#like i said i'm not writing fic

[girl-mercury]

sometimes your bestie tells you to get some fucking therapy

“I think you need to talk to someone,” Donna says.

“I talk all the time, I talk to you, I talk to your mother, I talk to the man who brings the mail —amazing arrangement, mail, not sure I ever stopped to appreciate— what do you mean I should talk to someone?”

“You know what I mean. A professional. A therapist or something.” 

“Donna! What the hell would I say to a therapist? Really. What would a human therapist have to say about my life? Nobody lives like me, Donna, nobody has these experiences, nobody studies these experiences in school—“

“You need someone!”

“I’ve got you! I’ve got you. And other friends. So many friends. That I’m actually seeing again. Or planning to. I really do plan to.”

Donna sighs. She feels old. Not in a tired sort of way, not in an ancient sort of way —actually, scratch that, she has a teenage daughter, she’s made to feel ancient five times before breakfast— but she feels old in a grown-up kind of way. The kind of grown up where you know what to say to make a dentist appointment, because it’s no longer your first time doing it after your mum’s made your dentist appointments your whole life. Being grown up means that there’s a lot of things you’re not doing for the first time, all scared and unsure what to say or what you’ll need. You’ve done this before. You’ve got this. 

The Doctor always runs, not just from his past but to new experiences. Constantly, new, new, new. It’s a glorious life, full of adventure. Donna’s lived it, and she loves it. It’s such a rush, to never know what you’re doing, but knowing you’ll throw yourself headlong into it regardless. But that’s not all there is. There’s beauty in layering one experience done a hundred times over on top of itself. Every morning she sees Rose’s beautiful face again, so happy now that she can show the face she feels is hers. Every kiss she shares with Shaun is the same as the million before it, all the way back to the first time they kissed, and isn’t that marvelous? The Doctor’s never around for the millionth time of anything. He’s already long gone. 

“Just think about it,” she says. “I can help find somebody, figure out what sort of person might get it. Maybe UNIT’s got some resources. I don’t know how long Time Lord burnout lasts, I think taking a break is really going well for you, but I know how you get in your head. Might be good to let it out.”

“How do you know what’s in my head, Donna Noble?” he asks, teasing, knowing the answer. 

“Cause I’ve been in there, Spaceman, and it’s a real tip,” she answers, grinning. 

He slings an arm around her neck and pulls her close, dropping a quick kiss on her head, and then Rose gets home from school, and there’s some shouting about homework before sewing her new batch of stuffed Adipose babies, and then Wilf rings and says somebody needs to come get him if he’s coming for supper, and then the phone rings again and Donna has to have her third argument of the week with the home insurance company about her claim for the damage the aliens did to the house, and the very ordinary day goes on. The Doctor slips out to go for a walk. 

He goes for a lot of walks these days. Trying to slow down from all the running. 

+ + +

It’s a few weeks later when he and Shaun are out at the pub, waiting for Donna to join them. The Doctor’s asking if Shaun would mind if he takes Rose on a little adventure to Egypt for her birthday. Shaun’s a little dry when he says, “Permission, eh?”

“Well,” says the Doctor expansively. “It’s up to her, really. Less permission, more… advance warning.”

Donna arrives, drops a kiss on Shaun’s lips, bumps her arm up against the Doctor’s. There’s a pint already waiting for her. “The Doctor’s going to have Rose running through pyramid trap tunnels chased by possessed mummies for her birthday,” Shaun tells her. 

“I didn’t say that!” the Doctor protests. “I don’t know that there’s going to be possessed mummies. Just… I do run into some gods, every time I’m there. Not really gods, but, well, you know how rumors get around.”

“Fine,” Donna says. “If I hear my daughter’s even ended up on the altar for being a human sacrifice, I will slap you so hard your face will spin back to the first one.” 

His eyebrows go up. If anyone could manage that, Donna could. 

Later in the evening, they’ve left, the Doctor is still sitting at one of the outside tables, talking to some other guy whose name he doesn’t know. They’re not drunk, just having the kind of deep conversation you can have with a stranger after three beers. 

