haley for his Mothers’ Day homework. 

Aaron had told you everything there was to know about Haley and you’ve listened. He knows you adore her. You adore her for the same reasons he adored her. You understood the space Haley had in his life and in Jack’s life, and not once were you ever jealous, immature, or selfish about it. Even though he would’ve completely understood if you were. 

You were nothing but supportive, and understanding, and loving. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when you deserved better. Admittedly, there was a point in time when he struggled with coming to terms with falling in love– with you nonetheless. You’re young, ambitious, brilliant, talented, insanely beautiful, and unfairly kind. 

When the two of you had met, this was his profile: divorced with a kid, recovering from trauma that stemmed from being stabbed multiple times in his own home, emotionally unavailable, annoyingly serious and fatally dull– which really makes him wonder what made you fall in love with him in the first place, and even more so what made you stay even when he was bafflingly dense about how you felt about him.  

He didn’t know how long he was standing there, like a deer caught in headlights. Replaying your words and his memories over and over again, slowly coming to the conclusion that you’re absolutely perfect and he’s absolutely gone for you. 

Slowly coming to his senses, Aaron becomes more aware of the silence. The call must have ended while he was having realizations about things. He rounds the corner silently, getting a feel of where you’re facing. Luckily he guesses right, that you’re facing away from him. 

You were rummaging through the fridge– the vegetable drawer if he had to guess, judging by how much you’re slouching and reaching, and the sound of the glass containers you use to prolong their freshness. 

He quickly surveys the scene- your phone is on the counter, beside it is a chopping board with carrots and onions, a carton of chicken broth, Jack’s favorite dinosaur-shaped pasta, and chocolate milk– the one drink you both know can make Jack feel instantly better, happier. 

His heart pinches again. You got up early to make sure Jack had something to eat for breakfast in time for his medicine. You got up early even though you aren’t planning on going to work. You aren’t going to work because you want to stay with Jack. You called Jack your son. 

With so many things running in his head, he stands quietly observing you finding god knows whatever vegetable. Maybe it's the intensity of his stare or the volume of his thoughts, or maybe he started to breathe loudly– but suddenly you knew he was there. He could tell. 

You slowly straightened your back from when you were leaning. Your hands have stopped rummaging through the drawer, and he could see the goosebumps on your legs and shoulders from the way the sunlight hits you through the kitchen window. 

You turn around slowly, as if you were just caught doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” grimacing as if it was a crime to be hot and cute and gut-wrenchingly-sweet. 

“No.” His voice is groggy. Deep and rough given that he just woke up minutes ago and hasn’t really used it since. Looking at you through studying eyes, he clears his throat “Uhm, I woke up to get ready for work and you weren’t there.” 

Aaron suddenly feels a little cold. The thin material of his shirt and pajamas doing little to contain what warmth he has left in his body. Or maybe it’s you, maybe his body has sensed that you’re near and is now craving your warmth, making him feel a magnified amount of its absence.

“Oh.. I’m sorry I just wanted to get ahead of cooking so Jack can have soup before he takes his medicine at 8 and since I was also planning to do some work though I’m on leave, it just made sense to get an early start…” You slow your words, noticing how Hotch is studying you tenfold in the moment, as if you were an apparition, “Are you okay? Did you want soup too? I can pack you some before you go?”

His silence makes you panic a little. You can’t really tell if he’s upset about something or if he’s sleepwalking, “Or you can eat here. I mean– you live here, of course you can eat here. I mean like instead of bringing it to the office– not that if you eat here, you can’t bring some anymore.” 

The longer he stays silent, adoring you, the more you scramble to fill the silence, “I’m just– you know you can do whatever you want. You can eat here, there, anywhere. Unless you don’t want soup. I mean we still have leftover steak, I cou–” 

You pause your rambling because you can see a smile starting to form on his face. A real, big smile. Laugh lines and dimples and all, which makes you smile. Realizing how stupid you were sounding and how funny the situation was becoming, you started giggling.

And just as you think he’s about to join the laughter to make fun of you, his smile softens and he says, “Marry me.” 

[lamiadrowned]

Hey, how are you? Before I make my request, I wanted to say that I couldn't find your rules, so if the content of this request is not to your liking, please ignore it.

Could you please write Jinx fucking her girlfriend several times in a row and the reader ends up squirting?

ty ❤️

*:･ﾟ✧ all night, keep moving

jinx x fem!reader | nsfw

such a yummy request thank you! i’m currently working on a post for my request rules as well as a masterlist, so that should be up soon :)

“just one more, ‘kay?”

that’s a very common lie when jinx gets in this mood of hers– the one where she has all this steam to blow off. it’s never just one more, and to make matters worse, she never goes easy on you, either.

she’s repeated those words like a personal, but very dishonest mantra before the last three orgasms you’d had tonight. it’s no secret that her stamina is unmatched, but you can’t understand how her hand hasn’t already cramped up, or more absurdly, completely fallen off.

her middle and ring finger are thrusting in and out of you at a break-neck speed, sparks that feel like a crack of lightning going up your back each time she curls them into that spot that makes you see stars. the heel of her hand presses harshly into your clit with each movement. she’s on top of you, shirt long forgotten about somewhere on the floor of your room whilst you’re completely naked, and she’s grinning down at you with pride in how much of a mess she’s made out of you.

there’s an odd feeling stirring inside of your belly, somewhere deep and guttural. you arch your back and gasp when she thrusts especially hard, only worsening this unfamiliar sensation.

“jinx,” you cry, grabbing onto her wrist of the hand that is gently holding onto your neck to ensure that you can’t go anywhere. “too much!”

“oh, too much?” she mocks you. “c’mon, but you’re doing so good for me!”

you squeeze your eyes shut, a single tear running down your temple. “s-slow down!”

much to your surprise, jinx obliges this request. she slots her fingers inside of you and slowly continues to curl her fingers in a steady rhythm, leaning down to plant a kiss on your cheek. “i know, honey. it’s a lot, huh?” she mumbles sweetly, though you know she’s only teasing you. you nod regardless, inhaling her familiar scent in attempt to ground yourself– sweet peas and gunpowder. “don’t think you can take it?”

you whine in protest, grip tightening on her wrist. “i can! i can… i can take it,” you breathe through your whimpers.

“but you just said it was too much?” she feigns confusion as she tilts her head, only to see a couple more desperate tears fall from your eyes. the power she has over you gives her a head rush.

at this point, you have no chance of forming a coherent sentence, so you just close your shaking thighs around her hand in attempt to keep her there. she laughs, but moves her free hand down to spread them apart again, her nose slightly brushing yours. “you’re so fucking cute, you know that? can’t even talk,” she beams. then, her fingers speed up the rhythm of their ceaseless curling, her hand that was previously on your thigh now moving to rub your clit with her thumb. a gasp rips itself from your throat and you arch your back, crying out from the sheer pleasure and shock.

“there we go.” jinx encourages you, feeling your bruised walls tightening around her fingers with reckless abandon. “you gonna cum for me? yeah?”

your moans make up for the words you can no longer find. they bounce off the walls and fill jinx’s ears, a symphony she hopes to hear again and again, because just like you, she knows this won’t be the last time she pushes you over the edge tonight.

that feeling in your stomach builds to a peak that your body can no longer withstand, feeling as if you’ve been set on fire from the inside out. before you know it, your eyes are rolling back into your head, your body is arching into the girl on top of you– for a moment there, you totally black out.

but jinx? she’s sure to watch every second. her smile grows impossibly wide when she feels a splash of wetness against her hand, looking down to behold a sight that only spurs her on further. “look at that! jeez, babe!” she laughs breathlessly, looking up at you without stopping her ministrations.

you squirm and cry and use your hands to try pushing her away after a long few seconds, body burning with the overstimulation of her movements. luckily, she listens, and slows her wet hands down before running them up your waist. you slump against the bed, comforted by her touch and unbelievably exhausted. “i’m– i’m sorry,” you whisper, throat so sore you’ll have to make a mental note to check the bathroom cabinet for cough drops.

“you’re sorry?!” she gasps. then, she moves up to press a sweet bunch of kisses to your tear-stained face. your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks, your nose, and then, your mouth. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i didn’t even know you could do that!”

“i didn’t either.” you huff out a pathetic laugh, weakly wrapping your arms around her shoulders to pull her down into a kiss. her teeth and tongue brush against your lips, which is one of many signs that she’s nowhere near done with you.

this suspicion is confirmed when she pulls away to start kissing at your neck. you thread your fingers through her long ribbons of hair and hum in satisfaction. “take a breather, alright? i’ll go get you some water. i’ve gotta make you do that one more time before you’re out of commission.” she speaks into your neck, her words sending another wave of arousal through your delicate system.

maybe you could stand to last a few more rounds. after all, there’s no such thing as ‘one more time’ with jinx.

[elixirina]

Hey! I saw your post about requests being open (and that you enjoy writing angst)! I humbly submit for consideration toward any of the following: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Lexi Grey, or Kara Danvers.

Reader being discovered in the wee hours of the morning, unconscious or barely conscious, outside characters place of work or place they frequent (home, thinking spot, running path, etc etc) with a pretty serious wound. It's getting to the colder months of the year so them being out unsheltered seemingly all night makes the situation that much worse.

Tone of the ending and reason for them being in that situation I shall leave up to your preference. I hope this tickles your creative juices :)

hihi!! i really loved this request and i decided to make it a natasha fic!! i incorportated most of what you said and added some things and changed some but i love how this turned out. hope you enjoy !!

