#literally formatting fic on tumblr is the worst

[kai-ni]

Forgiven Ch. 5 is up!

If [Aziraphale] had his way, he'd make sure the demon never felt unwanted again.

[hana-no-seiiki]

YANDERE ! BATFAM W/ MILES MORALES (BUT GENDER NEUTRAL) ! READER

Just an outline for a potential full on fic to come.

First of all, I’d like to put credit where credit is due and thank Kden (from Quotev) for creating Straight Venomous and inspiring me to start this. And thank you firefly-graphics and galacticgrafitti for the dividers.

Damian and Reader are of legal age in this fic but there will still be an age gap between them and Bruce (I mean he literally fathered the former so it can’t be helped)

This is my first fic in Tumblr so forgive me if it isn’t up to par for quality and format wise as I’m still learning.

CW/TW: Reader is POC coded as in Latino/Black like Miles although you can kinda have to squint since it’s only from the dialogue with their mother in future chapters. Reader is described to have gained “muscles” and height. Spoilers for Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse. NO NSFW YET BUT WILL COME IN LATER CHAPTERS.

current status: unedited

summary: damian meets and gets attracted to wrinkly brained reader. mostly follows the into the spiderverse plot.

Reply if you’d like to be added to this series’s taglist.

[ PART TWO ] [ PART THREE ]

WHAT’S UP DANGER (PART ONE)

“If I sound lazy just ignore my tone, cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

like what’s up danger?”

You most likely met Damian first.

He was astonished by how much of a failure you were. Really, he wouldn’t have noticed you in the first place if you weren’t such a catastrophe. He knew you only got to his school via raffle but even the worst students here didn’t get complete zeroes on all their scores.

He was probably assigned to be your tutor. Which you remember vehemently refusing. After all you wanted to be expunged from this god awful preppy school filled with elites of all kinds. But nope — you were forced to get along with the worst of them all. Damian Wayne. Perhaps you’ve gone too far and should have settled for a 20 or something on that paper instead . . . or all those quizzes and assignments you purposely got zeroes on.

In any case you now had the Damian Wayne inside your house (if you even call it that) and a paper to write about your ambitions or whatever.

You were basically complete opposites. He was rich, you were below average if not just straight up poor. You even bet he was a daddy’s boy or some shit. (But who were you to judge when your first day at the school literally consisted of your father forcing you to say you love him . . . with the loudest speakers known to man!) He was probably into classical music and while you did enjoy the genre as well you were more of a hip-hop, trap, pop music sorta guy. He was known as a snob that didn’t take bullshit from anyone while you were literally the definition of a pushover.

But surprisingly you two clicked really well. It started with you off-handedly correcting one of his mistakes. It wasn’t supposed to reach his ears really. But the realization that you, the bottom feeder of all bottom feeders corrected him flustered him entirely. That moment stuck within his head for the entire week that it even slipped into his vigilante activities.

Like, after single-handedly decimating a group of people trying to rob a bank he just yells, “How the hell did I get that wrong?!” while that one dude pretending to be unconscious in the background so he wouldn’t get beaten up harder just stares at him in confusion and shock.

After he cools down a bit, he starts wondering how you got it right. He looks into your scores and notices everything before his intervention were literally straight zeroes. Not just in the classes you two shared. It was either you were extremely (un)lucky or . . . you knew every answer from the start.

So he starts taunting you. Forcing you to display your prowess. Calling you an idiot, poor, nobody when you didn’t relent to his provocation.

And so you did. You showed him that you really didn’t need help from him. That you were a genius in your own right. Capable of doing advanced arithmetics within seconds in your head. You were fascinating to him.

And maybe the fact that only he got to know this side of you — not your classmates or teachers, even your parents now that you’ve secured a dorm room close to him (courtesy of the Wayne name) — knew about your intelligence inflated his ego. If only you didn’t have a roommate that bothered you two once in a while. He was quite the annoyance with how the music in his headphones could be heard even across the room. Like seriously, how was the boy not deaf yet?

It was around that time you got your powers.

You began avoiding him (and everyone really) but mostly him (he’d convinced himself). You’d only come to his desk once in a while to tell him that you weren’t available for tutoring that day, or even that entire week. Not to mention your sudden growth in height and muscles. Were you going through . . . puberty? No wait— you’re older than him by a year! Perhaps you were a late bloomer? You probably just started a gym membership. But he didn’t spot you in any gyms throughout Gotham out on his patrol. Not even at your room at night…

That and your already sus scores and attitude prompted him to instigate an entire investigation.

Who was [Y/N] [L/N]?

He knew some facts about you just from your room, the fact that you enjoyed music of all sorts and art, more specifically the graphic - pop look. He even started noticing your name-tags that you’d put everywhere both in his civilian and vigilante life. Seriously, how were you able to put it atop this streetlamp of all places?

Then he started noticing how alike you two actually are. Aside from enjoying art and all, you were incredibly rebellious. You had a relationship with your dad that could only remind him of his with Bruce. He knew you probably get reprimanded for all the vandalism you’ve gotten up to all the time. A small smile graced his lips at the thought.

However this only made him question your avoidance even more. So he decided to take a step further and trail you as robin (even harder).

You were getting really close with this Gwen girl in class. He quipped in his head as he noticed you two walking together.

Were you . . . going to the gym to impress her?

You didn’t seem like the type to change yourself for the sake of others. Despite your downtrodden attitude about academics. He can see the hidden potential, that confidence he wanted out for him to witness and bask in. He wanted to see all sides of you he realized.

He wanted to be the only one who did.

But just as he was about to follow you two into a dark alleyway he gets called by Dick of all people to investigate something else. Something about a man trying to cross realities and universes? Pah, as if that was more important than this. Nightwing can handle himself. He couldn’t have his competence questioned though. So with a reluctant sigh, he takes off into the night sky. Wondering what the pair he followed could be doing.

[ PART TWO ] [ PART THREE ]

[nobelowz]

pls recommend some obkk long-fics it's a necessity 🙏🏻 (not kamui blues cus i've already read it) or just your favourites

im gonna be so honest im like the worst person to ask for recommendations.. ive read pretty much every obkk fic on ao3 that passes my bare minimum filters and they are all fused together in my mind, i wish i was joking... youre better off sending me screenshots of a fic and letting me tell you how it affected me psychologically 😭

HOWEVER.. any of butter_peanut's (author of kamui blues) obkk fics are so so precious to me..

also anything by khalas is amazing but they literally disappeared off the face of the earth so none of their fics have been updated in a while... </3

also also anyone else please respond with your fav fics!!!

some recs vv

fine line by sixpaths, its not finished yet but i love the characterizations in this fic sooo much

living western by galeforcefish, honestly i think this fic is abandoned but cowboy obkk will always be a full course meal for me...

affection and mutual misfortune by bow_woww, im being 100% serious this fic is like crack to me. genuinely with every update im clawing at the walls shaking crying giggling screaming in agony screaming with joy. i like it a normal amount.

discography by malamanteau, i really can't recall the entire plot right now but i know ive reread it several times and enjoyed it!

these are whats off the top of my head forgive me for the format... tumblr moblie sucks🙇🏻‍♂️

[spine-buster]

portofino ft. kenny omega

gif credit @/stukky

Length: 23k Summary: You and Tyson have history.  Lots of it.  When you met, you could have never envisioned he would be in your life the way he still is.  But things get complicated, and tricky, and complex.  Things hurt – lots of things hurt.  And things can only get worse before they can get better, right? A/N: my first wrestling fic since 2017. The formatting and spacing on this is super fucked up and not idea and I apologize for that, but Tumblr's new and "improved" text editor is literally the fucking worst and glitches SO much that the most I could do was this. This will also be posted on my AO3 (@/spinebuster) if you prefer there!

10th May 2023

it only hurts this much right now was what i was thinking the whole time

You were crying again.

At this point, you were basically just leaking.

You didn’t want Tyson to find out, so you tried with all your might to stop yourself, rubbing away your tears with the back of your hand and trying to steady your breathing.  You breathed in and out, in and out, in and out.  You hoped no-one else around noticed.  But it was hard when there were so many people, hard when you were friends with practically all of them, hard when any little hint of water or redness of your eye could cause someone like Austin or Hikaru or Dustin to speak up and ask you what was wrong.  You almost wanted to hide in a closet until you calmed down, but that was childish. 

You went into one of the washrooms backstage anyway, not bothering to go into a stall but checking them all quickly anyway to ensure nobody else was with you.  When you knew you were clear, you stood in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror.  Your cheeks were red, your eyes were watery.  You sighed.

“Get it together, Hazel,” you mumbled to yourself.  You so desperately needed to get it the fuck together.  “Stop crying.  You’re such a baby.”

The pep talk didn’t help much.

***

“Have you seen Hazel anywhere?” Tyson asked Nick as he unraveled the tape around his wrists.

“Nah,” he answered, shaking his head.  “Probably went back to the hotel a bit early.”

“Why would she do that?” Tyson asked.  Matt, from behind his brother, gave one of his best friends a look.  “Oh.  Right,” Tyson realized.

“Don’t think she wants to hang out here anymore than she needs to,” Nick commented.

“Can you blame her?” Matt asked his brother.

“Not in the slightest.”

***

You had the TV on for background noise as you went about your routines and wandered aimlessly around the hotel room.  It was pitch black outside in Detroit; you couldn’t even see anything out the window besides the lights from the hotel parking lot.  What a view.  You tried to distract yourself with the TV, sitting down on the suite’s couch, but you couldn’t even do that.  Your legs pushed you back up to wander more.  You’d check your phone and texted your mom back.  You texted Hikaru that maybe brunch would be a better idea tomorrow instead of meeting her in the lobby for the continental breakfast, knowing what tomorrow morning would probably look like. 

At some point, you heard some noise and voices from outside your room.  Not long after, the sounds of a key card swiping, and finally the turn of the doorknob.  You were greeted with Tyson – or, more so, Tyson was greeted with you, since you were the one in his room.  It wasn’t a surprise that you were there, but it was still a welcome sight.  It was better than being alone.

“Hey,” you greeted him.  It had been about an hour since you stopped crying, so you hoped your eyes and face had stopped showing it.

“Hazel, hey,” he said, smiling at you, despite what he had just been through.  He wheeled his bag in behind him before the door shut on its own.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied.  “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” he shrugged.  He’d been saying that a lot lately.  You hated when he did.  “You left early.”

You nodded quickly, apologetically.  “I didn’t want to stick around.  Knowing that he’s lurking around, you know…I just didn’t want to have to deal with it.”

“I didn’t even see him, for what it’s worth.  If you stayed in our locker room you would’ve been good.”

The two of you didn’t even have to say his name for you to understand.  In some ways, you were glad he acted as a buffer, an excuse you could pull, that way you could hide why you really left early.  “I watched most of the match, I swear.  Until I couldn’t anymore.”

“When was that?”

“When you guys broke the cage,” you were finally honest, just slightly.

“So you didn’t see Don stab me with a screwdriver.”

You winced.  “No.  But you at least told me about that.  You didn’t tell me the cage was going to break.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice solemn.  “You know how these matches get put together.  Things get added.  Things get taken out.”

Did you ever.  But you still couldn’t get used to how…well, violent Tyson’s matches were getting.  Unnecessary violence.  Unnecessary risk.  There was no reason for Tyson to bleed, and now you felt he was bleeding every week.  You didn’t know how much longer you’d last.  “How’s your knee?” you asked, since you saw it get caught up in the cage when it broke, causing you to cry in the first place.  He’d just taken time off for double knee surgery; you were scared he was taking it too far.

“Knees are fine.  As good as they can be,” he assured you.  “Can you…can you help me with something else, though?”

“Of course.  What is it?”

“There’s, umm, there’s some scratches on my back.  I need someone to take off the big bandage, apply this cream the doctor gave me, and tape on a new bandage.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly.  You’d done a version of this countless times before but it never got easier.  Just like watching him do these kinds of matches never got easier.  “Do you want to sit on the bed?”

He changed out of his gym shorts and into his pyjama shorts first so he could sleep right afterwards.  You watched as he sat on the bed, handing you the ointment.  When you unravelled the bandage, your stomach was in knots about how big it was.  “Ty…”

“It’s going to look worse than it feels,” he warned.  “It doesn’t feel that bad, Hazel.  I promise.”  He took off his shirt then, slowly, grunting slightly.  The bandage covered nearly half his back.  You held your breath, trying to keep your emotions in check.  “The tape that’s holding the bandage in place – it doesn’t hurt.  You can just peel it off,” he instructed.  “I have more for when you put the new one on.”

You started peeling away the tape, discarding it beside you as you.  When it was fully peeled, the bandage still stayed in place, which only meant to you it was sticking onto his skin because of the blood.  You held your breath again as you took the bandage off, but fully gasped loudly in horror, your breath taken away when you saw the state of his back.  “Oh Ty…” you cried.

“Hazel—”

“Tyson, what did you do?  What did you do?” you begged from him.  You brought your hand up, tracing the scratches and cuts delicately with your fingertips.  “Tyson…” he had to hear the pain in your voice.

“I’m sorry, Hazel.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m so sorry.”

And that’s when it began again: the tears.  You grabbed the ointment and unscrewed the cap, taking in the full picture of his back.  You cried silently, tears falling down your face as you would apply small bits of ointment to your fingers before rubbing it along all the scratches.  You would do this for Tyson until the day you died, but you hated that it had to be like this.  The two of you had always looked out for one another – Tyson more so, for obvious reasons, but that was a whole other story – but seeing his body mutilated like this twisted something in you that you couldn’t kick.  It was one thing to see Kenny after a 60-minute match with Okada, body bruised and banged up but all in one piece; it was another thing to see barbed wire and nail scratches, cuts, and footprints on his face.

He winced in pain every so often and you’d keel, hating yourself for hurting him when you were supposed to be helping him.  You tried not to let him hear you cry, but you were sure the couple of sniffles gave it away.  When you finally asked for the tape for the bandage and your voice cracked, you were positive.

Tyson handed you the tape, but turned around slightly to see you.  “You’re crying.  Why are you crying?” he asked.

You shook your head to ignore him.  You unravelled the tape and began ripping strips to use.  “Turn around.”

“Hazel—”

“Sit still.”

Tyson stayed silent.  You positioned the bandage to cover all the scratches before taping it into place.  When you were done, you tossed the tape to the side, the rest of his back looking fairly normal besides the scars you already knew about.  Unable to control yourself, you leaned forward and pressed your cheek to his skin on his back between his shoulder blades, inhaling and exhaling deeply.  Tyson felt what you were doing, the skin-to-skin contact an instantaneous feeling, and breathed in and out along with you.  You savoured the feeling of the Tyson you knew on your skin.  Not mutilated Tyson.  Not banged up Tyson.  Just the Tyson you knew for twelve years, the Tyson who looked out for you, the Tyson who was your mentor.

“I’m sorry, Hazel,” he whispered, his words sincere.  He hated seeing, feeling you so upset.

“Can I stick around tonight?” you asked.

“You never have to ask.  You just can.”

When you crawled to step off the bed, Tyson grabbed your arm to prevent you from going anywhere momentarily.  You wanted to get the feeling of tears off your face, but he had other plans.  You were right at his side, so so close.  “I really am sorry,” he told you.  “I hate seeing you like this.”

Tears were coming again.  You didn’t try to stop them this time.  You still shook your head and tried to wipe them away.  “It’s just getting harder and harder for me to watch you put your body through these hardcore matches,” you admitted.  “Sometimes I just wish you’d stick to what you’re good at.  And that’s not to say you’re not good at the hardcore stuff, because you are – you’re good at everything.  I just wish I didn’t have to see your body be mutilated for the sake of spectacle.  I hate—I hate seeing what you have to do.  You, more than anyone, know how to put on a spectacle without having to do that shit.  I hate seeing you destroy your body, Ty.  I just hate it.  I’m sorry.”

He nodded his head in understanding.  “I know it’s hard.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

Tyson waited for you to wash your face and put on one of his t-shirts before the both of you got into bed.  You wondered if you should get close at all, possibly even touch him, and you were about to decide against him until he winced again, trying to get into a comfortable position.  It was at that point that your body physically moved towards his before your mind knew what it was doing.  It was like a fight-or-flight response.  He found a comfortable position sleeping on his side, and you curled up right against his back like the big spoon, despite being two-thirds his size. 

In the quietness of the room, with the low hum of the air conditioner the only noise, you placed a kiss on his shoulder.  He didn’t say anything, but you knew he felt it.

***

The next morning, you woke up still snuggled into Tyson.  You both had inevitably shifted throughout the night: Tyson was lying on his back, apparently able to do so without pain, while you were sleeping right up against him.  When you opened your eyes, you saw that he was still sound asleep, one arm draped over his chest.

“Haze?” you heard him mumble in a groggy voice.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t fully asleep.  “Hmm?”

“Thank you for last night,” he said.

You didn’t answer right away.  “I’ll always be there to help you, Tyson.  You know that.”

He moved so that the arm that had been squished against you was now around you, pulling you into his body even more than you already were.  The usual smell of him filled your airways; it practically made you drunk.  Drunk enough to fall back asleep, his body bringing you peace as much as it did pain.

***

11th May 2023

time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it i'd like to be my old self again, but i'm still trying to find it

When you were back in Orlando, you settled into the solace of your apartment, unpacking immediately and throwing your clothes in the washing machine.  You were called a psychopath more than once by Stephen for being that type of person – especially after it became a meme on the internet – but you couldn’t help it.  You had even packed Tyson’s shirt that you’d slept in last night, seeing it mixed in with your other clothes before you threw in a Tide Pod and closed the door.

After unpacking, you set your suitcase in your closet and resolved to have a bowl of lime tortilla chips as you sat on the couch and scrolled through Instagram and cuddled with your ragdoll cat, Zadie.  You needed to disconnect from wrestling for a bit, from flashbacks of seeing Tyson’s scratched-up back whipping through your mind every other minute.  But as you sat down on your couch, bowl or tortilla chips in hand, you couldn’t help but notice your most prized belongings: your wrestling accolades you had organized neatly on the wall and in the media unit that surrounded your TV.  Your Match of the Year plaques from 2014 and 2015.  Your Woman of the Year awards.  A women’s belt.  Framed photographs of you wrestling.  Frame photographs of you with your friends.  With your family.  With Tyson.

Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago and sometimes it felt like you had to retire yesterday.  You had enjoyed an amazing but short career.  You’d had a lot of ups, a lot of downs, a lot of heartbreaks, a lot of memorable moments.  There was the time you’d gone 20-minutes with Toni Storm in a match that ended up getting over a million views on YouTube.  You’d performed in infamous Reseda, in the PWG arena, to the most raucous crowd you’d ever performed in front of.  You had travelled to America, Japan, the UK, Germany, Italy, France, Mexico, and Ireland to wrestle.  You had hype.  You had respect.  People wrote about you.  People paid to see you.  People lined up for you at meet and greets.  People wanted your autograph and your t-shirts at shows, handing you wads of cash for two medium and two kids’ t-shirts so the whole family could match.  While you had made a name for yourself, you’d racked up the injuries too.  There was the broken wrist early on, which wasn’t that bad – from a show in Toronto where you just landed awkwardly.  You were able to finish the match, and thanks to the Canadian health care system you held so dear, it was in a cast just a few hours later.  There was a broken ankle that actually forced you to stay back from a tour of Ireland that many of your friends went on.

At one point in 2014, you were booked to wrestle against a women’s wrestler, fairly new to the scene, named Bea Priestley.  The both of you had gone over the match beforehand, but once in the ring, she did nothing you two spoke about.  That was fine – you were a professional – but Bea was wrestling stiff, and you were getting angrier every passing moment in the ring, even warning her to cool it.  When she actually did one of the sequences you’d called beforehand, she ended up breaking your sternum.  You had to be out for twelve weeks.  You never heard from Bea.  It was fine.  Whatever.

But the next time Bea Priestley wrestled you, she broke your neck.

You told her you didn’t want to take anything too risky.  “Why?  You don’t trust me?” she had the audacity to ask you.  During the match, when she picked you up and flipped you upside down, you knew what was coming, so you tried to get into a safe position.  But none of that mattered.  Nothing would have saved you.

You remembered dropping on you head, and you remember seeing a light, and you remember your whole body going limp.  It felt like you weight a million pounds; you were completely paralyzed from the neck down.  You couldn’t move, and it was the scariest seconds of your life.  Rick Knox immediately noticed.  You closed your eyes and willed your brain to wiggle your fingers, and after about five or six seconds, you felt them rubbing against each other, even just slightly.  You remembered seeing Bea try to kick you, but Rick Knox earnestly holding her back.  When he pushed her far enough away, he knelt down by your head.  “Haze, what happened?” he asked.  You knew your body.  You knew what this was.  You told Rick not to touch you, that you had broken your neck. 

You remember him throwing up one of the most emphatic X’s you’d ever seen and the whole crowd going silent.  Rick was screaming something, but you were focused on the worst pain you’d ever felt in your neck as you began feeling again in your extremities.  After that, so much was a blur.  You remember Austin somehow being beside your face too, telling you everything was going to be okay – you later learned he was watching from the back and ran out the second Rick threw up the X.  You remember Dustin being there too, doing much of what Austin was doing, giving Bea dirty looks – you later learned he was the one who called the ambulance.  Austin and Dustin were very likely the reasons things weren’t worse, the reason why you were still walking. 

At the hospital they ran x-rays and MRIs and other tests, as usual, and they put a neck brace on you.  Dustin had followed you to the hospital to explain everything to the emergency doctors, Austin and Kyle and Candice following close behind in a car.  When the results finally came back, it was even worse than you – than everybody – thought. 

“Your disc hit your spinal cord, which is why you saw the white light,” the doctor explained.  “That’s what caused the temporary paralysis.”

“So I broke it, like I thought,” you wanted the confirmation.  People had recovered from broken necks before.  So many had been able to get back into the ring.

The doctor sighed.  “Miss Fiore…” she began.  “Your disc hit your spinal cord.  You didn’t fracture your neck.  You didn’t break it.  What you suffered is what we refer to as a spinal cord concussion.  You don’t have to sever your spinal cord to be paralyzed for life, you could just touch it and be paralyzed for life.  This…what happened to you…is technically worse.”

You remember feeling as if the blood drained from your body.  “Paralyzed?”

She sighed again.  “Miss Fiore…you have a very, very similar injury to Christopher Reeve.  Your C2 is what controls your breathing.  The truth is, when it hit your spinal cord, you should have suffocated to death in the ring.  Out of the five percent of people that survive this injury, ninety-nine percent are paralyzed.  It’s quite literally a miracle that you are still able to walk.” 

You had emergency spinal fusion surgery less than 24 hours later.  Four screws, a rod, and sixteen staples created a gnarly, awful scar on your neck that was still visible whenever you had your hair up. 

Your wrestling career was over.

Your phone buzzed loudly from your coffee table, breaking your train of thought.  At least it kept you from crying.  When you picked it up, you noticed Tyson’s name flash across the screen.

Want to come up and watch some Netflix or something?  We can even keep watching that German duchess show you like.  Promise.

He lived in one of the penthouses on the 34th floor, while you lived in a two bedroom on the 18th.  How embarrassing was that?  Even your living situations were inextricably linked.  You swiped your phone open and texted him back quickly. 

It’s okay.  I need some time alone.  Let’s go for coffee tomorrow or something.

It was Dustin who had to make the call to Tyson when you were in the hospital.  He was in Japan on a tour, and word hadn’t gotten to him.  Dustin told you he had freaked out on the phone, like completely freaked out.  After your surgery and after all your visitors had left, your room surrounded by flowers and get well soon cards, you FaceTimed him.  He picked up on barely the second ring.  It was the first time you’d ever seen him tear up, though you later learned he didn’t completely break down until after he hung up.  You tried to cheer him up, telling him the first thing you were going to do when you were cleared was go to Japan to see him.  He made you promise not to fly unless a doctor said it was okay.  He had two weeks off in about a month’s time and resolved to stay with you for the duration to help you.  You told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.

Those two weeks were when you realized Tyson would be in your life forever.

You’d still done well for yourself since then.  You ended up starting a variety of projects – a podcast, becoming a semi-influencer on Instagram.  But perhaps most successful, and what kept your memory alive in the hearts and minds of wrestling fans worldwide despite not fighting in the ring anymore, was your YouTube series.  Kick Out in the Kitchen.  A series you started, inspired by the memory of your dad who was a chef, where you invited wrestlers to help you cook increasingly complex dishes.  You’d interview them along the way, teach them how to properly cut an onion, and make sure they didn’t slice off a finger in the process.  It was hysterical, and it was a hit.