“My friend, she thinks I need to talk to a therapist,” the Doctor says to his new friend. The man’s an American, just moved to London. He’s told him about adventuring through space, and  aliens have come through London enough times that someone having space adventures is plausible even to someone normal. Or maybe the guy thinks he’s bullshitting the whole thing. Impossible to tell, really. 

“Therapists can help,” the man says. He lights up a cigarette. “I’ve had to see one a few times, just to get me straightened out after shit’s happened.”

“I don’t know, I just don’t like talking about, you know. Stuff. Things.”

“Oh, yeah, the stuff and the things.”

“And I don’t know who would even have advice. They don’t have specialists in space adventurers, do they? Not to sound arrogant, really and truly, but no one else has this kind of life.”

The man’s taking a drag when the Doctor says this so plaintively, and he chokes, coughing before he can get out his laughing. And then he laughs some more, and the Doctor’s considering getting a little offended. “No, man,” the guy eventually gets out. “You’re in emergency services.”

“I’m in what?” 

“Like an EMT, or whatever people call them over here. The medical folks who ride in the back of the ambulance. You show up to a place, everything’s on fire, everyone’s yelling. You get people to safety, you find out what’s wrong with them, and you start helping. You help other people get things to stop exploding, you point the police at whoever caused the ruckus in the first place. You see people at their best, and you see them at their worst, not a lot in between. Then once it’s over, you go home, and sleep, and get up the next day, and go to the next place that’s on fire. Every day.”

“Well, I’m the Doctor,” says the Doctor. 

“Maybe a bit overqualified, then. But it gets to you. You do it because you function best under pressure, when everything’s urgent and lives are on the line, and then you keep doing it because it’s what you know how to do. Even when you’ve seen so many fucked up things that there’s this numb part of you that you’re afraid doesn’t feel anything anymore. People die when you’re doing everything to save them and it’s like you’re not even there, and then you realize you’re not there when you’re around the people you love, either, even though they’re happy and safe. Cause it all never stops being on fire.”

“What do you do then?” the Doctor asks.

The guy grinds out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Quit your job and move across the ocean,” he says. “Try doing something new. And see a therapist.”

“Ah.” 

“I might have a number for someone you could call, make an appointment with, if you wanted it.”

The Doctor doesn’t think he’s going to call, but he takes it anyway. 

You never know.

[fearandhatred]

haha have you thought about the fact that decades or centuries from now when we're all dead and gone people could still possibly be thinking about good omens and writing about crowley and aziraphale living their lives in that time. doing exactly what we're doing now. and maybe they'll write about crowley and aziraphale living through the historical events we've lived through. have you thought about the fact that crowley and aziraphale will live on long after we're all gone

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 7/12

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[souenkun]

Larry's random conversarion lines 🍙

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Random conversation 1:

Ever since I met a certain individual, I now find myself gazing up at the sky every once in a while. There's scenery you'll never even notice if you stick to flat, well-trodden paths. Just something I've observed. I don't dislike the vast, clear sky... But I don't think I can reach it. It's nice to know that there's something like that out there, though.

Random conversation 2:

Pasio seems to have many good restaurants. Ah, I'm not asking for specific recommendations, though... I actually enjoy walking around and looking for a place I might like. That's part of the experience. I seek the exceptional only when it comes to food. Pasio has a variety of cuisines to choose from, so it's hard to stick to just one.

Random conversation 3:

(Player), which do you tend to favor: the exceptional or the average? I was thinking of inviting you to have a meal sometime. Casually figuring out your client's preferences is a special skill that you learn as a salaried employee.

Random conversation 4:

Lunchtime is one of the few things that a salaried employee like me can look forward to at work... We can decide whether to spend that precious time eating something familiar or trying out a new restaurant. It's not just about the meal. The decision-making process leading up to it is also something to look forward to.

Random conversation 5:

People, Pokémon... There's no need to overcomplicate things. Nowadays people only seem to want a shock factor. Something weird, something bizarre. When all's said and done, simplicity is strongest.