# here, kitty kitty — iron man!natasha romanoff x fem!blackcat!reader

synopsis — after a rather long day, natasha's met with a bloody surprise on her fire escape.

warnings — reader being a flirtatious mess, physical injury, mentions of blood, nat trying not to curse, angst, i don't think anything else

please please please reblog and like 🤍

© elixirina — all rights reserved. my work is never to be reposted, translated, modified, etc, even if i am credited.

the sky was a blanket of soft gray, heavy with clouds that spilled a steady drizzle onto the world below. raindrops danced against the windows, their rhythmic tapping filling the quiet air. the new york streets glistened with a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the blurred colors of the passing cars and neon street signs. luckily, most new york residents were used to this kind of weather this time of year, yourself included.

after a rather nasty fight with another vigilante, you found yourself roaming the dark, empty streets, bloodied and battered.

you contemplated going back to your apartment, but you knew these streets like the back of your hand; you knew you were at least 20 minutes away.

so, you looked for the next best thing: natasha’s apartment.

now, you’d only known the woman for a short amount of time, but to be completely honest, you felt safer going to her than anyone else. maybe you were just going soft. whatever.

a cool, damp breeze carried the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth and pavement, the rain blowing in your face as it did so. everything seemed to move slower, as though the rain had draped a calming hush over the bustling city.

as you walked, you could feel the blood gushing out of each and every one of your wounds. you knew it was a stupid idea, walking the one mile to her apartment but you would just have to pull through. though, there was no denying the unbearable agony you were in.

limping your way through the streets, the apartment complex natasha lived in, came into view. it was a tall, building with weathered bricks and fire escapes zigzagging down the sides.

knowing you couldn't enter the building because that would cause suspicion, you slowly made your way to the side of the building, where the fire escapes were lined on the walls. you did a quick check for cameras, which fortunately, there were none.

you look up, examining all six rows of windows. natasha was on the fourth floor. fourth row, fifth window. now, how the hell were you going to climb up that latter and all those stairs? shit.

you'd done this before, obviously, but with a burning sensation in your abdomen? definitely not.

with a resigned sigh, you gritted your teeth and reached for the cold metal of the fire escape ladder. the rain made everything slick, and your bloodied, gloved fingers slipped slightly, but you held on, determined. each movement sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through your body, but you pulled through on. you couldn’t risk being seen like this.

the first rung was the hardest, your muscles screaming in protest. it felt like every cell in your body wanted to quit, but the thought of natasha—of her calm, steady presence—propelled you upward. one rung. then another. the ladder creaked softly under your weight, blending with the hum of the rain.

by the time you reached the first platform, your breathing was ragged, your vision blurring slightly.

you paused, leaning against the railing as you gathered your strength. the rain continued to fall, drenching you completely now, but it dulled the sharp sting of your wounds, if only for a moment.

"come on," you muttered to yourself, wiping the rain from your eyes with the back of your hand. "just three more floors." you cracked your neck.

the climb was agonizing. every pull of your arms and push of your legs sent pain radiating through your body, but you couldn’t stop. Not now. not when you were so close. when you finally reached the fourth floor, you nearly collapsed against the railing. your hands trembled as you forced yourself to move toward natasha’s window.

fifth window, you reminded yourself, counting them out one by one. there it was. the faint glow of a lamp illuminated the room inside, but no on inside. let it be her who leaves her lights on all the time.

you cursed under your breath, the rain pouring down even harder than before. you sat down on the platform, though even that movement felt like fire in your body.

you were certainly hoping she was just in her bedroom. however, when you knocked on the glass of the window, there was no response.

"wow, the universe is really on my side today." you uttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes to the best of your ability.

minutes dragged on, and your patience wore thin. just as you contemplated dragging yourself back down the fire escape—a terrible idea, given your condition—you heard the faint click of heels on pavement below. you perked up, glancing over the edge, and there she was. natasha. walking toward the building with an umbrella in one hand and a paper bag in the other, completely unaware of the disaster waiting for her on the fire escape.

“nat,” you breathed in relief, your voice barely audible even to yourself.

she stopped by the front door, scanning her surroundings with the precision of someone who never let her guard down. her gaze darted upward, freezing the moment it landed on you. for a split second, her face was unreadable. then, her brows furrowed in a way that made your chest ache more than your wounds.

“are you freaking kidding me?” she called up, her voice sharp, though it cracked slightly at the end.

her umbrella clattered to the ground as she darted into the alley and grabbed the fire escape ladder. the metal groaned softly under her weight, but natasha moved fast, climbing with a precision that reminded you just how good she was at what she did.

“hey, red,” you rasped when she reached you, managing the ghost of a grin. “miss me?”

she crouched in front of you, her sharp green eyes scanning your face, then trailing down to the rest of you. the exasperation you expected was nowhere to be found. instead, her expression darkened as she took in the full extent of your injuries. blood soaked through the leather of your suit, and a nasty gash on your bicep had left a trail of crimson dripping onto the platform below.

her jaw tightened. “what the hell happened to you?”

“ran into someone who didn’t appreciate my charm,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “jealous, maybe.”

natasha didn’t laugh. her eyes lingered on the wound on your abdomen, and when she reached out to inspect it, her fingers brushed against your side. you flinched, unable to hold back a sharp hiss of pain.

“god,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. she knelt closer, her hands hovering over the worst of the damage as though she wasn’t sure where to start. “why didn’t you go to your place and then a hospital?”

“c’mon, red,” you said, forcing a smirk despite the searing pain. “hospitals don’t let you flirt with their nurses like this. figured i'd wait here until i heard, 'here, kitty kitty'.” you chuckled, the sensation making your stomach ache.

“stop it,” she snapped, her voice suddenly harsh. her gaze shot up to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw something crack in her carefully composed exterior. “this isn’t funny.”

you blinked, your smirk faltering. “nat—”

“do you have any idea how bad this is?” she interrupted, her tone sharp but trembling. her hand pressed lightly against the wound on your abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding. “damn it, y/n, if i hadn’t come back just now…” she trailed off, her jaw clenching as she swallowed hard.

“hey,” you said softly, your voice weaker now. you lifted your hand to the best of your ability, placing it on her cheek. “i’m fine. i made it here, didn’t i?”

she shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line as she helped you to your feet. “you’re an idiot,” she muttered, but the words lacked venom.

“yeah, but i’m your idiot,” you teased weakly, leaning on her as she guided you through the open window.

once inside, she eased you down onto the couch and crouched in front of you again. as she grabbed the first aid kit, you noticed her hands were shaking ever so slightly. she opened the kit with the kind of precision that spoke to how many times she’d done this before, but her silence hung heavy between you.

god, this pained you. the last thing you wanted to do was worry her, and you had done just that. “nat,” you started, but she cut you off.

“don’t,” she said sharply, not looking at you as she began to open your suit, cleaning the blood from your side. “just… don’t.”

the sting of antiseptic made you flinch, but you bit your tongue. her movements were firm but careful, her focus locked entirely on patching you up.

after a few moments, “you scared me,” she said finally, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the words hung heavy in the air, and the sharp edge of anger was gone now, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

you blinked, caught off guard. “nat…”

“no,” she cut you off, setting the cloth down and sitting back on her heels. her eyes, now shimmering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, met yours. “do you even get it? i come home, and I see you—half-dead, bleeding out on my fire escape like it’s just another...freaking tuesday.”

her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed by the slip. she ran a hand through her damp hair, taking a steadying breath. “do you have any idea what went through my head when i saw you up there?”

“natasha,” you tried again, softer this time.

“i thought you were dead,” she continued, ignoring you. H=her fists clenched at her sides. “for a split second, I thought I was too late. and the worst part? the worst part is that you probably don’t even care. you’ll laugh it off, throw some stupid flirt my way, and act like it’s fine. like you didn’t just scare the hell out of me.”

her words hit you harder than you expected, the guilt settling deep in your chest. you just wanted to say sorry, even though you knew that wasn't enough. you wanted to tell her how much you felt for her and how you were never going anywhere. you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but she wasn’t done.

“do you know how many people i’ve lost because of this kind of stupidity? people who thought they were invincible, who thought they could take the hit and keep going?” she was looking at you again now, her green eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something that looked a lot like fear. “i can’t… i can’t do that again.”

your breath hitched. you’d seen natasha angry before, you’d seen her annoyed, amused, even borderline fond. but this? this was different. this made your stomach churn.

“natasha,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “i didn’t mean to—”

“i don’t care what you meant,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “you think it doesn’t matter, that you can just push through anything, but it matters to me, okay? you matter to me.”

the confession hit you like a punch to the gut. for a moment, the pain in your body was secondary to the ache in your chest. you’d always known natasha cared in her own way but hearing her say it—hearing the crack in her voice as she did—made it feel real in a way you hadn’t expected.

you swallowed hard, your usual bravado slipping away. you propped yourself up with your shoulders, despite the ache. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you said softly, the teasing edge completely gone from your voice. “i swear, i didn’t.”

her shoulders slumped slightly, some of the fire in her expression dimming. she let out a shaky breath, her hands falling to her lap. “then stop doing this to me,” she whispered. “stop making me wonder if the next time you show up, it’ll be the last.”

the silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the window. you reached out, your hand brushing against hers. “i’m sorry. i'm so fucking sorry. i know that's not enough, but i mean it.” you said, the apologies meaning more than they ever had before.

for a moment, she didn’t respond. then, finally, she squeezed your hand, her grip firm but trembling. “just don’t make me regret caring about you,” she said quietly.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i won’t.”

neither of you spoke after that, but her hand stayed in yours, and in the quiet of the rain-soaked room, you promised yourself you wouldn’t let her down again.