Your life was good.  It really was.  You had amazing friends, you had your career, you had your mom in Winnipeg, you had an apartment, you had Tyson.  But sometimes you ached for the past; sometimes you wanted to still be in the ring, winning championships and changing the wrestling landscape just like your close friends were doing.  That just wasn’t in the cards for you, and that’s okay.  But it still hurt sometimes.

Your phone buzzed again, the badge rolling down from the top of your screen. 

Are you sure?  Need to talk?

I’m good.  Thanks Ty <3 see you tomorrow.

***

It all began with Portofino. 

Well, it all really began with Tyson making a remark about how you always carried a book around in your gym bag.  You were in Winnipeg then, training to become a wrestler, and he’d visited the school on a trip home from Japan in 2011.  “I promised my mom I’d graduate university before pursuing wrestling full-time,” you had explained to him.  “She wants me to have a degree.  It’s a non-negotiable.”

The book in question that he saw that day was An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro.  He was intrigued by the Japanese name of the author more than anything, although when you told him the synopsis, he perked up quite considerably. 

He was 28 at the time.  You were 20.

You were so, so young, but you were the only one that had spoken to him at length about your vision of what pro wrestling is and what pro wrestling could be.  You listened to him more intently than anyone else in your class when he spoke of his time in Japan.  You’d seen the match he had at his cottage.  You saw his match against nine-year-old Haruka and against Yoshihiko the blow-up doll.  Some of your fellow trainees looked at you weird.  You were the only one who had expressed any interest in travelling somewhere other than the United States for pro wrestling – maybe go to the UK, or do a tour of Europe, or, if you were lucky enough, do a tour of Japan. 

By the end of the week, Tyson gave you his number and said if you were ever in Japan to contact him.

You did more than that.  You didn’t just wait the two years between meeting him and graduating to speak to him again.  You actively kept in touch with him.  You became friends as you learned more about each other.  So much so that after local shows on weekends, travelling to Toronto, Calgary, Vancouver, and Pasadena in the summers to wrestle, and graduation, when you arrived in Japan for the first time he picked you up from the airport. 

He looked out for you.  He always did.

He always would.

***

PORTOFINO, 2014

i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time

You found yourself squished in the backseat of a tiny Italian car between Matt Jackson and Kenny Omega, Tommaso Ciampa in the driver’s seat and Nick Jackson in the passenger’s seat.  That’s who they were last night, anyway, participating in matches and stealing the show in Genoa, Italy.  Today, you were just Matt, Tyson, Tommaso, Nick, and Hazel going to Portofino.

The promoter who had lured you all (and more) to Italy for a mini tour had mentioned the famous Italian Riviera town was only an hour away, so on the two days off you had between shows, you all decided to go.  Nick had found the hotel and booked the rooms.  Tommaso volunteered to drive.  A car with Austin, Kyle, Johnny, Candice, and Bobby were following close behind you.

“You’re not squished, are you?  D’you have enough room?” Tyson asked as he looked down at your frame, tiny in comparison to the bulk that surrounded you.

“I’ll live,” you assured him.  “Besides, you’re the one with your knees up to your chin.  Why didn’t you demand the front seat?”

“I couldn’t leave you in the middle between Matt and Nick,” he said, as if it was his moral obligation to protect you from two of the nicest guys on earth.  “Besides, Nick wants to learn more Italian.”

“Nick can barely speak English.”

“Whatja just say about me?” he hissed playfully from the backseat.  A smile spread across Tyson’s face.  “You’re gonna pay for that, Hazel.”

“I’m terrified.”

“You’re fearless, huh?” Tommaso joked from the front seat, looking at you through his rearview mirror.

“Not fearless.  I’m scared of a lot of things,” you clarified, being honest.  “But Matt and Nick aren’t one of ‘em.” 

When you all got into town, you checked into the hotel.  It was obvious that Matt and Nick would share a room together, just like it was obvious Johnny and Candice would, too.  After Austin paired up with Kyle (they were, technically, the other couple on the trip), and Tomasso paired up with Bobby, you and Tyson were inevitably the only pair left.  Was it normal for a young female wrestler to sleep in a room with her mentor during a trip to Italy?  Who knows.  You (and Candice) were used to being the only girls in the room a lot.  This was no different.  All you knew was that it didn’t matter to you: you knew Tyson, and everybody else, and it was the last thing on your mind because what really mattered was that you were in Italy.

Tyson unlocked the hotel room, the both of you pulling your bags in behind you.  There were two single beds placed together in the room, a window and a door out to the balcony providing the perfect cross breeze. 

“Okay, we’re not in a university dorm,” you commented, scoffing at the setup of the beds before pushing them together.  Tyson just watched.  You looked up at him.  “You need sunscreen?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nodded his head.

You found it in your bag and tossed it over to him.  You walked over to the small balcony and stepped out, taking in the view of the harbour from the room.  You guys got lucky, the way that this hotel was even available on such short notice – and five rooms at that.  The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  That alone told you that it was going to be a great day. 

You had been admiring the view of the harbour so much that you almost didn’t hear Tyson step out and join you on the balcony.  It was so small that between your bodies and the two chairs, it was full.  “Matt and Nick texted to meet in the lobby in fifteen,” he said.  “Are you good with that?”

Your bathing suit was already on underneath your sun dress, so you nodded your head.  “Just need the sunscreen,” you mentioned, and he handed it to you.  You perched your leg up on one of the chairs to slather the sunscreen on your leg, bringing it all the way up to the tops of your thighs.  Tyson couldn’t help but stare at your legs and not the view of the harbour.  You tried not to smile about it and looked away instead.  “Do we know where we’re going, by the way?  Portofino doesn’t exactly have a beach.”

Tyson furrowed his brows.  “How do you know?”

“My dad was from around here, remember?”

Tyson nodded at your reminder.  “That’s right.  Sorry, I forgot.”

You’d told Tyson a lot of stories about your dad since you met him, and every time you told a story, mentioned a characteristic, an odd quirk your dad used to do, he’d always listened intently.  You’d lost your dad to cancer at fifteen years old, and you missed him every day since.  It left a hole in you.  Understanding how close you and your dad were, Tyson always made sure to remember the details.  You mentioned to him once how you actually liked speaking about him because it meant you were keeping his memory alive, and Tyson told you he thought that was the most touching thing he’d ever heard.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said, moving on to your other leg.  “I remember coming here as a kid.  The beaches are really rocky.  Either we get lucky and there’s nobody, or we have to find our own private place.”

He watched your hands travel up your thighs.  “You should take the reins on that, then,” he said.  You could see his Adam’s apple bob in his neck.  “Tommaso’s Italian is shit.”

You did.  Eventually, when you and the group made it down to the harbour, you asked in your broken Italian where the best place was – you probably sounded like a caveman – and some delightful locals pointed you in the right direction.  Like you remembered, it was rocky, but you found enough spots on huge flat rocks for towels and bags.  The best part was you were right beside a climbable cliff, so you knew all the guys would be doing crazy jumps.  The entire afternoon was spent between tanning on the rocks and cooling off in the water.  You had jumped off the cliff with Candice, with Tyson, and with Austin.  You swam in the water and got your hair wet and let the sunlight hit your face.  You’d caught Tyson’s eye so many times you lost count.  You felt pure happiness.

There was a moment after you jumped off the cliff for the second time with Tyson – a good photo op, according to Matt taking them – where you held hands as your ran and plummeted into the water.  Even underwater, despite the pressure, your hands stayed clasped.  It was only when you got back to the surface that your hands separated.  You could see Tyson’s smile.  “You alright?” he asked.

You only nodded.  You paddled the small distance over to him and attached your whole body to his.  You don’t know what came over you, but you wrapped your legs around his torso underwater, and as you did you could feel his hands go to your thighs.  Your arms wrapping around his shoulders, attaching yourself to him piggy-back style.  He looked behind his shoulder to see you.  “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded again.  “I just feel like being close to you,” you admitted.  “Is that okay?”

There was a slight pause.  “Of course,” he said.  “You want to stay out here for a bit?”

“Yeah.  Just you and me for a little bit,” you said.  “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having the time of my life.”

“It sucks that we only get one day.  This area of Italy is so beautiful.  Have you ever been?”

“No.  This is my first time,” he revealed.  “I’m just happy I’m getting to spend it with you.”

You smiled, giving him as much of a hug as you could by squeezing your limbs around him tighter.  “You’re going to have to come back and spend a decent amount of time here.  I remember coming here when I was nine to visit my dad’s family, and, Ty—Portofino isn’t even the most beautiful town on the water.  And the food – the food!”

He smiled.  “We’re going to have to find a place tonight.  You’ll have to use your Italian again.  Find us the best restaurant in the town.”

There was silence between the two of you, the noise from the waves and from your friends and the other tourists filling the air instead.  You leaned your head forward so it was settled right into his shoulder.  “Hey Ty?” your voice was low this time.

“Hmm?”

“I’m happy I get to spend it with you, too.  Sometimes I feel like all I want to do is spend time with you.”

Tyson felt the same.  His breath caught in his throat.  All he could do was nod.  “Yeah…yeah.”

*

That night, after showering the salt water off and changing into another flowy dress, you all went out for dinner and had the best pasta and fish and wine you’d ever had in your life.  The waiter fell in love with your group and kept bringing you goodies: glasses of wine from the cellar, shots from the bar, extra plates of tiramisu or bombe.  Your stomach was full but your heart was fuller, and you didn’t want the day to end. 

Retiring back to the hotel meant you and Tyson would be alone again.  After the both of you packed away your things so you were already packed for tomorrow morning, you changed into pyjamas and got in to your pushed together beds.  Tyson browsed through his phone a bit before setting it on his beside and turning over to his side to sleep.

You, on the other hand, could not. 

You kept thinking of the feeling of his hands on your body.  It wasn’t like it was a new sensation – you trained with him constantly.  But there was something about the way he touched it when you were both in the water, the way nobody could see how his arms wrapped around you or how his hands went to your thighs to wrap your legs around his body as he gave you a piggy-back ride.  Even at dinner, sitting beside you at the table on the patio overlooking the water, his forearm rubbing up against yours underneath the table since your group was so squished together.

It was electric.  And now, all that electricity was in you with nowhere to go.

So much time had passed that you were 95% sure he was asleep.  If you were to say anything, you’d definitely be waking him up from his beauty sleep.  “Ty…” you mumbled out, still unsure if you even should as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Hazel?”

Well, at least you felt less bad about it now.  “Can you sleep?”

“Nah,” he said.  “Can you?”

“I think the sun today energized my body to the point where I can re-enact Shawn and Bret’s iron man match.”

You could hear Tyson giggle from his side of the bed.  “Are you Bret or Shawn in that scenario?”

“Both.”

He snorted.  You could feel him shift positions so that he could look at you now.  You turned over to your side as well.  “I’m dead serious.  I feel, like, buzzed.”

“I’m sure one of the guys has melatonin if you’re really worried,” he said.

You shook your head.  “I’ll be fine,” you assured him.  “Can I see all the pictures you took today?”

Tyson had learned a long time ago from his good friend Rami Sebei that he should be taking pictures of all the places he went and everything he saw and did (just as Rami did), so he made it a point since then to do just that.  He leaned over and unplugged his phone from the nightstand, and when he began to set back into his spot in bed, you didn’t let him until you had fit yourself into his side.  He didn’t even think twice as you did so, wrapping his arm around your body as you nestled your head against his chest.  You were so close he could smell the product you’d put into your hair.  You giggled through all the photos, at Austin’s terrified face the first time he jumped, versus Matt and Nick contemplating whether they could do a shooting star press into the water.  You saw the pictures he took of you and Candice hugging each other, and the pictures Bobby took of you and Tyson together on the rocks and posing in the shallow part of the water.  The more you laughed and smiled, the more he did too. 

When you’d seen all the photos, Tyson put his phone back on the nightstand but you stayed right where you were.  He laid back, savouring the feeling of your head on his chest, of your arm draped across him, how your fingertips had tip-toed and glided along his skin every time you laughed at a picture.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, moving to look at him.

“Of course.”

“How lame did you think I was the first time you met me?”

He giggled again.  So distinct in its sound; you’d be able to hear it from a mile away.  “I didn’t think you were lame at all,” he was smiling at you.  “I was actually shocked at how mature you were for your age, and how much you could talk about pro wrestling – more than anyone else in that class, that’s for sure.  You were a bit of a freak, but I liked you.  I don’t think you’re lame, or were lame.”

“I feel like you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he assured you.  “I’d never lie to you.  Trust me on that one.”

“I’d never lie to you, either,” you said, butterflies in your stomach. 

You were looking right in Tyson’s blue eyes then, hyperaware of the feeling of his fingertips grazing over the skin on your arm.  His sunkissed skin, his eye crinkles, the scruff of his beard – it all added up in making you push yourself up so you could kiss him.  It was very soft at first, but not hesitant, and when you pulled away you looked into his eyes, only to kiss him again. 

He kissed back, moving his lips in perfect sync with yours as you continued, kiss after kiss after kiss.  You don’t know how long you’d been kissing for, but eventually, it was your tongue that grazed his lips first, and soon you were tasting each other.  After more time, he pushed back slightly so you were on your back, and gently, gently he got on top of you. 

“Is this okay?” was the only thing he mumbled between when you started kissing and that moment. 

“Please, Ty,” you nodded your head slightly and quickly.  “We’ve been waiting all day.”

You both took it slow, surprisingly, despite all the pent up energy from the day.  You wanted to make it last.  Tyson’s body loomed over yours for a while, kissing your lips and your neck with such expertise you hadn’t experienced from anywhere else.  You remembered cradling his face and running your fingers through his curly hair and thinking to yourself how lucky you were to be under him, to be with him like this so intimately.  It wasn’t just that he’d been kind to you from the beginning, or that he’d taken you under his wing and acted as your mentor, especially in Japan, or that he’d looked out for you anywhere you found yourselves.  It was that he was so considerate in his everyday life, so wise and so funny – God, did he ever make you laugh – and so passionate about his dreams and goals.  A translation of that was happening right now, on a twin bed in a hotel room in Portofino, Italy.

Tyson had already been shirtless in bed, so all you really had to do was push down his boxers.  You could feel the length and size of him against your body then, and your breath could only hitch in your throat in anticipation of what was to happen very soon.  Your breathing got heavier as he helped you pull off your pyjama top, and you didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness as he looked down at your nearly naked body.  He brought his kisses down your chest and along both your breasts before pulling down your bottoms. 

He kissed you as he entered you, but you broke it as you let out a soft “Oh Jesus” at the feeling.  His lips left yours and looked into your eyes then, making sure everything was okay without even saying anything.  He grabbed each of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers before pushing them above your head, looking deep in to your eyes without looking away.  You began moaning softly, involuntarily, at the pressure you felt of him holding you in that position as he moved in and out of you, your hips crashing together with every one of his thrusts.  His eyes were blue – so blue – but you knew they were filled with fire.  You were sure that your moans got slightly louder as the time passed, mixed in with your pants of his name every time he hit just the right spot.

At some point he let go of your hands and they immediately went to cup his face, pulling him down to kiss you so you could stick your tongue down his throat again.  You didn’t stop kissing after that, your hands making their way up and down his torso, gripping on to his sides before moving up and settling underneath his arms and scratching at his shoulders and back.  You were in heaven.  Everything felt like pure bliss.  The endless kisses, the moans from you and the moans from him.  You had never felt anything so incredible in your life.

You noticed when Tyson’s breathing became more laboured, and you knew he was close.  You were too.  You dug your nails into his shoulders and tried to arch your hips just right.  Hearing him grunt and let out a string of expletives under his breath was all you needed to do it again.  “I’m so close,” you whispered, looking right into his eyes.

“Hazel…fuck…” was all he could let out.

“I want you to come inside me, Tyson.”

He didn’t last much longer after that, but he made sure you got there first.  He looked into your eyes the whole time as he watched your orgasm overcome you, coursing through your body and making you moan out his name and dig your nails into his biceps.  Only then did he allow himself his release, coming inside you, a series of grunts and moans of your name leaving him as he had his head buried in the crook of your neck.

You stayed together for a while, relishing in every last bit of what had just happened between you before Tyson couldn’t hold himself up on his forearms anymore.  There was one last, long kiss before he pulled out of you.  He lay by your side, still so close to your body.  You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and when you turned your head to look at him, he had an identical smile on his face, too.

Despite earlier complaints from the both of you of being unable to fall asleep, you had no trouble doing so now, your eyes feeling heavy and fluttering until you fell into a peaceful sleep.

*

The next morning was quiet except for the sound of birds chirping outside your window.  The light was shining through from the morning sun, and when you opened your eyes and finally came to at least semi-consciousness, you saw and felt Tyson’s body underneath yours.  He had an arm wrapped around you and were using him as a pillow.

Memories of what happened last night flooded your mind as you waited for him to wake up.  From looking at the photos of the day to kissing him and then being under him, you remembered everything in vivid detail.  You hadn’t been part of something so passionate in your life.  It could have only happened with Tyson, too – you couldn’t picture it being with anyone else. 

After a while, you felt him shift underneath you and groan, bringing his free hand up to rub his eyes.  You began to trace shapes on his chest so he knew you were awake too.  When he looked at you, a small, tired smile played on his lips.  “Mornin’,” he whispered.  “You good?”

“I’m good,” you nodded.  “You sleep okay?”

“It was perfect.”

You smiled.  “Even with me hogging the covers?”

“You actually didn’t this time.  I was surprised,” he said, pulling your body so you were anchored right on top of his.  He wiggled a bit to get comfortable, shifting the beds.  “You were right about what you said last night, by the way.  We’d been waiting for a while.”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding slightly.  “You felt it too then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Of course I did.”

There was silence between you.  Suddenly, a feeling came over you like lightning, seizing your whole body.  You never used to be like this, but once you lost your dad, your emotions sometimes came in quick rushes – tsunamis, you sometimes referred to them – and you could never stop it from happening.  You just had to learn how to deal with it, how to verbalize the emotion to solve it so you could go back to normal.  This time, it wasn’t one of self-consciousness, or full-blown anxiety, or fear of the unknown, or anything major.  It wasn’t even hesitation.  It was just a nervousness; a nervousness of the soul.  “This isn’t gonna change anything between us, is it?” you asked, verbalizing the first thing you became nervous about.  Not having Tyson in your life wasn’t an option at this point. 

“No,” he shook his head.  “No it won’t.”

“And this won’t – I mean, you’re not gonna think differently about me, are you?” you continued.  “Because I don’t – I know what it’s like for women in this business.  I don’t want anybody thinking of me differently because of what we did—”

“Hey hey hey, shhhhh,” Tyson cooed.  “Nobody’s going to think differently about you.  Don’t think that.  Nobody’s gonna know.  It’ll stay between you and me, Hazel.  I mean it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.  Not having the career you worked so hard to build also wasn’t an option at this point.  People not respecting you wasn’t an option in general.  You knew that respect would be gone if people knew you’d slept with your mentor.  You could already imagine the things that would be said.  You’d never earn anything on your own merit anymore; it would always be because you slept with Kenny Omega. 

“Hazel, I would never,” he shook his head.  “Like I said, we’d been waiting for a while.  It happened.  I don’t—I mean, I don’t think either of us regrets it—”

“—I don’t.”

“—Neither of us regrets it, but I don’t want anybody to know either.  Nobody has to know, anyway.  It’s nobody’s business but our own.”

That had calmed you down considerably.  You were thankful he was so level-headed, thankful that he was so private in his dealings and personal life that you honestly didn’t have to worry.  He wasn’t like so many others who would say one thing and do another; lead you on and then get with another girl.  You had no worries that any of your friends or fellow wrestlers would ever know.  You were able to keep your mouth shut.  So was Tyson.  “This is like Take This to Your Grave.  You know, like the Fall Out Boy album?” you couldn’t help but quip.

Tyson snorted, rolling his eyes.  “Hazel, were you even alive when that album came out?”

“HEY!” you jolted up, causing the beds to wiggle again.  “I’ll have you know that was a seminal album in my life.  “I was twelve and—”

“Oh my God, please stop talking right there,” he stressed.  “Do not say another word.”

You smirked.  “Did I just make you feel really o—”

“—Oh shit.”

You paused.  “What?”

“—ohshitohshitohshit—”

“—What?!—”

“—Hold on!”

Tyson wrapped both his arms around you protectively, and before you knew it, you both had fallen through the beds.  You yelped during the drop, but once you realized what had happened, you couldn’t stop laughing.  Tears were falling from your eyes, rolling off of Tyson as he groaned from the impact – he took the brunt of it after all. 

“Christ Almighty,” he grumbled through your hysterical laughs.  He couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “That was worse than some bumps I’ve taken in the ring.”

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you managed to get out in a high-pitched voice between your hysterical laughter.  “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard in my life.”

“Yeah, funny for you because I saved you!”

You propped yourself up on your forearm.  Your cheeks were red from laughing, wet from the tears.  “Let me kiss you one last time to make it better.”  Except you didn’t wait.  You just lowered your face and planted your lips on his.  You didn’t know what you meant the kiss to be, but it lasted longer than anticipated, only stopping when the alert from Tyson’s phone went off.  Only then did you pull away.  “That must be Nick or Matt texting about breakfast.  We should clean ourselves up and go.”

Tyson didn’t say anything as he watched you rise from the floor, not bothering to wrap the top sheet or comforter around your naked body.  He stayed on the floor in between the beds as he heard the shower turn on, closing his eyes. 

***

28th May 2023

criticize the way you fly when you're soaring through the sky shoot you down and then they sigh and say, "she looks like she's been through it"

You always found Las Vegas to be way too hot.  It was a decent enough city, and you’d had some fun there, but the heat was always something you could never get over.  Double or Nothing meant that there were so many people and personalities at T-Mobile Arena.  You hung out mostly in the women’s locker room.  At least there, you knew you were safe.

“You haven’t run into him, have you?” Hikaru asked discreetly, chomping down on a baby carrot. 

You shook your head.  “Nah.  But I’ve kinda just been laying low in here.  I hope I’m not overstaying my welcome.”

“That’s impossible,” Hikaru said.  “You can stay in here the whole night if you have to.  I mean, he’s gotta talk to Tyson about what’s happening in a few weeks, right?”

“Yeah.  Worst case scenario I walk in on them during that.”

“Well, if you do, you call me so I can whoop his ass for you.  It’s been a long time coming for that punk ass bitch.”

You couldn’t help but snort at her words.  She had obviously been informed well about the transgressions that had been committed and she was firmly Team Hazel.  Not that it was ever any doubt – you and Hikaru had been great friends ever since your days in Japan.  But the main different between you was that Hikaru would follow through – if she said she was going to whoop someone’s ass, she’d whoop someone’s ass.  You’d mostly just cry about it in an abandoned washroom and in a hotel room afterwards.  It was your specialty.

“You’ve always been my girl, Hikaru.  What would I do without you?” you quipped with a smile.

Hikaru smirked.  “Don’t even go there, girl.  It all comes from here, by the way,” she said, pounding lightly on her chest where her heart was.  “I got you, Hazel.  You want me to grab you something from catering?”

You shook your head, standing up from your chair.  “I shouldn’t be afraid to go get food,” you said.  “You want more carrots?”

Your walk to catering was eventful, having a chat with Christopher Daniels along the way.  Once you got there, you grabbed a plate of food, some Gatorade, and a Greek salad.  You didn’t see Tony Schiavone creep up behind you, but he was a welcome partner to chat with as he picked up some dinner too.  The two of you walked through the halls together, chatting like old friends as your food got cold.  You didn’t really care, because every chat with Tony was so lively, and he expressed serious interest in appearing on Kick Out in the Kitchen.  When you said goodbye as Tony disappeared into one of the guys’ locker rooms, Greg left the one across the way.  The door was slow to close.  You’d think for all the money Las Vegas had, doors would close properly in their arena.

“Right, and so many people shat on her even though it wasn’t her fault,” you heard an all-too-familiar voice from the locker room.  “She got heat for it for months.  She’d be crying every night because all the shitty girls didn’t want to wrestle her.  And when she got to Japan, she already had a reputation.  Took a lot of convincing to get her into promotions.  Bea knew what she was doing in the ring but she got such a bad rap.”

“But you guys broke up a while ago, no?” said another voice.

“Mistakes happen in the ring all the time,” you heard one more voice.

“All the time,” the familiar voice said.  Then a giggle.  “It’d be much harder now to pick her up and drop her on her head, if you know what I mean.”

Everyone in the room, whoever they were, were giggling.  Snickering, even, at his comment about your body.  You froze in place, and by the time their conversation started up again, the door had finally closed, their voices gone.