Random conversation 6:

You don't necessarily have to follow every instruction from your boss. But I pretend to follow them, at least, so I can avoid hassles later on. That's a technique you can use to get by in the workplace. Keep it in mind.

Random conversation 7:

I'm here in this famous tourist spot, but I can't really spread my wings while my boss has her eye on me. I guess I'll do what I usually do on my lunch break and find a spot to Roost...

[littlefankingdom]

The Batman fandom infantilizing a near 30 years old white man taking in a child, saying he was a brother more than a father as if he wasn't a full grown adult taking in a child he could have birthed, but parentifying a brown young adult taking in his brother pre-teen for less than a year, saying he was a father more than a brother (only a year is barely enough but ok), or saying he was more a father to his other brothers than Bruce, when he met them when he was 18 and 21 is making me uncomfortable, ngl.

Like, Bruce is a "kid" when he became Dick's guardian when he canonically was over 25 (he started being Batman at 25), and a brother to him when he raised him for 10 years (and Dick probably has not many memories from before Bruce now), but Dick is a "father" to Damian he only had as his charge for less than a year, half of which they were fighting each others??? Make it make sense???

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz 💖

more bucktommy the will talk (they're getting there, the conversation went a bit off track lol) - it might be done this week, and then I can focus on the smut, and the buddie fics, and I have a new bucktommy idea inspired by that video of lou barbecuing with his shirt off that I sooo wanna write🙈

prev snippet

___

“Well, yeah, of course.” Buck answers easily, his heartbeat speeding up. He’s a little anxious about putting too much pressure, too many expectations out there, but he also knows that even if he did, they’d get back on track, they’d be fine. And besides, Tommy’s smiling, he doesn’t seem freaked out at all. And that’s after Buck brought up children. But if they’re moving forward with their relationship, they need to know what they want out of life. It seems reasonable to have this conversation this early on.

“Good.” he responds, grinning widely. “Now I won't have to stress about your answer when I ask.” he adds, and Buck feels himself blush, butterflies in his stomach going wild. Oh. Oh. This is- this is real. They’re talking about it, and maybe someday soon- he might marry this man. He will marry this man. Tommy wants him forever. Tommy wants him. Tommy wants to marry him and have children with him, and just be with him. Sometimes it’s still so shocking to Buck that someone as great and amazing as Tommy wants him, but he does. Buck’s not sure he remembers the last time he felt this wanted.

“How- how do you know I won’t ask first?” Buck asks, moving his head slightly closer to Tommy, just enough to look into his beautiful blue eyes. It feels surreal, talking about this, when they only dated for a few months, but it also feels… right. It feels like they’re on the right track to get there one day.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwaterninja13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @diazsdimples

[penelopetheconartist]

I can just picture him staring out the kitchen window, sipping coffee, ready to chase off rabbits.

[cuubism]

I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!

you are in luck. i wrote more

--

"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"

He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.

Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."

Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.

He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.

This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.

I

on

ly

want

ed

you

to

see.

God, Dream's shop is weird.

Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."

Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.

Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."

Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No matter. This is what The Library is for."

Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."

Ominous. Great.

"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.

"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.

It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.

"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."

Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."

And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.

--

Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.

But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.

And he knows how.

The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.

The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.

The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:

Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.

Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.

"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.

"You have something you want to answer?"

Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."

It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.

He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"

"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."

Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."

"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.

"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.

"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."

"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.

Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."

Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"

Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."

--

They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.

Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"

"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."

"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."

"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"

Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"

This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.

Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.

Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.

When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.

"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.

"Anything."

"Never take me here ever again."

Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"

This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."

"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."

He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.

[marcelineuntitled]

fanart for This Is Not The End by @kings-highway

potentially my favourite fic ever!! <3

[sparksandspells]

for all our days and all our trials // the damen/laurent wedding fic

captive prince | rated E | 40k | post-canon | laurent pov | character study | worldbuilding | half sex, half politics (often at the same time) | a soft absurd future fic

When Laurent set out to plan a royal wedding between two 1) men, who are 2) actively ruling kings, of 3) tenuously peaceful lands, with 4) widely-known reasons to have killed, or possibly 5) still kill each other, he expected the process to come with a few difficulties. He did not expect getting his perpetually amorous new husband aroused on their wedding night to be the hardest of them. (Or: ‘Not in front of the court,' said Laurent, as if this were unspeakably foolish, 'in front of the Council.’)