[ink-and-dagger]

Hi Legacy, thank you for your comment and for your compliment about my writing. Unfortunately, Tumblr wouldn’t let me leave this response to your comment under the fic, so I am having to add it onto your reblog. Something I really, genuinely, did not want to have to do.

I hear what you are saying, and am in full agreement with you - tags play a vital role in reader protection, and there’s nothing more frustrating (and in some cases dangerous) than people misusing them.

However, a few words now in my own defence.

I am not new here. I have been writing and posting Silco fics since Arcane first aired back in 2021. It seems more likely in this case that you are new if not to the Arcane fandom then to my blog/writing specifically - so allow me to provide a bit of context which may help, because I don’t believe this case is as cut-and-dry as you believe it to be. I began posting my multi-chapter Silco x Reader fic Drink With Me in January 2022, and updated regularly until its completion in July of that same year. I was extremely lucky in that my story gained a lot of traction and interaction within the fandom throughout that time. People became extremely invested in the Reader character, and would ask me all sorts of questions about her. That’s how Astrid was born. She became a point of reference outside the fic for those who wanted someone to visualise, whilst the fic itself remained strictly a Reader Insert. In the few years since this story wrapped up, my followers have remained invested in the ‘Drink With Me’ universe (again, I’m incredibly lucky and thankful for this), and to this day I receive tons of requests for bonus content set within this universe that I try to fulfil whenever I can. Despite these ficlets being connected to a main multi-chapter fic, most of them can easily be read as a standalone and do not require the context or any prior knowledge of the main fic to make sense. Additionally, as I did with the main fic, they are always written in 2nd person, the character is never referred to by name, and I never use any physical descriptors beyond anatomical ones during smut. If you were to take away any and all tags and look purely at the text alone, it reads as a traditional reader insert, which is why I tag it as such. I include the ‘Astrid’ and ‘OC’ tags for those people who are familiar with the DWM fic and universe and who specifically follow me for this reason, so that they know in their minds that the ficlet relates to the world/timeline of Drink With Me in some way shape or form. I think the point I’m trying to make is that those who are familiar with me and my work will see the ‘Astrid/OC’ tag and go “Ah cool it’s this universe”. Whereas for everyone else I add the ‘can be read as gen!reader insert’ note at the top so that they can go “Ah cool, let me just ignore that character tag then” and happily read it as a general reader insert fic perfectly fine. I hope that makes a bit more sense as to why I tag this way, why I’ve always tagged this way, and why I will continue to tag this way for my Drink With Me adjacent works. If I ever were to write something in 1st or 3rd person or that described the MC in a very specific way, then I would of course not tag that as a reader fic.

Now, so long as we’re here discussing fandom etiquette, I’d like to politely point out that adding your grievance onto the reblog of a specific fic is not a ‘gentle reminder’ - it’s a full-frontal attack on the author who wrote that fic. It would have been far better for you to create your own, separate post addressing the fandom as a whole, or to send me a quiet, private comment/DM on the side.

As I’ve already said, I empathise with your point of view, and I hope you are able to empathise with mine. If the way I choose to tag my work bothers you, then please feel free to block my account so that I don’t show up whilst you are searching for content. At the end of the day we are all individual humans - you cannot expect everyone to interpret/measure/categorise everything in the same way you would, and it’s imperative to take some measure of responsibility for cultivating your own online space, instead of relying on others to do it for you.

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #11: MACHINE LOVE

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Yesterday was the title track, My Darling, My Companion, which means today is the final track on the album - a song about the truths that lay in hiding within artifice, and a computer falling in love - Machine Love!

Before we get started on this particularly long closeup - I'll be doing a follow-up post after this one, answering various miscellaneous questions I've gotten over the course of writing these! If you've got anything you wanna hear more from me about, album-related or otherwise, feel free to reply to this post or send me an ask! It may very well end up part of the bonus closeup :~)

---

Let's circle back to the very first track, Dyad.

In that track's closeup, I mentioned the main sonic touchstones of this release relative to my previous ones being guitars and vocal synths. The whole guitar rock thing I think I've gone into detail enough about, what with all the inspirations I've rattled off in other posts, but there likely is still a burning question for some long-time listeners.

Why vocal synths? Why am I not singing on like half of this album? I thought you were a singer, Jamie Paige, so what is this Hatsune Miku robot Vocaloid crap?

Truth be told, the Vocaloid scene and community has always been a massive source of inspiration for me. So much of my favorite music ever, music that inspires me or touches my heart or makes me go apeshit, has been sung by synthesized vocalists in a language I don't even speak. I grew up with it, and it's grown up with me - music just as intricate, mind-boggling, twisted, fun, and ridiculously creative is being put out every single day by vocal synth producers, and nowadays it's coming from English speaking musicians in droves!

Before this year began, I'd made at least one major contribution to the culture, but in spite of my genuine adoration of everything vocal synth related, I felt like I was just looking in from the other side. Caught between worlds, existing outside of any communities, simply gesturing vaguely towards what I wanted to do.

But I wanted more! I wanted to make the same kinds of things that stirred my heart and made me want to write! I wanted to sing with those same voices! I wanted it to be true - to be like you!

---

I won't lie to you and tell you Kasane Teto has always been my favorite vocal synth. That title used to go to GUMI, and in general, I wasn't particularly attached to any UTAU voicebanks as a younger vocal synth fan. (Nowadays, I genuinely open up OpenUTAU just as much as SynthV because I've fallen deeply in love with Adachi Rei, but that's a story for my next album.) Obviously, I knew of Teto, and found her presence in things like Triple Baka delightful, but for the most part, she was mostly something of an oddity, a wayward piece of vocal synth history that had her Fans like any other.

However, there was one Teto song I've been inexplicably attached to since the moment I first heard it - Song of the Eared Robot, by nwp8861. I was introduced via this particular cover, which I love, but I quickly gravitated to the original. Something about the warbly, childish nature of her very first voicebank, the ambitiously orchestrated and unabashedly digital instrumental, the lyrics referencing fundamental frequencies and Markov chains and compiling code all just spoke to me!

That song stuck with me, laying in a part of my heart that had been collecting dust, all the way to April of 2023.

Now, yes, Teto wasn't always my favorite, and I had other vocal synths I was attached to, but I don't live under a rock, and I still understood how monumental the announcement of Kasane Teto's Synth V voicebank was - to the point that I interrupted a call full of FFXIV-playing friends who knew barely anything about vocal synths and gave them an impromptu TED talk because I was so excited.

(An excerpt of a summary of that night's events, written the morning after. i was up my own ass a little bit but in my defense Kasane Teto had just been announced for Synthesizer V)

I was watching, in real time, a dream made manifest. It's literally one of the Bits with Teto! That she'd be a Vocaloid one day too! And here she was, on the fan favorite engine, sounding genuinely fucking incredible. Especially in hindsight, it's such a beautiful and perfect twist of fate for her.

I saw myself in her. A weird little outcast, explosively reborn and thrust straight into a community's open arms with love. I wanted it to be true - To be like that, too.

It didn't fully hit until later, hearing another cover of a song I'd almost forgotten.

Machine Love, my love letter to the entire world of unbridled creativity and artistry surrounding vocal synths filtered through one sentimental little song, was fully written by the start of May, maybe 4 days after I had gotten my hands on Teto SV and long before a certain compilation album was even a glint in my eye.

If you haven't heard DAEMON/DOLL yet, you really, really, really should go listen to it - yes, I mastered this album, many of my friends and collaborators are featured, and I have two entire songs on it, but I genuinely mean it when I say I believe it's some of the best fucking music that's come out this year in general. In many respects, it also feels like a companion (hah) to Constant Companions.

I had finished writing Machine Love by this point, but it was working on this album in its entirety - discovering artists like Anh Duy, Eggtan, and beat_shobon through it, and hearing everyone in top form making this twin-drilled chimera fucker sing her heart out - that not only made me confident in my decision to go down this artistic path, but that made me fall completely in love with Kasane Teto. And honestly, how could I not? She feels like a microcosm of everything that makes vocal synths so special, this community of creatives all leaving their marks and touchstones along the trail of a great big shared folk mythos. Yeah, maybe the folk hero we're all collectively mythologizing is an anime girl, but yknow maybe Odysseus could take some branding cues from hatsune miku idfk

Basically, even if he says he wants to kill me, I owe fucking everything to rice for inviting me to work on DAEMON/DOLL.

---

On that note, my vision for Machine Love's MV was pretty clear from the beginning.

the actual factual setup for the above shot, which was done entirely in-camera with my laptop, a tv, and two video files manually synced using VLC

The fundamental idea was always there - live-action shots of animation playing back on various screens, edited together to feel somewhat seamless. However, I really struggled with what exactly was going to be on said screens for a while; Big commissions were very far out of my budget, but I knew this song needed something grandiose.

Ultimately, what I arrived at was exactly the kind of scrappy, DIY bullshit it was always meant to be.

I asked my Twitter mutuals for help. And spent a couple months in Final Cut Pro and Apple Motion hell turning all the Teto art I got into a bunch of tiny little mini MVs, some of them parodying real vocal synth MVs, some of simply just evocative of vocal synth MVs, all of them painstakingly edited by yours truly and filmed with the help of some friends over the next couple months across two states and many more cities just to be painstakingly edited and synced up again by yours truly.