Your body had inevitably gone through a change after you were forced to stop wrestling.  You had been in such great shape – you had to be, for heaven’s sake – and had worked out often.  But once you broke your neck and had to get the fusion surgery, most of it had to stop.  It might put too much stress on your neck in ways you never thought possible, your doctor said.  And truth be told, you were too scared to do anything too tenuous, because like the doctor told you, you should have suffocated to death in the ring and it was a miracle you were even walking in the first place.  This meant that you had gained weight – about thirty pounds, when all was said and done.  But because of your physique beforehand, it was noticeable.  You didn’t look like a wrestler with muscles and abs anymore, but you still looked like, well, a normal woman with some meat on her bones.  You weren’t unrecognizable.  Nobody cared, nobody commented on it.

Except, apparently, Will Ospreay. 

You don’t know what came over you, but you dropped everything but the Gatorade into the next trashcan you saw.  You felt that if you ate anything, it would just come back up.  That’s how much your stomach was in knots at his comment.  And the laughs.  God, you wished you had just barged in to see who was laughing at the comment, at your body.  Nobody had any idea what you went through, and how bad you took the news that you could never wrestle again.  It ate away at you for months, years even, and now these men were laughing about how your body had changed because of that life-altering event?  Fuck them.  And fuck Will Ospreay.

The same Will Ospreay that had endeared you when you were younger.  The same Will Ospreay that you fancied, that kissed you and made out with you and strung you along for months, always saying no to firm commitment but always calling you late at night to hook up or have fun.  The same Will Ospreay who told you that you could be clingy and overbearing despite not being clingy or overbearing.  The same Will Ospreay that led you on, letting you believe you were the only one.  The same Will Ospreay that sent you a simple text when you had broken your neck and never paid you a visit.  The same Will Ospreay that began hooking up with Bea so soon afterwards that you were sure there was overlap.  The same Will Ospreay that began to date her only a few weeks after your surgery, her smug smile on every uploaded picture only a reminder to you of what had happened in your personal and professional life.  The same Will Ospreay that you fucking hated with everything in you.

You escaped into a washroom, again, and checked every stall to ensure it was empty, again.  God, you felt like you were going to do this every show now.  You didn’t cry this time.  Instead, you began rubbing at your tattoo on the inside of your right wrist: a chef’s knife that you got in memory of you dad.  You made sure to breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.  Closing your eyes, you thought back to the first few months after your neck surgery.  The first few weeks were hard.  You had cried a lot, and you hated your neck brace.  You remember finding out the news about Will and Bea and basically becoming a vegetable in your bed.  The two weeks that Tyson came to stay with you made everything better, but there was one moment that stuck out, that you remembered so vividly.

Tyson had made lunch one day, some chicken thighs and vegetables and he plated some old pasta salad in your fridge.  You were excited to eat, but when you tried gripping on to your fork and knife, you couldn’t.  A common side effect after neck surgery, especially neck surgery like yours, but it hadn’t happened to you yet.  You thought you were over that hurdle, that it would have happened right after your surgery.  You tried again.  You couldn’t.  You tried just the fork, in your right hand, and you managed to keep it in your hand instead of having it fall on the table.  But when you tried to fork a piece of pasta, you couldn’t at all, and your fork fell loudly into your plate.  You started sobbing like a baby.  Tyson rushed over to you – he had been preparing drinks – and asked what was wrong.  You explained through tears and he could barely understand you.  You had lost your appetite you were so distraught.  But then Tyson – bless him – got you to calm down enough that you weren’t a sobbing mess.  He picked up your fork, got a couple of vegetables on it, and held it up near your mouth to feed you.

“Tys…” you remember being on the verge of tears again.  You felt like a fucking baby having somebody feed you.

“Eat, Hazel.  I got you.”

You almost didn’t, because you were too proud.  But when you saw the look on his face, and how he was looking at you, you opened your mouth and ate the food.  You chewed it slowly, embarrassed that it had come to this.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You’re feeding me like I’m a baby.  This is embarrassing.”

Tyson shook his head.  “This is not embarrassing at all,” he said before forking some chicken.  “What would be embarrassing is if you made me do an airplane to get you to eat.”

He always knew how to get you to smile, even at your lowest point.  You opened your mouth again to eat the chicken.  “Hey Tyson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.  I mean it.”

Tyson cut up and fed you your entire meal, even gripping your glass for you to drink, before eating himself.  And a few days later, when it happened again, he did it all again without hesitation.  That’s what Tyson had done for you.  That’s what made you realize he would be in your life forever.  And those men in that locker room were laughing.

***

Tyson always made decisions for the good of his company – the company that he helped create and build from the ground up.  Whatever was good for the company was good for him.  Whatever made his friends money and got fans in seats.  That meant that despite his personal feelings towards Will Ospreay, he was working him again at Forbidden Door in Toronto.  They had faced each other earlier in the year at Wrestle Kingdom, for the good of New Japan Pro Wrestling.  Now he’d be facing him for the good of All Elite Wrestling.  Tyson was able to keep his feelings quite personal, never letting anybody know what he really thought or felt. 

Everybody except the two guys who could read him like a book.

Matt and Nick looked on as he spoke with Will about their match in Toronto.  Tyson would be dropping the title – he knew that already – but they were going over spots, storyline, and emotion.  Will focused on spots, but Tyson was focusing on emotion.  What was the story?  What story did Tyson want to tell?

“What do you think about a big spot, like—”

“Another big spot?  Haven’t we got enough big spots?” Tyson quipped.

“Listen, I was thinking of a Tiger Driver—”

“—Oh fuck—” a female voice exclaimed.

Everybody’s heads turned to the doorway to see Hazel popping in her head.  Tyson, Will, Matt, Nick, Austin, Chris Daniels – everyone looked at her.  Tyson noticed her stare fixed on Will before looking at him.  He knew that this was the one thing she didn’t want to happen.  Running into Will.  “Um, I’m sorry to interrupt—”

“—It’s okay sweetcheeks—” Matt offered.

“—I’m gonna, um, bring Hikaru back to the hotel when everything is over, so don’t worry.  Bye.”

She shut the door abruptly.  The men in the room stayed silent for a few moments before stealing quick glances at each other.  Austin looked over at Tyson first, but wasn’t able to read the emotion on his face.  Nick and Matt looked at Tyson too, but he was as stoic as a rock.  Will had already shrugged his shoulders and discounted the experience.  “Anyone else see how her eyes were watery?” Chris Daniels commented.

“Probably emotional because she knows we’re losing tonight,” Nick tried to cover quickly.  He didn’t want to speculate in a room full of men why Hazel Fiore looked like she was tearing up.  It was nobody’s business.  Especially not with Will in the room.

“She’s always been emotional,” Will commented, as if he was an authority on the issue.  Like he had the right to speak about her in any capacity.  “It’s like, you kinda feel bad, but you also understand why, y’know?  She’s got major daddy issues.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyson’s response was literally automatic upon hearing the words come out of Will’s mouth, his tone scathing and unlike anything any of the other men had ever heard before.  Will looked at him, shocked, as if he hadn’t said anything wrong, even though Matt and Nick had also voiced their displeasure with words Tyson couldn’t hear through his anger and disgust.  “Seriously, what’s your fucking problem?” he followed up on a dumbfounded Will. 

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Who the fuck says that about a girl who lost her dad at fifteen to cancer,” Tyson’s voice was still calm but full of disgust.  “It’s so fucking insensitive.  How could you even say that?”

“Ty, come on—”

“—Just fuck off, Will.  Seriously, fuck off,” he stood up from his seat and waved Will off, shaking his head.    “Get out of my fucking locker room.  I swear to God.  I know a lot of dumb fucks, Will, but you just might be the dumbest.”

“Ty—”

“You’re winning the belt in Toronto, so do however many spots you fuckin’ like.  Maybe now at least one of your five star matches will be memorable because I’m in it.  Now get out,” his tone was angrier and threatening.

Will left with a scowl on his face.  All the men in the room watched Tyson as he paced back and forth.  When he noticed Chris look at him, he stopped abruptly.  “What?”

“Nothing.  You did the right thing.”

***

“Please go away.  You’re going to think I’m a big baby.  That I’m still as lame as I was when you first met me,” you bemoaned, Tyson refusing to move from his heat on the edge of the bed.  “I’m serious.  Go to Wendy’s with the Bucks.  Get me a Frosty.  Be anywhere but here so you don’t have to see me like this.”

“Why?  Because I haven’t seen you like this before?” he countered, making you fall silent.  He had seen you like this many times before, but it was still unnerving, still a bit embarrassing to be a 31-year-old woman still emotional about something that happened seven years ago.  And to be like this over a guy you had actively – and successfully – avoided seeing for those seven years?  “C’mon, Haze.  Give me a little bit of credit.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath as you looked him in the eye.  “I don’t mean it like that,” your voice was small.  “I don’t mean to make you mad—”

“—You’re not making me mad—”

“—I just don’t want my problems becoming your problems.  You deal with enough shit already.  You got bit by an adult human male, Tyson.”

The both of you couldn’t help but snort.  The situation had to be lightened slightly.  “Come on.  Tell me.”

You sighed again.  “Something happened earlier in the night, before I walked in on you guys in the locker room.  I had gone to catering and was speaking with Tony and then when he went into his locker room, Greg was leaving the one across.  And while the door was open, I just…you know, heard some stuff.”

Tyson furrowed his brows.  “Stuff?  What stuff?”

“I kinda just overheard him talking.  I don’t know what his breakup with Bea was like, and I really don’t care, but uhhh, he was telling them some sob story about how much heat she got for what she did to me and how it affected their relationship, and he just made this comment, like, ‘It’d be much harder now to pick her up and drop her on her head, if you know what I mean’, and—”

Tyson didn’t even say anything, but you had to stop talking because he stood up at lightning speed and began making his way towards the door.  “Tyson—”

“—Do not stop me.”

Tyson was fast, but you were faster.  You slipped right by him and barricaded the door dramatically, like you were holding him hostage.  You kind of feel like you had to now, based on what you’d just told him.  “Nope.  You’re not leaving this hotel room—”

“—Yes I fucking am—”

“—No, you’re not, because that’s not even the worst part.”

He stepped back.  It was like he couldn’t comprehend what you’d just said.  “What do you mean that’s not even the worst part?” his voice got high pitched.

“Go back to the bed—”

“—Hazel—”

“Go back to the bed, now, or else,” you threatened.  You had nothing to threaten him with at all, but you were serious.  You didn’t want drama, or commotion, or anything of the sort.  Tyson had been through enough over the last year that you thought he should be done for the rest of his life.  There was no reason for him to take this on as his own, to defend whatever honour you had left – if you had any at all. 

You laid one of your hands on his forearm to calm him down.  “It got worse because once he said it, I heard people laughing,” you explained.  You felt him shift, his arm twitching in anger, but it was subtle.  “And I know you’re going to ask who it was, but I don’t know.  I didn’t go in there to see or to yell at them or whatever else.  I just took my dinner and chucked it into the closest garbage can and just…” you trailed off.  “You just…you can’t imagine how awful it feels to be a woman and have your colleagues, your supposed friends, whoever they were, laughing at a joke about your body.  It’s soul-crushing.  And I just…you know,” you shrugged, unable to find the words.  “After everything I’ve been through, I still let this bullshit get to me.”

Tyson pulled you into him to hug you, wrapping his giant arms around you just like he used to during your first visit to Japan, just like he used to after big matches after his shower, just like he always did, really.  Tyson gave the best hugs.  When he engulfed you, it was like all your problems just washed away and you were cleansed.  It was like you were back in the waters of Portofino holding on to him, not wanting to let go.  “D’you remember when I stayed with you those two weeks after your neck surgery and I had to feed you?”

“Of course, Ty.  I actually thought about it after I heard the laughing.  I’d never forget that.”

“Just remember that,” he encouraged.  “Just remember everything I’d do for you before you let anyone of those fuckers get in your head.”

You waited for Tyson to wash his face to put on your pyjamas before the both of you got into bed.  You wondered if he’d get close at all, possibly even touch you, but the second you were both laying down, your question was answered.  His body moved towards yours like a fight-or-flight response, one of his arm draping over your body.  He curled up right against your back, like the big spoon, your body nestling perfectly into his.  Memories flooded his mind.  Memories of the G1 Climax Tournament he won.

In the quietness of the room, with the low hum of the air conditioner the only noise, Tyson placed a kiss on your shoulder.  He didn’t say anything, but he knew you felt it. 

For him, it was getting harder and harder to control.

***

TOKYO 2016

i said remember this moment in the back of my mind the time we stood with our shaking hands, the crowds in stands went wild

You know you will remember the moment vividly as you watch it happen.  You will remember the finished move and how Tyson pinned his opponent.  You will remember the bell ringing after the referee’s hand hit the mat three times.  You will remember the roar of the crowd and the excitement in everybody’s eyes to see the first ever gaijin win the G1 Climax.  You will remember how gruelling of a month it was for Tyson, how emotionally draining it had been.  You will remember it all culminating in this moment.  Of him winning.  Of him making history.

You weren’t able to see him right away.  There were in-ring celebrations and post-match press conferences to be had, and various people from New Japan saw him first.  You had to be on standby, and you could have chewed your nails off waiting.  Even when the suits finished, the handler from New Japan made you wait an additional ten minutes just to see him.

You knocked lightly on his door before peeping your head in.  He was sitting on a giant production case, the tournament trophy beside him.  His legs were dangling off the edge, not touching the floor.  Not many things could make him look small.  He looked your way and when he saw you, the most tired of smiles appeared on his face.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he nodded quickly, and you slipped in before shutting the door behind you.  “What did you think?”

“I think you’re incredible,” you said, approaching him and standing in front of him.  Your eyes scanned over the trophy briefly before you focused your attention back on him.  “Has it sunk in yet for you?  That you just made history?”

He took a few breaths, shaking his head slightly.  “No.  I guess I did, didn’t I?  First gaijin to win the G1.  I can say that now.”

“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” you asked.

“I’m so tired and drained that I don’t know what amazing feels like right now,” he said, causing you both to laugh slightly.  “I think tomorrow morning as I’m eating breakfast it’s gonna hit me like a ton of bricks.”

You couldn’t help but smile, stepping closer to him so you were standing between his spread legs.  You don’t know what came over you, but seeing him the way he was – in his gear, beside the giant G1 Climax trophy, still trying to catch his breath, the weight of what just happened and what it meant looming over the both of you…you really don’t know what came over you. 

You kissed him.  You held his big, sweaty head in your hands and you kissed him.  Only a couple of seconds after it began, you realized what you were doing and you pulled away.  “Shitsorry—sorry—” you began mumbling and apologizing quickly.

“—It’s okay—”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry Tys—”

“—Hazel, it’s alright.  It’s okay.”

You put your fingers over your lips, as if that would stop it from happening again.  A physical barrier is what you needed, apparently.  Not a mental one.  You looked in each other’s eyes before one of his characteristic close-lipped smiles spread across his face.  “I’m very happy you’re here,” he whispered.  “I really—I really like you being here.”

“I think you’re just saying that because I act like an idiot and provide you entertainment,” you said, trying to make light of what just happened.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot at all,” he shook his head only slightly, not able to do much else with his body after what had just transpired in the ring.  “Please stop thinking that.”

“I bet you do secretly.”

“No,” he was firmer in his tone this time.  “I know a lot of dumb people, and you’re not one of them.”

Before you could say anything else, there was another knock at the door.  You stepped away from being so close to Tyson.  He looked extremely annoyed.  A man began speaking in Japanese from the other side of the door, and Tyson answered back while rolling his eyes.  The door closed before you even understood what was going on.  “Sorry.”

“What was that about?”

“Driver wanted to know how much longer.  I told him fifteen minutes so I could shower.”

“It’s okay,” you said, nodding your head once.  “Go shower.  We—I’ll meet you in the car.  I know you’re tired, so we’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

The driver drove you both to a local hotel near Ryogoku Kokugikan, the company deciding to put everybody up in the hotel since they wanted to film a press conference tomorrow afternoon.  You checked into your respective rooms, which were only down the hall from each other.  But as you were getting ready for bed, your phone buzzed on your bathroom vanity.

Neck hurts like a motherfucker.

Colour me shocked, Ty.  Are you okay?Do you want me to drop by?  I have some Rub A535.

What are you, my dad?

You rolled your eyes at his response.  He was the geriatric one.

Has neck pain, still acts like a pain in the ass.

You threw on a robe and made sure to grab your key card before making your way over to his room.  You knocked quietly and he opened not long after.  You let yourself in.  “Seriously, Rub A535?  You’re an old man.”

“I bet it’s like looking into a mirror then, eh?” you countered.

Tyson’s jaw dropped.  “You jezebel!”

You both broke out into laughter, making your way further into his room.  You threw your robe onto the extra bed.  He was wearing an old, stupid pair of shorts to sleep in.  “Sit,” you said as you got on his bed.  “Show me where it’s hurting.  I can try to massage it.”

“Are you licensed?  Can I claim you on my insurance?”

You gave him a look.  “Do you want my help or not!”

He giggled, sitting himself on the edge of the bed.  “Right up over here,” he showed you with his hand, “and over here.  Just be careful though, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” both of your voices were calm at this point.  There was no room for joking around.  “You have to tell me if I’m hurting you,” you warned, with Tyson nodding his head.

You began massaging the first place he showed you, and almost the second you applied pressure, Tyson groaned.  He encouraged you to keep going, that it felt good.  “You know, this wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t keep landing on your neck all the time,” you whispered.

“What fun would that be?” he asked.  You shook your head.

Your continued massaging, being as careful as you could, moving on to the other areas that he pointed out to you.  You could hear his little satisfied exhales, the little groans he let out when you hit a spot well.  You switched back and forth between the spots for a while, Tyson appreciating every minute.  You didn’t know if he could feel how close you got once you really got into it, or if he could feel your breath on his neck.  But you were happy you were making him feel better, happy you were with him and his beautiful soul on the biggest night of his career thus far. 

“Ah shit,” you almost didn’t hear him swear under his breath.

You pulled your hands back towards your chest.  “Fuck, did I hurt you?”

“No no, it’s okay, keep going,” he urged.

“Tys—”

“It wasn’t you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You stayed silent, exhaling slightly before continuing to massage over near his shoulder as you had been, being a little more careful.  You would never be able to forgive yourself if you had hurt him somehow.  He winced at some points and groaned in others, like he had been when you focused on his neck, but you could still tell something was up.  When you looked over his shoulder, you could see him trying discreetly to adjust his shorts, pulling some of the fabric forward as if he was trying to hide or cover something. 

And then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you kept massaging, garnering another groan from him.  You took your time getting closer and closer to him until you were positive he could feel your breath on his skin.  “Don’t worry about it, Ty,” you whispered in his ear in a knowing tone.  “It’s okay.”

He shook his head slightly.  You were positive the redness you saw in his cheeks wasn’t from the increased blood flow to his neck and shoulders.  “No it’s not.  It’s embarrassing.  This is, like, what happens with pervs.”

“It’s not embarrassing.  It happens.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize about,” you assured him.  By this point, you had stopped paying attention to your massaging and had no idea if what you were doing even helped.  You were too busy looking over his shoulder, trying to see through his shorts.  You inhaled quietly.  “D’you want me to take care of it?”

Tyson shook his head, still embarrassed.  “No no no.  Gosh Hazel, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do it, Ty.  I don’t mi—”

“—Hazel…” there was a hesitation in his voice.

There was a pause as your back and forth hung in the air.  “Is it cause you don’t want me to?”

He shook his head.  “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, bringing your lips down to kiss his shoulder.

He stayed silent.  He was almost ashamed because he couldn’t say anything out loud.  How could he?  He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn’t say it.  He couldn’t let you know; it had to stay inside him.  For his good.  For your good.  He felt you kiss his shoulder again and he inhaled.  “Hazel…”

“Remember Portofino?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his lips.  “Of course.”

You kissed your way from his shoulder to where it met his neck.  “Do you really not want to?  Cause I’ll stop,” you whispered in his ear.

Tyson shook his head.  He could do many things, but he couldn’t deny this right now.  “I just…I can barely move.”

“You don’t have to,” you assured him.  “I’ll take care of it.”

“Haze…”

“Shhhh…” you cooed, kissing his neck.  “Lie down.”

“Haze—you don’t—I don’t want you to think you have to do that.”

“I want to, Tyson.  I feel safest with you.”

He didn’t lie down just yet.  Instead, he pulled you on to his lap and began kissing you.  You straddled him as you kissed him back, feeling his hands go to your thighs and travel around to your ass, squeezing the flesh there.  You could barely let go of him as his tongue entered your mouth.  Your hands wandered between his toned body and his hair, gripping it at the nape of his neck.  He was so much bigger now, so much bigger than you remember him being.  You didn’t know how long you just sat there making out for, but your lips felt swollen when you stopped, even if it just was momentarily.  “Ty?” you breathed out, feeling his length between your legs.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to be inside me or in my mouth?”

“Shit Hazel,” he swore underneath his breath.  The way you worded the question almost made him come right then and there.  “In—inside you.”

You gave him a quick kiss.  “Lie down.”

He listened this time, and you both moved to better positions on the bed, him lying down like you demanded.  You helped him out of his shorts, freeing his hard cock.  You took off your own pyjama bottoms, but Tyson raised his arms so he could slide your panties down your legs.  You kissed a trail down his chest before straddling him again.  You reached down between you and positioned his cock so he could enter you, and you lowered on to him slowly, having to adjust to his size.  “Fuck Ty,” you couldn’t help but breath out along the way.  When you bottomed out, a shiver ran up your spine.

“Jesus, Hazel,” he breathed out.  “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You knew he could barely move, and you knew you’d be the one putting in most of the work here, so you took a few more moments to adjust before you began rolling your hips back and forth slowly.  Tyson watched and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the visual.

You took your time getting into a rhythm, wanting this to last as long as it could.  The last time, in Portofino, your body had been buzzed from being out in the sun all day.  This time around, the both of you were exhausted, but that didn’t mean there was any less energy between you two, or any less love.  You would do anything for Tyson, and Tyson would do anything for you.  So you were taking it gently, and you were taking it slowly, but you knew it would feel just as good as Portofino did two years ago, just as perfect as it did then too, despite nothing happening since.

Tyson’s hands were placed firmly on your thighs at first, before they moved to your hips and followed your movements loosely.  You placed your hands over his, intertwining your fingers slightly.  “Y’okay, Ty?”

“You feel fucking incredible,” he whispered.

“You want me to take my top off?”

“Yes please.”

You giggled at his request of please.  So polite.  You could take the boy out of Canada, but you couldn’t take Canada out of the boy.  You led his hands from your hips all the way up your body, dragging your shirt long with it, before he pulled it off entirely and tossed it to the side.  Your breasts were exposed then, and all it took was the sight of them to give Tyson a burst of energy, moving to sit up.  One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you down on his cock as he attacked your lips with his.  He cupped your breast, which overflowed even in his big hands.  You moaned into his kisses, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck again.  Your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulder blades where you had been massaging earlier.  “Ty…” you whispered out as he moved from your lips to your neck.  “Ty, lie down.  I got you.  I told you I’d take care of you.”

“You’re so beautiful, Hazel.”

A shiver ran up your spine hearing those words.  You pushed him back down before placing your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to roll your hips again.  Your breathing got heavier; so did his.  You savoured every moment of being on top of him, having his amazing body underneath you as you worked to pleasure the both of you.  You were completely drunk on him, willing that this exact feeling could last forever. 

Tyson had gotten more vocal the longer you two went on.  Between the sight of you on top of him and the feeling of him inside you, he was close.  It didn’t help that he’d gotten a head start during the massage.  “You’re gonna make me come.”

You were desperate – you could admit that.  You didn’t want it to end.  He felt too good inside of you.  You felt too connected to him to have it be over, regardless of how long you’d been riding him.  You couldn’t even keep track or have any idea because you were so wrapped up in the feeling of him.  “No,” you shook your head, biting your bottom lip.  “No, not yet.”

Tyson couldn’t believe what he’d heard.  “What?”

“Not yet,” you repeated more emphatically.  “Want more.  Need more.”

A shiver ran up his spine hearing those words.  It took everything in him not to come then and there.  Instead, he began to move his hips along with yours, and you could automatically feel the difference.  Your moaning got louder.  Tyson almost couldn’t take it.  “You’re getting so deep, Ty.”

“Keep going, baby.”