Read on AO3.

it's here!! it's done!! after three years of sporadic work, it's finally out in the world!! 😭😭😭 i may be biased but this is my favorite thing i've ever written and i'm so excited to finally share it with everyone!!

big huge thanks to @ming85, @delilahsdaydream, and @i-am-a-story-goblin for responding to my call for betas two years ago; y'all's suggestions made the fic way better than it would've been otherwise. (a round of applause especially for ming85, who saved an ancient tapestry from the horror of grass stains and generally made the wedding event much more kingly than i, in my infinite unwordliness, had intended to.)

thanks also to @damiaanos for being my wall to bounce things off of more recently as i finally committed to getting this thing done no matter what. legitimately don't know how i would've managed it without your excellent balance of "you can do it" and "it's fine, stop stressing". if any other perfectionists are reading this, find people like that, they're great.

shoutout to @slecnaztemnot for throwing me the idea of putting Loyse on the Council when i had been stuck on the fifth member for a year, and gratitude to @kingsrising for being a visible fandom hub that i could turn to when i needed community and had no idea where to look for it

fandom is the best and i'm really excited to start being a more active part of capri's

as i mentioned, i've been talking about this fic on tumblr for over two years, so i will now proceed to tag every person who interacted with either of those posts, on the off chance that they would appreciate receiving an update on this fic that is now a real thing that they can go read (if they wish to, obvi)

from the kingsrising ask: @ladykyrin, @afantasyghost, @gildedgaze, @westealtoys, @timburtonknewmyoceans

@plushdragon, @blue-eyed-korra, @foreverskies29, @bumblebee-whiskey, @stardust-at-midnightt,

@brinkleyheights, @lavendercoded, @meraki-ii, @nonothatsano, @not-a-coral-snake

and from the call for betas: @caeli-phantomhive, @laurents-laces, @jaks21, @auroralunasoleil, @captaindamianos

@airebellah, @certainbirdkitty

@marrieddorks, @i-want-delfeur, @morgenti, @goose-fish, @farrukh-schumann,

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter, @p1n4ta, @deleteitold, @lovelovelove, @hennike

@nczakiis, @theoraclephobetor, @angelshineyourlightonme, @naisvalta, @pienenpienileppakerttu,

@aristosakielon, @foreverfraancis, @fangirlfortress, @whynotme12, @naturaldisaster,

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[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Every doctor falls somewhere on an autism-ADHD scale and 11 and 13 are at opposite ends yet would vibe harder than any other doctors. In this essay I will-

[coldshrugs]

hi Azia! since I'll probably never play FFXIV but want to gobble up everything you've ever written or will write for Io and Estinien, I was wondering if you could kind of summarize or describe the context for their relationship in the canon universe. what do I need to understand about their history in order to better appreciate the way they fit? how do they meet and what brings them together? are there some universal truths for each WoL that heavily contribute to who Io is (kind of like how Hawke in DA2 loses half their family, or every Shepard in Mass Effect is deadish for two years)?

no pressure to answer if you don't have the time/energy or just plain don't want to! ok thanks love you bye 💙

🧍

Hi Ells. I am so sorry....

Understanding Estinio

General World Lore: The story of XIV begins five years after a Calamity (an event of large-scale devastation that leaves the land and people struggling to recover). This is the seventh Calamity over a period of 13,000 years. Other notable world happenings are:

the Dragonsong War: a war between man and dragon that has raged in and around Ishgard for one thousand years

the more recent advancement of the Garlean Empire: Garlemald is a technologically advanced nation seeking to "unite" the world under its rule

Warrior of Light Things: The player character is almost a completely blank slate. Their appearance and combat proclivities are entirely up to the player! Their backstory is not really mentioned, and the only thing we know about them from the start is that they're an Adventurer, which in this setting is someone who wanders here and there, helping with whatever odd jobs they can in hopes of earning a living and maybe some local fame too. A little network of unionized Hometown Heroes. But some things hold true for most WoLs (headcanons notwithstanding):

They have a gift called The Echo. A few other characters have the gift, but it can manifest differently from person to person. The WoL's Echo allows them to visit scenes from the past, sometimes through the eyes of another and sometimes as a kind of bodiless spectator, usually triggered by high emotion from a person or place. It also has a few other functions.