THE NEXT MV I DO WILL BE SMALLER IN SCOPE

---

And with that, I believe that's the album!

There's a reason it ends with Machine Love, and not with the title track. I do think that in some respects My Darling, My Companion would have made a better closer, but that song only really resolves one of the thematic strands running through the album.

There isn't really a definitive answer to the specific question "Baby, do you know what you wanna hear?", but it evokes a theme running through the entire album - wanting something, knowing that you want something, and simply needing to find the courage to do it or say it or be it. My Darling, My Companion is in many ways a declaration of intent, an acceptance of what needs to happen, but Machine Love, to me, is that action being done. The words being said!

And now, if I may give this a somewhat selfish tint - with the explosive response my works from this album have gotten, my contributions to things like DAEMON/DOLL and Flavor Foley, the collaborations I've done and that I still have in the pipeline, the friends I've made and the community I've found a spot for myself in, and the newfound voices that I can lay my heart bare with -

Well, shit, I know what I wanna hear, and I've gotten to hear it. I'm a vocaloP. It's real!

Thank you all so goddamn much for reading and listening. I'll see you back here either tomorrow or Monday for the bonus AMA post thing!! Make art and be gay, motherfuckers.

❤️💚

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them —

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[gravestrain]

gave you too much but it wasn't enough (qh43)

In which you wonder if your relationship with Quinn might end in death by a thousand cuts.

This is my submission for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy! I am thrilled to be a part of this event. I received DBATC, and if you know me you know any kind of angst is not my wheelhouse, but I was thrilled to get this challenge and try to create something angsty. It will never be unresolved in my world but hopefully this does the trick :) 2.5k words, fem reader, no warnings that I know of, not proofread.

When Quinn was named the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, you had never felt so proud.

Being with Quinn for two plus years at the time, you were over the moon to see the love of your life, your favorite person in the world, being given such an honor, an honor he worked so hard for, an honor you know he deserved. Quinn was one of the most dedicated people you've ever met. With that dedication of course, comes time. Quinn dedicated countless hours to improving his game, practicing with his teammates, working out in the gym, going on runs, anything he could do to be the best he could be, he was doing it.

Under the moonlight, as you and Quinn celebrated his accomplishment, he promised you that he wouldn't stray away. That his commitment to the team wouldn't outweigh his commitment to you. To being a loving partner. A companion. However, when you woke up, stretching your arm out to feel an empty bed yet again, despite knowing that it couldn't have been much past 7 am, you wondered what went wrong. What happened to cause those promises to crumble. His words to be empty, lifeless. Void of meaning. When did you and Quinn become a couple that told each other lies? Told each other things just because the other person wanted to hear them, not because they genuinely intended to fulfill them.

It was the start of Quinn's second season as the Canucks captain. At first, you thought it was too good to be true. Quinn was thriving in his new role, yet still being the perfect partner. Attentive and on time, compassionate and loving. Now, that version of Quinn is a distant memory, mocking you as you think of him.

It started after the holidays in Quinn's first season of being captain. You chalked it up to post holiday stress and all star weekend buzz, maybe even trade deadline drama. Then the all star game passed, and even the trade deadline. Shortly after you started blaming it on the playoff push, then the playoff loss. And now here you were in November, searching for answers, trying to figure out what happened to the love of your life who turned into a stranger right in front of your own eyes, with nothing you could do about it but watch it happen.

You got yourself ready for work, looking around in the bathroom, on the bedside table, and eventually the kitchen to see if maybe Quinn left you a note, a cup of coffee in your favorite travel mug, a bagel from your favorite bakery around the corner, a sign of his love, signs that he used to never leave the house without showing. Just as you thought, there was nothing. You couldn't even remember the last time you felt Quinn kiss your forehead before he left for God knows what. Another workout, another two mile run after the three miles he did on the treadmill, or locking himself in his office watching film.

Work came and went that day, taking the long way home, dreading going home to an empty house. You thought it would be worse trying to interact with the stranger you lived with, but the silence, the emptiness, the sterile, unwelcoming cold was always worse. You stared up at the traffic lights, wondering if others saw just how foolish you felt. Writing lines to a story that was long over. Grasping on to the book, hoping for a surprise ending, one that would make everything worth it.

To say you were surprised to see Quinn's Porsche in the driveway was an understatement. Usually on practice days he didn't get home until well after 6 pm. You unlocked the front door, not expecting much. Just because he was home, doesn't mean he wasn't locked up in his office, taking notes from last night's game. A game that you never bothered to go to anymore. You knew the other WAGs missed you, people speculated about your absence on the internet, always cruel and judgmental. You couldn't bring yourself to go. You had learned to despise hockey for taking Quinn from you.

You opened the door and were surprised to see Quinn in the kitchen, grabbing a snack. Quinn looked as surprised to see you as you were, almost like he didn't know where you were, or if he even remembered that you lived there. Quiet "hi's" were exchanged, Quinn leaving a soft kiss on your cheek then awkwardly brushing past you to go towards the fridge.

"I thought we could have chicken and pasta for dinner tonight. It sounded good on my way home, I hope that's okay," Quinn muttered out, but already getting a pot of water for pasta ready, as though it didn't matter what you truly wanted. "That's okay," you offered back. "I'm gonna go sit down and read my book. If you need me, just holler." You offered and Quinn gave a nod in response. You wanted to grunt and groan under your breath. How could this be okay with him? It was as though you didn't know him, despite him knowing everything about you.

You tried to distract yourself with your book, but frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped them away aggressively, not wanting Quinn to see you cry. He couldn't muster up simple greetings, and an I love you would be almost toxic coming out of his mouth. He didn't care anymore, that much was obvious. So why should you?

You didn't know how long time passed, but it was enough time for Quinn to come over with a plate of dinner, unaware of your state. Your heart swelled. Most days, you had been eating dinner at the table, the memories of the two of you loved up on the couch, enjoying your meal and watching your latest binge watch were long gone. It seemed that Quinn was looking for one of those nights, until he saw your tears. His face dropped, setting your plate down and kneeling in front of you.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" He asked, trying to get you to meet his eyes. You shook your head. How could he be so oblivious? "Are you serious?" You ask and Quinn's expression changed, like you had hurt him. "What do you mean by that? Why would I not be serious?" he asked, causing you to shake your head. "Quinn, things haven't been right between us for months. You leave me everyday without saying goodbye or even kissing me goodbye, you act like spending time with me is the worst thing in the world. I never go to games anymore because I resent hockey for taking you from me. When you were named captain, I was so proud of you I could explode. Now I can't even bare to be in the hockey setting because it reminds me of everything you chose over me. Quinn, I don't even know if you love me anymore." You took a breath after getting it off your chest, but at the same time a wounded gasp came out of Quinn's mouth, like he was a wounded animal.

"You think I don't love you anymore? How could you think that?" he asked, clearly hurt by what you had said. "What else do you want me to believe, Quinn? I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me. And beyond that, that you ever even showed that you might. I feel like I live with a stranger. You can't honestly tell me that you have felt satisfied in this relationship. That you feel that we love each other to the fullest, that we love spending time together. I haven't felt confident that you feel that way in a long time." At this point you both had tears in your eyes, Quinn feeling devastated by what he was hearing.

Of course Quinn wasn't 100% satisfied with your relationship. He wasn't delusional enough to believe that everything was perfect. He knew that hockey had been his number one priority lately, and he had been trying to make that not be the case.

"Baby, I know I haven't been putting you first lately, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am. But I feel like it's only been this way since the start of the regular season." This had you scoffing immediately. "You don't seriously believe that. Quinn, I could say I have felt this way on and off since January." This caused another hurt gasp to leave Quinn's lips. "Why didn't you say something..." he trailed off, hurt, but he knew the answer.

"I shouldn't have to beg you to love me, Quinn. I shouldn't have to tell you that you have been neglecting me, neglecting us. If you truly can't see what's been going on, I don't know how I can explain it to you. If you think that this relationship has been satisfactory for both parties, I can't change your mind of that. But I won't be treated like this any longer. I think we should spend some time apart." Quinn backed up as soon as the suggestion came out of your mouth, looking like he had been shot.

"You don't mean that, you can't" he gasped. "Quinn, I'm not saying I want to breakup. If I didn't believe this was salvageable, if I didn't believe you could fix this, I would just say I wanted to break up. I believe we can fix this, but I think some time apart would do us good. For us both to figure out what we're looking for and what we truly want. If we find that this is still what we want, that's great, I believe that we will make it work. But this, this... arrangement, this isn't working. I know you seem shocked and hurt, but I know you don't believe that this is working for both of us, or honestly either of us."

"I'll go stay with Petey, I don't want to be in your way," Quinn suggested and you shook your head. "It's okay, really. I can go stay with Brock's girlfriend. Since she lives by herself it won't be awkward for any of us. I do believe we can make this work Quinn, I just don't think we can do it in these conditions." You put your hand on his cheek and his face softened, leaning into your touch.

"Tell me how to fix it, please, I'll do anything," he begged, tears steadily streaming down his face. "I can't tell you that, Quinn. I want you to figure out. To understand where I'm coming from, and want to work to fix it. I haven't been perfect either Quinn, we can both work on this. I shouldn't have to tell you that spending time together once a month isn't enough. I don't know how it can be enough for you, either. If that's okay with you, then this just isn't going to work."

"I'll fix it baby, I promise, I'll do anything." he whispered, almost defeatedly but feeling much better. "I believe you, baby. I do."