You clenched when the words left his mouth.  Your hips kept rolling, your clit rubbing against his body as his cock was hitting you so deep and at the perfect angle.  After a while longer, you found yourself getting closer, as you were sure he was hitting your G-spot.  “Ty…oh fuck Ty—I—I—”

You couldn’t say anything else as the most intense orgasm you’d ever felt washed over your entire body.  Your entire body shook with pleasure – you could even feel it in your fucking toes.  You had never felt anything like it before and oh my God, was it glorious.  You swore you could see stars as you clenched around him, repeating his name over and over like a prayer.  At some point, it was all too much for you, and you felt yourself collapsing on to him.  Your breasts were between your bodies, pressing against him as he held you down with his arms.  As he pumped in and out of you, you could feel his release too, his groans and how you felt full from him. 

You felt empty when he slipped out of you, but you kissed him to make up for it, kiss after kiss after kiss.  Were you being sappy?  Both times this had ended up happening, it was truly spur of the moment.  But during both times, there had been so much pent up energy between you that it could only culminate in something like this.  And during both times, you didn’t want them to end.  You knew you’d remember every detail.

In between kisses, you couldn’t help yourself.  “Love you, Ty.”

“Love you too, Hazel,” he responded right after.  It was only then that you heard the true fatigue in his voice. 

He didn’t let go of you as you rolled off him and onto his side.  You were both on your sides now, and he pulled you up against his chest.  All of his muscles, tired and overused as they were, pressed into your back as he tucked his head against your shoulder.  Before the fatigue finally consumed him, he placed a kiss on your shoulder; you brought his hand up and kissed it too, finally drifting off to sleep.

*

The next morning, Tyson could barely move.  He’d need help getting out of bed.  But that was typical.  What really mattered wasn’t his pain or how stiff some of his joints were.  What really mattered was that he was still in bed, with you, looking into your eyes.  One of your hands was playing with his hair.  One of his hands was drawing circles along the skin on your arm.  You were both quiet.  You were both in the moment, since you didn’t have to be anywhere else for a while. 

“You’re career’s about to take off in ways we never would have thought,” you barely whispered.  You wondered if the weight of what he had accomplished last night had finally hit him.  “Are you gonna remember little ol’ me when you’re rich and famous?”

The smallest of smiles cracked on his lips.  “Duh.  You’re unforgettable.” 

“A lot of things are gonna change you, and I want you to know that I think you deserve all the good things coming to you.  Whatever they are,” you continued.  “You know that, right?”

“I do,” he said.  “But it’s not all about me.  You’re going to do some pretty big things too.  Stardom’s gonna shoot you to the moon because you deserve it.  And what’s happening in California when you go back?”

“I’ve got a match with Candice, and a match with Bea Priestley again.  Let’s hope I don’t walk out with another broken sternum.”

“You’re gonna knock both out of the park, because you always do.  Then everybody’s gonna be clamouring for you.  There’s going to be bidding wars over you,” he assured you.  “You’re just as good as I am.  If not better.”

“Oh stop,” you said, blushing and embarrassed at his words.  You buried your face into the pillow so you didn’t have to look at him.  You could feel him move, sticking his face into the crook of your neck as he kissed along it.

“I mean it, Haze,” he mumbled against your temple between kisses. 

When you raised your head back up, he peppered your face with light pecks before giving you quick kisses on your lips.  When you stopped kissing, you took in the silence between you.  “Hey Tys…”

“Hmm?”

Your hand moved to caress his face along his beard.  “I wasn’t—I didn’t just, like, blurt out the words last night and didn’t mean them,” you stuttered out.  “I do love you.  In my own way.”

“I know,” he said.  “I meant what I said last night too.  That I’m very happy you’re here.  That I like you being here with me.  And that I love you.”

“But you don’t…even after what happened in Portofino, we can’t do much more than this, can we?” you asked.  Secret little love affairs.  One-off passionate nights after emotionally charged moments that brought you closer together, closer than you ever thought you’d ever get with your mentor, your best friend, your person. 

His heart broke.  Again, he was ashamed because he couldn’t say anything out loud.  He couldn’t let you know; it had to stay inside him.  For his good and for your good.  “It’s not the right time,” he said instead.

Your heart didn’t break.  It had no reason to.  He was right, but you didn’t want to admit it.  “Not—not that anything would change but if—if—do you think it ever will be the right time in the future?”

He felt his stomach in knots.  He answered with the only answer he could give.

“I don’t know.”

*

A few weeks later, when Matt and Nick were back in Japan, they would watch intently as Tyson was glued to his phone.  They’d give each other a look that Tyson wouldn’t see, and then they’d go about their business, eating their ice cream or searching for directions to a coffee shop.  But one night, after they walked into Tyson’s hotel room at the tail end of an hour-long phone call, Nick made the executive decision.

“Sorry.  It was Hazel,” Tyson said once he hung up.

“Figured as much.  You don’t talk to anyone else on the phone that long but us and her,” Nick smirked.

Tyson shrugged.  “Yeah, well…”

“She doing okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“How was it when she was over here?” Matt piped in.

Tyson was avoiding eye contact.  “It was nice,” he kept his answers simple.  “Nice that I had someone here with me for winning the G1, you know.”  Despite being some of his best friends, they didn’t know what had happened in Italy, and they weren’t going to know about what happened after the G1.

“Mmmhhhmmm,” Nick nodded.  “Must’ve been.”

“Are you gonna tell her how you feel?” Matt asked, getting straight to the point.  “She’s gottta know, Ty.”

Tyson shook his head.  Those observant little fuckers.  “No.”

Nick grimaced.  “Why not?”

Tyson took a deep breath, sighing afterwards.  “It’s just easier if she doesn’t.  Even if it rips me apart.”

***

25th June 2023

you say, "i don't understand," and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now, i fear it won't

You watched with tears in your eyes as the trainer attended to Tyson after his match with Will, going through concussion protocol and range of motion exercises to ensure everything was okay and that nothing was broken.  Tyson sat their quietly, complying with everything, moving his shoulders and legs, blinking once and then twice, maintaining focus then following a light, stretching his neck back and forth and side to side.  That was the most important exercise of all, after what had happened in the ring.  After he didn’t tell you one of the most important spots in the match.

“Everything looks completely fine, Mr. Smith,” the head trainer said, finally, much to everybody’s relief.  Everybody except you.

“God Ty, that Tiger Driver looked brutal,” Nick said.  “Helluva spot, but brutal nonetheless.”  Of course he would say that.

“I thought it looked incredible,” Matt pitched in.  “If anybody could have done it and taken it correctly, it was you.”  Of course he would say that.

“That’ll grab the headlines,” Christopher Daniels said.  Of course he would say that.

“Leave the really big spots for a Canada, huh?” Stephen joked.  Of course he would say that.

It was then that Tyson locked eyes with you – you, staying completely silent across the way of the room, though you knew by now your face was probably beet red with emotion.  You had so much emotion stored inside of you, from the beginning of the match until now, and you didn’t know when it was going to burst.  Forty minutes of your heart being in the pit of your stomach.

Tyson finally noticed.

“Can everyone just…” he began, sighing and trailing off before recollecting his thoughts.  “Just give me a couple of minutes – alone, please,” he ordered, albeit politely.  Everybody stood silent, awkwardly.  “Now guys.  Come on.  Everyone out.”

You didn’t move, but everyone else did.  When they were all out, and you were all alone with Tyson, that’s when all the emotion stored inside of you came out.  One of your tsunamis.  Now.  Of all times it could happen.

“What’s the matter?  What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

His tone meant that the first few tears escaped.  You shook your head vehemently.  “No—no—no—”

“—Hazel—”

“—No—”

“Hazel, c’mere…c’mere,” he cooed.  Even reluctantly, you went over to him, sitting across from him on the medical table.  He grabbed your hands in his.  You weren’t expecting that, but you were shaking, and he probably wanted to stop that.  “What’s the matter?”

“Your neck, your neck,” you kept repeating through your tears.

“My neck is fine—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing this fucking shit, Tyson?” you demanded, tears fully streaming down your face now.  “Do you think I like seeing your body torn up by a cage?  That I like seeing you be dropped on your fucking head?  And by him?”

“Haze, I’m sor—”

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it this time!” you exclaimed, pulling your hands away from his.  You wiped the tears from your eyes.  “You’re Kenny fucking Omega.  Your worst match is still ninety five percent better than everybody else’s best matches yet you still think you have to do this—this—this absolutely insane shit.  For what?  What’s it all for, Tyson?  You’re already the best in the world.  You’re already a legend.”

“I’m perfecting my craft, Hazel.  You know that.  We talk about it all the time.  This is everything to me.  I left my family, my friends – I moved to a foreign country and was fucking alone for years so I could be at the top.  Every sacrifice I’ve made has been in the name of pro-wrestling because there can’t be a question about whether or not I’m the best.  That’s it, Hazel.  That’s it.”

You absorbed his words, each one of them hitting you like a dagger.  You sat there silently, looking deep into his eyes.  “Is that really all that matters to you?  Is that it?”

You could see the look in his eyes.  You could see the change in his face.  He wanted to say something.  He was so close to saying something.  He was going to say something.  But you couldn’t hear how he would respond to your question – at least not right now.  The door handle being jerked loudly from the outside interrupted your conversation, and when you both looked the way of the door, you saw one person walking through it.

Will fucking Ospreay.

Okay, now you were livid.

“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?” you demanded, not caring how rude you sounded.  You stood up from where you were sitting across from Tyson.

Will’s face scrunched up.  “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“YOU!” you screamed.  “You, you fucking idiot!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?  I came in to see Tyson, not you—”

“Well you’re going to see me anyway!”

“Will you calm down—”

“—Do not tell me to calm down,” you warned.  “What is it?  Huh?  You want to do the same thing to his neck that your ex-girlfriend did to mine?”  Will’s brows furrowed with that rhetorical question.  You didn’t even bother to wait for him to retort.  You just kept going.  “You know what, actually?  This is a perfect opportunity.  Finally you can see it in the flesh,” you turned around, gathered your hair in your hand, and lifted it up.  Your scar was on full display for Will, who diverted his eyes the second he saw it.  “Four screws, one rod, and sixteen staples fixed your girlfriend’s mistake.  I should have suffocated and died in that ring and you didn’t even have the decency to check in on me.  And you want to know why I’m so upset?”

Will clenched his jaw.  “Listen, I’m sorry that happened, but—”

“You’re not sorry it happened,” you interrupted him.  “You want me to believe you’re sorry when you were joking with your friends in the locker room in Vegas about how it would be much harder now to pick me up and drop me on my head?”

It was the first time during your spat that you saw Will’s face drop – that he looked legitimately taken aback, almost even frightened, by what you said.  You had been stepping closer to him with every word, and had backed him up against the wall at this point.  “It must be so empowering to be a man…that you can just exist and be you whereas a woman has to apologize for her existence,” you said.  “If I ever hear that you’ve talked about me or my body again, I will kill you with my bare hands.  I fucking hate your guts.”

“I can feel it,” was all he could reply with. 

You took one final step closer, looking at him with all the venom in the world in your eyes.  “You can hurt me, Will, and you already have, but if you hurt any one of my friends, it’s over for you, and I mean that entirely.  I will fucking end you.  That’s a promise.”

He stayed silent then, looking down at you, because there was nothing for him to say.  You felt like kneeing him in the groin, but that would have been too much pleasure for one night after what you’d just said to him.  It would have been an indulgence.  As the words hung in the air, you backed up slightly before walking out of the room.  Only then had you noticed the door had been held open by Matt, who was watching you intently as you made your exit.

***

Just knocked on your room door and you didn’t answer.  Are you in the shower or something?

I went to the airport early Catching a red eye to Winnipeg

Hazel

Gonna spend some extra time with my mom

I need to talk to you

I know. I’m sorry I blew up at Will in your room. That wasn’t very nice of me and it put you in an awkward position of having to hear me yell seven years of pent up shit at him.

I couldn’t care less about that He deserved it

Am I still allowed to come to the cottage?

Obviously Hazel What makes you think you wouldn’t?

I don’t know The way I spoke to you

***

30th June 2023

all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation my hands are shaking from holding back from you

You bought Timbits.  It was the quintessential Canadian road trip item, and you couldn’t show up empty-handed, even though the drive to the cottage was only just over an hour.  With your suitcase loaded in the trunk, you hauled the bag of groceries into the backseat.  Tyson always insisted he had food, but protein bars and chocolate milk didn’t count.  When you slipped into the front seat, you held them up near your face.

“You wanna make me fat?” he asked as he shut the door behind them.  “Seriously, woman.  I have a strict diet to maintain this body.”

You rolled your eyes.  “Oh, right.  I forgot about that.  Your diet of energy drinks and Dave’s Doubles and junior cheeseburger deluxes is sooooo healthy.”

“You know it,” he winked.  “What’s with all the food, by the way?”

“You never have food.”

“I have food!”

“I also may have watched The Bear with my mom.”

Tyson giggled.  He put the gear in drive and signalled.  “Yeah.  That’ll do it.  What’re you gonna make?”

“Scallopini al funghi,” you said, eyeing him.  He stayed silent.  “You know, like a chicken marsala.”

“Oh, you mean like from the Cheesecake Factory?”

You chopped him across the chest.  As always he was overdramatic in his response, though he knew exactly what he was doing when he brought up the Cheesecake Factory.  “You take that back right now, Tyson.”

“Man, you still got it,” he rubbed at his chest where you chopped him.  “You been practicing without me or something?”

“Apologize!”

The smirk hadn’t left his face.  “I’m sorry I brought up the Cheesecake Factory when you mentioned making a fancy shmancy Italian dish,” irony dripped with every word that came out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” you smiled just as ironically.  “How was the rest of the time in Toronto?”

He shrugged.  “Just the usual.  Lots of media.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  I was able to go to a few places and get some gaming stuff, which was nice.”

You almost didn’t want to ask, but there was something in your chest that was making you.  “How’s your neck?”

“Neck’s fine,” he said, looking over at you quickly.  “And I’m not just saying that, okay?”

You nodded in understanding.  “I’m excited for this, you know,” you tried to lighten the mood back to where it was.  You didn’t want to talk about what had happened just yet.  It was the first time seeing Tyson in almost five days and you wanted to see him smile.  “I can’t wait to do a 630 splash off the dock.  The water will be warm, right?”

“We’ll see,” he said.  “I’m excited, too.  I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

***

Groceries were put away.  Scallopini were made.  Dishes were put in the dishwasher.

And then…

“BAH GAWD ALMIGHTY!” you could hear Tyson scream in a bang-on Jim Ross impression before you hit the water.  The cold temperature hit your skin like icicles, but you knew it would be only momentary.  You swam a bit underwater before you emerged back up, hearing Tyson finishing his yelling.  “Somebody stop the damn match!  That man has a family!”

You watched as he got a running start and completed a flawless tope con hilo from the edge of his dock right into the water.  You began to backstroke so you could get further into the lake as you watched him come up for air.  “Show off!” you yelled at him, a smile on your face.

He smiled and shook his head.  He began swimming over to you.  “I do that all the time!” he called out after you.  When he caught up to you, easily, he could see the playful scowl on your face.

“Now you’re just bragging,” you said.  You turned away from him and looked out onto the lake.  Streaks covered the sky, the sunset starting showing its beauty over the lake.  Whenever you came here with Tyson – not that it was often, but whenever it did happen – you always managed to get a beautiful sunset.  You didn’t know if it was the time of year, or the weather, or some other force of nature you had no power over.  Regardless, you were very lucky.  You could feel him behind you.  “You get the best sunsets out here,” you commented, your voice no longer yelling.

“I know,” he said. 

You were both quiet for quite a while, just letting the sound of the waves take precedent.  The lake wasn’t particularly lively – at least not at this time of day – but there were some boats still driving around the lake, some families down the coast clearly having their own Canada Day weekend celebrations.  You treaded water easily to stay afloat, but the cold water wasn’t getting any warmer.  You plugged your nose and dunked your head into the water to see if it would help, but when you came back up, it hadn’t.  “Think the water will be warmer tomorrow?”

“Just dunk your head a few more times,” Tyson suggested playfully.  You chuckled, but what you weren’t expecting was to feel his giant hand atop your head.  “Tyson!” you screamed, because you knew exactly what he was going to do.

It didn’t stop him.  He pushed you down and dunked you into the water.  He let you come back up quickly, but by the time you caught your breath, he pushed you back down again.  It was like he was baptizing you, for heaven’s sake.  Under the water, you kicked and punched at him.  If you were being honest, you were aiming for his dick, but when you were above water once more catching your breath, he wasn’t grovelling in pain, so it meant you missed.

“You asshole!” you half-yelled, half-giggled.  “You are seriously the worst, Tyson Smith.”

“Wow, using my full name?”

“You deserve it.”

“Nobody ever deserves that.  You were the one trying to hit me.”

“I was trying to punch your dick.”

“You were what?!” his voice raised three octaves.  “Hazel Ila—”

“—do not say my middle name—”

“—Ilaaarrrrria,” Tyson put on an extremely strong and dramatic Italian accent.

Big mistake.  You splashed a ton of water into his face, discombobulating him.  You couldn’t help but laugh as you kept splashing him, getting closer to him with each one.  When you were close enough, and with whatever vision he had left with tons of lake water flooding his eyes, he reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you.  He pulled you into his body, holding you against him.  Your arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“You really are a jezebel, eh?” he said, using one hand to wipe the water off his eyes. 

“I always knew you stealing my passport in Japan would come back to haunt me one day,” you said.

“You’re lucky I’ve never told anyone.  Do you have any idea how long and hard Austin has begged?”

You both giggled.  Then silence.  You were close.

Tyson kissed you.  He leaned his head forward and in one swift movement he kissed you.  You kissed him back for as long as you could.  It had been seven years.  Tyson kissed you for as long as he could before he realized what he was doing and pulled away, turning his head to the side.  “Fucksorry—sorry—” he began mumbling and apologizing quickly.

“—It’s okay—”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry Haz—”

“—Tys, it’s alright.  It’s okay.”

Your hands were cradling his face by this point, and despite his tone and his apologies you continued to look deep into each other’s eyes.  You wondered what was next.  You always wondered what was next with Tyson.  You could feel lightning running through you, running deep in your damn bones.  And when you were sure Tyson would lean in again, a scream across the lake broke the moment.  You both whipped your heads to see a boat pass by, teenagers hanging on to a tube with every inch of their life responsible for the screaming.  The both of you watched as it sped across the lake, taking your moment with it. 

“You’re shivering,” Tyson finally said, filling the silence.

Considering your body was pressed up to his, you weren’t surprised he felt something.  But considering what had just happened, you hadn’t even noticed yourself.  “Guess I’m not used to the water just yet.”

“Let’s go inside.”

“No no, if you want to stay out we can stay out.”

“No way,” he shook his head.  “I’m not gonna make you stay out here shivering.  We’ll come back out tomorrow when the sun’s out.”

You made your way inside.  Tyson gave you space to change into comfortable clothes, and you went into the master bathroom to do something with your hair.  It would inevitably develop a curl, so you decided to brush through it and try to calm your bangs as much as possible before tying it back into a French braid.  The electricity that was in your body hadn’t left, and the moment between you and Tyson in the lake kept playing in your mind.  His blue eyes.  His stupid little giggle.  His voice raising three octaves.  You tried breathing in and out, tried thinking of something else, but nothing could get rid of the electricity or the thoughts.

When you made your way back out, Tyson was already in the kitchen putting a bag of popcorn into the microwave.  When he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile.

You noticed right away.  You thought you looked like a witch.  “What?” you asked him.  “Gosh, I bet my hair looks awful after the lake water,” you grimaced, playing with your bangs and pulling them down to frame your face at least somewhat.

“Nah,” Tyson said softly.  “You look beautiful.”

The electricity that never left had just been amped up to a higher voltage.  It was the electricity that made you act; the second you were close to him in the kitchen, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him, a reciprocal from what happened in the lake.  He immediately kissed back, his arms wrapping around your waist.  His hands went to your ass and he lifted you in his arms and set you down on the countertop, getting in between your legs.  But when you tried slipping your tongue in his mouth, he pulled away.  As if he were ashamed.  “Shitshitshit…” he muttered.

“Ty—”

“—I can’t do this.”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.  “Why not?”

He was breathing heavily.  He shook his head.  “I can’t—I promised myself I couldn’t do anything until we talked about what happened in Toronto, and I’ve already broken that promise.”

Your sanity somewhat recovered.  “Can I ask you something first?”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s gonna happen in the ring anymore?”

Tyson paused.  He knew he’d have to answer for that one day, and it was apparently going to be now.  He knew they wouldn’t be able to have this conversation without his answer.  “I see how worked up you get, and how much it affects you and gets you worried.  I don’t want to put you in that position to, you know, worry about me.”

He was such an idiot.  Literally the dumbest boy alive.  You brought your hands up, your thumbs rubbing over the stubble of his beard.  “You’d think by now you’d realize it’s been having the opposite effect,” you said.  “When I told you that it’s getting harder and harder for me to watch your more hardcore stuff I meant it.  Leaving me in the dark is just doing more harm.  I’d rather know about it.  I’d rather be prepared.  It would make me less nervous for what’s coming.”

“But I can’t stand to see you cry,” he whispered.  “Every time I do I know it’s because of me and I can’t handle it.”

 “Please, Ty.  Just tell me,” you said, pausing afterwards.  “What are you gonna do at Blood and Guts?”

Fuck.  You could see Tyson visibly grimace, his eyes fluttering closed.  “There’s gonna be thumbtacks,” he began.  Your stomach was already in knots.  “And uh, there’s this thing…it’s a nail bed—”

“—a nail bed?!—”

“—and I’m going to take a body slam on to it.”

Your tears began almost instantaneously.  “Tyson—”

“—I know, I know—”

“Tyson,” you buried your head into the crook of his neck, resting it on his shoulder.  “Tyson, please,” you were desperate, desperate for him to listen to you. 

“Hazel, Hazel, don’t cry,” he cooed, rubbing your back.  “It’s gonna be okay.  Look at me, look at me,” he gently pulled away before placing a finger underneath your chin so you could look at him.  “You’re breaking my heart by making me see you cry.”

“I hope I am!” you said with more emphasis than normal.  “I get that you want to be the master of your craft but this isn’t it.  Say you’re injured.  Say you can’t do it.  Please.  I don’t want to see you ripped to shreds.”

“Hazel,” you could hear the heaviness in his voice, “you know as well as I do I can’t be the only guy not taking a spot during the match.”

You knew that, but your judgement was clouded right now.  If you had your way, none of the guys would be taking any spots on any damn nail bed, but it wasn’t like you could control these things.  You wished you could.  You knew you would have to suffer through it and there was nothing you could do about it.  You knew it would result in waiting for him to return to gorilla afterwards and having to see him aching.  You knew you’d be in the locker room with him as he got patched up, holding everything in (or, maybe this time, you’d let everything out, in front of everyone). 

You sighed, feeling Tyson wipe away the tears that had fallen from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.  “You’re so adamant about this.  Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m selfish, Tyson.  I want you around for a very long time.  I’m selfish and I want you with me for a very long time.”

You finally verbalized, praying to God that it would finally get through to him as to why you were the way you were.  He looked into your eyes for any hint of uncertainty or ambiguity, but there wasn’t any.  “Hazel…”

“Don’t you want the same?”

You watched as he gulped, and you could feel his hands grab yours and hold them gently in his.  “You know before Will came in…and you asked me ‘Is that really all that matters to you?  Is that it?’ when we were alone in my room?” he asked.

“Yeah…”

“I didn’t get to…what I wanted to say was…” he trailed off.  “You matter to me, Hazel, a lot.  You’ve mattered to me for years.  I just—I should have—back in Portofino, and back in Japan, I should have said something, and I didn’t because I was too focused on wrestling, too focused on being the best.  And I thought I was old, and there you were, and you were so young and so good, and I just couldn’t do that to you.  But you do matter to me Hazel.  You do.  More than anyone.”

“Tell me what you want, Ty,” you were desperate to hear the words.

“I want it to be the right time.”

Memories of your time in bed together after the G1 Climax in Tokyo together flooded your mind like a tsunami.  You felt a shiver run up your spine, the electricity from deep within you igniting again.  You nodded slightly.  “It is the right time,” you assured him.

He kissed you again, just like he did in the lake earlier, and you responded right away to the feeling of his lips on yours.  Your hands escaped his hold so you could wrap your arms around his broad shoulders; his own arms wrapping around your waist.  You sat there on the counter with Tyson between your legs for what felt like hours, the taste of him so intoxicating you were running out of breath.  You didn’t know how to describe his kisses any other way except full – full of emotion, of passion, of love, of seven years of waiting and all the pent-up feelings that came with that.  So you took every moment and cherished it, burning it into the back of your mind.  Every feel of his curls as you ran your hands through them, every feel of the stubble of his beard rubbing against the bare skin of your face and your neck, every feel of his muscles tightening the more you squeezed your legs around his torso to bring his body even closer to yours.