They join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization that's a bit of an open secret, determined to stop Primal summoning (Primals are replications of gods, the will of a people made manifest, and they are powerful and destructive. If most people venture too close, they become enthralled). Recruited for their prowess in combat (or healing, maybe, if you're not Io) and apparent inability to be tempered by Primals, they, of course, become the team's most powerful asset.

Io Laithe is my WoL, a viera born in the Garlean-occupied region of Dalmasca. When she was 19/20, her home village suffered a violent raid, and her family was lost. She managed to escape and flee far to the west. At the beginning, she's around 29 and an accomplished archer, among other things. Io endures more loss over her story, friends and lovers, and she blames herself over and over. She struggles to lay down her grief and represses her anger for so long that she almost loses herself to it at one point, but she claws her way back with the help of her friends. She's soft-spoken, and reserved, but is also deeply kind and surprisingly funny. (This paragraph is short but I feel like I talk about her so much lmao. Trying not to gush too hard)

Estinien Varlineau was born to a family of sheepherders, in a small farming community outside Ishgard. When he was 12, his village was razed to the ground in a dragon attack. He found the charred remains of his parents outside his home (his dad had tried to shield his mom from the dragon fire). His younger brother was inside, trapped under a collapsed beam but already gone. He was the only survivor, and was taken in by a man named Alberic who held the title of Azure Dragoon (the most powerful lance-wielder in the land, but I'll spare you the specifics. There's dragon-y magic and a literal dragon eye that gives them powers. This was supposed to be quick omfg). Estinien swore to avenge the deaths of his family and trained with Alberic, eventually becoming the next Azure Dragoon. Eventually, he gets his vengeance, but the cost is so much more than he expects. At the end of it, he is begging for his own death, but his friends (the WoL included) refuse to let him go out like that and save him. He's since been on a journey of self-discovery; who is he without the drive to avenge those he lost, without his duty or his post? In personality, Estinien is blunt and abrasive, he cannot read a room (but he would like to leave it). He has a sharp sense of humor and often teases his few friends, he's extremely sentimental, he's very protective of the people he cares for, and can't stop himself from helping a kid in need.

Relationship Summary

They overlook each other at first. Io finds Estinien too harsh and rude. He thinks (since she is seeing Haurchefant at the time, who is... affiliated with a noble house of Ishgard) that Io is another pretty girl grabbing at coattails--surely not the "great warrior" he's heard about. And it takes a journey into dragon country for them to warm up to each other, when he learns she can easily hold her own, and she sees how protective and kind he can be to their traveling companions. They become friends and it's easier than either of them expected. They don't talk about their loss with each other though, not for a long time. Both hear the other's story from someone else, and it endears them to each other, an unspoken, invisible bond in addition to what they've already faced together. Just as Io saved him at the end of the Dragonsong War, Estinien saves her when she faces off against the might of Garlemald and almost dies. It's a long time before she gets to thank him for that, but when she does, it's around the time he agrees to join the Scions too. They spend more time together, and they become almost inseparable. And as the world hangs on the brink of what seems to be another Calamity, they quietly fall in love and almost lose each other again. Neither confesses to the other until things have settled down. But once the confessions are out of the way, they easily fall into warm domesticity. They spend the better part of a year mostly in one place, living together, working together, making the smaller trips they need to but always returning to a home base. Now, there's the itch to travel again. They just pulled a stint of traveling separately but ended up in the same place. He very much wants to continue roaming, and Io does too, but part of her is starting to think about a family. I haven't decided when or if they talk about this lmao. They love each other so much, but both have a strong streak of wanderlust, and both are legendary heroes who belong to the world as much as they belong to each other.