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

The flowers started on Mondays. Each Monday, a different bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers arrived at your office. The message was also different each week but it always ended the same way: " I love you, I believe in us." You texted Quinn every week when the flowers came to let him know you got them and to send your thanks. After four weeks of flowers, you were sitting in the front room of Brock's girlfriend, Bella's, apartment, getting stuff done on your computer on a chilly Saturday afternoon. A knock on the door sounded, causing you to pause your work. You had been staying with Bella long enough that you felt comfortable getting the door. Not to mention Bella liked to sleep in super late on weekends, meaning you would be the only one to even be available to open the door.

Your heart sank to your toes as you looked through the peephole, seeing Quinn. He looked different. If your gut was right, he looked tired, a far away look in his eyes, almost as though he missed you as much as you missed him. You didn't want to believe it, wary of getting your heart broken. He was holding something in his hands, fidgeting with it as he waited for the door to open.

"Y/N, hi," Quinn whispered out, taking a step towards you. "Hi Quinn, it's great to see you. How have you been? Would you like to come inside?" You asked, causing him to shake his head. "I can't stay, but thank you for offering," he stopped himself, wanting to keep boundaries in between you two in order for you to be most comfortable.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other, and I wanted to come ask you something. I was hoping you'd like to come to the game tomorrow night? I was hoping this would be enough time, but if not it's okay." His voice was shaky, unsure, almost like he was scared of your response. "I'm not sure, Quinn. Won't it be weird that I'm there? I don't want to cause any drama." You said apprehensively. You were also nervous of what that step in your relationship would be.

"There would be no drama at all, babe. You could just sit with Bell in the stands if you would prefer that, but I know the WAGs have really been missing you. I heard Millsy's daughters have been waiting for you to paint their nails on intermission again," he joked, causing you to smile. His heart melted at the smile on your face, finally feeling fulfilled, that he made you happy.

"I'll be there, Quinn. You can put me in the box. Don't worry about parking, though. I'm sure I can catch a ride with Bella." You both smiled, joyful at the step in the right direction for the both of you. "I can't wait."

________________

For all the time you had spent at Canucks games, you never thought you would be so nervous about what to wear, but here you are. Finally, settling on a stylish Canucks long sleeve with no distinction of Quinn on the shirt, paired with dark jeans and sneakers.

Quinn played a great game, getting a goal and an assist, the Canucks winning 3-1. You were ecstatic. Being back at the games, with your friends, cheering on Quinn, just felt right. It felt like where you were supposed to be. When you met Quinn after the game, he couldn't help himself either, jogging up to you and wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up off the ground. "Quinn!" you exclaimed, laughing out loud. "You did so good!" You laughed as he set you back on the ground. "It's because you were here, my good luck charm." He mused, causing you to blush.

Before he could stop himself, Quinn asked: "come home with me?" Your breath shortened, definitely not expecting that to come out of his mouth. "Are you sure?" You asked him, heart racing at the idea of going home with Quinn, truly where you belonged. "I would want nothing more."

It felt at times that no matter how much you gave to Quinn, it would never be enough. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves, you both knew that all you could give would always be enough for the both of you.

[planetpedri]

Heyy I’m wondering if you could write a part 2 with angst/comfort of the waiting room Pedri fic I literally need to see them get together so badly (⋟﹏⋞)

Waiting room p.2 — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: He was all you thought about for weeks after you saw him and you finally get yourself to grow up and seek him out.

Word count: 1.74k+

Disclaimer/s: this is a majority angst but will end in fluff! this is also a part two! click here for part one !

A/N: “sleeping with the lights on” by searows is so like im clawing at my head!! this is what it’s based on !! this was so rushed soz.. also!! it’s pedri’s birthday so i will be posting quite a lot of blurbs for him today ^_^~

The dim lights that lit up the porch of a home you’d once known no longer casted a welcoming glow over you. They were cold and whispering for you to leave, to get out of there before you made another mistake.

Your eyes closed for a moment as you collected yourself. You were here. You had been planning on doing this for the past week, you couldn’t go back now.

You don’t get the chance to walk away, the door cracking open and in it appears a blonde. Your heart sinks the moment you see her, but it goes away quickly. Behind her is a man you recognized, Fermín. Great.

The blondes eyes shoot wide in surprise, “shit, is that who I think it is?” He clambers down the steps, his girlfriend—presumably, in tow. “Long time no see, Pedri’s inside. We’re the last to leave.”

You force a warm smile, trying with all your might not to topple over. “Fermín! Wow! How nice to see you.” Your brain goes fuzzy as he offers a short conversation, one you desperately wanted out of.

When he does finally leave, you take a few steps up and onto the porch, now only a few feet from the door. You take a long, calming breath before knocking on the door.

“Did you forget—“ Pedri’s words die on his tongue the second he opened the door, his breath being knocked out of him.

Something flashes in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite decipher. The second it appeared though, it was gone in a simple blink, a look of vacancy filling his expression.

“Come to personally give me your.. invitation?” He sighs, not bothering to allow you into his home, instead opting to close his fist tighter around the door handle.

You look away, staring down at your feet for a moment as you gather your bearings. When you look up, your mouth opens and closes, seeking out words that never come.

From his stiffened posture, the spite in the crevices of his expression, you know he wants you to leave.

Forcing yourself to speak, you run a hand over your arm in a smoothing up and down motion. “Do you see a ring?” It came out a lot more sarcastic than you meant, but when Pedri’s gaze flickers to your hand, you see something short of relief cross over his face.

Pedri looks up, meeting your eyes for the first time since you’d arrived. “What happened?”

You. You happened.

“It doesn’t matter.” You shake your head, “I just… I, uhm, I miss you.” You felt pathetic—weak even, showing up to his house like this. Your fiancée loved you, yet here you were on the porch of a man who’d never one uttered those words to you.

Pedri doesn’t look at you anymore, his gaze fixing on the ground as he shuffles uncomfortably, silently battling between his heart and mind.

“You can come in, it’s cold out.” He steps aside, making room for you to enter into his house.

You give a small nod, hesitantly walking into the house. It had changed a lot, but still held remnants of the past. Everything that you’d helped decorate, was gone. Every ounce of you in that house had vanished. Your heart cinched when you caught a glimpse of the drawing you made of Camp Nau on the shelf beside a few trophies, which the collection had significantly increased since you last saw him.

But, there was no familiarity beside that. The decorations were different, the furniture was different—except for the lounge chair his mother had gifted him as a housewarming gift.

“Sit, I was just making coffee.” He says, disappearing into the kitchen a few feet away.

You wander further into the living room, fingers trailing the cream colored couch. There were blankets scattered across them, and you were quick to figure out why. A black puppy laid on one edge of the couch, clearly sleepy, but watching you with curious eyes.

You smile faintly, slowly sitting down beside him. His collar read, ‘Nilo’. Pedri had always wanted a dog, he was so good with pets.

“I made you a cup, in case you wanted some.” Pedri announces his return, handing you the mug carefully. The second it was securely in your hands, he let go, as if being that close to you would make him catch some sort of virus. He choses to sit on a seat a few feet away, watching you closely and silently.

You weren’t sure what to say to him, so you start with the question you’d ask any old friend. “How have you been?” You hum, taking a sip of the coffee he’d made. A jolt of surprise hits you when you realize he hadn’t just made any coffee, he’d made your special coffee. The one that only he and you knew how to make.

He’d remembered something like that?

“Fine.” He answers bluntly, “and you?”

Setting the mug on the coffee table beside you, you meet his eyes. You were here to be honest, to not hold back anymore.

“Well, I broke off my engagement, so. Not great, but not terrible either.” You exhale, thankful to at least get that admission off your chest.

Pedri’s eyes widen momentarily. He hadn’t expected you to be the one to break it off. “Oh, i’m sorry. Was the guy an ass or something?”

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head. “No, he was a great guy. I just..” Now or never, now or never.. “I just couldn’t love him the way he loved me, I suppose.”

The raven haired man knew he shouldn’t have felt happy about that but, a part of him was. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He was giving you small and short answers, like he couldn’t form anything but.

He so desperately wanted to ask why.. to pry something out of you. He holds back though, because why risk prying when it could potentially leave him hurt once again.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, I know I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced.. but Pedri?” You speak quietly, ashamedly, beckoning for him to show you a sliver or something other than indifference.

Pedri’s tongue darts out to wet his lips before he speaks. “Yeah?”

“I couldn’t love him because..” Just say it God dammit! Just— “Because he wasn’t you.”

A weight lifted off your shoulders the second the confession left your lips. Running a hand through his hair, Pedri laughs in disbelief. “You waited years to give me an hint of.. of anything!? Jesus, I’m trying to move on from you!”

Your eyes glaze over and you blink rapidly to push down any hurt his outburst had caused you. Then, you pause, confusion flashing across your face. “Wait—wait, what? You? Hint? Pedri. I waited for you?”

He blinks, “you waited? I—I thought.. what?”

A tight, tense air fills the room while the both of you sink in the revelation. Pedri’s the first to break it though, pushing himself up and off the chair. “Come with me.” He pushes his hand out in your direction, waiting patiently for you to take it.

You stare at it curiously, reaching out and connect your hand to his. A jolt shoots up your arm at the contact. That was the first time you’d felt him in years.

Without another word, Pedri tugs your hand and leads you out back, to the place you’d thought about every time you saw his face on the screen when watching Football.

Nilo’s collar clinks and clangs as he pads behind the two of you, which you smile at when his soft fur brushed against your leg.