You found your hands creeping underneath his shirt, his skin of his back so delicate underneath your fingertips.  He still had some scratches on his back from the cage match with Jon, and the scar from the gash he got at the G1 Climax tournament in 2016.

Tyson pulled away slightly, quickly.  “Do you still feel safest with me?” he asked.

You nodded quickly.  “Yes, God yes,” you rushed so your lips could be back on his.  “Always, Ty.”

His kisses travelled to your neck and clavicle.  His hands were squeezing at your thighs.  You were sure he was going to leave a mark somewhere, his kisses and bites becoming insatiable.  You were sure your breaths and moans were only fuelling him, but you knew you wanted more.  The slight impatience got the best of you.  You grabbed his hands before widening your legs.  “Touch me Ty,” you breathed out, placing his hand on your hot core over your leggings.  “I want you to touch me.”

That apparently flipped a switch in him, because he picked you up in one swoop and began carrying you through the cottage until he got to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed.  “Touch me, touch me,” you begged absent-mindedly, so desperate to feel him that you pulled off his shirt. 

His hand finally went where you wanted it to go.  Your hips immediately bucked at his touch, even though it was above fabric.  He moved his body to hover over yours as he did so, making sure he could keep eye contact you and watch all your reactions as he did what you wanted him to do.  “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“You gonna let me taste you?”

Your breath got caught in your throat.  You wanted it, you wanted it so bad, but the possibility of it actually happening made you slip up.  He obviously hadn’t done it previously, with the two of you being the way you were getting in the way of it happening in Portofino and Tokyo.  “Y-Yeah,” you stuttered out, nodding.

Tyson gave you a few more kisses as his fingers drew circles and ran up and down the fabric over your core before he pushed himself back on his knees.  He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your tights before pulling them off in one full swoop.  Next, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them off too, exposing your whole bottom half.  He could hear your intake of breath, could see how you were watching his every move.  “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled out.  “Just nerves.”

He furrowed his brows.  “Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t know.  Just am,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he moved over your body to kiss you.  “I want to make you feel good, but if you’re nervous, I don’t have to.”

“No no, I really want you to.”

The two of you couldn’t help but giggle at your response, Tyson kissing you again – quick, little kisses on your lips – before pulling away.  “Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?  I’ll stop the second you want me to.”

You nodded in agreement.  Not that you’d have to tell him to stop.  If he was going to go down on you, there was no way in hell you’d ask him to stop.  There wasn’t a force on God’s green earth that would make you ask him to stop.  You closed your eyes as Tyson began slowly kissing his way down your body, pulling up your shirt to just underneath your breasts so he could kiss your soft tummy, dragging his tongue and lips along your skin before he got below your belly button.  His hands went to your thighs, spreading your legs apart for him. 

“You’re so beautiful, Hazel.”

A warmth washed over your body at the words.  You watched as he got between your legs, bringing his finger up to feel you.  You flinched slightly, already so sensitive.  You could see a smirk on Tyson’s face as he brought an arm around to keep your keep your hips down.

There was no precursor for Tyson – no tentative licks or little flicks of the tongue first to ease you into it.  He just went right in.  He’d waited long enough.  It made your jaw drop, a mewl leaving your mouth almost instantly.  And he didn’t stop from there.  He lapped at you like you were his last meal on earth the entire time he was down there, making you bunch the bed sheets into your fists, your knuckles white.  As your moans got louder, you couldn’t help but start writhing in bed.  But his arm across your hips was limiting your ability to move, which just made it all the better.  You reached down to grab on to some of his curls.  He looked up at you with his blue eyes and you almost came right then and there.

“You alright?” he asked quickly.

You nodded.  “I’m almost embarrassed to tell you how long I’ve dreamt of you doing this to me.”

You watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled.  “Am I better or worse than your little fantasies?”

“Better,” you said automatically.  “So much better.”

The vibration from his proud little chuckle just made the experience even more pleasurable.  After a short while, you could feel a warmth take over your body, and you knew you were close.  You verbalized this to Tyson, who kept doing what he was doing and didn’t change his rhythm at all – thank God.  Eventually, you felt your orgasm overcome you, your body writhing at the feeling.  You tried to stop your legs from coming together and squeezing Tyson’s head between your thighs, but he didn’t seem to mind when you couldn’t control it anymore.  He moved in tune with each buck of the hips, each squirm, never taking his mouth off your pussy, even for a second. 

When your orgasm subsided, and you tried to catch your breath after all the moaning and calling out of his name, Tyson kissed the inside of your thighs before moving back up your body.  You were desperate to kiss him and crashed your lips onto his when he was close enough.  “So sweet,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Christ almighty, Ty.”

He continued kissing you, slow and steady and full just like before, moving to pull your top off.  You played with the waistband of his sweatpants for a bit, just to tease him, before pushing them and his underwear down all in one go.  You could feel how hard he was then, his cock resting between you.  “What other little fantasies have you had about me?” he asked.

You were not prepared for that question.  And you were not prepared for having to think about answering as he was kissing his way down your chest.  “How much time do we have?” you tried to joke.

“Tell me,” his voice was firm, right before he took a nipple into his mouth.

“I’ve dreamt of it all, Ty,” you admitted, closing your eyes to savour the feeling of what he was doing.  “I’ve been dreaming about you since I was, like, twenty-one.  That’s a lot of time.  What about you?”

He stopped what he was doing, coming back up and bringing one of his hands up to move some hair out of your face.  “D’you know how many times I’ve replayed Portofino and Tokyo in my head?” he asked.

So you weren’t the only one.  What a feeling it was to know.  “Yeah?”

“When we fell between the two beds…” he began, his thumb gliding over your lips.  “You don’t forget things like that.”

You nodded because you understood.  You had never forgotten that moment either, mostly because it was one of the few moments in your life when you felt pure, genuine happiness.  “I love you, Tyson.”

He kissed you.  “I love you too, Hazel.”

You kissed each other for a while again, your nails digging into the skin on his arms and back.  It was only when he was biting down at the skin near your collarbone that he spoke again.  “Will you let me make love to you?”

“No.”

Tyson stopped everything.  He looked up at you.  “No?”

“I know you can go harder than that,” you said.  “I haven’t felt you in seven years, Ty.  I need it.”

He was like a man possessed after you said those words, his hands and lips all over you with zero abandon.  In one swift movement, he grabbed onto your hips and flipped you over on to your stomach.  You got excited at the new position.  “Is this okay?” he asked.

“You bet,” the excited grin grew on your face as you got on our hand and knees.

You positioned yourself and purposely crashed your ass into his hips, causing a groan to escape him before you could feel his hand between your bodies, stroking himself several times before using his head to tease your pussy.  You gripped onto the sheets, arching your back and biting your lip.  When he finally pushed inside you, you let out a cry.  He felt just as good as you remembered,  if not better.  “Jesus fuck, Ty,” you couldn’t help but swear as you felt him fully in you.  He was giving you a few moments – you knew that – but you were so desperate to feel him pump in and out of you that you almost resented the fact he wasn’t moving yet.  “Fuck me, Tyson.  It’s been seven years.  Let me feel all of you.” 

With every thrust, you could feel every inch of your body igniting on fire.  His moans and grunts, the way his hands were gripping on to your hips, the movement of your bodies, the song of the sounds you were making – it all came together in the most pleasurable experience.  You got louder and louder as he pounded into you just as you wanted.  “God Ty, you feel so fucking good,” you said, flipping your hair over your shoulder to be able to look at him. 

“Was this one of your little fantasies too?” he asked.

You nodded.  “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

You sighed out, unable to form coherent thoughts.  You knew this was only the beginning of the night.  If you knew Tyson – and you did – he’d be asking you about all of them, and you wouldn’t be able to get out of it.  Not that you wanted to.  “We were doing exactly this, but…”

“But?”

“But you pulled me up by my hair,” you said.

To your surprise, you could feel him wrap some of your hair around his hand before tugging on it and pulling you up so your back was flush against his chest.  He was gentle but still purposeful with his movements, knowing what he was doing to you.  “Then what?”

You gulped.  He had slowed his pace moving in and out of you, but the way you were positioned already made it feel so good.  Your body shivered at what it would feel like when he lost all control.  “You…you had one hand here to hold me up,” you said, grabbing on to his left hand and putting it at the base of your neck.  “Just don’t squeeze,” you added quickly.

“I won’t,” he gave you a quick kiss on your shoulder.  “What else?”

“Your…your other hand was here,” you grabbed on to his right hand, placing it on your pussy so his fingers were directly on your clit.  “You were fucking me so good I was seeing stars, Ty.  I woke up and started touching myself.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.  “Was there anything else?”

You nodded.  You took another deep breath.  “You were…you were leaving marks,” you admitted.  “All here…and here…” your hand moved over your neck and shoulders on both sides before settling back on top of his hand that was on the base of your neck.  “When I woke up, after I touched myself, I went to the mirror to see if the marks were real.  I was so sad I didn’t have them.”

Tyson’s lips began kissing at your neck and shoulder.  “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

“Yes please.”

Tyson’s lips went back to your neck and you could immediately feel him sucking at the skin there, no doubt leaving one of the marks you so wanted.  Without warning, he began pumping harder and quicker too, building up a rhythm that hit the most perfect spot in you and made you cry out in pleasure over and over again.  His fingers began massaging your clit, too, and it all truly felt like a dream, a dream you had dreamed for seven, eight, nine – maybe ten years now.

You could feel your throat dry up from how long Tyson had been fucking you.  You knew you were close to your second orgasm of the night – but it definitely wouldn’t be the last.  “Harder, Ty.  I’m so close.”

You cried out when you felt just how hard he started to go, and soon enough, you saw those stars you had once dreamed of.  The feeling was so intense, and just like the previous times with Tyson, you could feel the pleasure rush through your body from your head all the way to your toes, and down deep in your bones.  He was still holding you up, but you felt yourself collapsing, on account of your legs feeling like complete jelly.  But then you heard Tyson moan and felt him come inside you, and another rush coursed through your body – so intense that you had to put your hand over his and get him to stop teasing your clit or else you were sure you would explode and cease to exist.  Whatever you had ever dreamed previously wasn’t as good as this – it was impossible to compare.

Your heart was beating out of your chest.  You hung on to every last feeling of your orgasm until it passed, slowly.  “Shit,” you could hear Tyson curse behind you, his head still on your shoulder.  “Holy shit.  Holy shit.”

“God, Ty,” you breathed out.  His one hand left your neck, and the other hand left your pussy, and when they did, you felt yourself collapse onto the bed.  Apparently your legs were still non-functioning.  You began to giggle at just how fucked out you were, shifting yourself over to your back. 

Tyson smiled too, albeit nervously.  “I don’t know if giggling is the best reaction here.”

“It’s a good thing,” you let out as he sunk down beside you.  You turned your head to look at him, so he could see it in your eyes.  “Trust me.”

Tyson giggled too then.  “I’ll take it.”

“You’re gonna have to start getting used to it.  Especially tonight,” you said.  You rolled yourself on top of his chest, looking down on his face.  “I mean, I’ve had so many other little fantasies…”

“Baby, I’m just getting warmed up.”

***

19th July 2023

and if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow and it's alright now

The nail bed wasn’t supposed to fall down Tyson’s back and arms, but of course Tyson couldn’t take the spot lightly.  And because Tyson couldn’t ever take a spot lightly, his back was now all scratched, gashes and little holes down his entire left side – the same side you’d had to bandage and put ointment on just seven weeks ago.  At least there were no thumbtacks. 

Once he had finished pulling said thumbtacks out of Kota’s back, he hauled himself onto a training table and a trainer began assisting him.  Cotton swabs, disinfectant – there was even a stitching kit ready to go.  Matt was on the phone with Dana, Nick was Facetiming with Ellen, and Kota was in his own world.  It was a good a time as ever to stand next to Tyson.

You weren’t crying this time.  This was already a huge success.

The trainer had cleaned his hands first, bloody from the wreckage in the ring.  You watched as the trainer wiped away the blood on his face, disinfecting the area and making him wince.  When the trainer moved to his back, Tyson looked at you.

“You okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly.  “I’m not crying, so we’re leaps and bounds better than where we were several weeks ago.”

“Does it look bad?”

“It looks like you got into a fight with a bear at the cottage.  But somehow, you won the fight.”

Tyson’s laugh was interrupted by a wince.  It was obvious the trainer was disinfecting an area.  He grabbed onto your hands, squeezing them at the next sting.  You squeezed back.  “I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you too.”

As quick as a lightning flash, he brought your hands up to his lips to kiss them.  Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Matt watching, his eyes bulging out of their sockets with his eyebrows raised in shock.  When he saw you looking at him, he smirked and mouthed only one word to you.  Finally. 

Everything was okay.  Everything was alright. 

[epitomereally]

Celestial Navigation by @sabrecmc

18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

An absolutely gorgeous story of learning to love yourself, even when you feel like you don't fit in & that you grew up wrong. I'm so happy to have gotten to bind this mammoth work for Sabre & as a gift exchange for @mourningmountainsbindery (who bound me this beautiful copy of Astolat's Let the River Run—JUST LOOK AT THAT COVER!).

Also to anyone who has @ed me lately (looking at u, em @powerful-owl & tacky @tackytigerfic particularly) & I've been derelict in responding, here is WHY.

This has been the longest binding project I've undertaken, both in page count and in time. My original message to Sabre was on March 16th—can't decide if I want to use the laughing or crying emoji here—and the colophon says I made the book in April 2023 (which was when I started typesetting, maybe). I had been randomly perusing dying videos on Youtube in bed on a Saturday morning, as one does, and came across a video showing how to spiral tie-dye. I IMMEDIATELY had a design premonition of the full design for this fic as a two-volume set, planted into my brain wholesale by the binding gods. I learned many new techniques throughout the process (edge painting, edge trimming/sanding, tie-dying/dyepainting, embroidery, typesetting meta from tumblr which copy-pastes with the worst goddamn formatting in the world, kill me now). Overall, alternately extremely painful & wonderful, and I'm extremely proud of this set.

Design-wise, I went whole-hog with the scifi stars theme. Endpapers are recolored versions of the star charts from the Apollo 11 mission:

Title page & chapter titles are both rips in the galaxy:

Epigraphs both star-themed:

Some more glamor shots because I'm so proud 💕

8.6 lbs // 3.8 kgs worth of books (~3000 total pages) 🥰

Celestial Navigation is also INCREDIBLY popular, and Sabre has been incredibly generous answering asks on her tumblr + writing additional one-shots in the universe. There is also a veritable volume of fanart. I was so inspired by seeing @robins-egg-bindery copy of ********, with its appendix of fanart & meta, that I promptly copied them.

fanart redacted because lots of the artists are no longer active on tumblr but just know i am ECSTATIC about the amount of art in these books

Lastly, I love how @clovenhoofbindery includes their 'Illustrator mess' with their bind posts, as a behind-the-scenes look into the wild process of designing these books. I don't actually have an Illustrator mess for this book (the chapter titles & title page pretty much came in one take), but I do have a DYING MESS. It took me sososo many tries to figure out how to get the dye to look how I imagined in my head. I ended up 'dye painting' instead of tie-dying in the end, but my inbox is always open to chat hand-dying/tie-dying/dyepainting (or what I did differently between any of these attempts). Numbers are the dying attempt.

Last process shot: I hand-dyed variegated linen thread to match the colors of the bind, which ends up being incredibly difficult to see on the finished bind, but was super fun while I was sewing!

Materials:

Body font: Kepler

Title font: Compaq 1982

Chapter number font: aliens & cows

Endpapers: recolored versions of the star chart used by Michael Collins during the Apollo 11 mission (archived at The Smithsonian)

Bookcloth: dyed using Dharma Trading Procion Fiber-Reactive Dyes

Title page and chapter headers: designed in Photoshop using the Ultimate Space brush pack by jeffrettalyn on DeviantArt

Metallic embroidery thread: Cosmo Nishikiito thread

I would dye for this embroidery thread. It is LIGHT YEARS better than the classic metallic embroidery thread from DMC: much easier to work with & much more sparkly. Literally so eye-catching; it truly doesn't translate to photos.

Paint for edges: Daniel Smith watercolor tubes in Iridescent Sunstone and Prussian Blue

Note: these are GORGEOUS watercolors. The color is so saturated and strong and beautiful BUT I don't think I'd recommend watercolors for edge painting. They went on very differently depending on the grit of the sandpaper I used for the edges + they sometimes bled into the pages + they had to be set with fixative, which then stuck the pages together.

[bug-decal-kissing]

Hey friends!

Very big haul today; Tumblr couldn’t handle all the links ! I’ve separated today’s works into two separate posts: this one, and then a reblog. Sorry about the weird formatting !

A new work, Killing Butterflies by othersin, was published today, with 1/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, with additional tags "Trauma, a job you would die for, LITERALLY, a concept that there can be only one god auditor, the job is pretty powerful, it is not established if there was other god auditor's, or even wishmasters, ProhibitedWish, Alternate Universe, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, it is a arena like battle, Abuse of Authority, Lost Love, Unrequited Love, Ultimate Sacrifice, Therapy"

Nirmata, by DatWheatleyBoi, was updated today, with 4/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, with additional tags "Post-Canon, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Character Study, Prohibitedwish is real, Action/Adventure, Detectives, Slow Romance, Adventure time but for gods, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Mild Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death"

You can read it here:

Road Trip, by hierozphant, was updated today, with 2/? Chapters released! It has a rating of General Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Alternate Universe - Human, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Alternate Universe - Office, More tag to be added, How do ao3 tags work aah??"

You can read it here:

Timekiller, by MaxtrixDream, was updated today, with 2/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "One-shots!, Angst, Loneliness, Isolation, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, (Tags will update as fic updates), Bug Scarab, Popcorn, Captured in a pickle jar, silliness"

You can read it here:

The Shadow and the Bug, by beeeeeeaaaaaans, was updated today, with 2/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Introspection, Attempted Murder, kind of but not actually, just scarab being scarab, References to Depression, Trauma, emotional development for the both of them as it continues, Misunderstandings, Character Development, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, Scarab's POV, Angst, Comedy, they can coexist xD, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, basically Jake's death and Scarab's past punishments are brought up here, Swearing Post-Canon ProhibitedWish Story within a Story Other Additional Tags to Be Added Existential Crisis"

NSFW works are below the cut :].

A new work, Don't eat the lettuce by othersin, was published today, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "OFFICE CRACK, Not a laughing matter, but i feel like Prismo would get harrassment complaints from Scarab, Attempt at Humor, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Look it Up, I don't know why it was a myth, but it makes me laugh, the inhuman resources, like HR but for cosmic entities, Jenny has her work cut out for her, she is quite nice but she really hates being part of the office drama sometimes, Funny, ProhibitedWish, set is just the worst, lettuce - Freeform, Horus - Free, form - Freeform, Set - Freeform"

You can read it here:

A new work, For a Chance by Kurei16, was published today, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Alternate Universe - Pirate, Magic, Disguise, Making Out, Making Love, Angst, Bottom Scarab (Adventure Time)"

You can read it here:

A new work, No More Work Tonight by Phoenixash234flames, was published today, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Shameless Smut, Rope Bondage, Blindfolds, safe signal, Rimming, Phone Calls & Telephones, Wall Sex, Aftercare, Distractions"

You can read it here:

Misery Loves Company, by othersin, was updated today, with 3/3 Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Failed Relationships, I am partial to the idea of Scarab and Prismo being ex's, but how about an ill-advised rebound, some delicious angst, ProhibitedWish, References to Egyptian Mythology, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Not Healthy Relationships, Slow Burn, Falling In Love"

You can read it here:

A new work, Mutalism by Clancifer, was published today, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Workplace exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Voyeur Prismo, Exhibitionist Scarab, Shapeshifting, t4t Prohibited Wish, Trans Scarab, Trans Prismo, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Jeturbating, Sort of follows canon events, Sexual Repression, Squirting, Slicking, Dildos, Prismo is depressed as hell, God Sex, Pheromones, Insect Anatomy, Wax Playheat - Freeform"

You can read it here:

Silly Bug, by TJade, was updated today, with 6/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Genderbending, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suggestive Themes, Awkwardness, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Conversations, Communication, Healthy Relationships, Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Threesome, Frottage"

You can read it here:

[unholyverse]

i want to know i want to know about it so bad tell me about it. please

ok a lot of people sent me the asks for it but i will answer yours because :3

sorry in advance for formatting i’m on my phone and tumblr never shows me the right image thumbnails

ok so sometimes i’ll subscribe to the slumber podcast patreon bc. honestly i think they’re more enjoyable together when they’re being boring and talking about mundane shit. but one of the times i wasn’t, i see this on the podcast twitter

and me <- fic writer with morbid interest wanted to see what the fuss was all about because:

travis is writing a fic about his very real and personal friends

travis is writing a fic about his very real and personal friends’ to the theming of the album (that’s supposed to be) about religious guilt and sexuality that as far as i know, said writer of said album has not discussed with him because of the nature of it

this was set in travis’ knockoff pokemon au he sells books of on amazon (i don’t think awsten has read any of his books including this one)

on top of that when i open the first chapter, he says he wants to post this to ao3 when it’s done. i want to punt him to a wall until he goes splat like a cartoon before he’s able to do that.

ok so this is where the terror starts for real. there’s only 5 chapters up so far but each chapter is supposed to correspond with a track on intellectual property (which is 11 tracks….)

so we start on chapter 1: ST*RFUCKER

in this chapter, awsten goes back home from his pop star life in whatever in universe equivalent to la travis has and back to the in universe equivalent to houston while he muses on a recent falling out with some oc travis also made up named ash.

oh did i mention im pretty sure travis made everyone gay in this. bc he did. travis made everyone gay in this.

and here’s when i start to see some of the notes other friends have made about travis’ writing from reading his other books. it’s almost like…too travis than anyone he’s trying to write lol. it feels like i’m just reading travis self projecting more than writing the thoughts of another character (who is. his irl friend)

so awsten gets reacquainted with his parents who are loving but just don’t Understand him and his big city habits and clothes now but it’s fine.

oh and travis made jawn and awsten have a past hookup in this. did i mention that bc he made that a thing.

the chapter ends with awsten not getting a text back from ash and getting pissed at it in his childhood bedroom.

and that brings us to chapter 2: real super dark

travis starts this with awsten having a post coital convo with ash and flashes forward to the present where ash won’t text him back.

as awsten is mourning this, he starts thinking about how at least he never wrote a song about him and travis makes awsten muse on the ciara situation but replaces her with a guy literally called NAMELESS.

normal things to write about your irl friend hahahahaha <- i’m starting to lose my mind but know this isn’t the worst of it.

after this is the part where travis texts awsten to come to a party at his place and it becomes very apparent how much travis has fucked with his own self characterization LOL.

here, travis characterizes himself as an avid drinker and party boy that awsten begged to go to the in universe equivalent of la with him, but travis stood his ground and stayed back home. in real life, i think travis is like a sentient piece of white bread and the general coolness of a high school anime club. also i feel like awsten ignores travis sometimes for his other friends. sorry travis.

when it hits me again that this is something i paid $5 for and this is a guy writing incredibly self indulgent and personal fic that is too self indulgent and personal to be a joke, i stop to ask a discord server of friends if this is insane (they agree it is) and continue on.

in the end, awsten flashes back to another post coital moment with ash before he’s supposed to leave and i have to read the implications of awsten banging the oc travis made up again.

that was kind of a nightmare just from the bare bones of it right? it gets worse. it gets so much worse.

here comes chapter 3: funeral gray (he spelled it like that bc fuck british spelling we’re in the us of a ����🦅🦅🦅)

so awsten is at travis’ place which is kind of a shithole and i assume travis starts projecting about his own neighborhood through fic!travis for like a paragraph.

the party sucks and awsten isn’t really around any of his friends so he goes to leave but notices some guy in a gray sweater outside doing the in universe equivalent of filling up his pokédex with one of the creatures under someone’s car.

then after that we have to have this bit of dialogue that reaffirms to be that this song’s lyrics taken literally is probably the most annoying conversation ever.

awsten introduces himself to the guy, who immediately clocks him as a pop star he’s heard on the radio.

then travis ruins the moment by showing up drunk and telling awsten to come back in, where jawn is there and it’s not that awkward for them to hang out despite their weird hookup.

they try catching awsten up with local gossip while making themselves out to a fire pit and awstens still trying to find out who the guy he met with the sweater was. by pure coincidence, the sweater guy is outside having a smoke and awsten is crushing hard like an idiot and then we get the reveal that sweater guy is geoff.

yep. we just got gawstened.

now here you might ask, “oh the friend groups all there where’s otto?”. he is literally not in this. at all. i assume there’s a lot of reasons he’s not in this (he’s not close enough to otto, he doesn’t know enough about him in general, possible jealousy on travis’ part on. things?) but either way. he’s not in this shit at all which i find to be a mercy to otto but also. rather interesting. hm.

ok this got too long that tumblr won’t let me post the rest of the screenshots so i have to do a part two which i’ll prommy i’ll link here later i just refuse to type this shit out myself and i need to show you how this is something he is actually posting.

edit from the future: here’s part 2

[mrsreginagold]

Fic: Just You And I Love

Fandom: Nikita

Pairing: Ari Tasarov x Nikita Mears (Nikari)

Rating: R 

Spoilers: AU for the end of the first season. Ari shows up at Nikita’s loft instead of Alex. Nikita and Michael did not get together romantically.