Why they compel me:

I don't know if you guys know this about me but I love to think about grief :> It's the shared trauma, the love transformed into anger, and how new bonds can heal someone. I did not plan for Io's backstory to be so similar to Estinien's, and even before I shipped them, their friendship was a highlight for me. I love that they do most of their recovery on their own. I love that they always come back to each other. Big fan of people who might not appear outwardly soft all the time, but are just SO mushy for their partner.

They are both symbols of hope for their people, for better or worse. They understand that about each other, what it's like to have some of your personhood stripped away so you can embody an ideal.

Estinien is impulsive and straightforward, Io is cautious and thoughtful. He pushes her, and she grounds him. They both relish the peace the company of the other brings, and they are more certain of the other's ability and resolve than they are of themselves. They are best friends, they are family, and they admire each other.

Some key reads, chronologically:

close quarters | oh no, she's hot…

oblivious | a mutual friend notices io and estinien seem… different.

what i see in you, i hope you find in me | io realizes she is not in love with zenos

pang | estinien has his own realization

see you in the morning | the night before they depart towards unknown danger, estinien tries to soothe a worried io

in this state | io is unconscious, estinien keeps watch

mustering | estinien tells io about his brother, the first time he's talked about him in decades

take another step off the edge | FIRST KISS!!!!

And then their tag is filled with gposes I've made, art I've commissioned, writing prompt fills, fics from the two AUs I've written for them, and tons of quotes or poems that fit their vibe. I'd share a playlist but I don't have a playlist... there are five now T^T BYE!! 💗

[blacktofade]

Fic: gemtho [NC-17]

Inspired by the "game" from Gem's S10E03 (aka I found an excuse to write filth).

--

“You said I could take anything,” Gem reminds Etho, who stares up at her, eyes wide and skin flushed above the line of his mask.

“Yeah, but I meant — ”

Her hands work at his belt and then his pants, getting both of them open, pushing and shoving for what she wants.

“I made my choice,” she says, managing to slip his pants far enough down his hips that she can see he’s half-hard already. “I’m gonna take you.”

His hands are tight on her waist and his mask shifts in time with his breathing, but he doesn’t argue. Not even about the fact that she has him flat on his back in the grass just outside of his home, where anyone might see.

“You could’ve just asked,” Etho groans when Gem spits into her palm and reaches down to stroke him.

“It’s about the game,” she reminds him, and it feels good to have the weight of him in her hand again.

They haven’t done this since they moved, swept up in the chaos of starting over, but she’s missed it — missed him.

And it’s clear Etho feels the same, because it hardly takes any effort to get him the rest of the way hard, the curve of his cock and the wet tip of it making Gem ache inside.

Etho’s hands slide higher, groping at her in a way he doesn’t usually, not unless she really gets him worked up, and she finds out quickly that it’s what she needs.

Part of her wishes she was wearing her skirt still, because if she was, all she’d have to do is tug her underwear to the side and she could take him. Instead, she has to pull back, away from everything she wants.

Etho grunts, but it doesn’t take Gem long to kick off her boots and slip out of her pants and underwear, and Etho stares like he can’t get enough, even after seeing her bare so many times before.

Briefly, he reaches down as though wanting to get his fingers on her — or maybe in her — but she bats his hand away, too impatient for anything that’ll slow her down.

“Gem,” he tries, voice tight, but Gem’s already holding his dick steady, guiding him into her as she slowly sinks down.

Etho’s head tips back, his throat bared, which makes it easy for Gem to fold forward and get her mouth on it.

He feels so good filling her up and he doesn’t move, letting her set the pace she wants, even as she works a bruise onto his skin. The fact that he doesn’t tell her not to makes her even wetter, knowing he wants to walk around with it, that he’s okay with anyone seeing it.

She digs her teeth in, just enough to make him moan as she finally settles on his hips, his cock as deep as she can get it. It’s been long enough that the stretch of it stings a little and she knows she’ll feel it later.

She gives the line of his jaw a final kiss before pulling away, sitting back and looking down at him.

His headband has shifted, his hair a little tangled and flyaway, but he’s breathing hard and staring back at her with dark eyes.