Once Pedri reached his intended location, he motions for you to sit. Your eyebrows are pulled together as you lay in the grass, the bristles itching your back when your hoodie rides up.

Lying down beside you, his hand still in yours, he gazes up at the sky. “I thought that one day,” he starts, tracing the big dippers outline with his eyes, “that when I said I hoped you’d find requited love one day, you’d realize I was talking about me. That I would be the one to do that for you.”

“Then why did you get with whats-her-face.” You ask quietly, heart burning at his confession. Leaning your head against the itchy grass, you study his side profile. While in the midst of burning every single difference in his face compared to the last time you saw him, Pedri doesn’t look at you.

“Because I told myself you could do better, that you deserved better and there was someone out there that would love you better than I could.” He does turn to you now, “but I was wrong. Nobody will love you nearly as much as I love you.”

You felt dizzy, like you were floating outside of your body. This had to be a dream, right? You had dreamt of a confession similar to this since you were a teenager.

“Say something.” Pedri whispers, eyes flickering across your face trying to decipher what you were feeling throughout your long silence.

“I..” You cough lightly, a small laugh slipping through. “I can’t believe I let you push me away.”

His gaze drops to the grass for a moment before it raises back to you. “I can’t believe I pushed you away.” He admits, “i’m sorry.”

Forcing w small smile, you take your hand out of Pedri’s, pushing yourself up onto your side. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Tell me..?” He tries not to frown at the loss of contact, but does anyways, telling himself it was just because he didn’t understand what you were saying.

“I love you.” You frown, “I love you so much I ruined a potential marriage without even knowing if you felt the same.”

Pedri pushes himself up onto his elbow, his face mere inches from yours. “Is it terrible of me to say i’m glad you did?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Not terrible at all.” Your eyes fall to his lips, quickly flickering back to his eyes. “What would be more terrible would be you making me go another minute without knowing what it’s like to kiss you, no?”

Pedri’s eyes roll with amusement. He cups your cheek, mumbling, “that would be a crime,” before his soft lips were against yours.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie

[fynnlink]

Arcane doesn't need a THIRD season...

It needed THREE seasons

Arcane discussion / slight critique (obvi SPOILERS)

Alt title: "Arcane's character arcs: Tell not Show"

It's quite long.

I'II preface this by saying:

1) Arcane, especially from a creative standpoint, is a masterpiece and testament to what animation and showcraft can be/achieve. The three year hiatus was more than worth it. Hats off to everyone involved.

2) I thoroughly enjoyed the second season and the finale. It hit all the right emotions and I cried laughed and loved throughout my viewing(s).

But 3) Despite my enjoyment of the entire series, there are a few issues I had with Season 2 and the ending of the series.

Now to the title: In my opinion (and despite my wanting one) Arcane does not need another season after the finale and the story can instead be carried on better/just as well in subsequent spin-offs (like the likely Noxian one). Instead Arcane could've/would've benefited from a runtime of three seasons with the story of Season 2 being split up into two seperate seasons.

Without further ado

Arcane Season 2 started off great, from the season opening with the direct and immediate aftermath of Jinx's attack using Fishbones (the rocket launcher), Cassandra Kirammin's gorgeous HAND-DRAWN funeral, to all the emotional and high intensity scenes with the Zaunites from Silco's funeral and the Jinx-Sevika-Isha found family/team-up, all the way to the first act's incredible conclusion with the Temple of Janna Showdown and the Discovery of the Wild Rune below the Hexgate. It had and was everything I wanted and wno et of all the writing I wanted and more, the animation, the acting, the soundtrack and most of all the writing.

There were certain issues which I'll get to in a second but Season 2 Act 1 was mostly solid writing and followed through on Season 1's excellently written explorations of oppression, police brutality, ableism, class divides and classism, racism and prejudiced bigotry and many other complex and importand real themes/matters. After Act 1 followed Act 2 and my first big issue and the entire premise of this post: another (albeit much shorter compared to S1 A1 to S1 A2) timejump. While this usually doesn't necessarily pose an issue especially since Arcane has successfully handled timejumps/skips in the past without too much "Tell not Show" (an inverse of the "Show don't Tell" trope https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ShowDontTell#:~:text=This%20is%20a%20writing%20or,book%20doing%20indisputably%20badass%20things.) which can lead to characters and storybeats feeling disconnected or the changes feeling jarring.

The multiple timejumps and montages rush a story that would've benefited from time and patience. I understand why these choices were made and the montages were creative and gorgeous, however there were too many in too few episodes.

The time between Act 1 and Act 2 of Season 2 should have been shown and not summarised into a montage.

Vi's arc and development into her in-game self (i.e an Enforcer) was incredibly rushed and underdeveloped ("Are we still Sisters?"-Jinx "Nothing is ever going to change that" S1 E9 | "My sister is gone. There's only Jinx now."-Vi S2 E3) and in many ways actually devolves/regresses upon her established character ("I grew up knowing I'm less than them. That my place is down there. I want Powder to have more than that and I'm willing to fight for it." S1 A1 "I'm the dirt under your fingernails, Cupcake." S2 E9) compared to season 1 Vi's character is or at least feels very reduced to simply one half of CaitVi, there's also no real follow through / no real consequences to Caitlyn's actions both as a Dictator General of Piltover and especially towards Vi. There was no actual apology from Cait (no, micro-expressions and withdrawing Jinx's guard does not make up for physical abuse) and the entire "Prison Cell - steamy edition" felt out of nowhere/weird (I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT CAITVI'S FEELINGS, THOSE WERE THERE AND ARE VALID AND DESERVE TO BE EXPLORED.) considering Vi and Jinx's interaction just before, Jinx's obvious suicidal ideation and Vi's unexplored trauma from her childhood spent in prison.

Same with Caitlyn being build up as a representation of someone who grew up privileged turning to generalised hatred and dehumanisation of others/"the other" when experiencing trauma (my phrasing is terrible but I'm referring to Caitlyn's turn towards oppression/fascism in response to her mother's death.) Caitlyn falls back into the exact same way of thinking that she denied/judged for example collectively referring to Zaunites as "Animals" despite rebutting these same words when Ekko said the people of Piltover look down upon those of Zaun, as well as Caitlyn calling Vi's blood dirty/tainted saying Vi has the "same blood in [her] veins" as Jinx after Vi stopped Caitlyn from endangering a Child's life as well as hitting Vi first with a stray bullet and then with the back of her rifle during an exclusively verbal argument. All before ascending to the position of General of Piltover during Martial Law and enacting collective punishment, restriction in movement and expression via military checkpoints and guard patrols, revoking Zaunites' right of assembly and peaceful protest and imprisoning most ("half") of Zaun in Stillwater without trial. Piltover even had to built a railcar system to keep up with prisoner transports to Stillwater opposed to S1's boats.

All this was built up only to have Caitlyn turn back after only one interaction with Vi. Supposedly Caitlyn had begun to doubt/regret the excessive and oppressive Noxian measures but apart from one scene of her disagreeing with Rictus' (Ambessa's second in command) "incitement of violence" at the checkpoint but still supported and expanded upon Stillwater (the exact prison Vi was kept in, even keeping the guard who all but confessed to regularly beating Vi during her seven year imprisonment, he even says he does it so often he "never thought to keep count") and even threatened to use cells and methods she knows and agrees are morally reprehensible.

Caitlyn's deeds as General should have been shown to the audience not just summarised into a short montage only to be glossed over. Instead of a complex and very difficult but incredibly necessary and in the end beneficial look inward for Caitlyn, Caitlyn's time and actions as a semi-dictator were glossed over because Ambessa was simplified into a pure warmonger going so far as to attack her own daughter and even Caitlyn cheating on Maddie with Vi in the cell is portrayed as less morally complex since Maddie completely betrays Caitlyn going so far as to try to shoot her to side with/support Ambessa's war (despite Maddie talking about reestablishing the Council in S2 E4).

If we had been given time with Caitlyn during her "#lowkey-Fascist-Era" especially if we had seen her temper cool and see her kinder side shine in more scenes in which she opposes Ambessa as opposed to one scene expressing disagreement with Rictus and later Caitlyn agreeing to Vi's comments regarding Caitlyn "sidling up with [Ambessa]", then this development and CaitVi becoming a couple again would have felt earned and well-written.

Instead of a comprehensive follow-up to Season 1's themes we got a "But TeAmWOrk GuYs!?" the Oppressed and Oppressors put aside their differences because of the greater / "real enemy all along"ᵀᴹ without Zaun seeing any reparations/improvements apart from one single seat at the same council that has oppressed them for decades/centuries. (Sidenote Sevika was immediately side-eyed and judged and can just get overruled by the remaining Council. États généraux, yes you get a vote but only one)

Yet we end the season with Caitlyn and Vi having sped past their issues and (Vi's) trauma to have a final scene in front of Caitlyn's fireplace with Ekko being shown to grieve Jinx more and Vi proclaim being the "Dirt" under Caitlyn's fingernails (they supposedly worked on that line for 27 hours).

Just to clarify I'm not saying Vi doesn't grieve but it's about what's shown and especially what is given time and here a CaitVi scene was more important than a scene dictated to Vi and Jinx's bond as sisters which was/should be the focus of the series. I'll probably make another post at some point about the Sister's bond taking a backseat compared to the relationships in Season 2.

In the end we were told more than shown why characters acted the way they did. With many interactions and moments of growth only implied.

Arcane would've benefitted from more time, maybe even a seperate Season, spent developing the characters to their final state and to give the series the time to deal with both it's arcane (*wink*) and human themes. And the ideal timeframe for this was in-between S2 A1 and S2 A2.