Summary: A major change of plans puts Nikita on the run with a man she once considered an enemy. 

Author's note: This is my first fic for this pairing, written roughly a year ago. My sincerest apologies for any formatting issues, it's been a long time since I posted writing to tumblr.

Nikari Fanmix Here

On AO3

Just You and I Love

                  It had all gone wrong in the worst way. 

                  “I had it planned perfectly,” Nikita Mears growled as she hurried up the stairwell, arm in arm with the man who had botched said plan. “And then you showed up.”

                  “If you’ll forgive my impertinence on the matter, I hardly see how that,” Ari Tasarov gestured at the looming wave of fire that was literally on their heels. “Is considered a plan.”

                  She pursed her lips but denied him a response. Instead, she focused on getting them both to the roof. 

                  “You’re welcome, by the way,” he stated, as if they weren’t fighting for their very survival and were having a completely ordinary conversation.

                  She glanced at him. “For what?”

                  “Oh, I don’t know: saving your life?”

                  “You took a bullet to the shoulder and then fell on top of me, how is that saving my life?”

                  “I beg your pardon, but I pushed you out of the line of fire. How we happened to land was a mere accident.”

                  “Was it now?” she arched an eyebrow, amused despite their dire situation. 

                  After all – she and Ari had danced around each other flirtatiously from the moment they had met. 

                  “On my honor.” He crossed a hand over his heart.

                  “Right. A criminal with honor. Silly me, should have seen that coming.” She shoved one final door open and stepped out into the chill of night. 

                  Ari followed. “As ridiculous as an assassin with a conscience, then? What a pair we make.”

                  She whirled, fed up and exhausted. “Look. I have been chased, shot at, injected with multiple toxins…it has not been a good day. And the last thing I need is you lording over me with some bullshit superiority complex.”

                  His brow creased, genuine concern washing over his attractive features. “Toxins? Nikita: how are you even still standing?”

                  “Built up endurance. I admit that it slowed me down though,” she took a deep breath, shutting her eyes momentarily. “The fresh air is helping.”

                  In the next second, his fingers had curled under her chin to tip it up, and she blinked her eyes back open, his angular face looming closer as he inspected hers. 

                  Unbidden, her lips parted when he ran his thumb over them, and she wasn’t certain what disarmed her more: his worried expression, or just how damn blue his eyes happened to be. 

                  “We should get you somewhere safe where you can rest,” Ari finally surmised, his gaze drifting away from hers to survey their surroundings more closely. “If we procure a car, I can get us to shelter. First: we need a way off this roof.”

                  “I can rappel across to the other side,” she stepped away from him and looked over the ledge. “Can you climb down via the fire escapes?”

                  “Or I could rappel across the same way, I’m not an invalid.” There was a spark of irritation in the ordinarily dulcet tone. 

                  She looked back over her shoulder to see him standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression mirroring his words. 

                  Nikita cleared her throat. “And make your injury worse?”

                  “It was a graze, Nikita,” he put emphasis on every syllable of her name, which prompted a shiver that wasn’t remotely unpleasant to ease up her spine. “I’m perfectly capable of holding on.”

                  She planted her feet more firmly to the ground and frowned. “All right then, show me.”

                  It was finally his turn to blink rapidly in confusion. “Beg your pardon?”

                  “Show. Me. Your. Arm.” Purposely, she bridged the space between them. 

                  Though it took him a second to process what she was asking of him, he shrugged compliantly out of his over-coat and then his suit jacket. He then passed both garments to her while he un-did the knot in his tie. 

                  Despite her best intentions to not be affected, her breath still caught when he started to pop open the buttons to the crisp white dress shirt he wore, revealing pale skin inch by inch until it was loose enough for him to slide it down the injured arm.

                  She shoved the miniscule bit of disappointment that he hadn’t taken his shirt off entirely to the far, far away regions of her mind and turned her attention to where it was needed. 

                  As Ari had stated, the bullet had grazed him, and as far as she could tell there was no shrapnel stuck in the cut. Still, once they were safe, she’d definitely ensure the area was cleaned and bandaged properly. 

                  “What’s the prognosis?” He inquired; his voice softer now that she was so close.

“For now, let’s make a tourniquet out of your tie. We’re going to have to ditch these clothes eventually anyway.”

There was a low chuckle. “If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask,” playfully, he began to undo another button on the shirt.

She stopped him before any more of his lean yet remarkably sculpted torso could be shown off. “Ari, be serious for a minute, please. It’s still bleeding, and I don’t want you getting weaker on me.”

He acquiesced and allowed her to wrap the silk around the junction of his bicep and shoulder blade. 

Nikita apologized softly when he made a pained groan as she tied a firm knot to keep the fabric in place. “There, that should do it.”

He pulled his sleeve back up and re-buttoned his shirt most of the way, though he left the collar undone enough for her to get a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath. 

She narrowed her eyes. He had to be doing so on purpose by this point. 

In order to distract herself from staring at him, she moved over to a different part of the roof, where she’d hidden some emergency supplies and the rappel hook to get to the adjacent building. 

Ari came to stand beside her once he was finished with putting his suit jacket and overcoat back on. “Is everything accounted for?”

“We should pick up some food and new clothes while we’re on the road, but other than that, I think we’re good,” she shouldered the duffle bag. “You want to go?” 

“By all means, ladies first,” he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand. 

“I guess chivalry isn’t lost,” Nikita murmured while she launched the hook across the building. 

She tested the line for safety and stood on the ledge, about to grab on to the anchor so she could propel herself across, when he gripped her arm.

She paused. “What?”

“Be careful,” his gaze caught hers, the sincerity in it making her heart skip a few beats.

She tugged him forward by his coat collar, her mouth seeking his to initiate a tender kiss of reassurance. 

His arms curled around her protectively and he deepened the embrace, his lips gentle and warm against her own. 

Instinctively, she raked her fingers through his dark hair, allowing herself one light nip at his mouth before she pulled away. 

He stared at her, those eyes glittering with a swirl of emotion that made her reluctant to part from him. “Make your way over once I send it back,” quickly, she grasped the carabiner and took off. 

He followed soon after, landing on the parallel roof with grace and striding directly to her side. “See? Easy.”

She bit back a smile, took his hand, and together they headed down the stair-well. 

                  “Next order of business is to get us some wheels.” Once they were out on the street, Nikita assumed immediate command. “Something that wouldn’t be traced right away so we have time to switch out the license plates.”

                  “I’ve gone on the run before, Nikita,” she was certain Ari was rolling his eyes judging by the sarcasm dripping in his tone. “Our best bet would probably be an impound lot.”

                  “Huh. You are more useful than you appear.”

                  His chest brushed against her back, alerting her to just how close he happened to be. “Darling, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises.”

                  Yes. Being a full-on temptation is arguably the biggest one of those.

They kept to the shadows and alleyways of the city until they found the local impound lot and Nikita quickly utilized her break-in skills. 

From then on – it was a matter of finding a mode of transportation that was inconspicuous.

When they finally settled on a vehicle that was silver in color, she rummaged around in her duffle to see what she could use to hot-wire it, only for Ari to dangle a key in front of her. “I think it will be much easier with this.”

She gawked at him, wondering just how he had managed to sneak into the office and get back without her noticing. “When – how did you?

He exhaled, small clouds of breath emerging in the air thanks to the cold temperature and stuck his hands in his coat pockets with a shrug. “Stealth was my forte was I was in the field.”

Her eyes widened further, and her jaw dropped. “You were an operative?!”

“You could say that with less surprise you know.”

Impressed, she unlocked the door and flipped a switch that opened the passenger side. “It’s not that. I know you’re former KGB, but I guess I just figured you for more of an analyst.”

Ari’s mouth formed a bemused smile while he moved around to the opposite side of the car. “Let’s just say…I worked my way up.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted a few things including the rear-view mirror, and finally asked which direction they would be heading in. 

“Go north, I’ll navigate.” He promised, settling as comfortably in the seat as he could. 

Touched by his trust in her, Nikita put the car into the right gear and, with that – they were on their way. 

They drove for several hours before stopping at a Walmart that remained open late, where they purchased some new supplies, clothing, and food. 

Nikita finished changing in the gas-station bathroom first and waited, sipping at a hot coffee for both warmth and the necessary caffeine to keep going.

She was alerted to Ari’s presence when he cleared his throat, and once she got a good look at him, she nearly dropped the cup she was holding. 

The man looked amazing in tailored suits, but a case could definitely be made for dark jeans, a flannel shirt, and a black leather jacket. Additionally: he’d tousled his hair so that it fell in looser strands over his forehead, and the effect was arguably a pleasant one. 

He drew to a halt in front of her. “I feel ridiculous.”

                  “Yeah but you’re hot.” She blurted before she could stop herself.

                  He tilted his head, mirth lighting up his striking features. “Really?” 

                  She coughed awkwardly, darting her gaze away. “I uh…I’m guessing they don’t have many of these places where you’re from?”

                  “What gave that away?”

                  “Well besides the fact that you have a taste for the finer things, I know that progress there is slower.”

                  “It’s a mix of modern and ancient, like many cultures,” he confessed, falling into step next to her as they exited the mini mart. 

                  “Of course. I still can’t exactly picture you driving up to a McDonalds and getting a Big Mac, though.”

                  He snorted at the remark. “I prefer the Quarter Pounder.”

                  She laughed as well. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

                  They reached the car and got back inside. Nikita immediately keyed the ignition so she could fiddle with the heater. “How much further do you think?”

                  “Another couple of hours.”

                  “And how’s the arm?”

                  “A bit sore.”

                  She laid a hand across his forehead to ascertain if he had a fever. “You’re a little elevated. There are some pills in the duffle. That should hold you over till I can dress the wound.”

                  “I’m trying not to read too much into how eager you seem to be to get my shirt off properly.”

                  She rolled her eyes and then focused on the road as she pulled out of the parking lot. “If you can flirt, you’re in no immediate danger.”

                  It was significantly late by the time they reached the cabin. Ari’s condition seemed no worse than before, but Nikita wasn’t about to take any chances.

                  He let them inside and she deposited her duffle and the additional bags of supplies and non-perishable food on the kitchen table before searching for the first aid kit. 

                  Wordlessly, she guided her companion into the bathroom and took the liberty of unbuttoning the flannel.

                  He pulled his arms free with a wince.

                  She was unable to resist ogling his uncovered torso, her eyes roaming over a broad, beautifully muscled chest and abdomen. He was slender but toned perfectly for his build, and the only flaws she noticed were a few littered scars. She wondered if there were any special stories behind them, but shifted her focus to the task at hand and removed the tourniquet as gently as she could.

                  He hissed in pain when she doused the exposed cut with peroxide. She went about cleaning efficiently, utilizing tweezers to pull away small bits of fabric that had gotten stuck. “I’m sorry, I’m going as quick as I can.”

                  “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

                  She completed the cleaning portion and grabbed antibacterial ointment. “I never thanked you for earlier. I’m sorry about that too.” She placed a fresh gauze bandage over the wound and taped it in place. 

                  He cupped her chin tenderly. “Nikita, you don’t have to apologize.”

                  At this point, she loved the way that he said her name: with allure and deep meaning all at once. 

                  For the second time since this whole thing started, she found herself kissing him. Like before, it was tentative – a way to search her heart and the bubbling emotions that he instilled. 

                  With a remarkably quick motion, he trapped her against the wall directly behind them and deepened the embrace.

                  He teased at the shape of her mouth beseechingly until she opened for him and allowed that clever tongue to explore. 

                  Giving in was easy when he was pressed close enough for her to feel the effect that she had over him, her hips bucking in natural response. She felt him smirk knowingly and gasped into the kiss when he hiked her leg over his waist, ensuring that they were touching as much as possible despite still being mostly clothed. 

                  In retaliation, she dragged her nails through the hair that dusted the expanse of his chest, delighting in the heat of his skin and the low, incredibly sensual-sounding growl that emerged from him.

                  His mouth eventually strayed and gained purchase on her throat, trailing down further and further, nibbling purposely at the cleavage revealed by the low cut of her tee shirt. 

                  At the same time, one hand skimmed under the hem, tracing a light circle over her taught abdomen, and eventually working its way up until he reached the base of her bra. 

                  This was where he paused, pulling back to study her reaction.

                  Her heart cartwheeled at seeing the devotion in those gorgeous blue eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

                  “I just needed to be sure that this was what you wanted,” he admitted, a slightly bashful expression crossing his handsome face that felt somewhat at odds with his disheveled appearance.

                  “Well…I mean, we are supposed to be resting,” she looped her fingers into the beltloops of his jeans and gave a gentle tug so that he was back in her arms, which she wrapped around his torso. 

                  There was a wry chuckle, and then he touched their foreheads together. “I suppose we could argue that it was my way of ensuring that you actually made it into the bed?”

                  “We could, though the second I hit those pillows all bets are off as to whether or not I’ll stay conscious.” 

                  “You’re tired,” he observed, ducking a kiss to her cheek in understanding. “It’s all right. I’m exhausted too and the last thing I want is either of us passing out on each other.”

                  A peal of genuine laughter escaped her at the mental image. “You’re right, that would be awful.”

                  He stole another kiss, emphasizing that they would definitely continue what they had started when the time was right.

                  She curled into him, reluctant to let go but knowing that they were making the right decision given the circumstances. 

                  “I’ll go get changed and make sure we have enough blankets,” he parted from her, but squeezed her hand gently before doing so. 

                  She watched him walk off, admiring the sway of his hips for a moment, and then moved out into the kitchen to put some things away before she got ready to turn in herself.

                  “Well, this should be interesting,” Nikita murmured once she was in her nightgown, fluffing out her hair and smoothing over the silk fabric. She had completely forgotten that she had picked something so feminine until she put it on, and now her heart was thundering at what Ari’s reaction was going to be. 

                  Timidly, she emerged from the bathroom, her long hair loose around her shoulders and her face fresh and clean of makeup. 

                  She padded on bare feet to the bedroom, her pulse pounding with each step, until she finally opened the door. 

                  The bed looked very warm and inviting; but it paled in comparison to the sight of her companion already situated against the pillows, reading a novel and still shirtless. 

                  Ari peeked over the edge of the book, and she held her breath in anticipation. 

                  She had never seen someone move that fast before. She was in his arms in the space of a heartbeat, lost immediately to his taste and touch, goosebumps erupting across her flesh when her night dress hit the floor. 

                  “You’re very naked,” she mumbled while he guided her towards the bed. “I’m not mad about it.”

                  “I might have anticipated that you would change your mind,” he darted kisses along her neck and then reclined her onto the blankets.

                  She moaned when his tongue laved at the hollow of her throat. “We’re definitely not getting any sleep, are we?”

                  He shook his head. “Not yet.” 

                  “I can live with that,” her breath hitched when he slipped off her underwear, effectively removing the final barrier between them. 

                  If someone had told her only weeks ago that she would not only find herself on the run with Ari Tasarov, but would willingly take him to bed, Nikita would have laughed in their face. 

                  Now that she had him: she wasn’t about to let go so easily. 

                  He rapidly proved that the feeling was very much mutual. 

                  She pulled him to her while limbs entangled, unhurried kisses were exchanged, and hands took to task. 

Talented fingers ghosted over the curve of her hip, their fleeting touch prompting a pleased sound and making her body arc into his. 

                  His mouth drifted from hers to place gentle kisses along her shoulders, coasting lower and lower until he finally lay claim to her breasts and snuck one hand between her legs.

                  Intoxicating heat gathered at her core, arousal clouding her senses as she became lost to sensation.

                  Her experiences with seduction had typically been brief and to the point – a way to disarm a target. 

                  This, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. 

                  There was nothing to rush or distract Ari from being masterful in his art, culminating in her world shattering from the pleasure of it. 

                  She lay there, boneless and trembling, one hand shakily running through his hair while he nuzzled affectionately at the crook in her neck until she calmed down.

                  “You all right?” his face loomed into her vision, the ocean-colored depths of his eyes catching her dark ones. 

                  “I’m wonderful…though curious over how you managed to be so good at that.”

                  A rich, warm laugh was his answer, and he nudged her nose with his. “Uh-oh. I might have my work cut out for me.”

                  Nikita quirked a brow and slid a leg against his. “That may be, but first,” she twisted and toppled him under her, delighting in the surprised expression her action caused. “I have you right where I want you, and it’s my turn.”

                  He hissed softly when she straddled him and began to duck kisses to his chest, grumbling something in Russian that made her look up at him with a smirk, and then continue without preamble. 

                  “You were wrong earlier,” Ari struggled to regain his composure after the onslaught of Nikita’s passions had slowed down. 

                  “About what?” she ran her hands lazily over his chest, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing pattern. 

                  “You’re not the one who’s going to pass out from exhaustion.” He arched one eyebrow and gave her a significant look. “You’ll have to be gentler.”

                  She winced slightly and grazed her lips over his collarbone. “Sorry. Do you want to pick this back up later? I’m okay with sleeping and cuddling.”

                  “I think I just need a little more time to recuperate,” he confessed, pulling her close so they could snuggle under the blankets properly. 

                  She complied with a happy sigh, continuing to intermittently shower his chest and neck with light, feathery kisses and drawing invisible figures along his torso. “Truth be told, I think I needed this.”

                  His laughter puffed at her hair. “I think we both did.”

                  “It’s not easy, you know? This life. Constantly looking over your shoulder and uncertain of who to trust,” she nuzzled at his throat. “You forget how to feel after a while.”

                  “You’re right. It isn’t easy,” he shifted so they were facing one another, his expression serious. “That’s why I knew that I had to leave Gogol and cling to what humanity I have left.”

                  Her heart clenched in pity, and she leaned forward to kiss him softly. “I understand completely.”

                  “I know you do,” his words were muffled against her lips, In a graceful motion, he turned to pin her under his welcome weight. “And I think I’ve regained enough energy.”

                  She locked her legs around his waist, arching her hips in invitation. “Then don’t waste any more time.”

                  He didn’t. 

                  With a fluid thrust, they were joined together. 

                  She grasped at his back, crying out at the overwhelming feeling that being one caused after a gradual build up. 

                  He was still at first, allowing them both to adjust to such intimacy, and then he slowly began to move. 

                  Nikita let out a shaky breath, her fingers inching down his spine while she met his motions with her own and symmetry was gained. 

                  He kissed her, soft and sweet, and murmured something in his native tongue before adjusting his angle and burying deeper. 

                  Her head fell back, and the entire room seemed to spin. This felt beyond right, or natural, or any other platitude she could have come up with. 

                  Ari felt like home.

                  They continued their dance, entwined together in a tangle, sweat-slick skin causing oh-so-perfect friction. 

                  And when they finally careened over that proverbial edge – it was as one. 

                  Nikita was uncertain of how much time had passed by the time she woke. 

                  She stretched, lazy and cat-like, not willing to rise just yet, flinging one arm out to Ari’s side of the bed. 

                  When she came in contact not with his warm skin but a cooling space where he had slept, her eyes finally flew open in alarm. 

                  “Ari?” she sat up abruptly, gathering the sheets to her chest.

                  It took her another moment, but then she heard the sound of the shower running. 

                  Relieved: she pulled the sheets with her as she got out of the bed and made her way over to the bathroom. 

                  There was still a pleasant numbness from the previous night’s proclivities, as Ari had proven a thorough and giving lover and she’d lost track of just how many times they made love before succumbing to slumber. 

                  With a fond smile, she pushed the door open and dropped the sheet on the floor, wasting zero time in joining him under the soothing hot spray of water. 

                  She snaked her arms around his waist from behind and pressed a kiss in greeting to his left shoulder blade. 

                  He glanced back at her. “You finally returned to the land of the living I see.”

                  “Stop,” she laughed against his skin. “How long was I out?”

                  “…it’s roughly one P.M…”

                  Her eyes went wide. “What?!”

                  He was quick to turn around and hold her. “You looked so peaceful, my love. It would have pained me to wake you.”

                  Her embarrassment at having slept so long dissipated when she was distracted by how attractive he looked with water dripping over his well-built frame. 

                  “Well, I’m fully awake now.” She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing their nude forms together. “Not to mention starving.”

                  “I can make us something,” he reached to turn off the water, but she stopped him, shaking her head and touching her lips to his.

                  “Not for food.”

                  He raised a brow but didn’t hesitate to capture her mouth with his. 

                  It would be a little while longer before they exited the bath. 

                  Nikita was certain that Ari had put some kind of adrenaline booster into the food she was currently devouring. Not only was it absolutely delicious, but she felt a gradual buzz of energy building within her.

                  “Okay,” she set down the fork and eyed her partner suspiciously. “There’s got to be some kind of special ingredient in here.”

                  He merely rested his chin against his hand and grinned. “Not telling. My recipe. My secret.”

                  “Well, that settles it: you’re incorrigible,” she settled back into the chair. “Absolutely determined to drive me crazy.”

                  He laughed sharply. “You’re already quite aware of that, darling.”

                  “Don’t start.” She looked away from him to the maps and documents scattered across a nearby coffee table. “When did you start plotting our next move?”

                  “While you were still asleep. I took a walk, and then began going through some things.” He rose, gathering their empty plates so he could clean them. 

                  She moved to inspect all the work he had done while he did the dishes and was engrossed in a specific map by the time he returned to her side with a much-appreciated cup of coffee. 

                  “Here,” he sat next to her, one arm draping over her shoulder so he could take a look at what she was so enthralled by. “Ah. Yes, the intel suggested one of the boxes is there.”

                  She accepted the drink, taking a sip and then settling back more comfortably against him. “It feels so surreal. When we first met you suggested that we work together to find them and now, here we are; and I’m sorely tempted to just throw all of those into the fire and run off to some island somewhere instead.”

                  He set his mug down and shifted so he could embrace her. “Not the worst idea. That being said: is it really what you want?”

                  Nikita groaned, unsure, and put her own cup aside so she could turn and curl up in his arms. “Right now? I just want you.”

                  He brushed his lips along her temple. “Besides that, Nikita.”

                  “Is it so wrong to want a home? A normal life?”

                  “Of course not, but I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

                  “That’s called stalking.”

                  “Where I come from it’s called surveillance. And that’s not the point I’m trying to make here, what I’m trying to say is: I’ve seen what drives you. It’s helping others and making an actual difference. You won’t be satisfied until Division is taken down. And I won’t be satisfied until you are. We’re in this together now,” he tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear, looking deeply into her eyes. 

                  She searched his gaze; her heart flipping at the sincerity and love apparent there. “You know…when you first showed up at the loft, I thought things were going to go very differently. And then: you saved me. And I never asked why.”

                  He stroked along her arms. “I saved you because I’m in love with you. That’s it. Plain and simple. I just never thought you’d accept that.”

                  “It’s more than accepting it,” she cradled his face between her hands. “I’m in love with you too.”

                  His reply to her confession was to kiss her so ardently that they toppled backwards on the couch. 

                  It was not long before they were irrevocably lost in one another, but what mattered the most was that there was a future – and they were going to face it together. 

The End

[rjalker]

Title: "Male-presenting" Time Lord

Created November 26th 2023. Finished: November 28th 2023. Posted December 5th 2023 because I immediately forgot it existed.

Summary: The Doctor is not "male-presenting" just because ler new body is perceived as male. That's not how this works. That's not what those words mean. Donna and the Doctor have a conversation about gender, and not assigning it to other people. They also talk about the consequences of the Doctor erasing Donna's memories without her consent in the first place.