“Still wish I’d taken something else from your base?” Gem asks and Etho exhales forcefully.

“No.”

She smiles at the fact that he answers, like he knows she’d force him to if he didn’t, and then rolls her hips, giving him what he clearly wants.

He lets out another breath and Gem continues, enjoying the feeling of him nudging so deep inside, and she keeps at it for a long moment, reaching between her legs to rub at her clit to help adjust to him.

She could come like that, given enough time, but she doesn’t think she has the patience for it. After so many weeks with nothing but her own hand, she wants Etho to make her come hard and fast.

“Y’know, I never said you couldn’t move,” she muses, watching Etho’s expression shift. “You’re doing that voluntarily.”

His gaze tracks her and she sees the moment he understands, and she feels the moment he understands when he brings his hands up to her back and the world starts to tilt.

Somehow he manages to roll them, slipping out of her only long enough to untangle his pants from around legs, before he pushes her thighs open again and shoves back inside.

She laughs, throwing her arms out and enjoying the softness of grass beneath them.

Etho fucks her with a strength she still hasn’t grown accustomed to, still takes her by surprise, and it’s exactly what she needs.

“God,” she groans, curling her legs around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper with every thrust. “I missed this.”

The frantic snap of Etho’s hips wordlessly says he feels the same, but she can see it in his expression, too. The way he stares at her as though he’d try to find her in any universe they fell into.

She shuts her eyes and turns her hands palms-down, clutching at the ground beneath her, breathing hard and chasing the feeling growing inside her.

Etho moves against her, though his thrusts never stop, and Gem startles as his mouth finds her own, mask no longer in the way. She pushes a moan between his lips alongside her tongue and he kisses back with a fierceness she’s never felt from him before.

It’s like it’s the only way he knows to tell her he never wants them to be apart again.

“Yeah,” she says against his mouth when he finally breaks away to catch his breath, and she hopes he knows it’s the answer to his unspoken question.

Their bodies are loud in the silence around them, but she can hear and feel how Etho is already beginning to lose rhythm, the way he trembles trying to keep up the pace.

“Want me to pull out?” he asks, lips grazing her cheek and Gem shakes her head.

“Don’t care,” she pants, because either way she’ll have to wander down to the river to wash. She’s so wet, she’s a mess already.

Etho adjusts, just enough that every thrust manages to rub her clit at the same time, and she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Etho,” she begs, and in no time at all, he has her coming the exact way she’s needed — deep and devastating.

She’s still shaking from it when Etho gets a hand under one of her knees and pushes it up, fucking her faster but with none of the precision, and when he follows her over the edge, it’s with a loud groan that she can feel through his chest.

He keeps moving — maybe to push his come a little deeper, though probably just because it feels good — and with how wound up she feels, she knows she should take advantage.

“Keep going,” she tells him. “Just a little bit more.”

He’s probably sore and oversensitive, but he still obeys, and Gem reaches between them, circling her clit with two fingers just long enough to make herself come again, the second orgasm hitting sharper, but just as hard.

“Gem,” Etho says, sounding a little astonished, a little broken, but Gem lets herself go boneless with a laugh, her legs dropping from around Etho’s waist.

“God, I needed that,” she sighs, and Etho carefully pulls out before dropping into the grass beside her.

She stays there, eyes closed, catching her breath, a gentle tugging at her hair that suggests Etho’s playing with it as he rests next to her.

She can feel his come dripping out of her, cooling quickly, and yet can’t bring herself to care.

When she opens her eyes, Etho’s watching her, but when he notices, he smiles — a rarity for her to see.

Carefully, she rolls toward him, throwing one leg over his own and bringing a hand up to his face, thumb nestling in the dimple of his cheek.

“I’m glad we’re neighbors,” he tells her, and happiness bubbles up through her chest and escapes as a laugh.

“I’m glad, too, Etho.”

When she leans in to kiss him, he meets her halfway.

[walking-existential-crisis]

Me realising I have to actually write my whole fic and not just little paragraphs in between with no context: Fuck

[bloos-bloo]

I did something silly, am I following a trend? Yes. Yes I am