Many characters feels as if the audience had read the first and third book of a series without the in-between. And entire plot-lines and core themes were dropped/abandoned.

If you're still reading, thank you and sorry I went off on a ramble in the middle there. Again I'm not saying the season was bad and definitely not that you can't enjoy it (I liked it) just that it had a few missed opportunities.

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Losing my Mind over Veilguard 4/??

I think what's killing me the most is this "have your cake and eat it, too" mentality EA-as-Bioware has ushered in with this game.

To try and perfectly walk the line of giving old fans what they wanted/deserved and new fans something to just jump into was a tall fucking order given that they fired so many writers, and I personally feel like they fell way short.

Part of that, I think, comes from the fact that while it's certainly helpful to play Origins and then DA2 before you reach Inquisition (I'm speaking as someone who played the games backwards), I don't think Inquisition left off as a complete story the way the first two did. We had a world on the brink and pieces on the board that had so much personal stake in staying on it until Solas was handled. We had, whether the head devs wants to accept their failures regarding it or not, an entire Keep of previous choices that could have and should have informed the world going forward. I'm not saying it was sustainable to keep raising the stakes on those choices. I am saying, however, that with the time it took to get this game to us, more than three sanitized choices deserved to matter before Bioware closed the chapter on its strongest line of storytelling and moved on to RPG Lite. To give that up, to choose a new and uncertain fan base over an already dedicated one, is disappointing.

And to that end, even if we weren't going to get the Inquisitor again (which, at this point, I'm kind of thinking we should have, even if just for parts of it), I had near-constant exhaustion finding a shred of story that connected us to the previous games and then realizing it had been done in an unsatisfying way (hi, Dorian/Isabella/MORRIGAN).

I wouldn't have cared if this had been its own standalone game. There were parts of it I enjoyed, and I'm sure I'll be here shouting about those things too, soon enough. But the fact is that for every thing I appreciate about the game there are about ten more that make me mourn the nine years I spent eager to see what was coming next.

TLDR: You cannot show me a watered-down game that stands on the shoulders of stronger writing, plot, narrative, characters, etc. and the built world and depth of three previous games and multiple supplementary written works, and then expect me to be wholly accepting of the result. Veilguard gutted the rich body of work that came before it, threw enough bone shrapnel into the mix to keep people desperate to see a conclusion to events that had been building up for in-game years hanging on, and then discarded the rest with a casual sort of "deal with it, we're making way for the new" attitude.

Welcome to the new, I guess.

I intentionally waited a few days after finishing the game to sift through everything and not just rage-post immediately, so hopefully this comes across as relatable to those on a similar page and not as me telling you that you should hate the game too if you in fact are very happy with it. (Put another way: I'm not here to change minds, I'm here to scream into the ether)

[bleue-flora]

speaking of lore inaccuracy I have been seeing people saying that c!sapnap dragged c!tommy into the first war with c!dream because c!sapnap stole c!tommys stuff and I can't find the clip for that but I take their word for it but c!tommy would have attacked c!dream regardless of that or not. Like if i remember correctly, c!tommy was talking about how he's sick of wars and doesn't want to be involved only to then go ahead and steal a bunch of stuff and kill people without giving back gear. c!sapnap may have dragged him into that fight with c!dream where they end up 2v1ing him but I think in the grand scheme of events it doesn't matter because he would have attacked him in another time somewhere else, nothing changes

[context]

Anon, please. I’m so triggered as it is but I also have like 700+ something pictures of dsmp map and I’d like to talk about some more of it before we hop subjects. I know, I’ve seen, I’m going do a post on it soon as I feel like someone needs to set the record straight and apparently my first [post] wasn’t enough (in fact, I may or may not have actually spent the better part of yesterday rewatching those streams). But I plead mercy, I have a Lot of different brain rots going on all at once from the time dilation we talked about the other week [post], to finally knowing what these maps are [post] [post] and the enchants of Quackity’s tools [post], to learning more about the prison [post], staged duo note [post], Dream’s hand writing and the letter to Techno [post]… etc… I am losing it… please send a medic, the brain rot is too strong.

Having said that though, I’m answering this incase you are in an ongoing debate with someone and need it, here is the [clip] you are talking about I believe. The argument that Sapnap pulled him into it only goes so far as Tommy can make his own decisions the same way Tubbo can. Also some of what made that conflict bigger was specific things Tommy did so blaming it on Sapnap is kinda ridiculous. It’s not like that’s even his first war or something anyways, Tommy is always down to kill Dream all on his own (and if you need proof of that, here is just one example [clip]).

Plus in this instance - as in the instance that starts the disc saga - Tommy is high off of his kill and says ‘we should kill more people whilst we’re at it’ and Dream just logged log on so Sapnap is like ‘should we kill Dream?’ and Tommy answers ‘Yeah let’s kill Dream!’ which hardly seems like Sapnap pulled him in to it. And if they are referring to the war prior to Dream logging on, that doesn’t matter anyways. The disc saga didn’t start when they went after Alyssa and Ponk, the disc saga started when they killed Dream unprovoked and refused to give back his stuff afterward [clip] [clip].

[gnabnahc317cb97]

Like... I know this is a new blog and that I don't have as many followers as on my old one here yet BUT...

I've posted like 25,000+ words worth of fics in the last like 3 days and aside from my amazing ride or die friends (you all know who you are, this isn't directed at any of you obviously! You're THE BEST!) I've gotten barely any interaction with these fics.

When I write something funny I always think "I really REALLY hope someone will comment or reblog (or send an ask or DM) and say "OMGGGG 'this part' made me laugh so hard" or when I write something sad that makes me cry or any time I write honestly. As I do, I ALWAYS hope that maybe I'll see a new face (old faces LOVE you sososo much please don't go away!) saying what they enjoyed about my fic.

I have at least 3 fics that I have been SO super excited to write for yall but honestly with as little interaction as I've gotten on the last few this last week or 2 I'm discouraged to continue.

I'll still write them because I want to see these stories unfold myself but the idea of posting them doesn't bring me the joy I feel like it should so I don't know if I will.

Also lack of interaction is 100% why I don't do a tag list anymore. I've been getting asked this A LOT lately (nothing against those people) and I used to! I'd tag like 20+ people but I'd get maybe 3 that would comment and interact with my fics. It's tedious and time consuming to do just to get next to nothing out of it, so I won't do them anymore.

I don't know. I feel like I'm ranting now and probably sound like an asshole but what I'm trying to say is it hurts my feelings. I don't know... I'll probably end up deleting this I'm just in my feelings about it right now.

[firstprincehornyramblings]

I'm posting this Sentences Sunday at 3am, because why the hell not, it's Sunday. This one is going to have 3 snippets, all very nsfw, all very under the cut, but I'm doing to try and keep them shorter, for mysterious reasons. *wiggles fingers*

- kissingchambers (🤭) pwp 💊

He couldn’t look down at Elliot, he managed a glance before giving up and looking back at the ceiling. Those hungry eyes and wide pupils narrowed and nearly predatory- that look was lethal. It would make impossibly quick work of Marco if he allowed himself to watch. His hand tugged harder at the hair between his fingers, legs spreading wider, to what end he had no idea. But it was rewarded with one of Elliot’s hand sliding along his inner thigh, squeezing at soft skin. “I- uh, Ellie…” Marco swallowed hard, gasping for air between moans as he spoke. “Can you uh-” With a hum, Elliot lifted his head, still sucking hard as his mouth popped free. “Ellie, that’s cute, what, are you about to cum?” he chuckled, somehow still sounding sarcastic. All Marco could really do was nod.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- doctor alex and patient henry 🩺

“Oh, I didn’t make you dinner,” Henry sneered, “You can do that on your own.” “Wh-” “You need to get tested,” he didn’t even allow his boyfriend to respond to the initial jab. “You fucking gave me chlamydia,” he hissed, already standing up and emptying his plate, “Don’t apologize, don’t make a fucking excuse, be an adult, take care of it. And for christ’s fucking sake,” he snapped, tossing his plate into the sink nearly hard enough to break it, “Use a Johnny next time, will you?” “Baby, wait,” Charlie pleaded, following behind Henry who was already in the process of storming toward the bedroom. “Do not,” the blond whipped around with lightning speed, a finger shoved only centimeters from his boyfriend’s nose, “Do not fucking ‘baby’ me, right now.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------- dystopian prince's consort alex 👑

All at once, Alex got his wish, Henry’s hips jerking forward as he spilled onto the bed. Streak after streak of white painted the linens, loud husky whines and moans coming from deep in the blond’s chest. That tightness squeezing Alex’s cock like a vice grip, it was an incredible feat that he didn’t finish on the spot himself; he’d thank whichever god did that for him later. His own hips finally slowed to a moderate pace, now just rolling into deep, slow slamming motions into the other man. His hand worked the last few drops from Henry’s tip, the opposite hand leaving the blond’s throat to lovingly cradle a warm cheek instead. His thumb brushed over Henry’s lips in a way that was far too affectionate for what they’d just done, but he couldn’t help it, Alex was a romantic at heart. “Where do you want me to cum, baby?” “On my face, please,” with that answer, the blond leaned forward, falling into the mattress with no regard for the mess. He rolled over onto his back after a moment, still breathing hard as he looked up at Alex. There was a smile on those plush lips now, a quiet blissed out laugh, and half-lidded cock drunk eyes. Henry was more beautiful that way, Alex thought.