A fix it fic for Russel T. Davies' The Star Beast episode, because he currently fails at all crucial levels of understanding how transgender people work, so that the moral of the story just jumps straight back to biological and gender essentialism in the worst possible way that gets presented as "progressive". So now literally millions of people, cis and trans alike, think misgendering people by assigning them "x-presenting" language is tootally cool and epic and progressive. I hate it.

Word count: 4,237

Web archive version (Read and download in multiple formats)

Fanfiction.net version (read only because they're boring and outdated)

Tumblr version under the read-more.

(Archived read-more link)

The Doctor was in the TARDIS’ conservatory, lying on a bed of Orbisian nest fungus near one of the tidal pools, head propped up with one arm. Hea was watching the tiny flits of blue and black that were the Quilluci dancing lights flies as they darted through the air, pollinating the flowers of the Venusian trumpet vine climbing a dormant tree a few feet away, while above, in the higher canopy, a Terran boat-tailed grackle whistled and rattled to show off its territory.

All around the Doctor were various shades of every color imaginable, each species in the conservatory competing and synchronizing to form an adaptive ecosystem.

The circadian rhythm of this section was winding down, so the light was starting to dim into an artificial twilight. Already, a few of the more go-getting night-calling life forms were starting to begin their chorus of hoots, chirps, croaks, and buzzes, either trying to attract mates, marking their territories, telling their friends the events of the day, luring in prey or pollinators, or sometimes all of the above all at the same time.

The Doctor had finally changed out of the clothes hea had regenerated into, but hadn’t chosen a new outfit yet. Instead, hea’d found simple pajamas and sandals, since Donna’s family was spending the night in the TARDIS due to their house being destroyed, and the TARDIS being more comfortable, and exciting, than a hotel, and less intimidating than a stay in one of UNIT’s guest centers.

Plus, the TARDIS had refused to take off until Donna came in to catch up with her. She had missed her so much. The Doctor had left the two of them to talk in the control room while hea showed Sylvia, Rose, and Shaun to the rooms they’d be staying in, then gave them a basic tour of the more casual areas of the TARDIS, safe for them to visit with only the TARDIS’ supervision.

Lying there surrounded by singing nature, it was so strange to think that hea and Donna had spent more time apart than they’d known eachother in the first place. Nineteen years it’d been since hea’d last seen her on her wedding day, right before hea’d regenerated out of this face the first time. And now this face, this body, was back, but hea wasn’t the same. And neither was she.

She’d spent all the winnings from the lottery ticket hea’d left her. Gave it all to the poor, the hurt, the oppressed. Left just enough for her to buy her family a house, and then spent the rest on paying for her daughter’s gender-affirming transition so she wouldn’t be forced to wait even longer to be allowed to be happy.

Hea really should have known Donna wouldn’t keep it all. If she had, she wouldn’t be the same Donna Noble he’d come to care about so deeply, and hea wouldn’t care for her nearly as much as hea did.

It was peaceful here, and this was the first time since this new regeneration that the Doctor had been able to stop and rest. Hea was different this time too. This body was older, like it had felt the time that had passed.

Hea was tired. There’d been a lot of running, and a lot of emotions, and that was a lot to take in immediately following a traumatic regeneration. Not that hea could even remember what a benign regeneration felt like at this point…Which just compounded the exhaustion. Thinking about what had led up to this regeneration hurt ler hearts.

Hea laid down more fully on the bed of soft, cushioned mushrooms, fully intending to fall asleep right there in the conservatory, hoping to wake up to happier thoughts. It was the perfect temperature, it was peaceful, the sounds of the wildlife were soothing. And the nest-fungi below ler were releasing the still achingly familiar scent of Orbis, trying to lull ler into sleep, promising dreams of the ocean…

“Are you awake?” Donna’s voice was pitched softly, but still managed to cut straight through the Doctor’s drifting thoughts like a knife, bringing ler back to the present moment so abruptly it was shocking.

Hea opened ler eyes and looked up at ler friend, saying, as though hea hadn’t been about to fall asleep, “Yup, I’m awake.” then, “I was going to take a nap, though.” Something about this new brain compelled the Doctor to be more honest about ler feelings that hea had been the last time hea had looked like this. It was kind of nice.

But hea wasn’t about to turn Donna away just for the sake of sleepiness. “Come on, get in here.”

Hea scooted backward, propped ler chin up on one hand again, and patted the mat of fungus in front of ler invitingly, sending up a cloud of sweet-smelling spores. Donna, slower than she would have done the last time they’d done this, laid down on the mat across from ler, both in matching poses, chins propped up on one arm, a comfortable distance between them for conversation.

There were a few moments where they simply looked at eachother, enjoying the sounds of the nature around them, learning the changes in the other’s old, new face.

The Doctor was so happy she was okay. That the metacrisis had been resolved without her death. But hea couldn’t help but feel the hurt that was festering somewhere around ler hearts from what she’d said just two hours ago, and all the things that went along with it. It was shockingly upsetting, and hea couldn’t seem to shake it.

Maybe it was the recent regeneration, and everything that had come with it, maybe it was the scent of Orbis clinging to ler clothes, maybe hea really was tired...or maybe it was just that ler friend had hurt ler without realizing how deep it would cut.

Donna’s expression changed as she watched the Doctor, growing more concerned with every heart beat. “Doctor, what’s wrong?” She finally asked gently.

Once upon a time, the first time hea had had this face, the Doctor would have brushed the question off, avoided answering, avoided facing ler feelings, avoided admitting them. But that was then, so many years ago, and this was now, after so many things had changed.

Hea said, keeping ler tone soft to match hers, “What you and Rose said before. You said --” Hea closed ler eyes for a moment, trying to remember the exact wording. “You said, ‘It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore, she would’ve understood’, and ‘something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand’.” Hea opened ler eyes again to gaze across at ler friend. “That, well, that really hurt me, Donna. Deeply.” The fact that hea could just say, out loud, how much it had hurt, was still astounding. It helped, saying it out loud.

Donna’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly in clear shock. “But I – you --” she said uncertainly, clearly lost and upset. “But I don’t understand? Which part hurt you? I didn’t mean to hurt you, I...I was just trying to make a joke...”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to hurt.” Hea said gently, “But it did. And I’m not…” It was getting harder to speak, but hea pushed on. “I’m not ‘male-presenting’,” Just the taste of the words was wrong. “And I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. It—” Ler voice broke a little. “--it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry—” Donna said, confused, regretful, “But I thought...you...I mean…but aren’t you male? This body? Isn’t it male? And the way you…” She trailed off, tongue tied, eyes begging for an explanation.

The Doctor knew what she was trying to ask. Of course hea knew what she meant. That was the whole problem.

Hea sat up, and the sweet smell of Orbis’ southern sea perfumed the air.

“This is my body.” Hea said, gesturing with ler freed hands at ler body, clothed as it was in a simple pearlescent nightgown. “Its DNA is randomly assembled when I regenerate. There is no part of this body that I chose for myself, or that I have any control over.” Hea lifted a hand to ler head, and tugged on a lock of short brown hair with a hand that was noticeably shaking. “I can’t grow this out. It stays this same length until I regenerate again. It would take hours upon hours to even dye it a little, and it’d probably fade within the day.” Hea gestured at ler chest, which was as flat as a board. “I didn’t choose this shape, this face, these hands.” Hea held them up for her to see. “I didn’t choose this.” Ler hands were both shaking now, so hea lowered them. But all of the rest of ler was trembling with emotion as hea continued, “I’ve never been able to choose.”

Hea was almost crying as hea said it, overwhelmed suddenly. It was like this regeneration had brought out all ler pent up emotions, dammed up for hundreds of years, now finally given an opportunity to break free. If only...

Donna had sat up to match the Doctor, and reached out to take ler hands in her own. Her hands were warm and conforming as she held lers. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said with heartfelt regret, “I never realized! Do you, I mean, do you want me to use she/her pronouns for you?” There was a little bit of desperation in her voice.

The Doctor wanted to drop ler head into ler hands, but Donna was still holding them, and hea didn’t want to pull away from the comfort she provided. She still didn’t get it. So many of them didn’t understand.

Hea shook ler head, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in ler throat. It took a few painful moments of trying and failing to finally get out the words, “Donna, I’m not a woman just because I’m not a man. I’m non-binary. I am not presenting myself as male or female, other people decides that for themselves based on what my current regeneration looks like, without ever asking me what I identify as.I don’t use she/her or he/him pronouns, or they/them, either. I—” And hea couldn’t speak again, struck still by hundreds of years of endless pain hea’d had to quietly endure.

Donna stared at ler, concerned, upset, still holding ler hands, massaging them soothingly. A thought flickered across her face, and she leaned forward, squeezing the Doctor’s hands as though in apology. “Doctor, I’m sorry, I should have just asked instead of assuming it was one or the other. My pronouns are she/her, same as before, just so we’re both clear. What pronouns would you like me to use for you?” She spoke the last words like they were a well-rehearsed script, and with a trans daughter, maybe they were.

There was a long, painful pause while the Doctor considered the pros and cons of being honest. On the one hand, it had been so long since hea’d had anyone who knew and used ler real pronouns. On the other hand, Donna seemed to only know about she/her or he/him pronouns, and maybe they/them.

How would she react to hearing pronouns that weren’t yet well-established in early-21st century British English?

Well...there was only one way to find out.

“Hea/ler”. Hea said, and cracked a teary, self-mocking smile in spite of lerself. “Can you tell I’m running on a theme?” The relief of just saying the words out loud almost managed to overwhelm the anxiety. It was silly. It was beyond silly.Hea was over a thousand years old. Hea shouldn’t, and normally didn’t care what people thought, but this was something so personal, and this was Donna, one of the best friends hea had ever had.

She gave a little laugh at ler joke once it registered, then pulled one hand away to hold it up as though for a pause. “Okay, healer. Hea/ler...” she let out a breath, and waved her free hand to gesture in a roundabout way. “So if your pronouns are hea/ler, that means instead of he like a man, I’d say hea, which sounds the same, but like a doctor. And instead of him or her I’d say ler? Have I got that right? What about the rest of it? Like his or hers?”

“They’re used the same sort of way as she/her, actually.” The Doctor said, starting to regain some composure now that she seemed to be accepting. This was the easy part, in comparison. “You’ve got ler as in, ‘that’s ler over there’, but you also use ler for the possessive – ‘that’s ler TARDIS’.”

Hea paused for a beat to see if she was following, and she nodded for ler to continue, so hea did. “And then like how you’d say ‘the TARDIS is hers’, you say ‘the TARDIS is lers’. I’d love tell you the grammatical terms for all this, but my brain can’t seem to remember that part right now.” Hea waved a hand around ler head for emphasis. It still felt weird having these hands back. Especially that one. Oh, almost forgetting -- “And then when you’d say ‘herself’, you just say ‘lerself’.”

Donna abruptly stood, startling the Doctor. Or at least, she tried to abruptly stand, but had to slow down with a wince, and struggled to get her knees to unbend fully. When she’d sucessfully stood up, she stepped backward and look down at the confused Doctor.

She squinted, then waved her hands as she spoke, as though illustrating her words. “So, alright, let me try this, and you tell me if I’ve got it right -- ‘This is my friend the Doctor, hea’s an alien, and hea’s not from Mars, hea’s from Gallifrey, which is so far away I forget the numbers. The Doctor is a...a...uhh, okay if I wanted to say like, ‘man’ or ‘woman’, what do you want me to use? Would just person be okay?” She looked at ler for guidance.

The Doctor pushed lerself to ler feet, and hopped over the rest of the fungi mat to join her. “If gender matters,” hea said, shoving ler hands in the pockets of the night gown and rocking forward and backward on ler heels, “Then you can say ‘non-binary person’, or ‘othran’ if you want. It’s a term that starts getting used around this time in English. Oh! Or enby! Enby’s always fun. You get it? Enby, N-B, short for non-binary, isn’t that fantastic?” Euphoria was buzzing through ler veins, just like little bees. Hea hardly felt tired at all now. “If gender isn’t relevant, then, yeah, person’s fine. Or Time Lord, if it’s a medical setting.”

“Alright,” Donna smiled back, “So my friend the Doctor is an enby who flies around in the TARDIS, who, by the way,” She raised her voice a little louder to address the TARDIS, “Is looking absolutely stunning, if may I say so myself!”

The TARDIS, in response, sent a pleased thrum through the floor, and made the Venusian trumpet vine glow with streaks of yellow and blue to show her appreciation.

“She says same to you.” The Doctor translated with a smile.

Donna came over and put her arm through the Doctor’s, leaning against ler side and resting her head on ler shoulder, still smiling. The Doctor leaned ler head on hers in return.

“Alright, which ones did I not do yet?” Donna asked, quieter now, “I got hea -- and, actually, I think I only did hea? I can’t think of any example sentences right when I need them! Rose even gave me a whole notebook full of them so I’d practice and remember her new pronouns, and now I can’t remember any of them!”

The Doctor laughed. Hea couldn’t help it. “How about if I make some for you?” Hea suggested, then took on a playful tone. “My friend the Doctor is the luckiest enby in the universe, because hea gets to have me as ler friend, and I am one of the best friends ever to exist, and no one could possibly be luckier than to be my friend. How’s about that?”

Donna was by this point blushing and grinning, trying to shake her head. “That’s not even using your pronouns!” She said, then held up one hand to cover ler mouth, “Shh, shh, shush! My turn!”

And, in an accent clearly attempting to mimick the Doctor’s she said, “My friend Donna is actually the luckiest woman alive, because she gets to have an amazing othran like the Doctor as a friend!” She threw her free hand out in front of her for dramatic affect. “Hea’s amazing, and brave, and kind, and selfish, and was the first person I ever met besides my granddad who treated me with respect.”

She seemed to be confusing who she was supposed to be speaking for now, but the Doctor was not going to interrupt, there was so much raw emotion suddenly in her voice.

“Hea helped me gain the self-confidance my mother spent my whole life tearing down and ripping to shreds, and I am so grateful I got to meet ler, not just once, not just twice, but three times. I don’t know what sort of person I’d have been if I’d never met the Doctor, but I know I would never have been as happy—”

Her voice caught, and it was a few moments before she could continue, clearing her throat heavily.

“I spent years not being able to remember ler. Hea erased my memories, even though I didn’t want ler to. Hea erased my memories to save my life, but they never really went away. A part of me was still missing, and it hurt so much…”

There was a vice around the Doctor’s hearts, squeezing tighter with every word she said.

“Every time I’d close my eyes, I opened them expecting to see someone, even though I could never figure out who. I would dream of other worlds, horrible or beautiful or empty or peaceful. And I’d always wake up, not knowing what I dreampt of, only that I’d dreampt. Not knowing who I was missing, but knowing I was missing someone. I felt like I was losing my mind. Sometimes I’d hallucinate, see or hear things that weren’t there, that no one else heard or saw.

“I lost my best friend in the whole world, and didn’t even get to remember what I’d lost. Because hea took it from me, even though I begged ler not to.” Her voice was breaking, and the Doctor knew without having to look that she was crying. Ler own eyes were burning with the threat of tears.

And Donna kept on talking, baring her soul to the person who’d hurt her so badly. “Hea sent me back to my abusive mother, without any memory of what it was like to be away from her, to be free and happy and feel like my life was worth something more than her disappointment.”

She threw her other arm around the Doctor suddenly and pulled ler into a hug, burying her head in ler shoulder as she began to cry, deep, gut-wrenching sobs of sorrow and pain and anger.

The Doctor couldn’t hold back ler tears anymore even if hea’d wanted to, and this regeneration seemed to have no desire to subdue its emotions. Hea was sobbing right along with her as they held eachother in an embrace that had waited so many years of sorrow to come.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hea said over and over again into her hair, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t watch you die, I couldn’t let it be my fault. I’m so sorry I was so selfish. If I’d just been – been braver, we could have had time to fix it. But I was a coward, I was selfish. I’m so sorry I hurt you like that, and for nothing.” The pain was heartbreaking. “All we’d needed was just a little more time.” And worse so because all of it had been for nothing. Hea’d lost ler best friend, and caused her a world of misery, for nothing. All hea’d needed to do was listen to her. But hea’d been selfish, and terrified of losing her. And so hea’d hurt her, just to spare ler own feelings.

Hea hadn’t thought about what it would mean for her, back then, having to go back to her abusive mum, hadn’t considered how deeply the scars of the abuse ran.

Hea’d known Sylvia didn’t treat her with respect, hea’d known Donna’s self esteem was at rock bottom, and for a reason. Hea’d known that suddenly waking up and losing more than a year’s worth of time would be shocking and traumatic.

But hea hadn’t wanted to think about those parts. Hea had just given her the lottery ticket and told lerself that it was for the best, that she was happy, that this was the best that could be done for her.

Donna mumbled into ler shoulder, “Don’t you ever do that again, space-enby…” She trailed off. “Space-othran.” A pause. “Martian.” said so tiredly.

“I’m not from Mars.” Hea rejoined automatically, laughing a little through ler tears, feeling the same wave of weakness that had clearly taken over her. Hea was back to feeling just as tired as hea had been before Donna had woken ler up.

At that moment, she somehow managed to pull the Doctor even tighter into the hug, then released ler, her face blotchy and red with crying. She punched ler lightly on the shoulder and said, mock-angry, “I know you’re not.”

Her eyes and shoulders were drooping, and the Doctor didn’t need the TARDIS’ helpful scan to know that she was exhausted. So many things had happened to her today that just on their own would have been enough stress for a week. It was a wonder she was still on her feet. It was a wonder any of them were. The Doctor could sense through the TARDIS’ scan that Shaun, Rose, and Sylvia were still taking a tour of the library.

“Come on,” The Doctor said gently, taking Donna by the arm to lead her out of the conservatory, “Let’s get you to your room—”

But Donna pulled away, shaking her head. “Huh-uh, no way. I’m sleeping right here.” She pointed to the Orbisian nest-fungus. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to sleep on this heavenly plant again? I dreampt about it so many times that I can only remember now. I literally slept in my dreams. And it was the second most peaceful sleep I ever had.”

“Ah.” That was where the Doctor had planned to sleep. “I’ll...just go somewhere else then.” Hea wasn’t going to make Donna go and find another bed of fungus, hea was the one who knew where they all were now, not her. Hea started to walk off, only for Donna to grab ler sleeve, keeping ler in place.

“Space-othran…” She suddenly seemed nervous. “I actually wanted to sleep here with you, if that’s okay.” Her eyes searched lers. “I know it sounds silly, but I’m afraid if I go to sleep you’ll disappear.”

The Doctor opened ler mouth, surprised, closed it, then opened it again. “But…I mean...” Hea scratched the back of ler head, befuddled. “Won’t your husband have a problem with that? I may not be a man, but you’re still married, and…”

To ler surprise, Donna cut ler off by laughed outright, loudly, complete with putting her hand on her belly and throwing back her head, like hea’d said the most hilarious joke ever to be told.

“What?” Hea demanded, completely bewildered.

“Oh, no, wait, you, you don’t know, do you?” She laughed breathlessly, and shook her head wildly. “Doctor, my beloved husband, Shaun Temple, is the most cuddliest person you have ever seen. I literally have to get my own bed when we have friends stay over because they literally all sleep piled on top of eachother like cats and hog all the blankets.

“Not only will he have no problem with us sleeping together, he’ll be sad if we don’t invite him. So, to formally ask your permission, my best friend the Doctor, would you consent to sleeping with me, and my husband, and probably my daughter too, because she inherited the cuddle-bug from her father, on this amazingly soft, dream-scented plant from another planet? I do have to warn you that you will probably wake up with an arm numb because Rose latches onto you like a koala bear and getting her to let go is a chore and a half. You probably don’t have to worry about sharing with my mum, she likes her own space. Please?”

She even pulled out the puppy dog eyes.

And how could hea possibly say no to that?

The last time hea’d had this face, hea would have grumbled about it, at least tried to joke about not wanting to. But a lot had changed since then. Including ler.

So hea asked the TARDIS to let the rest of Donna’s family know where they were, and to send blankets their way, and, smiling as hea stepped forward to take her hand, hea said, “I would love to, Donna Noble.”

[thebreakfastgenie]

For M*A*S*H

1, 3, 7, 8, 17, 25? 😌

1. the character everyone gets wrong

I'm going out on a ledge here but Hawkeye. Specifically, I think certain aspects of Hawkeye get flanderized a lot. Hawkeye does have a lot of sex with multiple partners and he is very sex positive (as is the show). But he doesn't really dress slutty (look at him he literally dresses normal) or flaunt his body in public. I think people try to fit him into some sort of slut archetype and that's not him! The one time he does get naked publicly it's for a bet that no one will notice and when people do he quickly tries to cover up. In later episodes, he'll try to cover up if he's stranded without his robe in the shower. Trapper and Oliver are casually shirtless much more than Hawkeye is.

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

I saw these tags one time about the alleged dynamic between BJ, Hawkeye, and Margaret that said BJ and Margaret could continue their parts with other people but Hawkeye couldn't?? It was like "what's he supposed to do, pretend he wasn't in love?" and like literally yes? Or acknowledge that he was and just. Move on? Get over it? People literally do it all the time? Hawkeye was left by the love of his life (Carlye) twice and he literally moved on and had relationships with other people. Like what on earth.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

So I've mentioned BJ before and I figured I should explain why I hate fanon BJ. I limited my exposure to fandom before I finished the show, but deliberately chose to have some because I didn't want fandom participation to coincide with running out of new episodes to watch. So, I was aware of fanon BJ and since everyone posts about it like it's canon, I kept waiting for him to start acting like that. He never did. So I felt pretty misled, lol. It's not necessarily that I would dislike fanon BJ if he were canon, it's just that he's not. I was also really taken aback by his popularity, because he's the character I find least interesting. I also didn't realize people thought he was attractive for a long time lol I'm a lesbo. And the fanon BJ characterization kind of interferes with other things; like "you can't trust what he says" to me describes Hawkeye, because he Just Says Stuff and some of it is literal and meant to be taken at face value and some of it isn't. But because "you can't trust a word he says" was assigned to BJ, no one really discusses it with regards to Hawkeye. And I can't even make semi joking headcanon posts about Hawkeye exchanging regular letters with Trapper and just not mentioning without people saying "that's BJ behavior." This inaccurate characterization about a character I don't feel strongly about is inescapable. I don't hate (canon) BJ, but every time I get accused of hating him I'm like maybe I should lol.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Sidney being a hardcore Freudian. He references Freud and obviously studied him, but there is no indiction he's a particularly close follower. I can't remember if it's in the final episode or just the script, but there was a reference in Dear Sigmund to the exercise of formatting his diary as a letter to Freud being something he started doing as a student. Freud is also, whatever your opinion on him, a famous and massively influential figure in Sidney's field. If Hawkeye wrote a fictional letter to Hippocrates or Halstead (famous surgeon) I don't think people would take that as evidence that he was a huge fanboy. He also makes jokes about Freud/Freudian psychology. I think canon points to Freud being one of several influences on Sidney's practice of psychiatry, not to Sidney being a devotee. Sidney is also clearly not strict follower of any theory or of theory in general and learns a lot from hands-on experience.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

Can I say gen fic again lol. I think I would like to see more canon divergence! I don't usually care for full on AUs, but there are so many fun opportunities with canon divergence! I'm also really fond of Hawkeye/OC (usually OFC but I like both) fics, but not ones where the OC is basically a reader insert.

As for art, I like silly little comics.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

"Stop making everything about Trapper vs BJ" especially when it's in response to things that were not even Trapper vs BJ. I mean, Trapper vs BJ comparisons are unavoidable anyway, and comparisons don't have to be inherently divisive. I too am weary of the ones that are, especially because they're usually really about a ship war I'm not invested in. But it's also become a way of shutting other things down. There was a really good post about how the early seasons don't get enough credit for having the most pointed political episodes because BJ wasn't there that got a very defensive reblog about how "it's not about Trapper vs BJ." And, like, it wasn't! OP didn't mention Trapper. The point was that BJ is a popular fandom fave and therefore the fandom doesn't give enough attention to the seasons he's not in.