—

🏷️(no pressure tags darlings)

@taste-thewaste @henrysfox @mikibwrites @eusuntgratie

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese

@redlipstickandglitter @onthewaytosomewhere

@thesleepyskipper @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp @lfg1986-2

+ literally anyone else I'm tired and forgot. (i say as if im not always sleepy) or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[fieldsofchai]

a/n: lol i said i would post this some time tomorrow but i couldn’t sleep so here we are now. this is the first fic that i'm posting! i've been absolutely obsessed with fom and i have been binge-playing it, especially since the new update came out. march might be a little ooc but i had a lot of fun writing this, to be honest. please leave a request in my ask box!

content contains: self-doubt, mutual pining, loneliness, unrequited love, gender-neutral reader, valentines day like holiday, march is bad at feelings, fluff with the tiniest dash of angst

content rating: pg

March huffed as Olric continued to go on and on. Blah blah blah, hearts day, blah blah blah, he should ask someone. It was the same thing every year. March wanted to feel irritated that he would get nagged for the same thing every year, making friends and whatnot, yet a small part of it found it endearing. Cute, almost, though he would never admit it out loud. Knowing his brother cared as much as he cared for him was good. It was too bad those feelings immediately disappeared upon hearing the next words that flew out of his mouth.

“So what do you think? I get Reina to bake the sweets and you can deliver it to them by the end of the day!” Olric exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as if he had just come up with the best idea in the world. 

March snapped his head up from the sword he was working on. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying attention to what Olric was talking about. He had just assumed it would be the same old stuff that he says every year. He hadn’t expected him to actually have some type of plan put in action. 

“What?” March asked with a confused expression on his face, yet there was still a blush that somehow rose on his cheeks. He already knew who Olric was talking about. That damn new farmer. 

Ever since they had moved here they had been a pain in his ass. He had tried to give off subtle hints that he wasn’t too interested in being their friend. After all, he didn't think they would actually stick around. Yet, a couple of months later they were still somehow here. To be frank, he had come to actually… tolerate their presence but for some odd reason they seemed to think they were best friends. 

So what if every evening they would somehow find him with some type of perfect ore in their hands, knowing he was the only one in town who would actually appreciate it’s beauty. 

So what if they looked a little banged up and dirty from presumably fighting god knows what in the mines and it would never fail to make his heart swell with appreciation, but also a whole lot of concern.

So what if they always find a way around to the forge every morning to wish him a good morning and check in on him, so much so to the point that he looks forward to it every day and finds himself wondering what could possibly be going on with them on the rare occasion that they’re not there. 

So what if he finds his heart fluttering just a little bit when he sees them walking into the inn on friday nights. He probably just needs to get a check up from Valen. 

“Bro, weren’t you listening? I was giving you a run down of this totally ultimate plan to ask the farmer to be your date for hearts day tonight! Just you wait! In no time you two will be walking down the aisle and-”

“Lower your voice!” March hissed out. Nobody was around but he could already feel his face heating up and growing bright red from how loud he was being about this plan that he would no way agree to participate in. “I’m not asking them out. Never in a million years!” March exclaimed to Olric. He was whisper shouting now, afraid someone would walk by and hear, even though there was nobody around and everyone was busy with their own duties for the day.

Olric blinked at March. “Why not? Everyone is town knows you like them.” he said to him with a confused tilt of his head. He wasn’t even trying to mock poor March, he was just genuinely confused because, as far as he knew, March really did obviously have a thing for the farmer right up the street.

March just glared at him in response. “If everyone thinks that then this entire town is dense. I do not like the farmer.” March responded with, eagerly looking down and continuing his work. He just hoped the conversation would be over now. He nipped it in the bud and he would really prefer to be done with his work before nighttime so he can relax while everyone else goes out for their dates.

March paused his movements. Briefly, he wondered if the farmer already had plans tonight. They weren’t ugly by any means and they certainly did have a way of putting a smile on everyone’s face. Surely someone had asked them out by now. Maybe Balor? He had certainly been eyeing them since they first arrived in town. Or maybe it was possibly Reina. March always saw the two shopping and cooking together. He was sure they had forged some type of close bond by now. Probably a better bond than anything he could offer them…

“You know…” Olric started, interrupting March’s thoughts. His face had grown serious, something he wasn’t used to seeing from his brother. “I really wish you would just come to realize that you can’t go through life by yourself. It’s okay to want, or even need, friends or a partner. Nobody is going to think less of you, March. You deserve happiness.” Olric spoke with absolute sincerity. He wasn’t just saying this to make him feel better. He meant what he was saying. 

March let out a sigh before speaking, his voice coming out way more soft than he meant for it to. “Yeah, well, what if they deserve someone better than me? I don’t know if I could be that soft lover that everyone dreams of.” His hand gripped the handle of the tool he was using tightly as he spoke. It felt… weird to actually voice his concerns out loud. 

There was a beat of silence before March felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. March looked up at his brother who had moved closer to him. “No offense bro, but you should probably let them make that decision.”

March moved his eyes to the forge, unable to muster up anything in response. There was a couple of seconds of silence before Olric finally spoke again. “Ultimately, it’s your decision,” he said, moving away from his brother. Olric began to walk away. “But hey, I have a shift at the general store! Gotta stay busy and help as much as I can around town, you know? I won’t be home until late! Think about what I said!”

With that, Olric was gone, leaving March alone with his thoughts and a decision to be made.

. . . . . ╰──╮╭──╯ . . . . .

The farmer wiped the sweat off of their brow as they sat on their front porch and admired their work. The farm had really come a long way since they first got here. The farm had once just been a bunch of land filled with nothing but rocks, trees, and weeds but now it was so much more. Enough crops were growing right now to keep the town fed for a week and so many animals now that the farmer was sure they had a whole ecosystem going on. The farmer was happy. 

Well, almost.

Truth be told, they were lonely. Sure, they had plenty of friends here in Mistria, but it still kind of stung for them to see so many people excited for the holiday today. Juniper and Valen had a whole day planned for each other, Nora and Holt have been sickeningly loving with each other, and Hemlock couldn’t shut up about what he had planned for Josephine tonight. Hell, the farmer was even sure Henrietta had some type of date night going on tonight. 

Don’t get them wrong, they were happy to see everyone happy in town, they were just feeling a bit jealous that they couldn’t share that excitement with everyone. Especially since they were hoping a special someone would actually ask them out tonight. Foolish of them, really. The farmer was quite sure their feelings for March were obvious to everyone in town, after all, it’s all Elsie could tease them about every time they ran into each other. However, it was also quite obvious that March did not feel the same way.

The farmer let out a sigh, closed their eyes, and leaned their head back against the chair they were sitting in. They really needed to find a way to get over this stupid crush they had for the blacksmith. It was getting pathetic and they were quite sure March was laughing at them behind their back. Why would he like them? He was the best blacksmith anyone had ever seen and they were just… them.

“Are you deaf or something?” A slightly irritated voice cut into the farmer’s thoughts. A voice they knew all too well.

“March?” the farmer spoke with surprise voice once they opened their eyes and saw who was standing in front of them.

And sure enough it was March. He had his typical headband tied around his forehead. His usual tank top and overalls were also on but they were dirty, a clear sign that he had just finished working and walked over here immediately. Whatever he needed must have been important. 

“Yeah,” was all he said in response to them. He looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. “Are you, uh, busy or anything?” he asked hesitantly.

The farmer’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. It’s 8 o’clock at night, all their chores were done and they always tried to make it out of the mines before it got dark. Obviously, they weren’t busy doing anything. “No.” was all the farmer said, wanting to give March enough space to speak his mind.

All he did was nod before a couple seconds of silence followed. Finally, he spoke up, still not making eye contact with them. “Well, uh, I was planning on cooking something tonight. Some soup maybe since it’s a little chilly out.” he took a deep breath, as if convincing himself it was okay to continue. “Olric isn’t coming home until late tonight and I don’t want these ingredients to go to waste. You know, since I have so much of it…” He trailed off. His face had gotten more and more red as he continued speaking. At this point his face was almost the same shade as his hair. 

Yet, the farmer didn’t make fun of him. Instead, a giddy smile broke out on their face as the realization that March was actually asking them to hang out with him dawned on them. “My my, March. Are you asking me to come to your house for dinner?” the farmer asked, a giant smile creeping up on their face. 

March finally looked up at them, managing to make eye contact for a second before he averted his eyes. “I guess I am, yeah.” he said hesitantly. He was afraid they were going to burst into laughter. Then he would be the talk of the town. Poor March who tried to ask out the farmer who is so way out of his league and got rejected on the spot. God, he was already ready to die of embarrassment just from the possible scenario.

Yet, that’s not what happened. Instead, the farmer jumped to their feet, clapped their hands together once, and grinned at him with a special type of sparkle in their eyes. “Of course, I’ll come! Let me just make sure all the animals get inside and wash up! I’ll meet you at your place.” The farmer shouted, already running towards the barn and coop to get the animals put away. They wanted to get done as quickly as possible so they could make their way to March and Olric’s place. 

“D-don’t get the wrong idea! I just had extra ingredients lying around!” March shouted after them. Though he was sure they didn’t hear him, too caught up in their own excitement to even focus on what he was saying. Strangely enough, he was fine with that. As long as they kept that bright smile on their face, he was fine with anything. 

He turned away from the farm, starting the trek back to his place so he could also wash up and prepare to start cooking. Only then when he had turned away from the farmer fully and nobody could see him did he let his own smile take its place.