[starlightkun]

hello! do you perhaps have any tips/advice for those starting their first writing blog?

my tips r mostly gonna b mindset/writing tips rather than like "hacking the tumblr algorithm" type stuff so if that's what ur into then read on:

first up, let's get the few "notes/numbers" tips i can give u out of the way:

from what i can tell, most readers read from the tags rather than their dashboard, so pay attention to what tags people actually use for fics (throwing your tags in the general tags for groups/idols generally isn't as helpful for getting people to actually READ them than putting them in the actual fic tags bc people go into the general tags more for visual content [pictures/gifs] or updates from my experience. when people want to read fic, they go into those fic tags)

this is just a courtesy thing: please tag your stuff correctly! if your fic is, for example, a reader x taeyong fic, only use taeyong, nct, nct 127, or nct u-derivative tags, do not use any other unit (wayv, dream) or any other member tags, even if those other units or members are mentioned or have substantial roles! (a proper love triangle is different, u can include both legs of the love triangle). i assure you, if you spam tag, and put your stuff in places it doesn't belong (god forbid in completely unrelated fandoms or groups), the people who went in those tags looking for content actually about that thing, are just going to be annoyed at best, and pissed off and block u at worst so they don't have to see ur work in their tags ever again. some ppl use the block button very liberally (as is their right. spam tagging fics is annoying as hell)

also, try to keep up with what tags readers are actually going in to read. i've been reading & writing fic for 10+ years now, and have seen the evolution of language in fandom and around fic writing, primarily on tumblr and i've had to uh, keep up with the times to make sure my fics were following wherever the readers were. this shouldn't be hard if you're an active reader yourself but it was something that caught me off-guard when i realized we stopped using "imagine" at some point (dont even get me started on the change from lemon to smut)

post formatting! figure out how you want to format your actual fics on tumblr and stick with it! (trust me....it's exhausting changing ur formatting across dozens of posts.............. but if u rlly hate it after a while just commit and change it lol);; take inspo (dont just copy and paste bc that's tacky) from some of ur favorite writers, figure out what u like to see in a fic (heading text of the title, picture header, indentation, small text, word count, genre tags, content warnings, pairing info, preview, summary, dividers, etc.), and decide what u want to include in urs!

finally for this part: THERE IS NO TUMBLR ALGORITHM. EVERYONE CURATES THEIR OWN DASHBOARD EXPERIENCE AND ITS BEAUTIFUL AND MORE PEOPLE NEED TO PUT IN THE EFFORT TO DO THAT AND FOLLOW THE WRITERS THAT THEY ENJOY READING IN THE TAGS SO THEY CAN KEEP UP WITH THEM AND CONTINUE TO LIKE AND INTERACT AND ACTUALLY GROW AND DEVELOP A CONNECTION AND COMMUNITY

and now my more "mindset/writing" tips:

this is literally in my pinned: i write for fun and for free. i write things that i like, and because i enjoy doing it, and i post them on the internet for free. it is not my job, and coming online should not be stressing me out. and i've been able to keep that up for a year now since my comeback after an unexpected hiatus, and it's honestly been one of my best years of writing as an author.

i think that figuring out a way to write in a way that's sustainable and fun for you is the most important part. people will stick around if you can find that. i've been able to create a community around my works no matter what fandom i was in, for 10 years, and that includes 10 years ago when i was literally like 12, 13, 14 years old writing things that 12, 13, 14 year olds write. and i do think it's because i was always having fun, and interacting with the people who stuck around. and when i stopped having fun, i was done. nct has officially been the longest fandom i've written in, even discounting my year hiatus, which is crazy to think about btw

when you get someone who follows and interacts and is a recurring reader/reblogger/asker/commenter, i'm sure u will already be like '!!!!!' bc that's what my brain does anyway, but make them feel welcome. don't just focus on the tags and the numbers and the notes. what really makes me feel good at the end of the day is seeing the same few people come back and talking to them and knowing that they like my stuff so much they wanna read more. to me, the tags are a means to an end. the tags are a way to hopefully get a few more people like that to find my blog and follow and stick around for more in the future.

small blog org tip: make your blog easy to navigate for people who are checking it out for the first time from finding a fic in the tag or from someone else rbing it or smth! i always link my masterlist at the end of every fic, it's in my pinned and description, and i just try to make it very easy for people to find more fics of mine if they want to :)

i think that compared to other social medias, you'll find that it's slow but steady growth on tumblr (or at least, that's been my experience), but as long as you're writing what you like, it'll make the rocky start feel a little less rocky (i know it sucks when ur not getting any notes. i know. i promise. it's like bringing a cake to a party and nobody eats it. but sometimes u just have to have a piece of ur own cake and go home and bake another one bc u like baking and hope maybe next time everyone will see it)

and just remember that this is your blog! post stuff you like! don't be afraid to let people see the personality of the person posting all these fics that they're reading. most people like knowing that kind of stuff, even outside of stuff like ur bias or fave unit or wtv. i make all my unhinged posts (which, admittedly, have ended up costing me some followers but if u can't handle me at my unhinged perfume jungwoo posts then u don't deserve me at my buzzer beater sungchan) and post pictures of bread and complain abt work or whatever in addition to all my stuff about my wips and then the final fics. i think treating ur blog like an actual blog does a lot to make it feel like there's a real person behind the acct

[dr-lizortecho]

Fanfic Origin Story

I was tagged by @thesquidkid <3

What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

Reading wise I discovered fanfic/ao3 through Doctor Who, cause I wanted to see more of the characters through hiatuses (which led me down an entire rabbit hole of information that ruined/informed my life, lol)

Writing wise: also, Doctor Who, what can I say I read all the Clara fic and still wanted more of her. Though the first fandom I published in was Supernatural (rip little me), which saw me writing Highschool Destiel as well as adult-married-murder-husbands Ketch/Davies

What was the first story you ever wrote?

Physically, not mentally, an Original Work. It’s focused on a world that has multiple “dimensions” layered over each other. Has an expansive cast of characters, comprising not one but three separate found families (one of which is ‘evil’). Essentially, little me said I want dragons and sci-fi and time travel and super heroes and then formatted a world in which from page to page it could read as each genre individually or blend them together into a chaotic mess

What's a piece of advice you would give your younger fic writing self?

Writing is a process, the product doesn’t ever have to be finished. Even the worst pieces are a learning curve (also, don’t try and please everyone it’s literally impossible)

What's an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of fedback)?

I didn’t really fandom till relatively recently. Like I had a tumblr for five seconds in highschool and then left and my ao3 was used primarily to post fic. However, one time an English teacher left me a comment telling me that my writing was rather advanced for my age (right when I hit a writing wall and was about to scrap the whole project) and wished me well on the rest of the story. And… honestly I accredit that brief interaction to why I’m still writing. Cause I was so far in my own head at the time, and just- it was unsolicited reassurance dressed up as a compliment. Anyways, I haven’t learned a lick of grammar since then soooo like I guess I’m behind now 😂

Post a sentence or two from an older fic and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want)

An unearthed TVD fic… but like- my style has altered to be less action based I think (???)

Elena looks up into his hazel eyes, “oh.” Is all she can say, he’s beautiful. Something about the curves of his face are familiar like she had studied his face before.

“Elena?” he says voice in awe.

“Do I know you?” She asks furrowing her brows.

A bit from my current long fic, cause like I’m falling in love with the dynamic/plot I’m building for Malex (and ship them soooo much more now), but I’m a sucker for the disenchantment storylines, cause love is a choice! Everyday or whatever the lyrics are

There’s a long pause as Michael finishes the sandwich he’s working on, and the next. Picking up both plates and turning to give Alex a look, “you know that’s not what I meant.” He places a plate in front of Alex with a sharp clink, “maybe it’ll be as good as the nostalgia.”

Alex’s stomach churns, “this is better.” He then takes a bite of the sandwich, ignoring the clawing thickness of the peanut butter sliding down his throat. And the chemical taste of the raspberry jelly Kyle had bought.

Michael chuckles, “you hadn’t even tasted it.”

“It’s here and now,” Alex manages around his mouthful. Though it comes out with way more consonants.

no pressure tags @shipperqueen6 @ravens-words @ajna-eye-cogitations @crepuscularqueens and anyone who sees this and wants to share consider yourself tagged by me <3

[kindahoping4forever]

💫 🤍💘 pls crystal 🥰

Anything for you, Jess. 😌💙

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

I really appreciate hearing from readers who chose to read something despite it not being their usual cup of tea - whether it be the particular band member, something in the tags, the genre or even that they don't read much fic at all - but for whatever reason, they decided to give me and my story a chance. It's a nice feeling to know that they saw something there that made them want to make an exception and that they ended up being happy they did. That kind of faith and intent is a special kind of reader/author vibe.

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

Two fics came to mind but I can't really pretend that I don't understand the response they got because in one way or another, I feel like I didn't totally "get" what I was going for either. Both have a slight angst element to them and while I was intentionally trying to challenge myself to write something different, I should have realized that my audience (at least at the time) really just wanted to have a dirty, banter-y good time and so it made sense these stories didn't hit like the others did.

The fic that immediately came to mind is I'd Rather Be In Love, the one and only non-smut fic I've ever written (and most likely, will ever write). It was written in the 5+1 format and while I'm actually fairly proud of the way I structured the narrative, it's ultimately a story that didn't need to be written (I was in a rut and 5+1s were going around so I tried it out just to try it) and at least to me, it doesn't really feel like one of my stories without the smut. So with the confines of the format limiting my ability to give my characters as much depth and personality as I typically do, a wildly different tone (I literally have it tagged as fluff on AO3) and a blink and you miss it sex scene, I think my audience simply didn't know what to make of it and to date, it remains my least engaged story on both Tumblr and AO3.

The other story I thought of is Threw Out Our Cloaks & Daggers Because It's Morning Now (also probably my worst title lmao). For some reason, I thought my super fun and sexy Gardener!Ash series needed some dramatic weight and this was meant to be the first in a multi-part emotional arc (spoiler: that was for some reason going to culminate in Ash getting pegged) but I struggled so much with writing it and the reception was so underwhelming, I shelved the entire series. It was an unremarkable idea executed poorly (the structure is a mess, the tone is all over the place and you can absolutely tell I cobbled the final draft together from a pile of scraps because I just needed it to be done) and again, it was an unfortunate case of me just not understanding what my audience liked about my writing and specifically, that series. Who wants to see Gardener!Ash sad?! It made sense it bombed and I've genuinely considered retroactively calling it a standalone piece instead so it can be retconned out of the Gardener!Ash universe.

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

In the years since I wrote Release, I've quietly gone back in and made some changes but I think overall I'd like it a lot more if I gave it a more thorough overhaul. It was my first fic and I'm still proud of the concept but I just know that 2023 Crystal could handle certain ideas and scenes with a lot more grace and style.

Stylistically, in a lot of ways it feels like I was kind of mimicking Cass and a few other authors I looked up to at the time so a lot of my own sensibilities were still forming and thus don't really feel present. But the biggest issue for me is the centerpiece of the fic contains this extended rough dom sex scene and while I don't think it's a misstep (I still like what it means for the characters and the overall narrative), I can totally admit that I was out of my depth attempting such an emotionally complex scene like that with so little writing experience. If I were to write it now, I would definitely check in with the characters and their thoughts more to make sure that the point of the scene, what it meant to them and their relationship was spelled out a bit more responsibly. Thankfully, the majority of readers understood it anyways but still, I wish it was a little more obvious a lot quicker because as it stands now, it's kind of a crazy tonal shift.

I'd also probably tone it down a little bit. Hard dom fic was A Big Thing at the time and so I didn't think twice about including some fairly harsh physicality and degradation elements that I don't entirely vibe with now and are a pretty stark contrast to the type of fic I'd go on to write lol. Again, I don't regret the scene, I just think if I wrote it now, I'd be able to provide it with the nuance it required and deserved. (Cass and I have also discussed revising the poly!Lashton series we collaborated on for these same reasons.)

Let's chat! Writer Asks

[the-travelling-witch]

Okay so I started writing, HOW DO YOU WRITE?!

I am trying to think of things to write but it is literally impossible to think of things to say. I know what I wanna write, but when it comes to typing it I'm completely lost

ah yes, the eternal question which strikes both reverence and absolute terror in creators far and wide

“where do i begin?”

[everything below this cut was written in a sarcastic 2am frenzy, read at your own risk]

i guess it depends on what you already have: is it a character, a setting, a plot or a dialogue prompt; sometimes you might only have ✨a vibe✨ but none of the formerly mentioned, which is, to put it lightly, the absolute worst in that case i pray upon thee good luck my friend

i mostly start off with a line of dialogue because that’s just what usually comes to me first, everyone’s a little different in that regard though and there’s absolutely no right or wrong answer to what motivates you

from what i have i try to fill in the rest of my blanks, mainly “who could say that?” and “in what context could this line be said?”, often enough i can imagine a scenery and a rough story line around that already; if not, it’s though luck and i procrastinate until the missing puzzle piece just comes to me, forcing it wouldn’t help anyway

it can also really help to bounce your ideas off of someone else; even if they don’t contribute anything new or helpful at all, voicing and describing your thoughts to someone else can help visualise what you’re working with and often enough inspiration strikes you in the process; also every now and then, others do have a sensible thought too jsjsh /lh (to everyone who’s ever had to listen to me ramble about me fics, you’re a god-sent, i love you, mwah mwah <3)

that’s when i usually sit down and prepare to meet my arch nemesis: the first sentence

my tip: just rip the band-aid off; you have to start somewhere and contemplating the first five words for hours on end does absolutely nothing but hold you back and you can come back and edit it later anyway (i almost never actually do that bc spoiler alert: the first sentence won’t make or break your fic; a “bad” first sentence won’t make it unreadable but a neat one also can’t save what is unsavable)

then i proceed to word vomit onto the page, have a couple mental breakdowns every now and then, finish about 95% and procrastinate the ending again (same tip as before: just get it over with, not writing it is not finishing your fic either; also, believe it or not, the end is changeable as well)

i continue by promising myself i will go over and rewrite the abomination again, then i throw it at my best friend so she can tell me that a) i’m in fact not delusional and people won’t think i’m completely weird for writing that and b) yes, i have in fact used the language known to most as “english”; although, deep down, i know i mainly do it so i can further procrastinate actually posting my fic and opening myself to potential criticism from people i do not know

if i’m feeling particularly motivated, i might actually start formatting my tumblr post, putting in the tags and writing the head of the fic (summary, pairing, warnings, author’s note etc)

i receive feedback from my friend, reread my fic a bajillion times just to miss a bunch of typos and grammatical errors, proceed to break my promise and not change my fic at all, paste it into tumblr, and hover over the post button for a disgustingly long time

once i’ve actually decided to press the damn thing, i immediately close tumblr and bring a safe distance between me and the app

now all that’s left to do is wait for validation from strangers on the internet in form of tags, comments or asks

those were a lot of very sarcastic words to basically say that you should just get started and not worry about it too much; every fic is different and sometimes the words seemingly don’t stop flowing and other times it feels like you’ve never seen a word before in your life; you can also flip-flop between these two stages within the same fic

at the end of the day, we write because we like torturing ourselves visualising our ideas on a page so we can share them with others; art is hard so this is the next best medium to share the headcanons and the brain worms and the rants and the incoherentscreaming the voice in your head does when you see your favourite character

we’re no professionals, we’re just silly little people on our silly little blogs sharing our silly little stories with other silly little people on their silly little blogs who in turn share their silly little stories with us

this is my guide to how i write 90% of my stories; why only 90% you ask? because every now and then a monster comes by, takes up all your brain space, ends up being 11k+ words and you just know you would’ve gone absolutely mental writing it without some form of planning before hand

if you don’t write anything like that, the dumpster fire above might help (mainly the beginning because it just got weirder and weirder with every added paragraph)

to close this off, i’ll leave you with some wise words

roses are red,

violets are blue,

don’t ask me for advice,

i ain’t got a clue

this is your sign to never let me write a writing guide, ever

[doberbutts]

hey uh i. saw your post on transandrophobia and. wanted to ask you about your version about what the man who coined that term was into because uh. every other source has been less than trustworthy.

of course, i couldn't possibly require someone to explain something to me because I'm too afraid to look into it myself so if itd be too much of a bother then i apologize.

Well it's not really 'my version' because I don't actually know or speak to Saint 🤷‍♂️

But I did investigate the source of the claims and:

Saint was talking about omegaverse and used the shorthand a/b/o to refer to the au genre without the slashes. Which unfortunately bears a striking resemblence to an anti-aboriginal slur used in Australia. Which unfortunately Saint was resistant initially when an aboriginal person protested the use of the term. The context was clear that Saint was not even talking about Australian race politics whatsoever, he was talking about how some trans mascs find omegaverse fics to be very fetishizing and triggering, and words can be spelled the same and mean entirely different things. Said blogger was not satisfied and began saying that Saint was anti-indigenous and specifically anti-black since many aboriginal people view themselves as and call themselves black.

Two black bloggers caught wind of the callout and started harassing Saint, block-dodging when he blocked them for being annoying, sending anons and dms and being increasingly aggressive on his posts. These bloggers are notorious for denying POC their identities and they did call him white several times before being corrected that he is, in fact, not white. At some point he posted saying Biden's Juneteenth announcement was too little too late and an empty gesture (which I agree btw as a black man myself, literally I don't even get paid holiday pay for it and my job is proceeding as normal so what did it actually accomplish besides lip service and more annoying bank holidays???) and they started accusing him of speaking over black people and when he blocked them *again* for that it was that he won't listen to black people.

Aka tumblr's worst whisper down the lane session because now he's dubbed as a 'violently antiblack racist' when what he did was... use an acronym that also can be a slur if the context isn't 100% clear.

In the midst of all this the original blogger that took issue with him also found his password-protected nsfw roleplay blog where he was engaging in kink-heavy roleplay with a trans woman partner. The kinks were misgendering, forced masc, cnc, and detransition with the trans woman receiving. According to a later explanation by Saint, it was *her kink* that he was performing for her, and he stopped long before being "found out" because it was becoming uncomfortable for him to continue.

In any case, it was an example of someone screenshotting someone else's private, consensual sex life that they shouldn't have seen in the first place let alone put in front of a huge audience (with minors included) in the format of a callout. Whether or not you agree with his sexual preferences is not up for debate here: the heart of the matter is that people are mad that he had ultimately consensual sex with his partner because it's not the kind of sex they think people should be having. In other words it's this meme:

Except instead of Jesus it's 'judgemental assholes on the internet digging through your private life looking for something to be mad at you about'.

Lastly there's new discourse floating around that he 'admitted to being a terf' which is actually kind of hilarious because uh, no he didn't. And also a result of tumblr's worst whisper down the lane session because that's an [untrue] accusation about a DIFFERENT trans guy who once said that he discovered the feminist spaces he occupied as a minor prior to finding out he was trans were not trans friendly, and he left those spaces once he found out, but it gave him insight to how terfs become radicalized because the first instance of the word 'trans' in their discourse was also the only red flag he got before he got out. So... it's not even about Saint at all even though people are saying it's him, and the guy it IS about is also being wildly misrepresented.

Again, that's not 'my version' that's 'I reviewed the facts of the case and the verdict is: it's all very stupid'. I did at one point ask for further proof of any of this than what I could find and basically just got 'source: trust me it really happened' so 🤷‍♂️

Come on folks. I'm black. Why would I have anything to do with a guy who is *actually* anti-black?

[theriveroflight]

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction Masterpost: F/F ships

A list of all my Miraculous Ladybug femslash fics. Stories will generally be hosted on AO3 unless otherwise indicated.

Format:

Title (with link) | Rating | Word Count | Chapters | Ship | AU/theme | Event (if applicable) | Date Published/Updated

Summary

All fics under cut.

In Pursuit Of | T | 1210 | 1/1 | Chlogami | Miracle Queen fix-it | @miraculousfanworks Feb 2020 event | 2/6/2020

Chloé isn’t the type of person Kagami would normally bother with; she would (metaphorically) throw Chloé aside if Kagami really knew her.

kill ‘em with a kiss | T | 1471 | 1/1 | Lilanette | Canon Divergence | 2/25/2020

Marinette wants to play? Lila knows the game better than anyone. Marinette will go down. It’s only a matter of when.

Tracing Names | T | 1015 | 1/1 | Alyanette | Dystopia AU | 5/2/2020

Taking the time to grieve, at last.

where the lightning splits the sea | T | 1285 | 1/10 | Lilagami | sci-fi/dystopia | MLF Oct 2020 event | 10/20/2020

It's 2028, and climate change has irrevocably affected Earth.

The first hurricane to hit in Parisian history is here, and not everyone is prepared for the storm.

And of course, there are people lurking in the background -- waiting to take advantage of it.

testament inscribed in sand | T | 1653 | 1/1 | Marigami | grief | MLF Anniversary giveaway | 12/6/2020

Kagami knows love will be her ruin, and grief will be Marinette's.

stuck fixated on one star | T | 1005 | 1/1 | Marigami | post-Adrigami breakup | Spin the Record challenge | 1/31/2021

It's reckless at best and dangerous at worst. Kagami does it anyway.

starry nights and a light sky | T | 19794 | 1/1 | Auroreille | canon-compliant slow(ish) burn | Femslash February | 2/27/2021

Aurore has always wanted to be a meteorologist. So, when the competition comes, she's practically a shoo-in in her mind - but then Mireille comes along, and everything turns around.

the song stuck in my head (every song i’ll ever love) | T | 777 | 1/1 | Julerose | Getting Together | MLF Tumblr 500 ficlet | 3/18/2021

Juleka doesn't listen to lyrics enough.

Shooting Straight | G | 598 | 1/1 | Marigami | Archery | MLF Tumblr 500 ficlet | 4/6/2021

In which the knowledge of: a) Kagami doing archery b) my learnings from summer camp/Scouts c) the definition of "switching targets", taken approximately too literally

combines to form a ficlet.

shuffling the cards of our game | T | 4050 | 1/1 | Lilanette | Star Wars AU | Lilanette Week | 6/22/2021

Really, they should never have been rivals in the first place with such similar views on the world.

Through It All | T | 16177 | 28/29 | Auroreille | akuma attack | MLF Snippet July | 7/30/2021

Aurore and Mireille are zapped by an akuma that takes them through some doors.

taking the plunge | G | 1362 | 1/1 | Julenette | Canon Divergence | 9/4/2021

Juleka's liked Marinette for a long time. And even though Marinette liked her brother first, Juleka manages to find herself stumbling into a relationship with Marinette anyways.

strike up the band (and kiss me) | G | 1023 | 1/1 | Marigami | Fluff | 11/30/2021

Marinette really wants to kiss Kagami. Luckily, Kagami also really wants to kiss Marinette.

your magical mystery ride | T | 1134 | 1/1 | Julenette | Magic AU | Julenette Week 2021 | 12/6/2021

Ladybug nearly falls into the water before Juleka can open the window.

what’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing (someday we’ll find it) | G | 2097 | 1/1 | Julenette | Marichat tropes but it’s Purple Tigress | 12/19/2021

Marinette doesn't know what she wants, but Tigresse keeps visiting her.

Or: how to fall in love, or at least something close to it, in three weeks.

risen with healing in her wings | G | 3074 | 1/1 | Marigami | Holiday Party | MLF Secret Santa | 12/23/2021

The hero holiday party presents many issues, especially when Ladybug and Ryuuko are under it together.

moving on (moving closer) | T | 2293 | 1/1 | Marigami | Injury Recovery | 1/30/2022

When Marinette collapses in the middle of battle, Kagami rushes to her aid. Despite the fact that they were fighting before.

i wish things were different | T | 1259 | 1/1 | Julealya | Divergence from Rocketear | ML Femslash February & Purple Noir Week 2022 | 2/1/2022

In which Alya and Nino break up, and Juleka's presented with an opportunity.

a marriage of cultures | T | 3249 | 1/1 | Marigami | Wedding | ML Femslash February & MLBCNY | 2/3/2022

When planning a wedding, there are usually several road blocks. Some of them are easy to anticipate, like whether Marinette's capable of finishing the outfits in time. Others are harder, like Tomoe's disapproval of the wedding's structure.

what’s your (true) name? | G | 1543 | 1/1 | Feizoe | Fantasy AU | ML Femslash February & MLF Rarepair Month & MLBCNY | 2/7/2022

Inhuman is not an insult. Far from it, in fact.

been picking up the pieces of our hearts | G | 1036 | 1/1 | Alyanette | ML Femslash February | 2/10/2022

Alya and Marinette talk out their issues, and do more than just talk.

sweet summer | T | 1004 | 1/1 | Zoenette | ML Femslash February | 2/17/2022

Zoé flies to Paris for the summer, and meets someone new.

meet me in the pouring rain | T | 1009 | 1/1 | Marilene | MLF Rarepair Month | 2/19/2022

Marinette's glad she's out of there.

evidence you want me | T | 1260 | 1/1 | Lilalya | MLF Rarepair Month | 2/20/2022

Alya Césaire, private investigator, has been on the trail of the thief Volpina for some time.

utterly incorrigible | T | 1005 | 1/1 | Nathemilie | MLF Rarepair Month | 2/22/2022

Is Emilie's wife really flirting with her in hero persona?

(The answer is yes.)